by T E Kinsey
We pulled up outside The Dog and Duck and I hopped out while Lady Hardcastle stayed at the wheel with the engine running and the handbrake yanked firmly on. The pub door was still locked so I rapped loudly on it with my leather-clad fist. Joe eventually opened it.
‘Oh, mornin’, m’dear,’ he said when he saw who I was. ‘What can I be doin’ for you?’
‘Good morning, Joe,’ I said. ‘Might I come in for a moment? I have a favour to ask.’
He stood aside. ‘Certainly, Miss. In you come. ’Scuse the mess, I’m just moppin’ the floor.’
I stepped inside and he shut and bolted the door behind me.
‘Just in case anyone thinks we’s open,’ he said. ‘Leave the door open and they’ll all be in here demanding morning refreshment.’
‘We did say that morning tea would be a big seller,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sure it will once we gets started on it, miss,’ he said. ‘Soon as we gots our new china, I’ll be startin’ that. I already got old Sep Holman ready to make us rolls and pastries. But no, ’s not that, it’s they farmers – they sees a pub door open and they’ll be in and suppin’ cider ’fore you can say, “Sorry, gents, we’re closed.” I’d never get any cleaning done.’
I laughed. ‘Well I shan’t hold you up,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to ask a favour.’
‘Anything for you, miss, you knows that. Just name it.’
‘I wonder if I might have a room for tonight.’
He looked concerned. ‘A room, miss? Here?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay the full rate, of course.’
‘There’ll be no need for that, miss, not for you. But what’s wrong? Has Lady Hardcastle kicked you out?’
I laughed again. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. No, nothing like that,’ I said. ‘Although, in a way, perhaps she has. She wants me to spend the night in the pub to get a first-hand view of your haunting.’
Realization dawned. ‘Ohhhhh,’ he said. ‘Well to be honest, m’dear, I’d quite like a witness to it meself. It were quiet last night, but I’d like to get another opinion on it all ’fore Madame Eugénie leaves at the weekend.’
‘She’s still here, then?’ I said.
‘Ar,’ he said with a nod. ‘She been doin’ readin’s and private consultations these past two days. Up in ’er room. All sorts of folk come in, people you’d-a never thought. They comes in, and I sends ’em up. Then they comes down again all shaken and dazed.’
‘Shaken and dazed?’ I repeated.
‘Ar,’ he said. ‘They all says they’s pleased they went, but they none of ’em looks like it was a calmin’ experience.’
‘I promised Lady Hardcastle I’d arrange a reading for her,’ I said. ‘But I’m not so sure it would be a good idea if that’s the effect it has on people. She’s had a difficult time of it these past few months, I shouldn’t want to expose her to more unpleasantness.’
‘If you asks me, I’d say you was absolutely right. She’s best off out of it.’
‘I agree, Mr Arnold, I agree. And so I shall be her eyes and ears here tonight, if that’s agreeable.’
‘It will be a delight to have you here, miss,’ he said. ‘You can have our second best room and I’ll make you a nice big breakfast an’ all.’
‘How wonderfully generous of you, thank you. It’s been a while since anyone made me breakfast.’
‘I reckoned as much,’ he said with a toothless chuckle. ‘It’ll be like a little holiday for you.’
‘With added ghosts,’ I said.
‘Don’t remind me,’ he said.
We said our goodbyes and I left him to his mopping.
Back outside, I hopped back into the motorcar and we sped off towards the Gloucester Road. Well, I say “sped” but it was more of a sedate potter, if I’m honest. Still, it was quicker than walking.
We clattered our way into the city and parked the car near the city library. I was still slightly awed by the sight of the magnificent cathedral (which I have since learnt was not medieval at all, but had only been finally completed in the 1870s – a 700-year construction project that made the delays on our garage seem a mere trifle by comparison), sitting beside the new library, and both of them backing on to the floating harbour.
We went inside and after a brief, hushed conversation with the librarian at the front desk, weaved our way past shelves and shelves of books to the periodicals section. We found the Gloucester newspapers for early 1908 and began our laborious research.
By lunchtime, I was bored almost beyond endurance. I love to read, and am ordinarily fascinated by the lives of others, but provincial newspapers have a peculiar knack of turning even the most interesting story into something turgid and dull. I was glad when Lady Hardcastle finally passed me a note which read, “Shhhhh. But I’ve had quite enough of this. Lunch?”
I nodded my hearty agreement and we put away our newspapers and returned to the world of chatter and noise.
‘Did you find anything?’ she asked as we walked back to the motorcar.
‘Nothing to contradict anything in the police report,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘No, not really. There was some speculation about financial difficulties at the company and a concerted attempt at discrediting Snelson and painting him as the villain of the piece, but it stopped short of libellous accusation.’
‘I did find one account which mentioned what good friends the two owners were. Inseparable, apparently. It makes the claims of murder seem all the more unlikely.’
‘Quite so,’ she said. ‘Unless anyone turns up any actual evidence, I think our ghost might be on entirely the wrong track.’
‘It does seem that way, my lady, yes. What now, then?’
‘I think we should leave the motor here, and take a stroll to that hotel that Gertie loves. After lunch I might pop in to the solicitors and see if they can dig up anything about Hardwicke Timber from the company records. Then home for tea and to prepare you for a night in the haunted pub.’
‘Right you are, then, my lady, let’s go. You do remember where the hotel is, I take it.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, entirely unconvincingly. ‘It’s… this way.’
We set off for lunch.
Lunch was as splendid as the last time, cementing the hotel’s reputation in our minds as one of our top choices for lunch in town. Lady Hardcastle had declined the sommelier’s wine recommendation, insisting that she needed a clear head to drive us home, and we had emerged into the afternoon gloom replete but entirely sober.
There were a few chores to take care of at home while Lady Hardcastle retired to her study. We ate a light supper at around eight o’clock and then I packed some overnight essentials into my trusty Gladstone bag, received my final instructions from Lady Hardcastle, and slipped out into the chilly spring night to walk to the pub.
After a couple of days of calm, the weather was becoming boisterous again, and there were a few spots of rain in the strengthening wind as I skirted the green. The pub was full and there was a lively sing-song in progress around the battered, poorly-tuned piano in the corner. I could hear the clonk and rattle of the wooden ball in the skittle alley in the other bar, and the roars and raucous laughter of the players. The air was thick with tobacco smoke whose aroma mixed with the beer and cider to produce a smell that instantly took me back to dodgy back street pubs in the East End where Lady Hardcastle and I, dressed down for the occasion, had been to meet weasel-willed informants, flat-nosed thugs, cocksure villains and assorted other ne’er-do-wells for the good of King and country.
Joe broke into my reverie. ‘Evenin’, miss. Can I get you a drink ’fore you goes up?’
‘Oh, good evening Joe. I’m sorry, I was miles away. A brandy would be most welcome, please. May I take it up to my room?’
‘Course you may, m’dear. I’ll just show you where ’t is and I’ll bring it up to you. On the house, of course.’
‘You’re most kind, Joe, thank you.’
&
nbsp; ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you out of this madhouse.’
He led me through the bar to the door at the back and then up the stairs to the first floor. There were four doors off the landing.
‘Here you goes, m’dear,’ said Joe, indicating the door to our right. ‘This un’s yours. Bathroom is there at the end, and Madame Eugénie is in the room opposite.’
‘Thank you, Joe. And the door next to hers?’
‘That’s the stairs up to mine and Our Ma’s rooms up in the attic. We keeps it closed, give ourselves a bit of privacy like.’
‘Lovely, thank you,’ I said with a smile. ‘Just getting the lay of the land, you know how it is.’
‘Oh ah, miss, yes. They say you done a fair bit of the old cloak and dagger stuff in your time.’
‘People say a lot of things, Mr Arnold,’ I said, still smiling. ‘I should take no notice.’
He looked at me shrewdly. ‘Right you are, miss. Mum’s the word.’ He winked and then opened the door to my room and gestured me inside.
The room was slightly larger than I was expecting, with a comfortable looking bed, a nightstand with a drawer, a washstand with jug and basin, a chair, and a small wardrobe. It was plainly decorated, but clean, and the bedlinen looked crisp and fresh. The lamp was already lit and there was a candlestick beside the bed.
‘I hope it’s all right for you,’ he said, tentatively. ‘There’s more candles in the nightstand if you needs ’em.’
‘Oh, Joe, it’s marvellous,’ I said.
He beamed. ‘Not quite what you’re used to, I don’t s’pose, but I’m glad you likes it.’
‘It will do splendidly,’ I said. I looked back at the door. ‘Is there a key?’
‘On the nightstand, m’dear.’
‘Ah, yes, so it is. Well, I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable. Let’s just hope our ghost puts in an appearance.’
‘Yes,’ said Joe, doubtfully. ‘Let’s just hope.’ He turned to go. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled, then, m’dear, but I’ll be back in two shakes with that brandy.’
He left, shutting the door behind him.
I sat on the bed and pondered my plan. Or, rather, pondered the sudden realization that I had no plan whatsoever. Why was I spending the night “away from home”, less than a mile from home? What was I intending to do? Should I try to stay awake all night, listening for ghosts? What was I going to do if I heard one? Was I there to observe? Or to attempt to deal with the situation? How does one “deal with” a ghost anyway?
I was still sitting there in bewildered contemplation when there was a knock at the door.
‘Yes?’ I said, loudly.
‘It’s me, miss,’ said Joe.
‘Come on in, Joe,’ I said,
The door opened and in came Joe with a tray bearing a large glass of brandy and one of his celebrated doorstop sandwiches.
‘Thought you might like a little somethin’ to eat, miss,’ he said, setting the tray down on the nightstand.
‘You’re very kind, Joe. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure, miss,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to it now, then. You just come up and get I if you needs anything.’
‘Thank you, I shall.’
He left again and after a few moments more thought, I made up my mind what to do. There was no point in exhausting myself in an attempt to remain awake for a ghost that might never come, so the best course was surely to get ready for bed, settle down with a book, nod off to sleep when I needed to and then to “deal with” whatever situation might arise if it happened to awaken me. And if it didn’t, at least I’d be one of the first on the spot in the morning to see the results first hand.
And so I did just that. With the door locked and the key returned to the nightstand, the lamp extinguished and a candle lit in its stead, I changed into my night gown and crept under the covers with “The Man Who Was Thursday”. I munched a little of the surprisingly pleasant cheese sandwich and sipped at the indifferent but no less welcome brandy as I read, and it wasn’t long before the words began to swim on the page and I found myself reading things that Chesterton had never written, so I snuffed out the candle and settled down to sleep.
I didn’t own a watch in those days and there was no clock in the room, so I had no idea what time I was awoken by a metallic click and the creak of a floorboard, but whatever the hour, I was awake at once. I wrapped a shawl around me and picked up the key from the nightstand, making my way as silently as I could manage towards the door. I pushed the key into the lock. Or I tried, at least; something was blocking the keyhole. I got to my knees and tried to look through it, but I could see nothing in the gloom. I was shut in.
Closing my eyes and concentrating hard, I could hear sounds of movement downstairs in the bar. I heard chairs fall and the scrape of table legs on the flagstone floor. There was a crash as a bottle or jug broke, and then silence.
I moved back towards the bed and hunted around in the darkness for the matches so that I could light the candle. With it finally lit, I examined the keyhole once more and thought I could see something glint within it. It appeared that someone had put a key in the lock from the other side. I briefly considered hammering on the door and calling for help, but I couldn’t see that that would accomplish very much. Any miscreant, spectral or human, would hear the commotion and flee, either back to the other realm or out into the night, never to be seen again.
Instead, I dressed as quickly and quietly as I could, concentrating all the while for sounds from below. I thought I could hear movement, but The Dog and Duck was a substantial old building with thick walls and heavy oaken floors, and I couldn’t be sure. What sounds I could hear were soon entirely masked by the clomping of boots on stairs as Joe came down from his attic rooms. The sound seemed to have woken Madame Eugénie, too, and I heard her door open just as Joe clumped through the door to the stairs and onto the landing.
‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ he said, blearily.
‘Quite all right, Mr Arnold, thank you,’ said Madame Eugénie in her dreamy, breathy voice. ‘I became aware of a strong spiritual presence in this place. I wondered if I might be able to help in some way.’
‘P’raps you might, ma’am,’ said Joe. ‘I’d quite like Miss Armstrong to come with us, too, if you don’t mind. I’d like her opinion of things.’
There was a pause. ‘If you think that’s wise,’ she said, dubiously.
‘Ar,’ he said. There was a knock on my door. ‘Miss Armstrong?’ he said in a louder voice. ‘Miss Armstrong? Are you awake?’
‘Awake and dressed, Joe,’ I said. ‘But I can’t get out. There’s something in the lock.’
I heard the sound of a key being rattled in the lock. ‘So there is, miss,’ he said. ‘Looks like… looks like the key from the bathroom door. Can you unlock yourself now?’
I tried my key in the lock, which opened at once. I lifted the latch and opened the door to find Joe and Madame Eugénie on the landing, each in their night attire and holding a candle. Joe’s long nightshirt was set off most entertainingly by a pair of large, unlaced boots.
I nodded a greeting to Madam Eugénie. ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘Shall we go down?’
‘I shall lead the way,’ she said. ‘I know how to deal with unquiet spirits.’
‘As you wish,’ I said. ‘Joe, was anyone else up here after I retired?’
We made our way down the stairs.
‘No so far as I knows, miss,’ he said.
‘Hmmm,’ I said as Madame Eugénie opened the door into the snug. ‘Then I wonder how that key came to be placed in my door.’
Madame Eugénie stopped and turned, her face illuminated by her candle. ‘I’m certain it was the ghost, my dear,’ she said. ‘They can be quite ingenious.’
‘Can they, indeed?’ I said. To be truthful, for all my belief in the mysteries of the supernatural, jamming a key into a lock and turning it so that it couldn’t easily be pushed out from the other side seemed altogether too huma
n an action for blame to fall upon the ghost of Emmanuel Bean. I held my peace for the moment, though.
‘This way,’ said Madame Eugénie, leading us through the snug, past the obvious signs of disruption and into the public bar. She went straight to the skittle alley and held her candle up to the score board. There was a new message.
“Strongbox. Old Barn. Long Lane Farm. I will be avenged. Manny Bean.”
‘Another message,’ said Madame Eugénie.
‘So it would appear,’ I said. ‘Do you know Long Lane Farm, Joe?’
‘Not round here, m’dear. Could be up Gloucester way, maybe?
‘Could be. Does it mean anything to you, Madame Eugénie?’
‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘But it was obviously most important to the spirit for him to have gone to this much trouble.’
‘Joe, light the lamps, please,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a good look round.’
He did as I asked and we quickly searched both bars, revealing nothing of any interest. The chairs and tables I had heard moving and falling were quickly righted, and the remains of the shattered water jug were swept up, but we could see nothing else to indicate what the cause might have been.
The clock behind the bar said it was already a quarter past five so I made my excuses and returned to my room to collect my bag. Madame Eugénie’s door was still open and I took the opportunity to have a quick look inside. The room was very similar to the one I had slept in, with the same assortment of mismatched furniture and I was about to step in and take a look in the wardrobe when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, I turned away from the door and towards the top of the stairs as though I had just stepped out of my own room. It was Joe.
