by Pat Herbert
Fred Pickles smiled at his old friend, as he spied Lydia entering his café with another old biddy in tow. He recognised Araminta at once, having seen her wandering up and down the street outside on several occasions. He had meant to invite her in as she looked so cold and hungry, but each time he got to the door to call her, she had disappeared.
“Hello, Lydia, love,” he greeted the old lady cheerfully. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you today.”
“Yes, Fred. This is Araminta.”
Fred smiled. “What about I call you Minty?” he said, busily drying a cup with a none too clean-looking tea towel.
Araminta returned his smile. “Okay, yes. You do that.”
Lydia, beginning to feel left out, piped up. “Give us two cups of your builders’, will you, Fred? And a couple of your sticky buns, if they’re not more than three days old.” She gave the kind man a wink.
“Get along with you,” he laughed. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring them over.”
The two old ladies did as they were told and shuffled off to the window seat where they sat down thankfully and stared out of the rain-soaked, steamed-up windows.
“What a day to have nowhere to go,” observed Lydia.
“Well, it is November, and it’ll soon be Christmas,” pointed out Minty. “I like your Fred. No one’s ever suggested they call me Minty before. I like it. From now on I shall call myself that, and I need never think of myself as ‘Araminta’ again.”
“Why don’t you like that name? I think it’s very pretty,” said Lydia.
“It’s not the name, it’s the people that gave it to me,” said Minty, seemingly unprepared to explain further.
“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell,” prodded her new friend.
“Not especially,” said Minty. “Here comes Fred with our tea.”
Fred put down two mugs of steaming tea and two big plates of fried eggs and bacon in front of them.
Minty rubbed her hands gleefully and prepared to get stuck in, but Lydia wasn’t entirely happy.
“What about them sticky buns?”
“I thought a hot breakfast would go down a treat,” said Fred. “You can have the buns after.”
“That wasn’t very nice, Lydia,” said Minty, mopping up the grease on her plate with some fried bread. “This is delicious. I’d rather have this than a dozen sticky buns.”
“Yeah, me too, Mint,” said Lydia, already shortening her name still further. “Just that I was looking forward to a bun, and I get a fried egg. Like to know where I stand, that’s all.”
“You’re a funny old basket, and no mistake,” grinned Minty. “This grease’ll help your chest, as well. Do you more good than a dozen doctors.”
Minty soon cleared her plate and, draining her cup of tea, sat back with a contented sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cigarette.”
“I don’t smoke, remember?” said Lydia. “Fred!” she called. “Have you got a ciggy for my friend here?”
“Coming up,” he called back from behind his tea urn.
“He’s a bleeding saint, your Fred,” said Minty.
Five minutes later, Minty was puffing happily away. The smoke, however, sent poor Lydia off into another coughing fit and caused some of the other customers to glare at her.
“Sorry about the smoke,” said Minty, trying her best to direct it elsewhere.
Lydia didn’t complain, however, as she was busy staring at a sheet of paper she had taken from her inside coat pocket.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked Minty, twisting her neck to see what was on it.
“It’s an advert for the Winter Park Eventide Home for Gentlefolk,” said her companion. “I want to live there. It’s lovely.” She passed the sheet of paper to Minty, who regarded it, the right way up now, with interest.
“It’s a lovely price, too, I’ll bet,” she said. “You’ve got no chance of getting in there.”
“I know,” said Lydia with a sigh. “But, you never know. If I won the football pools...”
“Do you do them?”
“No.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dorothy rang the doorbell of number 15 Common Way, feeling a little apprehensive. Although she had dismissed Bernard’s warning of danger, she wasn’t entirely at ease. She had come up against negative psychic forces in the past and there had been danger, she couldn’t deny it. But at least she had some idea of what she was letting herself in for. She glanced around at the imposing building which, once upon a time, would have belonged to some well-to-do aristocrat, she supposed. Now it had been split into three flatlets, occupied by three young working couples. How times had changed.
November opened the door and smiled when she saw her. “Hello,” she said, then looked past her. “Is the reverend not with you?”
“No, dear. He’s busy tonight. But I think we can manage without him, don’t you?”
“Sure,” said November, looking disappointed. “I just thought you’d both come together. I’ve made tea specially.”
“I’m sorry, dear, that you got that impression. But I’m sure I can do justice to your tea.”
“Of course. Please come in,” said Nova. “Mike,” she called, as Dorothy followed her down the hallway. “Miss Plunkett’s here.”
“Please call me Dorothy, and may I call you November?”
“Nova’s best. November’s such a mouthful.”
“Nova it is then. There was a film star called Nova, I seem to remember. She played Lady Jane Grey back in the thirties. Nova Pilbeam. Pretty thing, she was. Only a teenager at the time. She looked a bit like you now I come to think of it.”
“Really?” said Nova. She had never been likened to a film star before, even one as obscure as this Pillock woman. She wasn’t all that flattered, especially as she didn’t know what she looked like. If Dorothy had said she resembled Audrey Hepburn, that would have been a different matter entirely.
Mike Farbon was in the sitting room awaiting his guest, with a full tray of food and tea beside him.
“Hello,” he greeted her. “Please come and have some tea. We’ve got scones and fairy cakes. Shop-bought, I’m afraid, so not up to the vicar’s standards. He gets very spoilt by that housekeeper of his, doesn’t he?”
Dorothy smiled, as she bit into a fairy cake which, she had to admit, wasn’t a patch on Nancy’s.
After tea, Dorothy asked them if they would like to hold a séance, even though there were only the three of them. It could be useful, she said, as she could already feel an alien presence and one that was very distressed indeed. Mike was all for it, but Nova was hesitant.
“I don’t know if we should,” she said. “I’ve been thinking it over. I thought it was a good idea when you suggested it, but it can unleash all sorts of things I’ve been told. Isn’t it best to leave well alone?”
“Only if you want to continue having sleepless nights, dear,” said Dorothy soothingly. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll do any harm by just touching hands and trying to contact the other side. After all, if there is an unhappy spirit in this house, it is here because it wants our help. There really isn’t any alternative.”
“Okay,” Nova said, still not entirely convinced. “Let’s try it then.”
Dorothy suggested they clear away the tea things from the small round table on which they rested, so that they could sit around it in the correct manner, each touching the fingertips of the other, forming an unbroken chain. This they did after Dorothy requested that Mike turn out the light.
It was totally dark in the room, with no sound apart from the ticking clock and the occasional flurry of leaves whipped by the wind against the window pane.
“Is there anybody there?”
Nova nearly burst out laughing. Mike kicked her gently under the table. Dorothy strove to ignore their obvious amusement. It wasn’t funny, but they’d soon find that out for themselves, she thought grimly.
“If there is someone there,” Dorothy per
severed, “shake the table once.”
Sitting in silence, they waited. Suddenly the table shook under their hands. Nova screamed, and Mike gripped her. Dorothy was ecstatic.
“Can you speak to us?” she asked eagerly.
As if in answer, Nova became suddenly rigid and her eyes glazed over. She started to talk in a flat, somewhat deeper voice than her own.
“I’m here. I’ve not gone anywhere. I’ve been here for over seventy years. All these young people don’t know. What are they doing in my house? I had a child, but I never got the chance to say goodbye to it or anything.”
Nova slumped forward in a dead faint, and Mike rushed to turn on the light. Dorothy felt nauseous and shivery as she returned to normality with a bang. She had never got used to that. Time and again she had asked her clients to wait for her to come round before putting on the lights or trying to talk to her, but they usually forgot. She watched Mike fuss over his comatose girlfriend but felt too weak just then to help. In fact, she’d have quite liked his arm around her, herself.
“Nova, darling,” he said, “are you all right?” He rubbed her hand, which felt cold to his touch. She moaned and stirred.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You got taken over, love,” Mike explained, as she sat up and blinked. “That voice that speaks through you did it again.”
Dorothy had now recovered sufficiently to get to her feet and speak. “I must say I was surprised that the spirit didn’t talk through me like they usually do, but then it’s used to you, I suppose.”
“So, I really am possessed?” Nova looked alarmed. “I thought it was a bit of a joke before, but it sounds serious. I’m frightened – what’s going to happen to me?”
“Don’t worry,” Dorothy reassured her, “I’m sure the spirit is harmless insofar as it means you no harm personally. The only harm will be if you collapse with exhaustion. The spirit is restless and unhappy and somehow bound to this house. It would seem it has been living here for a long time, and I think it was probably disturbed when you young people moved in. It has now found an outlet through which to communicate with the living. You, Nova, I’m afraid.”
“Wow! Spooky!” said Mike, trying to lighten the mood a little. He was still holding his girlfriend’s hand.
“It – she – seems very troubled,” said Nova. “Something must have happened to her here. Something awful.” She gave an involuntary shiver.
Dorothy smiled sadly. “Yes, Nova, I think that’s about the size of it, and I think you will continue to be troubled by this unhappy spirit until we find out just exactly what it wants.”
Chapter Thirty
November Jones was worried; in fact, she was terrified. The idea that she was ‘possessed’ by some mad spirit had given her even more sleepless nights. What was she to do? Dorothy Plunkett hadn’t been reassuring at all, only made her feel more scared than ever, and Dr MacTavish only had pills of oblivion to suggest. So, it was to Bernard she was now turning. She rang the vicarage doorbell the afternoon following the séance and waited.
“’Ello?” said Mrs Harper. “What do you want?”
It wasn’t a particularly friendly greeting, in fact it was plain rude. But the young girl could see at once that the old woman was in pain. Her breathing was laboured, and she was holding her hip.
“Sorry to bother you, but I came to see the vicar, if he’s at home.”
“If ’e’s at ’ome?” Mrs Harper puffed. “’E’s always at home, where else would ’e be? ’E needs a good ’oliday, if you ask me, to stop ’im being pestered by the likes of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Nova repeated. “I didn’t mean to disturb him, but I’m very worried. I thought he might be able to reassure me.”
The old housekeeper softened a little. “All right,” she said. “I suppose you’d better come in. I’ll see if he’s free.”
“Let me go up,” she said quickly. “I know my way. You needn’t bother.”
Mrs Harper was about to protest, but the pain in her hip was getting worse by the day, and the stairs were beginning to resemble the north face of the Eiger.
“All right,” she said, “Mind you knock, first.” It seemed Bernard’s protests hadn’t fallen on stony ground after all.
Nova was about to go up the stairs but turned to watch the old housekeeper hobble slowly back to the kitchen. Poor old soul, she thought. Doesn’t anyone realise she’s not well?
Instead of proceeding up the stairs, she followed her into the kitchen and saw her struggling with a loaded tea tray. “Let me help you, please,” said Nova, rushing to take it from her.
“I thought you was gone up to see the vicar,” said Mrs Harper, catching her breath. “I was about to bring the tea as I know ’e always likes to give ’is visitors refreshment.”
She sagged into a chair by the kitchen table. The chair protested with a creak. No doubt the old woman’s excessive weight wasn’t helping matters, thought Nova with concern.
“Have you seen a doctor about that pain in your hip?” asked Nova, sitting down beside her. She knew the signs well enough. She had seen her mother suffer in the same way.
“I don’t need no doctor,” protested Mrs Harper. “It’s just a bit of rheumatism. You got to expect it at my age.”
Just then, Dorothy returned from a shopping trip at the local store. She was loaded down with butter, eggs, cheese and bread. She came into the kitchen, calling to Mrs Harper.
“Hello, Nancy, dear. I’ve got everything on your list. Oh, hello,” she said, seeing Nova as she entered the kitchen. “Have you come to see me, dear? Has anything else happened since last night?”
Nova stood up. “Er, no. Not exactly. I actually came to see the vicar as I was worried. I know he’s not clairvoyant like you, but he is a man of the cloth. I just thought he might be able to suggest something.”
Her words trailed off. She felt like she was betraying Dorothy or, at the very least, casting doubt on her experience and knowledge.
Dorothy smiled, however. “A good idea. I always find talking to Bernie a tonic. But what are you doing in the kitchen, then? Has the old buzzard refused to see you? I’ll see about that.”
“No, Dorothy, I was worried about this lady,” she said, looking at Mrs Harper. “She seemed in pain, and I was suggesting she see a doctor.”
“Quite right,” said Dorothy briskly. “I’ve been aware of Nancy’s discomfort since I came to stay here. Now that I can take the burden off you, dear,” she said, turning to Mrs Harper, “you can look after yourself for a change.”
The two younger women watched her as she took this in. The worried look on her face, showing clearly through the look of pain, wasn’t lost on either of them.
“Now, don’t go thinking you’re no longer needed,” said Dorothy. “I can’t cook like you, for a start. Bernie will want you back and fighting fit as soon as possible but, in the meantime, I can look after the housework.”
“But I can’t let ’im down,” moaned Mrs Harper. “I’m all right. Just a bit of rheumatics.”
“No, dear, it’s more than that. And I’m going to call Robbie right now to get him to come and have a look at you.”
This was too much for the old woman. She raised her apron to her streaming eyes and bawled her heart out.
Robbie studied Mrs Harper through his tortoiseshell rimmed spectacles.
“How are you feeling, dear?” he asked her, although he could see for himself. Her usually stolid features were flushed, and her eyes were screwed up. The pain was searing through her, and it was clear she was suffering badly.
“I’ve felt better, Doc,” she admitted.
“Why didn’t you come and see me sooner?”
“Oh, I’ve been managing all right up to now. I’m not one to make a fuss.”
She winced in pain as she said this, and Dorothy knelt beside her, taking her hand and rubbing it gently.
“Where does it hurt, Mrs Aitch?” asked Robbie.
&nb
sp; “My ’ip, Doctor,” she replied, rubbing her left side.
“Right, young lady,” said Robbie brightly. “We need to get you X-rayed at once. Then we’ll know what has to be done.”
“What d’you think’s wrong, Doc?” she asked, obviously expecting a death sentence.
“Wear and tear, that’s all. You’ve probably been overdoing it lately. Now, I want to get you down for an operation to replace that naughty hip that’s giving you all the trouble.”
“Does that mean I need to go into ’ospital?”
“I’m afraid it does, but then when you come out, you’ll be as good as new. After a period of convalescence, of course.”
Mrs Harper looked doubtful, but the pain was so bad now, she was willing to try anything, anything at all.
While Nancy was being made a fuss of downstairs, Nova made her way upstairs to Bernard’s study. He was puzzled, but secretly pleased, to see her again so soon, flattered that she had come for his advice. But why didn’t she want to see Dorothy as well?
“So, you had a séance with Dorothy?” he asked her, after she had told him all about Mrs Harper’s bad hip and the plans for moving her to hospital. Bernard’s concern for his old housekeeper was put to the back of his mind as he could see Nova needed his attention just as much at that moment.
“Yes, Vicar,” she replied.
“How did it go?”
“To tell you the truth, it was pretty scary,” she said.
“Dorothy told me she’d had some success contacting the spirit that’s in your house...”
“In my body, more like. That’s what’s freaking me out.”
Nova sat looking at Bernard, her pretty face marred by the fear in her eyes and the tiredness around them. He reached out his hand to touch her, then withdrew it hastily.
“Look, let me call Dorothy. I’m sure she’ll be able to reassure you better than I can.”
Nova looked up quickly. “No, it’s all right,” she said. “She’s been very kind, and I’m okay with everything. She says we’ll need to have another séance soon to see what the spirit wants with me – or us. She thinks it’s asking for our help, but we don’t know why yet.”
