by Pat Herbert
“Yes, sorry about that. I tried to materialise properly through you, but I couldn’t. Your resistance was too strong. But now you can see me properly, maybe we can get to know each other, and maybe you can help me. Help me get out of here.”
Nova splashed in the warming water, trying to find the sponge. She began to relax and squeezed the sponge down her back as she listened to the woman’s voice. It was soothing to her now, even though it was uncultured and vaguely hoarse, as if she had a sore throat.
“How do you think I can help you?” she asked her, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have a conversation with a ghost.
“By finding my son for me. Or what happened to him. I never knew. I’ve been here in this house ever since the last century,” said the woman. “Trapped. You’ve no idea what that’s like.”
Didn’t she, though? She was feeling just as trapped in this house at the moment. Then, as Nova studied the woman’s face, she suddenly felt like she was looking into a mirror.
“You know what I think, Nova?” the woman continued, leaning her back against the wall beside the bath.
“What’s that?”
“You look like me. Can’t you see the resemblance?”
Nova began to think that she really was going mad. This situation was totally surreal.
“Er, not really. My hair’s not so dark as yours for a start, and I’m certainly not as beautiful.”
Nova watched, with amusement, as she saw the woman raise a hand to her hair, as if preening before a mirror.
“No, well, maybe not. You’re very pretty, though.”
“What did you say your name was?” asked Nova, squeezing the sponge over her head and letting the water trickle down her face and neck.
“Rose – Rose Jones. And yours is November Jones. I know that, I’ve been here long enough to know that.”
“So?”
“So – little Miss Fancy Pants, we’ve both got the same surname.”
“Jones? Don’t you know how common that name is?”
“I suppose it is. But you can’t deny we look alike.”
“Well, it had crossed my mind,” Nova admitted. “Anyway, Jones isn’t my only name. It’s the only name I use, but my full name’s much longer.”
“Longer – how d’you mean?”
“Believe it or not, according to my dad, my real name’s November Shirley Moreland Jones Holman, although he dropped the Holman just before I was born, he told me. Then he decided to drop the Moreland bit, too. He said he didn’t think we had a right to the name, although he never explained why.”
The dark lady laughed. It was a tinkling, almost pleasant sound to her ears, and she wondered how she could ever have been afraid of this woman – spirit or ghost – or whatever she was.
“Blimey! No wonder your dad cut it short. Wait a minute, though,” said the woman suddenly, stopping in mid-laugh. “Did you say ‘Moreland’?”
“That’s right,” said Nova, sponging herself vigorously now. “What of it?”
“Then we are related!” screamed the woman. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Don’t be silly.” But Nova knew she wasn’t being silly. Far from it. It was all starting to make sense.
“‘Moreland’ was the name of the father of my child. So you must be related to me. I christened my son Edward Moreland Jones. It was put on his birth certificate, all official and above board.”
Just then, Mike’s voice could be heard calling from below. “If you don’t come now, I’ll come and get you, ready or not.”
Forgetting she had locked the door against just such a possibility, she leapt out of the bath and dried herself quickly, only noticing in passing that Rose Jones had completely disappeared.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“We don’t need another séance,” declared Nova to her visitors, as she entered the living room. She looked from Robbie to Bernard, and then to Dorothy. All three were standing in front of the fire, drinks in their hands. She noticed it had started snowing again as Mike pulled the curtains against the dark, cold night.
“No, dear,” agreed Dorothy, “We’ve come for a different purpose.”
“I know. You said you wanted to look in the cellar. Can’t think why.”
She took the drink Mike had poured for her and downed it in one go, not even aware of what it was. The searing heat she felt as it slid down her throat soon told her it was whisky. She coughed.
Robbie spoke. “I saw the spirit, Nova,” he said. “She was pointing at the door down to the basement as if she wanted to show me something in there. I think it’s where we’ll find out why you’ve been possessed by this woman.”
Nova gave him a knowing smile. “Is she beautiful with very dark hair, looking vaguely Mediterranean?”
“Why, yes, dear.”
“And is she dressed in old-fashioned clothes, like something out of Dickens?”
“That’s right. You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. Just now. In the bath.”
“She was having a bath?” Bernard, like everyone else in the room, was puzzled.
“No, of course not,” laughed Nova. “I was in the bath. She appeared to me beside it.”
“No wonder you didn’t want to come down,” said Mike. “Or maybe you wanted to and couldn’t?”
Nova ignored him. She went on to tell them what she had found out from Rose’s communicative ghost. When it came to the bit about her long name, Robbie jumped in.
“Moreland, did you say?”
“Yes. My real name is Moreland Jones. The Holman bit was my father’s adopted name. Why? What’s so special about ‘Moreland’?”
Robbie was recalling an old lady he had recently seen in his surgery. She had only been able, or willing, to give him her first name but, when he applied to the NHS for her medical records, he was able to complete her details for the file. Blessed with a good memory for names, he remembered writing the old lady’s. ‘Araminta Moreland’. It could just be a coincidence, of course.
“Oh,” said Nova, interested. “How old is this woman?”
“I can’t quite remember, but mid-sixties, I think,” Robbie replied.
“Then she could be my grandmother!” exclaimed Nova, “and the ghost is her mother. We’ve found her long-lost child!”
They all stared at her. Mike was the first to speak.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “How did you work that out?”
“I just said I was a Moreland, or weren’t you listening?” There was an edge to her voice.
“Yes, I heard everything, Nova,” said Mike, his tone equally edgy. “I just don’t believe in coincidences, that’s all.”
“You didn’t believe in ghosts, either, did you?”
Mike shrugged. “Well, I suppose…”
“Anyway, I think that’s what this has all been about. The ghost – Rose – was able to possess me because I was related to her.”
Dorothy stepped in at this point. “There’s an easy way to settle all this, dear,” she said. “You must know the names of all your grandparents.”
“Well, no, not really. My dad was very cagey. You see, he fell out with his parents when he found out from his grandmother that his father had been adopted. Not sure why it made any difference, but I think my grandmother wasn’t very happy that he had me out of wedlock. She was shocked, as I suppose everyone was back then by such things. Of course, my dad did marry my mother soon after I was born. I’m quite legitimate these days.”
She gave an uneasy laugh, but no one joined in.
“So you don’t know who your grandparents were?”
“Not my paternal ones, no. You see, apart from anything else, they lived in London, and I was born and brought up in Blackpool. They never visited, even.”
“Well, dear, then you could be right,” said Dorothy.
“And I know who my great grandmother was, too. It’s the ghost!” Then her face fell.
“What is it?” asked Mike.
“Oh no, I’m wrong. I just remembered. She told me she had lost her son, not her daughter. So it can’t be Araminta, after all.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Nova’s disappointment was catching. Everyone in the little group looked down in the mouth. Then Bernard piped up.
“Never mind,” he said, “the ghost is still your great grandmother, even if Araminta isn’t your grandmother.”
She gave a half smile. “Suppose.”
“Anyway,” said Dorothy briskly, “time’s getting on. Hadn’t we better get on with the reason why we’re all here?”
“The cellar?” asked Mike.
“That’s right. Shall we go down there?”
“Let me lead the way,” said Mike. “I’ve got a torch. There’s no electric light and the stairs are dicey.”
“Hasn’t anybody been down there lately?” asked Dorothy.
“Not since we all moved in, no,” said Mike. “It used to be a coal cellar in the old days. There’s probably some coal left down there.”
“Still, we must go and see what our ghost wanted, Robbie,” said Dorothy to him. “She was definitely pointing at the cellar door when you saw her?”
“Yes. Then she evaporated.”
“Okay,” said Mike. “That settles it. Let’s find out what, if anything, is down there.”
They followed the young man gingerly through the cellar door, his torch beam lighting their way. He stepped carefully down the steps, telling Robbie who was immediately behind him which steps to avoid. Robbie did the same for Bernard, then Bernard for Dorothy and, finally, Dorothy for Nova. By this method, they all reached the bottom safely.
“Phew!” said Mike. “I don’t want to do that too often.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to,” said Robbie, looking around the space they now occupied.
Mike swung the torch beam around, shedding its light on the various corners and the long-disused coal chute. As he had predicted, there was still piles of coal lying about, although most of the floor was still visible. He shone his torch on the ground around his feet.
“There,” he declared. “Just a perfectly ordinary coal cellar, as far as I can see.”
Everyone had to agree. Nothing seemed unusual. No treasure chests or dead bodies.
Robbie was about to remark just this when his tortoiseshell-framed spectacles allowed him to pick out something that no one else had seen.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” asked Mike.
“Shine the torch over there,” ordered Robbie, pointing to just below the chute. “There!”
They all stared, but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Just some nutty slack, that was all. Then Nova screamed.
“What’s that? Over there. It – it looks like bones…”
There was little doubt now, they all could see. They slowly approached the small pile of what looked like stiff, white spaghetti, chopped up. When they looked more closely, they could see it was nothing of the kind. Nova was right, it was bones.
Mike found a coal shovel lying not far from the spot and started shovelling the nutty slack away while everyone stood by, watching in mounting horror as, finally, all was revealed. There wasn’t just one pile of bones; next to it was another pile of bones. The remains of not one, but two bodies.
“Could – could just be the family pets,” suggested Bernard nervously. “Maybe the family who lived here once used to bury them down here.
“Don’t be daft, Bernie,” said Robbie, “those aren’t dog bones. They’re human. I’m a doctor, so I should know.”
Nova, at that moment, slumped in a heap on the cold hard floor. Mike was the first to approach her but, as he did so, she sat up and started speaking in the low, cockney tones now familiar to all of them.
“That’s me there, on the left,” said the voice. “Me, Rose Jones. There, beside me, is Lily Martin, the mother of Mary Josephine who was given away to the man who lived here. Charles Moreland was his name, and he was Mary Josephine’s real father, with Lily. My boy was called Edward, after the father who was Charles Moreland’s brother. It was Charles who murdered me and Lily because we knew too much and he didn’t want his precious wife to find out.”
It was a long spiel and it was all they could do to take it in. Nova was silent now, as Mike picked up her inert body.
“Take my torch, Robbie,” he ordered. “I need to get Nova to bed at once.”
“How are you feeling now, love?” asked Mike, later that evening.
“I – I’ll be all right,” she told him, sitting up in bed. “She’s been here again, Mike.”
“Who?”
“Who d’you think? The ghost. Rose.”
“But we all heard her. She told us everything.”
“You heard her? When?”
Mike explained how she had fainted and then started talking in Rose’s voice. The whole sorry mess had been explained.
“We’re still a bit unclear about it all, though.”
“I was possessed again, was I?”
“Yes. It seems that, when you’re helpless, she can get inside you. But you said she was here again. Did you see her?”
“Yes. I saw her. She explained everything. The one thing she still didn’t know was what happened to her son.”
There was a tap on the door at this point, and both Bernard and Robbie came in, followed by Dorothy with a cup of tea.
Nova found it the most comforting cup of tea she had ever had. “I wish I could have helped Rose find her son, but at least the bodies – bones, rather – will get a proper burial, now.”
“Once the police have finished with them,” said Mike. “That might take some time, of course.”
They could all hear the clatter of size tens police-issue down below.
“There’s blue tape everywhere,” grumbled Mike. “The others are all moving out as soon as poss, they told me.”
“Can’t say I blame them,” smiled Nova, feeling relaxed now.
“They came back from the pub fifteen minutes ago, all blind drunk,” Mike told her. “But when they saw the police, they soon sobered up.”
Nova laughed. “Still,” she said, suddenly serious, “we’ll have to move too now, won’t we? We won’t be able to afford the rent all by ourselves.”
“We’ll think about that later,” said Mike. “You just need to get a good night’s sleep.”
Bernard spoke up now. “Before you do,” he said, “I think I know Rose’s son.”
Everyone looked at him in astonishment.
“I – I’ve met a man called Ted,” he began.
Nova and Mike burst out laughing. “Bully for you,” said Mike. “Nice chap, is he?”
“Not very, no,” said Bernard, not responding to the banter. “His real name is Edward Moreland Jones. He was adopted by a man called Holman and – need I go on?”
Nova was staring at him. “You – you’ve met my grandfather?”
“Yes,” said Bernard, “I believe I have.”
Chapter Fifty
There was still no sign of Ted two days after Minty had first set out to talk to him. He must be more ill than Miss Chapman said, she thought. And, if that was so, it was imperative she find him soon, because Lydia’s apparent remission hadn’t lasted long. Her friend was deteriorating fast, and the gimlet-eyed Miss Chapman had been in to see her several times since.
“You know I don’t allow people to die on my premises,” she had whispered to Minty. “It gives the place a bad name.”
“Lydia’s not dying,” Minty had insisted. “She’s just got flu, that’s all.”
“Well, you make sure that’s all it is.” Miss Chapman had poked her in the chest with a long, red fingernail. “I will insist she is transferred to hospital if she doesn’t recover soon.”
Minty didn’t want that to happen but, if it was inevitable, she had to find Ted before they were forced out. She desperately wanted to find out as much as she could from him about
his origins, in the hope she would find out more about the rest of her family, which was, of course, his family too.
So, she set out once again to find Ted’s room. She knew she was risking being turfed out if Miss Chapman caught her wandering about. She had made it perfectly clear the last time that she didn’t allow her ‘inmates’ to walk about the building ‘willy-nilly’, but she had to take the risk. It was now or never.
So, she thought, where would Ted’s room likely to be? Let’s be systematic about this. Certainly he wouldn’t be in the posh wing. There was probably so-called servants’ quarters somewhere, no doubt with stone steps winding up to cold attics. Or, equally likely, they could be in the basement. Which way, she wondered. Upstairs or down?
As she was debating this, she saw a familiar figure approach her down the corridor. Dr Robbie MacTavish stopped in mid-stride when he saw Minty.
“Dear lady, I’m so pleased to see you. Are you a resident here?”
“I am, Doctor. So’s Lydia. We moved in here a couple of weeks ago.”
Robbie was delighted to learn she had meant what she said when she had told him her friend Lydia would live out what remained of her days in comfort.
“I’m so glad you were able to move in here. I understand there’s quite a waiting list.”
“Yes, well. Money talks in most languages.” She gave him a sly wink. “But what are you doing here? Is one of the residents ill?”
“Not a resident, exactly. I was called in to see the odd job man. Do you know him?”
“Funnily enough, I’m looking for him myself, right now. He is, apparently, my cousin, would you believe? Here was I thinking I didn’t have a soul in the world and, thanks to dear Lydia, I find I have a cousin. Between you and me, Doc, I’m not sure I’m altogether pleased with the bargain.”
Robbie smiled. He knew exactly what she meant. “I think you’ll have to hurry if you want to see him. I’m afraid he’s very poorly. I’ve asked Bernard – Reverend Paltoquet – to look in on him too. I think he’s got something he wants to get off his chest. It seems a shame that you should gain and lose a relative so quickly.”
