‘That’s true. When they were first engaged they used to come in early to dust and light the fires, but then they said there were strange things going on and they were too afraid. Malling lights the fires now.’
‘The maids don’t sleep here?’
‘No, they live in the village.’
‘I shall have to speak to them.’
She gave a sharp nod. ‘They’re good girls and they work hard, but they have their fancies, like so many young girls do. Susan is the younger and she is very timid and easily frightened. A shadow, or a bird, is enough to startle her. Mary Ann is more composed but she is full of stories. I don’t know where she gets them from, but I think they are very common about here.’
‘Do any of these stories relate to this house?’
Mrs Malling kneaded her hands together. ‘One of them does, yes. I don’t know how much truth there is in it, mind, but it’s about the Lassiters, the folk Mr Honeyacre bought the house from.’
‘True or not, a good story always interests me,’ said Mina, encouragingly. She left a meaningful silence.
Mrs Malling gave a nervous cough. ‘It’s a very tragic tale, Miss.’
Mina smiled. ‘Oh, those are the best sort.’
Mrs Malling gazed at Mina carefully, as if trying to assess how disturbing she might find the tale. Mina remained firm and gazed back.
‘Well,’ Mrs Malling began, with noticeable reluctance, ‘it seems that the Lassiters came from somewhere out of the county and settled here to start a stables. They thought they would use the land to exercise the horses. And the Brighton railway had not long been built, which was a good thing for these parts, or so they thought. There was Mr and Mrs Lassiter, quite a young couple they were, and very devoted. They had a child, a boy, their first born, and they had great hopes for him, as people do. The nursery was all beautifully decorated and crowded with so many playthings and they engaged a nursemaid to look after him. But —’ here Mrs Malling gave a little gasp and winced as if in pain, although it was only the hurt from the story — ‘there was something wrong with the child. The parents knew it from the start, but they couldn’t admit it to themselves. They thought that with the right diet and good doctoring and his mother’s love he would get well and be just like other boys. I don’t know what was wrong because they always kept him hidden away. No one in the village ever saw him. It was just stories. Some said that the child would never grow up and others said it would be best if it didn’t if you see what I mean. There were those —’ her voice took on a hushed tone, as if there was some danger of her being overheard — ‘who said it was a child sent by Old Nick, if you’ll pardon the expression. That maybe he wasn’t even a real boy at all, but a demon or some such thing.’ Mrs Malling took a moment to compose herself before she went on. ‘And then, one day, the child was nowhere to be found, and the nursemaid had disappeared, too. The rumour in the village was that she had taken him out to play in the fresh air and he had fallen in the brook and drowned.’
‘Was the body ever discovered?’ asked Mina.
‘No, never, Miss. In fact, neither of them was ever seen again. It might have been an accident, of course, and the nurse was afraid she would be blamed for it and ran away. But some said it was deliberate and that she killed the demon to save the souls of the parents. Of course, Mrs Lassiter went quite distracted with grief. She took to wandering about the house sighing and crying out for her boy. It got so that her poor husband had to have her locked away for her own safety, but she wouldn’t eat and so she wasted away and died.’
‘But she wasn’t buried here?’ said Mina. ‘I was told there are no church records relating to anyone who once lived in this house.’
‘No, it’s thought that Mr Lassiter left Hollow House and took her to be buried in a family plot; somewhere in Kent, I believe.’
‘What is his history after that?’
‘No one knows. Some say he went mad and had to be put away, others say he blew his brains out. Either way, it wasn’t him but a nephew who sold the house to Mr Honeyacre.’
Mina was obliged to compare Mrs Malling’s lurid tale with her host’s brief and less dramatic account of the Lassiters. ‘Mr Honeyacre has not told me this story. Either he does not know it or he is keeping it from me. Which is it?’
Mrs Malling looked uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t like to tell it to him, especially with him being newly married and such. It’s not a nice thing to think about. But he has just now asked me to write down all I know about the house, so I suppose I shall have to do it. Only he might not tell Mrs Honeyacre because he won’t have her upset, not for anything, and I would never say a word to her.’
‘I promise to respect that wish and say nothing of this to Mrs Honeyacre,’ said Mina, provoking a faint look of surprise from Mrs Malling. ‘Would Mr Malling have anything to add to this story?’
‘Oh no, he never listens to village gossip.’
‘What about your excellent cook — was she in service with Mr Honeyacre during the lifetime of his first wife?’
‘Yes, Mrs Blunt. But she was with him when he was in Brighton. She never lived here till now. She has a room in the new wing. She hasn’t made any complaints.’
‘If there is time before dinner, I would very much like to take a look inside the storeroom,’ said Mina. ‘The room next to this one. I have been told that it was once a nursery.’
‘It was. And —’
‘Yes?’
‘It is supposed to be the room where Mrs Lassiter died.’
‘How interesting. Then I must view it at once.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mrs Malling. She rose to her feet. ‘Was there anything you especially wished to see?’
Mina was unwilling to tell anyone that she had seen an apparition in that room and it was for this reason that she would like a closer look. ‘No, I intend to learn all I can about the house and Mr Honeyacre said I could explore any room I liked. I see you carry the keys about you.’
‘Yes, at all times.’
‘I understand that Mr Honeyacre has the other.’
‘Yes, he has all the household keys, but he doesn’t carry them about, he keeps them in a safe in his study. I don’t think he has had occasion to use them since he moved here.’
Mina eased carefully from her chair and followed the housekeeper into the corridor. Mrs Malling turned the key in the lock of the unmarked door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow Mina to enter first. ‘We like to keep this room as clean and well-dusted as any in the house,’ said Mrs Malling. ‘Mr Honeyacre is very particular about his art and antiquities. Everything in here has its final place already determined once all the rooms are ready.’
Mina looked about her and had to admit it was a very well-ordered room. The floor was uncarpeted but thoroughly mopped. There were two tall wooden cabinets, each with many shallow drawers, and three more with double doors inlaid with marquetry. Two weighty chests of obvious antiquity had layers of thick rugs rolled on top. Objects that were presumably framed artworks were carefully wrapped in dust cloths and leaned against one wall. The item that particularly attracted Mina’s attention was a cheval mirror on wheels. It was far taller than she and draped with a white cloth. Could this be what she had seen through the window?
The curtains were closed. ‘I can tell that this room is aired regularly,’ she said, approvingly.
‘Oh yes, we take great care over that. We open the curtains and air the room every morning just for a little while.’
Mina walked over to the window, pulled aside one curtain and peered out. If she turned her head she could just see the decorative urn, the one on the extreme right as she had faced the house, which was directly below her bedroom window. The mirror, however, was not currently in a position where someone standing outside the house could see it and she knew that it had moved in the few moments between her first seeing it and looking again. Had that been an illusion? If the floor was being mopped it might have been moved, but, on her arrival, both
maids had been occupied with the luggage. Mina touched the carved frame as if to admire it. ‘What exquisite work,’ she said.
‘Oh, Mr Honeyacre has the most wonderful taste, I’m sure.’
‘How convenient as well, as it can easily be moved to wherever one wishes it,’ Mina added, demonstrating with a gentle push that the mirror moved smoothly and without sound. ‘And these fine cabinets are where Mr Honeyacre keeps his collection of antiquities?’
‘That part of the collection which has not already been placed in its final location. He has the key to those.’
Mrs Malling stood by patiently as Mina studied the room. The walls had not been papered but painted, a pale wash on which were images of horses and ponies in watercolour. In one corner was something covered in draperies. Despite its concealment, Mina could guess from its shape and location what it was. ‘So this was where the Lassiter’s son slept — and where he played?’
‘It was,’ said Mrs Malling. ‘I was told that it was Mrs Lassiter herself who painted the pictures on the walls to amuse her son. And after she lost her mind this is where she was locked away.’
Mina knew it would have been impertinent to ask to search inside the cupboards and drawers without Mr Honeyacre’s permission, but she allowed herself a little inquisitiveness. Limping over to the shape in the corner she drew back the dust sheet and found as she had suspected, a rocking horse, painted in bright colours and well-varnished. ‘I have two brothers,’ she said, ‘they played with a toy such as this. Was this the Lassiters’ property?’
‘It was. We found it behind some old bedsteads in one corner with some blankets over it, looking all forgotten. Except sometimes…’
‘Yes?’ Mrs Malling seemed unwilling to reveal more. Mina gave the toy a little push and it moved smoothly, making a soft rhythmic creaking noise before it came to rest.
Mrs Malling drew away as if afraid of the sound. ‘I think we should go now,’ she said.
Soon after Mina had returned to her room, Zillah arrived to help her prepare for dinner, bringing with her a box of hair ornaments loaned by Nellie. This was a comparatively simple task as Mina had only one suitable gown to wear. The maid said nothing as she observed the unusual cut of Mina’s clothes, the better to accommodate her slight, twisted frame. When Mina was at home the general maidservant Rose often helped with her hair. It was simply styled, so that Mina could dress it herself for every day, although doing so sometimes made her shoulders and back ache. For family meals and occasions when her mother was present and especially demanding and unsparing of her criticism, Rose’s help was always required and she had done well enough, but Zillah showed why she had become so invaluable to Nellie in so short a time. Mina, who only looked in a mirror when strictly necessary, now did so to admire Zillah’s work, the fingers skilled, the brush never tugging, just smoothing and coaxing the long waves into a shiny cascade.
‘I would be interested to know your opinion of the maids here,’ said Mina, ‘since it seems to me that so much of what troubles the Honeyacres comes from them. Do you think they are sensible girls?’
‘No, Miss, not at all,’ said Zillah, briskly, ‘they are both very foolish and have tried to draw me into their way of thinking. Mary Ann tells ghost tales, some of which are very silly, and Susan even told me that she sees things that I don’t, as if the very idea will cause me to have visions. They have claimed that books and plates and ornaments, even furniture, have started to move about on their own. There have been broken plates, but I was not there to see them fall. When I said that dropped dishes are always the result of carelessness, not ghosts, they gave me the most pitying looks.’
‘Are they playing tricks on you, do you think?’
Zillah began to twist Mina’s hair into long slender plaits that could be arranged to frame the contours of her face. ‘That is hard to tell. They both profess to be afraid, Susan especially. Even though the servants’ quarters are free from spirit visitations they refuse to stay in the house at night, as they think, should they be called upon to attend their employers or guests, they will encounter a ghost or some such horror walking about. I think it is a good thing they go home at night or we would all be troubled with their hysterics. Mr Honeyacre has asked Dr Hamid to interview them this afternoon, as he seeks a doctor’s opinion.’
‘What of Miss Pet?’
Zillah’s expression softened. ‘Oh, she is so devoted to Mrs Honeyacre; they are almost like sisters. She is quiet and sensible and affectionate. I think — in fact, I hope — we may become friends.’
Mina, as she gazed into the mirror, thought she saw a slight blush form on Zillah’s cheeks. ‘Do you know if she has seen or heard anything strange?’
‘I don’t think so, but if she has she does not like to talk about it, as she knows that Mrs Honeyacre believes in spirit visitations what with being a theatrical person and she would do anything rather than upset her. Also —’ she paused.
‘Also?’ Mina queried.
Zillah completed the styling by holding it in place with a silk ribbon bow and then selected some jewelled combs. ‘It’s a delicate matter, Miss, but Miss Pet believes that Mrs Honeyacre thinks she might be on her way to providing her husband with an addition to the family.’
‘Ah,’ said Mina. ‘I noticed that he has been very protective of her and I had wondered if he was concerned for her health. Now I understand. Of course, he would be taking especial care for her not to be alarmed by anything, so that is all the more reason for me to try and resolve this matter quickly, if I can.’
Zillah stood back to admire her handiwork.
‘Thank you, Zillah; my hair has never looked better. I shall make sure to engage you if I am to go to the costume ball.’ Mina had not mentioned it to Nellie but she was still undecided about attending.
‘The Spanish lady? Oh yes, Mrs Jordan has ordered the gown and the combs and mantilla are all ready for you. You’re to see the dressmaker next week.’
Conversation was kept artificially light over dinner, where the table was resplendent with a handsome roast joint, savouries, sauces, jellies and custards. That morning’s visit to St Mond’s was the main subject and Mr Honeyacre made some amusing comments about church mice before discussing the antiquity of the pulpit and the improvements he meant to make to the steps leading down to the churchyard so that the ladies would not be in danger of tripping up. Kitty was very quiet and ate sparingly and her husband occasionally urged her to eat more beef, soliciting approval from Dr Hamid for this advice, which he was glad to give.
The conversation moved on to the impending costume ball and the gentlemen remained silent and nodded appreciatively as the ladies talked of the silken elegance they planned. Nellie was eager for Kitty to visit Brighton to take tea with her at the Grand Hotel and view the latest fashionable arrivals from France. By the end of the meal it was determined that Kitty would ornament the ball by recreating her costume as Princess Kirabampu, only in fabrics more gorgeous than were sufficient for the popular stage.
Once dinner was done Mr Honeyacre drew Dr Hamid aside for a private consultation, though from overheard whispers it appeared that what he most required was advice on the merits of a special bottle of brandy he kept in his study. The ladies retired to the drawing room where Miss Pet brought Kitty her little dog and amused it with a piece of coloured ribbon. Mr Malling came to tend to the fire from which Mina guessed that the maids had already departed.
The quietness of the country enveloped them. They were far from any woodlands or livestock and could not expect to hear the cry of birds or nocturnal creatures through the thick draperies. There was the comfortable popping of wood and hiss of coal, the thrum of flames caught by wind from the chimney. Little Scrap entertained them with squeals and growls, but did not seem inclined to bark.
‘I hope you have found some reading in Benjamin’s library to amuse you,’ said Kitty.
‘I have indeed,’ said Mina, deciding not to mention her choice.
‘And you also
write?’
‘I do.’
‘Perhaps you could tell us one of your stories?’
Mina paused. Few people were aware that the majority of her works, which were published under the name of Robert Neil, were tales of demons, ghosts, sprites and monsters. Her family believed that she wrote uplifting moral stories for children, something none of them would think of reading. Mina had first begun to write several years ago, in order to compose comforting stories to recount at the sickbed of her sister Marianne who was dying of consumption. It was not long, however, before she found her true calling in creating bloodcurdling mysteries. The only person party to her secret was Dr Hamid, as Mina had entertained his late sister Eliza with terrifying tales of which she had been particularly fond.
Mina delved deep into her memory and extracted a tale written long ago, one that Marianne had liked, of a pet dog, which had saved the family fortunes by discovering a treasure.
Kitty listened with careful attention, stroking Little Scrap as she did so. ‘There you are, my darling,’ she murmured, when the story was done, ‘what a clever little dog that was. And you are clever, too.’ She smiled at Mina. ‘I should like to hear more stories about dogs.’
Mina decided not to recount the only other one she had written, in which a dog released vengeful ghosts after digging up the corpses of executed murderers. ‘I will be sure to compose some more,’ she said.
The gentlemen joined them and Mr Honeyacre assured the ladies that although Mr and Mrs Malling had retired for the night they could always be summoned if necessary.
Mina decided to return to her room early as she wished to complete her notes on the day’s events. As she prepared for bed it occurred to her that she was, for the first time, about to spend the night in a reputedly haunted house. Was there anything she ought to be doing to brace herself for this dreadful ordeal? Should she be more alert than usual, or was that a mistake, since it would be a stimulus to her imagination and therefore open her to errors of observation. She couldn’t be sure.
The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4) Page 7
