The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘I am sorry to say that, in view of the weather, the windmills will have to wait for another day,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘But I do have good news. Kitty is feeling a little better. Mrs Blunt is making her some ginger root infusion to Dr Hamid’s special recipe. She is in the parlour now, keeping warm.’

  Mina and Nellie found Kitty reclining in an armchair that had been piled with cushions and drawn up before the fire. She was having her temples bathed with a cologned handkerchief by Miss Pet, who knelt by her side. Little Scrap was curled up on his mistress’s lap, nibbling a biscuit. The room was warmed with the fragrance of burning wood and flowery perfume.

  ‘Miss Scarletti!’ exclaimed Kitty, reaching out to clasp Mina’s hands. ‘Please tell me — is it wrong for me to feel so afraid? We can never know what the future will hold and sometimes it can seem that everything is against us and wishes us ill!’

  ‘There are those who claim to know the future,’ said Miss Pet, ‘but I do not trust them.’

  ‘Nor should you,’ said Nellie. ‘They are conjurors all, but they juggle with our feelings and play upon our weaknesses. Kitty, my dear, you need to keep your strength up. You should take care of yourself and not give in to idle fancies.’

  Kitty pushed away the handkerchief and sat up straight, gathering her puppy dog into her arms. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pale, each with a single patch of red. Had she been on stage, she would have looked fragile and enchanting, but close up she seemed far from well. Miss Pet rose to her feet and placed her fingertips very gently on Kitty’s forehead.

  ‘Are you feverish, my dear?’ asked Nellie anxiously.

  Kitty shook her head and Miss Pet said, ‘We were afraid of that, but Dr Hamid has examined her and can detect no fever. Her forehead has a natural warmth but she feels a little weak and faint and her stomach is disordered.’

  ‘There is something in the house that does not like me,’ exclaimed Kitty. ‘It wants me to go away. I can’t sleep because I hear strange noises. I lie in my bed and I try to sleep and I dare not open my eyes because I am afraid of what I might see.’

  ‘There are always strange noises in an old house,’ said Mina soothingly. ‘I hear them too.’

  ‘You do?’ gasped Kitty.

  ‘Yes, but they are nothing, they mean nothing. They are the sounds made by old wood responding to changes in the weather. I take no note of them and neither should you.’

  ‘The other day,’ said Kitty, ‘I was walking along the corridor and I heard a noise from the room where the antiquities are stored. The door was locked and there was no one inside, but still there was the noise. On and on it went, as if it would never stop. It was the old rocking horse, I know it. Moving, all by itself. I heard that there was a child that once lived here, who rode that horse. Long ago. Do you think the child died and its ghost comes back here to ride the horse?’

  ‘Kitty, are you sure that was not a dream?’ said Nellie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kitty. ’Sometimes I can’t be sure. I am thinking I ought to ask Benjamin to take it away, but would that make things worse? And then there is the painting.’ Kitty shivered and her lips trembled. ‘How I hate that painting! I can hardly ask him to remove that. He does so dote on it.’

  ‘The portrait of the first Mrs Honeyacre, you mean?’ asked Mina.

  ‘I am never happy when I look at it. She stares at me so. She doesn’t care for me being here, I know it!’ Kitty burst into tears and Miss Pet comforted her as best she could.

  Mina and Nellie glanced at each other and, by mutual unspoken agreement, withdrew to the hall for a conversation.

  ‘This is worse than I thought,’ said Nellie.

  ‘I agree. Perhaps Dr Hamid will have a draught that can soothe her,’ Mina suggested. ‘I would not make light of her anxiety, as I know that in a half-dream it is easy to imagine things. If, as we both suspect, she is in a delicate condition that could make her fears appear to be more than they are.’

  ‘Her health must be the first concern,’ said Nellie, thoughtfully, ‘and I have a plan which would solve everything. Kitty’s upset is partly due to her unease in Hollow House and the rumours that it is haunted. I will propose that Kitty visits Brighton earlier than intended. In fact, I shall insist that she travel with us when we return on Monday. That is only two days from now. She can stay with me. If Mr Honeyacre wants a reason I will tell him that I urgently need her advice on the preparations for the costume ball. And I can arrange entertainments and distractions during her visit. I am sure that, before long, she will quite forget her fears.’

  ‘I think that is a very good scheme,’ said Mina.

  They were on their way to speak to the gentlemen on the subject when they were met by Mr Malling, who appeared very troubled.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Jordan, Miss Scarletti, I have just come from informing Mr Honeyacre. A boy has come up from the village just now to say that the mill brook has burst its banks and the bridge is underwater and in danger of coming down.’

  ‘What about the road to Hassocks Gate?’ asked Mina.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Miss, but for now, it’s impassable. All the roads out of the village are. You might have to stay at Hollow House longer than you had planned.’

  Mina and Nellie exchanged shocked glances. Their plan to remove Kitty to the haven of Brighton at the earliest opportunity had just vanished and Mina could already hear her mother’s fury at her prolonged secret absence from home echoing in her head.

  ‘Please do not worry,’ said Mr Malling, not appreciating the reasons for their dismay, ‘we have everything we need here for your comfort.’

  ‘What did the boy say about the road?’ demanded Nellie.

  ‘Only that it was under water and what wasn’t under water was mud. He’s wet to the skin himself.’

  ‘The poor boy,’ said Mina. ‘I hope he was rewarded for daring to come here with the news.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a farmer’s lad, weather is nothing to him. Wet and dry is all alike, they don’t mean anything,’ said Mr Malling with a careless shrug. ‘Besides which, he has a cape to cover him. Mrs Blunt has given him some hot soup and he is properly grateful for it.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ said Mina. ‘I would like to speak to him.’

  Mr Malling blinked. ‘Well, he is in the scullery, Miss, but I wouldn’t bring him up here and I wouldn’t advise you to go down there.’

  ‘Mina never does what she is advised to do,’ said Nellie with a smile. She linked arms with Mina. ‘Come, Mr Malling, show us the way.’

  Mr Malling had no option but to comply and on the way they learned that the youth was aged fifteen and called William Jesson. There was a set of stairs descending from the hallway, leading to a short passage that opened out into a large warm kitchen.

  Having been recently refurbished by a man who prided himself on an excellent table the kitchen of Hollow House had every resource possible. The walls hung with banks of shining pans, moulds and implements, while long deep shelves held serving dishes, trays and crocks. The range, which boasted an impressive roasting jack, was easily of a size to prepare a feast for twenty. The floor was well cleansed and there was a long table which had been scrubbed spotless.

  Mrs Blunt, the cook, stood at a butcher’s bench. She was a large woman in every possible dimension. Before her was a carcass of beef on a bloodstained board which she was attacking with a large chopper and an expression of grim determination. She looked up, mildly astonished at the arrival of two fashionable ladies where fashionable ladies never went. ‘Is everything satisfactory?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, everything is quite splendid,’ said Mina. ‘Please don’t let us interrupt your work. We are only here because we would like to speak to young William.’

  ‘He’s in the scullery, Miss.’ Mrs Blunt had laid down the chopper and taken up a large knife with which she gestured towards a door. ‘He’s none too clean. Take care you don’t dirty your clothes.’

  Mr Malling followed Mina and Nellie into the scull
ery, which was furnished with two large sinks and a boiling copper and smelled of washing soap and vinegar. Mary Ann, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, was busy scouring the serving dishes and chinaware that were the residue of breakfast. William was crouching on a stool under which some brown paper had been laid and gulping at a bowl of hot soup. Most of his clothes were wringing wet, including the heavy woollen cape he wore, and his boots were coated in mud, although there had been some attempt at scraping off the worst of it. His hair was glistening.

  His jaw dropped open with amazement at the sight of Mina and Nellie and he nearly tumbled off his stool in his eagerness to stand up respectfully, narrowly avoiding spilling his soup.

  ‘I am glad to see you have been given some refreshment for your trouble,’ said Mina, kindly. ‘No, please don’t stand, and do go on with your soup. I insist. It will do you good.’

  He sat down with some relief, but his eyes remained on Mina. She wondered if her appearance would result in yet another village legend — that of the twisted lady.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you some questions. Tell me — have you lived in Ditchling Hollow all your life?’

  ‘I have that, Miss.’

  ‘And have you ever known the weather to be as bad as it is now?’

  ‘Yes, every three or four years it comes down like this. Then the brook rises up and the road is under water and there’s no going back and forth, not for days.’

  Behind him, Mary Ann nodded vigorously in agreement. Mr Malling saw the gesture and dismissed her from the room with a jerk of his head. She did not look pleased to go, but she obeyed.

  ‘Do you think a carriage, a good carriage like Mr Honeyacre’s, would be able to travel from here to Hassocks Gate railway station?’ asked Mina.

  William shook his head vigorously. ‘Oh no, Miss, it could never get through. Water’s too high.’

  ‘What about the footpath from the house down to the church. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s awful slippy, especially the old stones. I came up that way from the lane.’

  ‘Only we are due to return to Brighton on Monday morning,’ said Nellie. ‘Will that be possible?’

  ‘Naw,’ said William, with another shake of the head. ‘There’ll be no carriages going that way on Monday. Nothing to Clayton nor Hurstpierpoint neither. A horse might do if it’s a strong one, but it’s not fit for ladies.’

  Nellie and Mina looked at each other. He saw their expressions, his eyes flickering from one to the other. He gulped his soup and licked his lips. ‘If you ask me, ladies, you shouldn’t have come to Ditchling Hollow. It’s not for outsiders.’

  ‘Now then!’ exclaimed Mr Malling, quickly. ‘No one asked you and that is no way to speak to your betters!’

  ‘Oh, let him speak, please do,’ said Mina, ‘I want to learn more.’ She drew closer to the youth, her crooked body rocking from side to side as she walked, and he stared at her in alarm.

  As she neared the savoury scent of hot soup mingled with the smell of damp clothing and earth and all the decaying things that lay within it brought back to life by the rain. Seated as he was the boy’s face was level with hers and it made him uneasy. His thin features were smeared with wet grime and the hands clasping the soup bowl were dotted with scabs and scratches, the nails black with mud. ‘Tell me William, what is the matter here?’

  ‘The matter?’

  ‘Yes, in Hollow House. Is it an unlucky place? Some people seem to think so.’

  He licked the bowl clean, thoughtfully. ‘My grandmother came from outside to work in this house and it never brought her anything but trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘Worst kind,’ said William. ‘You want to talk to Ned Copper, he knows. And it’s not just the house. He says the whole village is under a curse and coming here never brings any good to those who weren’t born here.’

  ‘What is the nature of this curse, and what is its cause?’ asked Mina. ‘Can it be avoided, or lifted?’

  William wiped a grubby fist across his mouth. ‘I don’t know. It’s only what I’ve been told. Ask Ned Copper. Ask him to tell you about the devil child. He saw it with his own eyes, he did.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ said Mr Malling. ‘I’ll not allow language like that in front of ladies.’ He seized the boy by the arm and quickly hustled him away. Mina decided not to pursue the matter since she felt that William had said all he was going to.

  Mina returned to the kitchen. ‘Mrs Blunt?’

  The cook turned to her. She was wielding the meat chopper again and looked larger than ever. Fortunately, largeness never troubled Mina since all adults were larger than she. ‘I just wanted to ask you — have you seen anything strange in the house? Anything you couldn’t explain?’

  Mrs Blunt gave a laugh like the sound of a pepper grinder and cracked her knuckles. ‘A ghost, you mean? I’d like to see the ghost that would try and haunt me! I’d soon send it packing! I’d chop it into little pieces, I would! No, they stay away from me. They know what’ll happen!’

  Much to the relief of Mr Malling, who had been quite unsettled by the sight of the quality descending to the kitchen, Mina and Nellie retraced their steps to the hallway, where they encountered Mrs Malling on her way to the kitchen stairs.

  ‘Miss Scarletti, Mrs Jordan,’ she said, ‘I’m to advise you that, in view of the weather situation, Mr Honeyacre asks that everyone should come to the drawing room where he will have something to say. I have made sure that the room is well-warmed and will ask Mrs Blunt to arrange for a jug of hot cocoa and her best spice biscuits to be brought to you all.’

  They thanked her and she hurried on her errand.

  Despite the comforting fire that blazed in the grate and the promise of warming refreshments it was a sombre party that gathered in the drawing room under the watchful painted eye of the first Mrs Honeyacre. Only Kitty was not present, as she and Miss Pet had taken Little Scrap to play.

  Mr Honeyacre tried to put a brave face on the situation. ‘As you have all no doubt learned by now, the flooding has rendered the road from Ditchling Hollow to Hassocks Gate impassable to carriages and I believe that the other roads are little better. I fear that Reverend Ashbrook will not be able to come in from Clayton tomorrow morning to take Sunday service at St Mond’s, something I know we were all very much looking forward to. If it is still possible to travel to church safely on foot we will have to be content with assembling there for prayers. Otherwise, we can always gather here to pray.

  ‘I am, however, hopeful that in four or five days’ time, if the weather clears, the waters will recede and the roads will once again be clear for carriages. I would like to reassure the ladies that they are not in any danger of missing the grand ball and there will still be ample time to make all the arrangements for costume and coiffure and — whatever else may be required. But, in the meantime, we can make the best of things here.’

  Everyone stared out of the window where the prevailing deluge seemed to be implying that the best course of action would be to start building an ark.

  ‘I especially wish to set your minds at rest regarding the remainder of your stay here. There are ample supplies to keep everyone well fed and warm. I am only sorry that you will not be able to explore the surrounding countryside and villages as I had hoped, but that is a pleasure to be reserved for another occasion.

  ‘I am also happy to say that we are well able to keep ourselves amused. I know that Miss Pet would be delighted to entertain us on the piano and anyone able to sing will be encouraged to do so. I have a few volumes of poetry and I am sure that some readings would be appreciated. Also, I could give a lecture about art and antiquities, so there will be a great deal to entertain us and the time will just fly by.’

  ‘We are very grateful to you,’ said Dr Hamid. ‘You have been more than kind and generous, and the weather is hardly your fault.’

  Mr Honeyacre acknowledged the compliment with his customary modesty.

  ‘I a
m assuming,’ said Mina, wondering if she should send an explanatory letter to her brother Edward, ‘that there is no possibility of any post being received or sent?’

  ’None, I am sorry to say. All the mail for Ditchling Hollow goes to the main post office at Hurstpierpoint and it is one of Mr Malling’s duties to go up there to collect it, as well as ordering supplies. He also likes to visit his son who lives there. That is of some concern to me, too, since Mr Albert Malling is a clerk employed in the estate office and I have expressly requested that he write to warn me the instant he learns of any of those dreadful developers making enquiries about the estate or sending their agents here as scouts. I had hoped to learn more about that man who has been staying in the village and spying on everything, but I shall just have to be patient, I suppose.’

  ‘Have there been any such enquiries?’ asked Dr Hamid.

  ‘Not in recent months, no. Last year, before I commenced the improvements, a Mr White wrote to me and offered an insultingly small sum to buy the estate. He actually admitted that he intended to convert it to industrial use. Shocking! I can only hope that Mr White and others of his ilk who wish to despoil the English countryside might find themselves with an enemy in the Sussex weather.’ It was an unusually uncharitable burst of feeling for the normally gentle Mr Honeyacre. Although he did not say so, Mina thought he envisaged all such intruders sinking into a muddy grave never to be seen again.

  ‘There is, of course, the reason for our visit here, which I will continue to pursue,’ said Mina. ‘With your permission, of course, I would like to speak privately to the maidservants concerning the unusual events that they have witnessed here. My feeling is that the frights they have had might have their origins in simply mistaking quite natural occurrences for something more sinister. I hope to be able to put their minds at rest, although I doubt that I will be able to fully undo the effects of any fanciful tales that have been passed around the village. People are too willing to believe the unusual over the commonplace and the result is that they go about in fear of a great deal of nothing.’