Kitty agreed with a tired smile, much to the relief of her husband, and they departed.
‘I feel quite sure that a walk in the fresh air will soon restore Mrs Honeyacre,’ Mr Hope went on, breezily. ‘And, who can tell, it might be that she is a medium and unaware of it, with powers she has yet to understand. If I am correct she could be developed into a new shining beacon of spiritualism!’
‘That is not an issue here,’ said Mr Honeyacre, sharply. ‘The issue here is the wellbeing of my wife, which I will not endanger for any consideration of fortune or fame.’ Mina could see that, under the table top, his hands were clenched and trembling. Meek and mild he might be, but Mr Honeyacre in defence of his wife was a giant amongst men.
‘If I might make a suggestion,’ said Dr Hamid, interrupting the awkward confrontation, ‘I will continue to attend to Mrs Honeyacre’s health and all here present must agree to abide by my decision as to when she is fully restored.’
‘I approve your suggestion,’ said Mr Honeyacre warmly.
Mr Hope attempted to conceal his displeasure, but his eyes were hard and his smile unfriendly. ‘How soon might that be, Dr Hamid?’
‘I make no predictions.’
The meal continued without further conversation.
As the dishes were being cleared, Mr Malling appeared. ‘I have persuaded Ned Copper to come to the house and be questioned,’ he said, his tone implying that it had been no easy task. ‘He is currently at the kitchen table enjoying a hearty meal. In view of the state of his clothing I regret that he is not fit to be brought into the family part of the house.’
‘I understand, of course,’ said Mr Hope, rising to his feet, ‘and I will go to him. I have served in the army and walked the jungle with men of all classes and races, and do not judge them by birth or appearance, but by what they do. I do not believe that I am lowering myself to sit with a wise and aged man in a kitchen, and learn from him.’
It was, therefore, Mr Hope, Mr Beckler, Dr Hamid, Mr Honeyacre and Mina who went to hear Ned Copper.
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Mr Honeyacre of Mina. ‘I know I would not have Kitty listen to him, although I am sure you have better nerves.’
‘Miss Scarletti has nerves that strong men would envy,’ said Dr Hamid.
‘Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure,’ said Mr Honeyacre and, while it was not clear if he agreed with Dr Hamid, he looked on Mina with renewed respect.
As they approached the short flight of stairs leading down to the kitchen and scullery, Dr Hamid, as was his habit, offered to assist Mina and she extended her hand to take his arm, but found herself instead being grasped firmly by Mr Beckler, who flashed her a conspiratorial smile. She looked away quickly but not before she had seen Dr Hamid’s expression of astonishment.
Ned Copper sat at the kitchen table with a large plate of bread and meat and something foaming in a tankard. Mrs Blunt, unchallenged queen of her domain, eyed him with suspicion. The room smelt of old clothing and lemons and from the connecting door came the fragrance of a laundry with a hint of hot soapy vapour.
When the little party arrived, Mrs Blunt departed as far as the scullery, where there was some metallic clattering indicating violent activity, but not loud enough to conceal voices.
Ned Copper wiped his grey muzzle with the back of his hand, but had the decency to rise to his feet as his visitors arrived.
‘Oh, please do be seated and enjoy your meal,’ said Mr Hope amiably. ‘I am very pleased to see you and glad too that you have been given some refreshment.’ He sat down at the table in what was intended to be a friendly manner inspiring confidence and Mr Beckler drew out a chair for Mina. Everyone else remained standing. ‘I am eager to hear what you know about the history of Ditching Hollow and this house in particular.’
Ned Copper eyed the unexpected gathering with a certain degree of suspicion. ‘I know too much and that’s a fact,’ he said. ‘I know what I wish I didn’t know. I know what ought never to be spoken of.’
‘But for the safety and comfort of others it is best that you tell all,’ said Mr Hope, who knew how to wheedle when wheedling was required.
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Ned. ‘Some things are better not said. People hereabouts, we understand that, we just try to get on day by day and hope for nothing worse.’ He took a deep draught from the tankard. ‘Some say that it all began when the trains ran into each other in the Clayton Tunnel. But it was before that.’ He took a bite of bread and meat and chewed it thoughtfully. Everyone waited for him to speak but when he swallowed that mouthful he simply took another bite.
‘What can you tell us about that day?’ asked Mina, hoping, as this was apparently his favourite subject, to at least get him talking again.
He took another pull from the tankard. ‘More than ten years ago it was, but for those who saw it, it will always be like it happened yesterday. I was working in the field then and I heard the noise so loud it was worse than any thunder. It was like the ground opening up all the way down to the fiery pit. A grinding of metal and the steam and the shrieks of the poor souls being roasted alive. I went running to see what I could do, but inside the tunnel it was too dark to see. Then out of the smoke and the mist there came people, staggering, limping, half burnt, their faces black, clothes in rags. And deep inside there was the screaming of men and women and children in their last agonies, the ones that couldn’t be saved.’ He took another gulp. ‘Even now, as I sit here, I can still hear the dying as they cry out for help, but they were past all help.’
‘But you say that was not the start?’ prompted Dr Hamid.
Ned gave him a grim look. ‘No, it was long before that, so long that no one alive today remembers it. There are those who say that Ditchling Hollow is forever cursed. Cursed by the spirits of those who swung on the gallows and whose bodies were left to rot away unburied. It’s said that all who were not born here or wed to one who is are cursed and especially — yes, most especially — all those who live in this house, the masters, the magistrates, the ones who sent innocents to be hanged. No one who lives in Hollow House can ever find contentment.’
‘I can assure you that no one who lives here now has ever sent anyone to the gallows, guilty or innocent!’ exclaimed Mr Honeyacre.
‘Well, that’s the thing about curses,’ said Ned Copper. ‘They got long memories.’
‘I spoke to William Jesson recently,’ said Mina. ‘He came here to tell us about the road being flooded. He said his grandmother came from outside the village to work here. Here in this house. But she was unhappy. What do you know about her?’
He gave a strange laugh. ‘Unhappy? Is that what you call it? Just a young thing she was, no more than a child, and next thing she had a child of her own and no father to be seen. There were some who said it was old Mr Wigmore because he left her a few pounds in his will.’
‘I think, perhaps, we will not discuss that subject,’ said Mr Honeyacre, uncomfortably.
‘What do you know of the ghost that haunts this place?’ asked Mr Hope.
Ned put down the tankard and stared into it, as if willing it to fill itself.
Mr Hope quickly signalled Mr Beckler to fetch more beer. He found a jug on the sideboard and brought it to refill the tankard.
Ned Copper sniffed at the tankard with its dark bitter foam and took another gulp. ‘I don’t know nothing about that. But I don’t set foot in here more often than I need to, and not at night.’
‘You must remember the Lassiter family,’ said Mina. ‘The last people who lived here. I was told they went away quite suddenly. Why was that?’
‘Oh, there was all sorts happened that made them go. Things flying about all over the place when there was no one near them. I heard say that Mr Lassiter murdered his wife and went mad. And there was a child, a peculiar child, and the story is that the nursemaid made away with it, but I don’t rightly know what happened to her as she was never seen again.’ He took another bite of bread and meat. ‘It was my father who fou
nd the thing,’ he said, his voice muffled.
‘What did he find?’ asked Mr Hope eagerly.
Ned hesitated and looked up with a watery gleam in his eye. Mr Hope nodded to Mr Beckler, who obediently took a coin from his pocket and put it on the table. There was a pause and the coin was joined by a second one. Ned picked up the coins, rubbed them between his fingers and put them in his pocket.
‘It was a coffin. A small one, all broken up. Not a proper coffin, more like a wooden box, like they use for tea. And it had a body in it, a child’s body dressed in red. Only, he said it wasn’t the right shape. Like it was an imp or a hobgoblin. It was a bad thing, it was a wicked thing.’
Mr Honeyacre gave a little gasp. ‘Why that —’
‘Where did he find it?’ demanded Mina. She glanced at Mr Honeyacre and shook her head. He looked surprised but fell silent.
‘I don’t rightly know, but it wasn’t in the churchyard. Just outside it maybe. Not on holy ground, I can tell you that.’
‘Do you still have it?’ asked Dr Hamid, who had seen Mina’s look.
Ned gave a laugh and shook his head. ‘Who would keep something like that? No, he burnt it. To this day, I don’t know if he did right.’
It was all that Ned Copper had to say and, on receiving another coin from Mr Honeyacre, he departed without protest.
Mr Hope gestured Mr Beckler aside and they had a brief but urgent conversation, a conversation that largely consisted of Mr Hope talking rapidly and Mr Beckler nodding his agreement. Mr Hope then turned to the others in the little group, inflated his chest as if he was about to address a large company and made an announcement. ‘Our course of action is now obvious. The slight break in the weather affords us better light and clearer air and will enable Mr Beckler and I to go and look for the burial site of that small coffin. While it was not in the consecrated earth of the graveyard, in my experience such questionable items are often buried nearby as Mr Copper suggested. Perhaps it is felt that the proximity to holy ground will redeem the evil that lies within. That location will be an important focus of psychic energy.’
‘But —’ began Mr Honeyacre.
‘Have no fear, we will not disturb church land,’ Mr Hope, interrupted. ‘We will also make enquiries in the village to see if anyone other than Mr Copper can provide more information. But there is no time to lose. Mr Beckler!’ he called, as if summoning a hunting dog. ‘Come with me!’
They departed and no one was sorry to see them go.
‘I could not help noticing,’ said Dr Hamid, ‘that we all failed to mention to them that the location of the strange burial is already known. Do we plan to do so?’
‘I rather thought we ought to have done,’ said Mr Honeyacre.
‘We may do so in time,’ said Mina mischievously. ‘But their expedition, if they but knew it, is by nature of a test. If Mr Hope and his lackey are able to find the burial place without a map then I will be more impressed with their skills.’
‘Ah, I understand,’ said Mr Honeyacre, nodding approval. ‘That is a clever device.’
‘I suspect,’ added Mina, ‘that he is also in search of more ghost stories as material for his next book, since he seems incapable of writing his own. If the villagers have any sense they will be composing them as fast as they can and demanding gratuities.’
After an interlude with her book and her notes, Mina decided to join Nellie and Kitty who had decided to take a stroll around the terrace. She found them looking out over the rear gardens, the tidy arrangement and tilled earth awaiting a spring planting, a testimony to the hard work of the Mallings. Miss Pet and Zillah were keeping them company, walking together arm in arm in friendly fashion. All too soon the breeze stiffened into a cruel wind and they were forced to retire indoors.
In the warmth of the parlour the ladies begged Mina to relate another story and she was obliged to make up one on the spot. In this tale, Mr Hope and Mr Beckler decided to walk up the steep path to Clayton Hill to visit the windmills, even when they had been warned not to as it was too muddy. The two men climbed as hard as they could, but just as they neared the top they encountered a large dog which barked at them and this frightened them so much that they both slipped and fell. They could not stop themselves rolling down the muddy path and so they rolled all the way down, over and over, arriving at the bottom of the hill so covered in mud that they couldn’t be recognised. When the villagers found them they were thought to be vagabonds and thrown into the mill brook. Everyone laughed heartily at the story — even Miss Pet, who was usually so solemn, dabbed her eyes with amusement.
‘Perhaps that will happen when they go up there tomorrow,’ said Kitty. ‘Then I will order Malling to turn them away.’
Mina was reminded that Nellie’s party of visitors was supposed to be returning to Brighton that day, although it continued to look unlikely. She would have liked to be home before she was missed, but at the same time did not want to leave when there was still a mystery to be solved and Mr Hope and Mr Beckler were creating agitation for Mr Honeyacre and Kitty. She went to look out of the window to see if the weather might be clearing and saw four men walking up the path towards the house. As they drew closer she realised, with a surge of dismay, who they were.
For a moment or two she could hardly believe what she was seeing and then, when it was impossible to deny, beckoned Nellie over.
‘Nellie!’ she whispered. ‘Go somewhere — anywhere — just don’t be found here!’
‘Why, what is it?’
‘What is the matter?’ asked Kitty. Little Scrap was nestled on her lap, being fed morsels of biscuit from her pocket.
‘Mr Hope and Mr Beckler have not after all got lost in the mud but are coming back in time for tea,’ said Mina. ‘And they have brought two visitors with them.’
Nellie, also looking out of the window, managed to swallow a horrified gasp. The two men accompanying Mr Hope and Mr Beckler were Mina’s brother Richard and Mr Stevenson the detective.
‘You had better go back to your room at once, before they see you,’ Mina whispered. ‘Let us hope their visit is a brief one. I will tell everyone that you have a headache.’
‘I never have headaches.’
‘You must have one now. Quickly! Before they arrive!’
Nellie sighed. ‘Very well, I will do my best.’ She clutched her hand to her forehead in dramatic fashion, groaned loudly and hurried from the room.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked Kitty, staring after her. ‘Is Nellie ill?’
‘Nellie is taking care to avoid Mr Hope, since she dislikes him so,’ said Mina.
Kitty accepted the explanation and seemed disinclined to leave the cushioned comfort of the parlour, while Miss Pet and Zillah went to stare out of the window.
‘Why it is young Mr Scarletti!’ exclaimed Zillah. ‘I don’t know the other gentleman.’
‘Oh, Mr Scarletti is much more amusing than Mr Hope!’ said Kitty. ‘Now we shall have some fun!’
‘Amusing’ was not perhaps the word Mina would have used to describe her brother. She decided it would not be a sensible question to ask Nellie’s maid how she recognised him. She peered out into the hallway and was relieved to see that Nellie had climbed the stairs and was out of sight before the new visitors reached the front door and were admitted by the servants.
Mr Stevenson, whose air of confidence suggested that he was unaware that his true identity was known, looked about the hall approvingly, while Richard entirely failed to appear repentant at the unexpected intrusion. ‘And we have arrived not a moment too soon,’ said Mr Hope, as the rain began to descend once more. A distant crackle of lightning and dull boom of thunder rolling across the hills and into the valley seemed to Mina like the harbingers of all that she had most dreaded.
She braced herself, doing her best to appear friendly and calm, and left the parlour to greet the arrivals. As she did so, Mr Honeyacre and Dr Hamid arrived. Neither man was able to conceal his astonishment and when Mr Honeyacre perceive
d Mr Stevenson he rocked a little on his heels so that Dr Hamid was obliged to grasp him firmly by the elbow to prevent an accident.
‘You are surprised I can see that we have brought new friends!’ said Mr Hope. ‘But you will soon understand the reason for my invitation.’
Mr Honeyacre recovered his balance and made an effort far beyond the normal requirements of civility to remain if not exactly welcoming but polite. While he was not displeased to see Richard he fixed Mr Stevenson with a look of mingled distress and revulsion and for a few moments was unable to speak.
‘Miss Scarletti,’ said Mr Hope, raising a cynical eyebrow, ‘were you aware that your brother was in Ditchling Hollow or are you as surprised to see him as I was? I rather think you must have known it all along and have deliberately kept it a secret from us. Now why should that be?’
‘I believed him to be in London,’ said Mina, truthfully. ‘Richard, what can you be doing here?’
‘Oh, it’s my work, you know,’ said Richard, blithely, ‘doing sketches for the Society Journal. I ought to be back home now, only the infernal weather prevented me from returning and I have been obliged to keep warm and dry at the Goat and Hammers.’
‘And I,’ uttered Mr Honeyacre in a voice that sounded like the last gasp of a half strangled man, ‘have not had the honour of meeting this gentleman.’
‘Stevenson,’ said that person with a polite little bow. ‘I am a naturalist and travel the country looking for rare species.’ He tapped the leather case of binocular glasses on his chest, as if to add verisimilitude to this account. ‘I am compiling a volume to be entitled The Pleasures of Sussex.’
Mr Honeyacre appeared unconvinced. ‘Indeed. And who is it to be published by? A Mr White, perhaps?’
Mina searched her memory and recalled Mr Honeyacre’s angry denouncement of a Mr White, the developer who had wanted to purchase the estate and convert it to industrial use.
Mr Stevenson, however, looked genuinely puzzled. ‘No, it is a private publication. I am not acquainted with a Mr White.’
The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4) Page 18
