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

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Honeyacre, his suspicions far from allayed, ‘I suggest we all go to the drawing room and I will have tea sent.’ He bowed stiffly and departed, while Mr Malling arranged for the new arrivals to hand over their damply misted coats and have their muddy boots cleaned.

  Mr Beckler approached Mina with one of his odd little smiles. If it was meant to look friendly and inviting it failed. ‘I do hope the ladies will join us for tea?’ he asked and it was apparent from his tone that by ‘ladies’ he meant Mina. ‘I should like that very much.’

  ‘I expect so, but I wish to have a private conversation with my brother first,’ said Mina, coldly.

  ‘Very well, I anticipate your company with pleasure.’ He raised his hand and for one dreadful moment, Mina thought he would kiss his fingers to her, but he simply gave a little wave, inclined his head and drifted away.

  Dr Hamid stared after the departing figure and gave a little cough. ‘Miss Scarletti, I hope that fellow has not been annoying you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I could not help but notice his behaviour, which smacks of more familiarity than one might expect on so short an acquaintance. Of course,’ he added, stiffly, ‘if it should chance that his attentions do not annoy you then you must let me know.’

  ‘He annoys me very much,’ said Mina, ‘but that is only his manner. He has been making flattering remarks about my appearance which are quite uncalled for.’

  ‘The scoundrel!’ exclaimed Dr Hamid. ‘That is — I mean — not that you do not warrant — I mean, it is not his place to make such remarks if you do not wish him to. That was what I meant.’ Dr Hamid clenched his teeth as if to force himself to be silent.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he means anything by it. Remember, he is a photographer and I suppose he flatters all people to gain their custom. He tells ladies that they have pretty faces and no doubt he tells gentlemen of their noble countenances which, it is essential, must be preserved for posterity. I expect he has said as much to you.’

  ‘No, he has not.’

  ‘Well, it is only a matter of time before he does.’ She glanced across to where Mr Stevenson was strolling about the hallway, as if estimating the value of its contents. Richard was pretending to be interested in his surroundings but she could tell that this was only an excuse to lurk nearby. She might have expected her brother to go where there were both refreshments and the chance to hide in full company to avoid Mina’s recriminations. Instead, he appeared to be waiting to speak to her and, for once, his expression was unreadable.

  ‘I will not come to tea just yet,’ said Mina to Dr Hamid. ‘I have family business to attend to. You should join the others.’

  Dr Hamid inclined his head and followed Mr Hope and Mr Beckler to the drawing room, but it was obvious that he was not happy with that company. Richard favoured Mina with the ghost of one his most disarming smiles, the kind that melted all hearts except hers.

  ‘Richard —’ she began.

  ‘Ah, my dear sister!’ he exclaimed. ‘How extraordinary and unexpected that we should meet here! And what a delight! How well you do look! I saw mother and Enid the other day and I am pleased to say that they are both flourishing. Mother in particular has an important message for you.’ He turned to Mr Stevenson. ‘I hope you don’t mind, old chap, but we have a few private matters to discuss. We’ll be along for our tea shortly.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Stevenson, reluctantly, and left the hallway to follow the others.

  Richard linked his arm in Mina’s and as he did so looked down at her and the smile dropped from his face. ‘Where can we talk?’ he said urgently.

  ‘The library. I’ll show you the way,’ said Mina.

  Once the door was closed behind them, Mina faced her brother. She had been about to reprimand him for his failure to leave the area and his folly in coming to the very place she had warned him to stay away from, but his changed manner had stopped her and she decided instead to listen to what he had to say.

  Richard spent a moment or two listening at the door then carefully eased it open and peered out and finally closed it softly before beckoning Mina to the far side of the room. ‘No one must hear us!’ he hissed.

  ‘Richard, what is the meaning of this?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘You’re not angry with me?’

  ‘Of course I am; I am always angry with you. Now explain yourself.’

  ‘I was going to do as you said, really I was, but I had to finish my work first. The day after we spoke I went up to Clayton Hill to finish my sketch of the windmills and, as it happened, Stevenson was up there too. Then the rain came down and we had to shelter inside. Mr Hammond the miller was very happy when he saw my sketch and gave us tea and told me all about the history of the mills, which I thought very dull, but a good thing for the Journal and I wrote it all down, so you don’t have to do it now, except for the wretched spelling. So, Stevenson and I, we were there for hours and we talked and I said I was employed by the Journal. As it happened I had some old letters from the editor in my pocket, so I think he believed me. He asked if I was related to the famous Miss Scarletti who has been in all the newspapers and I couldn’t really deny that I was your brother, as I expect he already knew that, and he said that he had seen you visiting the church here with a party from Hollow House. He said he found it hard to believe that I didn’t know you were here. So I had to admit that I did. But here is where I was clever —’

  Mina groaned inwardly, since Richard’s idea of cleverness often led to dreadful consequences that she usually had to put right.

  ‘I told him I did know because you had told me that you were looking into some hauntings and I was worried about you in case you got into any danger and coming here had been my idea as I wanted to be nearby in case you needed my help. So, Stevenson and I became very friendly and then, when the rain stopped, we went to refresh ourselves at the Goat and Hammers.’ Mina’s face must have shown what she was thinking because he added quickly, ‘No, really, Mina, I could never get inebriated on what they serve there.’

  ‘Did your new friend reveal his true purpose in being here?’

  ‘No, and I didn’t expect him to. He did ask me if I knew Nellie. Of course, I couldn’t lie about that because he already knows I do, so I told him that I know her because Mrs Jordan is your friend and I entertain the greatest respect for her.’

  ‘I hope he believed you. But why, Richard, why, after all the warnings, did you come here?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault. Stevenson and I were in the Goat and Hammers when Mr Hope and Mr Beckler came in. They started buying beer for everyone and asking if there were any stories of ghosts and demons and strange burials in Ditchling Hollow, especially relating to Hollow House. Of course, he recognised me and after that I couldn’t avoid him. But here’s the thing.’ Richard stopped speaking suddenly and Mina saw he was in the grip of strong emotion. His face became flushed and he dragged his hand through his dishevelled blond hair, raking it into tufts as if it was standing up with fright. ‘Here’s the thing,’ he repeated, trying to calm himself. ‘Mr Hope told me that you were at the house and then he mentioned Nellie. I must tell you he referred to her in very coarse language. I won’t repeat a word of it. So I said “Mrs Jordan is not what you are thinking; she is a respectable married woman”.’

  ‘I trust he accepted your words.’

  ‘He did — in a manner of speaking. He said that that was the best kind for his purposes.’

  ‘His purposes?’ exclaimed Mina. ‘What an unpleasant man he is. I have seen that he admires her, as so many men do, but — purposes?’

  ‘I don’t think I need to say anything further, do I?’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘So I decided then and there not to express any more opinions on the matter, as I thought it best for him not to know what I thought of him. And I tried to think of a good plan to get a message to Nellie to warn her of the danger.’

  ‘Did you think of one? Because this is not it.’

&nbs
p; ‘No, there wasn’t time. Because the next thing was that Mr Hope invited us here, whether or not he was entitled to, and that gave me a proper reason to come here and be on hand to protect Nellie. Mr Hope is a vile man when it comes to women.’

  ‘Why did he invite you both here, do you think?’

  ‘He told us that there had been some wonderful things happening in a séance and he was going to hold another one, but he needed more witnesses. Since Mr Stevenson claims he is a naturalist and I am making my way as an artist Mr Hope said that we are men who use our eyes and we see the truth.’

  ‘He doesn’t want the truth,’ said Mina, ‘he just wants people to agree with him that what he believes in is the truth.’ Mina thought quickly and took hold of her brother’s hands. ‘But, Richard,’ she continued in a gentler tone, ‘now that you have warned me you have accomplished what you came here to do. I will make sure to warn Nellie and I will also ensure that Dr Hamid knows of the danger to her. We can all protect her. But we need Mr Stevenson to go. Once you have had your tea, I suggest that you find some reason to leave Hollow House and persuade him to go with you.’

  ‘How can I do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Is all your drawing complete now?’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a frightful bore and it doesn’t pay as well as I thought it would. I don’t know if I shall go on with it. Being a detective sounds like much more fun. Maybe, once this is all over, I could tell Mr Stevenson that I had seen through him and ask if he needs an assistant.’ He gave a sudden laugh. ‘You know that is a bit of joke that — about him being a naturalist. When we were in the Goat and Hammers, which is none too clean, there were cobwebs in every corner and even a nest of dead spiders, all dried and shrivelled up. When he saw them I thought he would faint and he confessed to me that he hates them. Don’t naturalists like that sort of thing?’

  ‘Well, he won’t find any cobwebs or spiders here,’ said Mina. ‘Let us have our tea and I promise to speak with Nellie later. Then you must go.’

  ‘I do need to get back to London,’ Richard admitted gloomily, rubbing his cheek. ‘That tooth is no better. The blacksmith said he would help me out with it, but I’m not sure of his methods. Does Dr Hamid have his medical bag with him?’

  ‘He does, and I am sure that he can give you something to ease it.’

  ‘I couldn’t see Nellie, just for a minute before I leave?’

  ‘No, Richard, better not.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She is avoiding seeing you by claiming a headache.’

  ‘She never has headaches.’

  ‘And she and I are sharing a room, which seems doubly wise now. Don’t worry, we’ll keep her safe from Mr Hope and you keep her safe from Mr Stevenson.’

  ‘I wish someone would keep her safe from Mr Jordan,’ said Richard to which Mina could think of no suitable reply.

  Mina linked her arm in his and was turning to the library door when Richard said, ‘Oh, and there was one more thing.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I think you should know that Mr Beckler rather admires you. He told me that he would like to take your photograph.’

  ‘He does not admire me,’ said Mina. ‘He is a photographer. It is a part of his trade to flatter people about their appearance, whether it is warranted or not, in order to obtain custom. I expect he has flattered you, too.’

  ‘Er, no, he has not.’

  ‘Well, I am sure he will do before long,’ said Mina with the uncomfortable feeling that this was a conversation she had had too many times.

  Mina and Richard joined the group in the drawing room, who were awaiting their tea with expressions of deep solemnity. Even the portrait of the first Mrs Honeyacre looked less happy with her surroundings than earlier. The grumbling thunder was moving closer, as if mocking their discomfiture.

  Mr Hope was on his feet, in mid-declamation. ‘And there,’ he said, excitedly, ‘only a few feet from the gate, we saw, or to be more accurate, both of us sensed, a disturbance that could only have been the location of the strange burial. Beckler knew it before I did,’ he added with a rare generosity and Mr Beckler dipped his gaze and allowed himself a modest smile. ‘There was an aura about the very soil, the appearance of the vegetation, that spoke to him, and when he pointed it out, I saw it too. Mr Stevenson!’ Mr Hope turned expectantly towards the detective with a suddenness that made him start. ‘As a naturalist, we must engage you for your expert advice on that matter.’

  Mr Stevenson did his best to appear flattered by that prospect, but his eyes darted about as if looking for inspiration. ‘I — er — it would be best for me to avoid commenting until I have examined the site for myself,’ he said at last.

  Mina glanced at Dr Hamid. Neither could entirely restrain their amusement as the Lassiters’ map indicated that the actual burial was nowhere near the gate.

  ‘Did you discover anything new at the site?’ enquired Dr Hamid. ‘Were there any remains?’

  Mr Hope was not best pleased at being questioned by Dr Hamid, but he made an effort to reply. ‘Regretfully, there were no physical objects, only a trace of psychic energy. But I feel sure that a powerful medium could do more. I also made enquiries amongst the villagers regarding the burial and one or two did recall that Ned Copper’s father had once found something unusual that had disturbed him, but they were unable to tell me any more than he had done. A few did come to me with tales of local hauntings, usually how they had encountered the shades of their ancestors in the graveyard.’

  ‘Not far from the Goat and Hammers,’ whispered Richard to Mina and she smiled.

  Mr Hope ignored them and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I had thought that there would be many more such incidents, but the people here seem to have a small stock of tales. And every time I was told of one, seven others chimed in and said it was not being told rightly and it didn’t happen to the speaker’s aunt but the complainant’s mother. Still, I may have stimulated their memories. I will return in a day or two and see what they have.’

  ‘I have been told that Miss Scarletti is a writer of stories,’ said Mr Beckler. ‘She paints with words and I paint with my camera.’

  ‘Mina writes tales for children,’ said Richard. ‘I haven’t read them myself, but I believe they are very good.’

  ‘They teach the difference between good and evil,’ said Mina. ‘Moral lessons, the true understanding of character and how to live well.’

  ‘No ghosts?’ asked Mr Beckler.

  ‘Not one,’ Mina replied.

  The wind started up again and there was a busy tapping at the window like the work of a thousand tiny hammers. Mr Honeyacre rose and peered out of the window then returned to his chair dejectedly. ‘I am sorry to say it is raining again and worse than before,’ he said. The small hammers started to blend with each other and become larger ones and finally there was a solid deluge.

  ‘There have been times,’ said Mr Honeyacre, ‘when the heavens have opened and we have been flooded with rain and when it stops one feels such a sense of relief because, of course, we think that the storm has spent itself and it is therefore impossible for there to be any more rain to fall. And that, I regret to say, is when it starts again.’

  Everyone brightened a little as Mary Ann brought in the tea with some freshly baked tartlets, fragrant with warm sugared fruit. She almost dropped the tray as a great boom of thunder unfurled itself overhead.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, my dear,’ said Mr Hope soothingly, ‘there is no danger.’

  Mary Ann moved about the room distributing cups and plates, looking unconvinced.

  ‘Where is Mrs Jordan?’ asked Mr Honeyacre. ‘We should ask her to join us. She does seem to enjoy a nice pastry.’

  ‘She has a headache and is gone to rest quietly,’ said Mina. ‘She has expressly asked not to be disturbed.’

  ‘Oh, that is a great pity,’ said Mr Hope. ‘I did not think she was a lady who suffered from headaches.’

  T
hey sipped their tea and ate tartlets without further conversation. It was as if the rain was performing a dramatic monologue and they were all listening to it, not daring to interrupt. The cups were refreshed and Kitty fed Little Scrap half a tartlet and put a fragment of pastry in her pocket for later. Mina thought that the tiny dog ate more than his mistress.

  With the eventual passing of the thunder and rain a strange quiet settled over their surroundings. No one dared comment on the weather in case the very thought provoked another downpour. Mina decided to return to the library but she had scarcely risen to her feet when the ground trembled and shook beneath her. She gasped and clutched onto the back of a chair, or she might have fallen. Dr Hamid rose to assist her, but it was Mr Beckler who seized the opportunity and was by her side in an instant, taking hold of her arm.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked. ‘I know I didn’t imagine it. I hope not!’

  ‘Be calm, Miss Scarletti, I felt it too,’ he said.

  ‘We all did,’ said Mr Hope. ‘If I was to guess, it was an earth tremor; not the same kind as one experiences in the tropics which are volcanic in origin, but the result of an underground landslip, probably brought on by the heavy rain.’

  For once, Mina was unwilling to shake off Mr Beckler’s attentions as the shock through her frail body had unsettled her. For one horrible moment she had feared that it was she alone who had experienced it, a symptom perhaps of a new weakness, or a disease that would quickly claim her. She had too much to do to let go of life so soon. At least, she thought, Mr Hope had not attributed the phenomenon to a ghost.

  ‘I had better go and look outside,’ said Mr Honeyacre, and he hurried from the room. Everyone else followed him and there was an anxious gathering in the hallway as he opened the front door to look out across the terrace and down the slope to the church and the village. To their relief, all was calm and peaceful. The ground was sodden with rivulets of muddy water trickling downhill and dripping from the broken edges of the old steps, themselves harbouring in their shallows miniature rock pools that shimmered as the breeze plucked at them.