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

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Am I right that your grandmother used to work here?’

  Susan looked understandably surprised that Mina knew this, and nodded. ‘Yes, Miss.’

  ‘That must have been a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, she was very young.’

  ‘Does your grandmother still live in the village?’

  ‘No. I never knew her. I was told she went away.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘I think it was Susan like me.’

  ‘Was she the parent of your father or your mother?’

  ‘My mother.’

  ‘Were you ever told why your grandmother went away?’

  ‘No, only that she was unhappy. Maybe something bad happened.’

  ‘Was she married here or elsewhere?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure she ever was.’

  Mina decided not to pursue that avenue of enquiry. ‘Is your grandmother also William Jesson’s grandmother?’

  Susan nodded. ‘He told me that she was unhappy here.’

  ‘Do you think,’ interrupted Mr Hope, impatiently, ‘that your grandmother ran away because the house was haunted?’

  ‘She might have done, sir,’ said Susan.

  ‘Has your mother not told you more about her?’ he demanded.

  ‘She don’t talk about her at all, sir.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’ asked Mina.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then you must ask her,’ insisted Mr Hope.

  Susan’s mouth quivered. ‘You are frightening her,’ said Mina. ‘Allow me to continue.’ She paid no attention to Mr Hope’s reaction and went on. ‘William told me that Ned Copper might know more. I have spoken to him but I feel he is keeping something back.’

  ‘Ned Copper knows a lot, but he doesn’t always say it. He knows about the curse on the village.’

  ‘Ah yes, he told us about the gallows on Clayton Hill. Innocent people who were hanged there and their unquiet souls looking for justice. Were some of them from this village?’

  There was a long pause and, at last, Susan slowly raised her head and gave Mina a very profound stare. There was a subtle change in both her posture and the tone of her voice, almost as if another person was speaking through her. ‘There was one from this house,’ she said.

  There were a few moments of silence as everyone took this in. ‘Susan, are you saying that someone who lived in this house was hanged on Clayton Hill?’ asked Mr Honeyacre.

  Susan turned the strange stare to her master. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said evenly.

  ‘One of the servants, I take it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘By what name?’

  ‘Redwoode.’

  Mr Honeyacre pondered this. ‘As we know,’ he said, addressing the company, ‘the sixteenth century manor house on this site was occupied by a family of that name. Sir Christopher and Lady Matilda. But neither of them is buried here and I have not heard that either was hanged. Surely had that been the case, such an extraordinary incident would not have been forgotten and they would not be honoured by a plaque in the church.’

  ‘It wasn’t either of them, sir,’ said Susan. Her voice was stronger, steadier. ‘Ned said it was a son. He doesn’t like to talk about it much. He tells lots of old stories but this one he can’t bring himself to speak of unless he has had something to get his courage up. I think that’s because he knows it’s where it all started. There’s wicked things in it and I’m not sure I dare speak of it either.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go and fetch Ned at present,’ said Mr Hope. ‘Would you speak of it if I gave you a shilling?’

  Susan hesitated. Mr Hope delved into his pockets but unable to locate such an item, glanced at Mr Beckler, who explored his pockets and came up with the requisite coin. Mr Hope took it, enclosed it in a napkin and rubbed it vigorously to polish it then he pressed it between his palms and muttered a prayer and finally held it up for inspection. ‘There you are, Susan, it is a holy shilling now. I have blessed it and that means you will come to no harm if you tell us what you know.’ He offered the coin and Susan took it and stared at it, as if trying to see if a blessed shilling was any different from the usual one. At last she put it in her pocket and began to speak. Her voice was very soft, as if all emotion had been drained away. Her expression, too, lacked feeling and her eyes stared straight ahead into a distance that went far beyond the walls of the room. All present remained silent to hear her.

  ‘This is the story Ned Copper told me. It is the tale of the lost bones. Sir Christopher and his wife had two sons, one good and one bad. Henry was the good one and he was his father’s favourite. He respected his father and always did as he was told. Edwin used to quarrel with his father. He liked to drink and gamble and do other things, too. Edwin said he loved his brother, but really he was jealous of him. When Sir Christopher’s wife died he said his one comfort in the world was having a good son like Henry.

  ‘One day, Sir Christopher told Edwin that he must mend his ways and be good like Henry and if he didn’t then he would make a new will and leave all his fortune to Henry and then Edwin would have nothing and he would be no more than his brother’s servant. That made Edwin very angry.

  ‘The very next day, Henry and Edwin went out riding together but only Edwin came back. His father asked him where his brother was and Edwin said that Henry had gone away on a journey. But Sir Christopher knew that Edwin was lying because Henry was good and he would never have gone away without saying anything. So he asked Edwin again where his brother was and this time Edwin said that Henry was unhappy and had run away. But Sir Christopher knew that Edwin was lying because if Henry had been unhappy he would have talked to his father about it and not run away.

  ‘So again, Sir Christopher asked Edwin where Henry was. This time Edwin said that there had been an accident and that Henry’s horse had fallen and crushed him. Sir Christopher was beside himself and told Edwin to take him to the spot at once, in case Henry was still alive, but Edwin said he couldn’t remember where it was.

  ‘Then Sir Christopher said he would beat Edwin until he remembered and at last Edwin confessed that he had murdered his brother and thrown the body into a well. Sir Christopher had Edwin locked away and ordered his servants to search every well there was, but nothing could be found.

  ‘Edwin hoped that his father would show him mercy and protect him, but he did not. He never spoke to Edwin again. Edwin was tried and found guilty of the murder of his brother and sentenced to hang. The gallows were built on Clayton Hill, in the same place where the windmills are now, and Edwin was hanged there. His father ordered that the body was not to be taken down and buried, but should be left there to rot away, and it was.

  ‘And so, the bones of both Redwoode brothers are lost. Sir Christopher wasted away and died from grief not long afterwards. Ned Copper says that when the wind blows it is the ghost of Henry calling out, begging for a Christian burial and the rain is the tears of Sir Christopher as his spirit wanders the land, still searching for his missing son and when there is a thunderstorm, it is the ghost of Edwin on Clayton Hill, cursing everyone in Ditchling Hollow for not saving him from the anger of his father. He was wicked in life and he is wicked in death, too.’

  Susan stopped talking and blinked, as if coming out of a dream. She looked at the rapt faces of her listeners. ‘That’s all I know,’ she said. ‘But if you asked Ned to tell you the story he wouldn’t do it for a guinea. May I go now, please?’

  All eyes turned to Mr Honeyacre. ‘Ah — yes, Susan, that will be all.’

  Susan rose and walked out as if nothing had happened.

  Mr Hope was deep in thought. ‘It is far more serious than I had imagined,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Old curses such as that are hard to remove. Who knows where the well is now? Shall we ever find Henry Redwoode’s bones? They might have been scattered by vermin long ago. And how may we return Edwin’s spirit to the infernal regions where he no doubt belongs? I shall have to give th
is some thought.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Mr Honeyacre, ‘I suggest that we all try and get some rest before dinner is served. It might not be easy but we will have better appetites and think much better when we are refreshed.’

  Those who departed did so with melancholy expressions that suggested it was most unlikely that they would enjoy any refreshing rest. Mina hung back in silent reflection and Dr Hamid, seeing her still seated, understood and stayed back to talk.

  ‘That was a very affecting story,’ he said.

  ‘I am glad you liked it,’ said Mina.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘After all, I wrote it.’

  It was a few moments before Dr Hamid understood what Mina had just said and saw the implications behind it. ‘Let me be clear — you are being serious when you say this; it was not a jest?’

  ‘Someone has stolen my story,’ Mina pointed out. ‘Would I jest about such a thing?’

  ‘Er — no, I suppose not.’

  ‘Neither am I mistaken,’ she added. ‘The facts are the same, the title is the same, the names of the two sons are the same. Even some of the words she used are the same, although she did not order them as well as in the original. The only difference is that the tale has been attached to this place and the Redwoode family.’

  ‘There might just be some confusion,’ suggested Dr Hamid cautiously.

  ‘That is very generous of you,’ said Mina, ‘but it was clear enough to me. Of course, we don’t know whose idea it was. Susan might genuinely believe the story. Even Ned Copper might believe it, too. He could have been told it by someone else.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there is a history of Ditchling Hollow in the library?’

  ‘No, and I have looked, believe me. The books mainly deal with antiquities and spiritualism. There are histories of Sussex, of course, but that is just the county and they do not feature every village. The gazetteer makes no mention of a gallows.’

  ‘No publications from the Scarletti Library of Romance?’ he asked, not entirely seriously.

  ‘I regret not.’

  ‘When did you write that story?’

  ‘About a year ago.’

  ‘Well, someone in this region, either in the village or this house, is an avid reader and was so struck by your work that they can recall it in detail.’

  ‘I would like to think so, but I can hardly go about searching everyone’s rooms.’ Richard, she mused, would have done that without a thought and charmingly talked his way out of trouble if caught. Sometimes her wayward brother had his uses, but she could hardly suggest that he indulge in such suspicious behaviour with the ever-watchful Mr Stevenson under the same roof.

  Dinner was a subdued affair, the main irritant being Mr Hope persistently referring to the importance of holding another séance and Mr Honeyacre adamantly responding that nothing could be decided until he had consulted with his wife. Kitty was not at the table, having had a tray sent up to her room, but he was pleased to report that her appetite was improved. If she was able to face the next day fully rested and content then he would discuss it with her, but not under any other circumstances. Mr Hope’s continued pleadings began to take on the colour of goading, even bullying, but Mr Honeyacre remained tight-lipped under pressure and made no further response.

  There were other disturbing nuances in Mr Hope’s behaviour. He often cast his eye at Nellie and raised his wineglass to her with a smile. The motion of his eyebrows was especially suggestive. Mina, whose experience of ardent admirers was, thus far in her life, non-existent, watched Nellie with interest in case she was ever to include such a scene in a story. Nellie, she noticed, made no response at all to Mr Hope’s subtle advances and Mina assumed that, in the circumstances, this was the best thing to do. Nellie was never, of course, going to receive Mr Hope’s attentions with pleasure, but further than that she refused to acknowledge that they had even occurred. Mina guessed that to such a vain man any reaction at all, even a spirited public rejection, would be seen by him as a veiled acceptance.

  There were also the ever-vigilant eyes of Mr Stevenson, a man who had trained himself to look for the smallest outward signs of hidden passion. Even the most trivial behaviour on Nellie’s part could endanger her reputation. Mina found herself watching Mr Stevenson, observing the direction of his stare and concluded that whether or not he suspected Nellie of any attachment to Mr Hope, he had not failed to notice that she was the object of his keen interest.

  Mina did not flatter herself that Mr Beckler had any interest in her other than as a potential customer for his trade. She thought of him as an annoyance rather than a danger, like a hovering insect that buzzed without ceasing and could not be persuaded to fly out of the window. She took care not to look at him, as she suspected that if she did so she might discover him to be looking at her.

  It was a source of great frustration to Mina that she had no means of pursuing her investigations, trapped as she was in the great house. If she had only been able to travel to Hurstpierpoint she might have found a library there or someone willing to talk about Ditchling Hollow and its history. After dinner, she studied the purloined pamphlet again without result and the village map, but it was so ancient and faded with markings neither she nor Nellie were able to read and she naturally did not want to show it to anyone else.

  Nellie was not a great reader and Mina had never discussed with her the true nature of the stories she wrote, or revealed her nom de plume of Robert Neil. Now, however, she took the opportunity of unveiling her secret and that The Lost Bones was one of her creations. Nellie was surprised, but understood that Mina was sharing something in the strictest confidence, not to be spoken of even to her family — in fact, most especially to her family. ‘If my mother was to find out it would be an unceasing topic of conversation and the subject of every letter, as she would see my degraded occupation as a personal insult.’

  ‘I take it Richard does not know? He has never mentioned it to me.’

  ‘Have you ever known Richard to keep a secret?’

  Nellie smiled. ‘He can be a little transparent. But I have seen no reading matter of that kind here. I will let you know if I do. And when we return to Brighton, I will make sure to purchase a copy of your story and read it with interest. I can quite see it played as a melodrama on the stage. Perhaps virtuous Henry could have a beautiful sweetheart who would be dreadfully affected by his loss. I can imagine her now. I suppose I shall never return to the stage, but if I could, I would like to play such a part.’ She sighed. ‘Are all Mr Neil’s stories so bloodcurdling?’

  ‘Many are far worse,’ said Mina. ‘I am only glad that Mrs Honeyacre was not in the room to hear this one. You have known her much longer than I — how do you think she does? Mr Honeyacre thinks she is improving.’

  ‘She is, and if she was only able to spend some time away from here she would improve so much faster. She has always been such a bright cheerful thing, sparkling with life, and to see her like this is distressing to any friend who knows her well. It may be that her expectation of a family event is partly to blame, as she is so nervous and fearful. But I cannot fault Mr Honeyacre; he dotes on her and would do anything in his power to relieve her anxiety.’

  ‘There must not be another séance,’ said Mina, firmly. ‘I will do everything in my power to prevent it.’

  Nellie rested a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Take care, my dear, you are not strong.’

  Mina found sleep hard to come by that night. Too many things were troubling her and her inability to do anything to remedy them or even discover more was vexing in the extreme. She found herself revolving all the facts in her memory, pursuing avenues of action or enquiry and finding each of them leading to a wall she could not climb. She considered sitting up, lighting her candle and reading her notes again, but her tired body was demanding sleep. It took time, but eventually her troubled mind let go of thought and she drifted into an exhausted slumber. When she awoke it was still dark. Somewhere deep inside the house,
a clock struck three.

  For a moment, Mina wondered what could have awoken her. From the second bed a sound of even breathing with a gentle snore told her that Nellie was deeply asleep. Mina tried to settle down again and closed her eyes, but then she started and sat up, wide awake. There was noise like sighing and moaning coming from the corridor outside.

  Mina slid carefully from her bed and put on her wrap and slippers. A thin yellow glow was creeping beneath her door, telling her that there was a light in the corridor, but it was not moving. She decided not to light a candle, but opened the door very carefully and peered out. A figure stood in the corridor, a dark still figure holding a lantern. Its flame illuminated the features, distorting the face until it looked like a mask, but Mina quickly realised that this was no ghost or demon, but Kitty, barefoot and clad only in her nightdress and a voluminous wrap. Soft moans were issuing from her parted lips. Mina closed the bedroom door softly behind her and approached Kitty very slowly and carefully so as not to alarm her. ‘Mrs Honeyacre?’ she ventured.

  Kitty’s eyes were open but they stared ahead unseeingly and her face bore no expression. Mina had no idea what to do, if anything. She couldn’t be sure whether Kitty was asleep or awake. Even if awake, she appeared to be in a state of trance and in either event, Mina did not know if it was a good or a bad thing to wake her. She had heard of people who walked in their sleep, she had even written stories about them but until that moment she had never actually encountered one. After some hesitation, Mina decided that it was safest to do nothing at all and simply watch over her hostess to see that she came to no harm. She wondered if she should fetch Dr Hamid, but feared that if she knocked on his door loudly enough to wake him she might unintentionally wake Kitty as well.

  The moaning continued and it seemed to be coming from deep inside the unconscious woman. It was a sound expressing the most profound distress.

  Mina had just decided to return to her room and wake Nellie to seek her advice when there was the sound of a bedroom door opening. On hearing it, Mina hoped that Dr Hamid was awake and coming to assist, but saw to her dismay that the figure peering out into the corridor was Mr Hope. ‘What is happening?’ he asked. ‘What is that noise?’