Mina could see what appeared to be the skirts of seated ladies and the lower limbs of a gentleman, the upper portions of the sitters having largely fallen away. Searching at the foot of the painting for a signature she saw something else. ‘Can you see? There is a child here in the corner,’ she said. ‘Now why would they place a child there? I can almost see a little colour on its clothing and it — what is that? A toy, a whip, a rope?’
Mr Honeyacre peered at the picture then took a magnifying glass from his pocket and studied the corner of the portrait. ‘Ah,’ he said with a smile and handed the glass to Mina. She stared through it, adjusting the distance to obtain the best view, trying to understand what she was seeing and then she laughed. ‘Oh, it isn’t a child at all! It’s a monkey with a curly tail and it’s wearing a little red coat!’
‘A family pet, I would guess. Such novelties would have been popular then. I must tell Kitty what we have found. I know she will be amused.’
‘But, don’t you see?’ Mina exclaimed. ‘This is the burial you have the fragments of. The little coffin that Ned Copper’s father burned. It was not an infernal child, at all, but a pet monkey. A monkey in a red coat. No wonder it was buried outside consecrated ground.’
In the corridor outside there was the sound of the maids exiting the bedrooms, this time presumably with laden laundry baskets. The bedroom doors closed and as the maids walked down the corridor the weight of their feet and their burdens sent a little shudder through the old floorboards. As they did so, the cheval mirror tilted silently forward and the white cloth slipped to the floor. ‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Honeyacre, picking up the cloth and replacing it. ‘I really must remember to ask Malling to repair the hinges.’
It was as they departed the storeroom that Mina was stuck with an idea. ‘Mr Honeyacre, would you be kind enough to allow me to borrow that magnifying glass? I wish to be able to better examine a —’ she paused — ‘a book I am reading.’
‘By all means,’ he replied, handing her the glass.
Mina returned to her room where she was concealing her stolen treasures and unfolded the ancient map of Ditchling Hollow. When she had first examined it she had been frustrated by faded words that could not be read and portions of the drawing itself that were indistinct, but by finding the right position of the glass she was now able to see everything with fresh eyes. She could now see that the map had been drawn in 1764, the year before the first windmill was erected on Clayton Hill, perhaps during the time when the work was being planned. The hill was marked, but nothing stood upon it. She passed the glass carefully over every inch of the map and at last she saw something that made her smile.
‘This is the way that stories often begin,’ said Mina, when she discussed her findings with Dr Hamid. ‘They start with something truthful, such as a monkey dressed as a child in a little red coat. It must have been a favourite of the Redwoodes but the kind of novelty that the farming folk of Ditching Hollow would never have seen. So they told stories, exchanged whispers in dark places, invented the legend of an infernal child. And as time passed, the truth was forgotten and the story became more real than the truth. And then, over the years, the story was reborn and then born once more, but each time with different characters. Perhaps, later on, the child was said to belong to the Wigmores, the family who built the present house, and then later still it was rumoured to be a child of the new owners, the Lassiters, and so it goes on through each generation. And I have one other thing to mention, although, as it is not yet certain, I would rather it was not generally known until I am sure of my facts. I have discovered in my researches the location of the gallows, which I now believe was never on Clayton Hill at all, but several miles away. In 1764, the year before the first windmill was built, there was nothing on Clayton Hill. I imagine that the reputed position of the gallows must dance about depending on the story attached to it. But I will be able to check my facts more thoroughly when I return to Brighton and consult the library there.’
‘I know why people tell stories,’ said Dr Hamid, ‘but why do they tell them as if they are true? Do they not know the difference — or are they too ready to believe?’
‘Few people can resist a good story,’ said Mina, ‘and it is all the better if it is believed to be true. But sometimes the truth is too dull to relate so the storyteller adds drama and excitement to ensure the attention of the public. They do know the difference, but it doesn’t concern them. I notice also that people prefer a story that has been played out in the place where they live. Why should we tell tales from Greece and Rome when we can invent new ones that happened in Sussex?’
‘Is that how you devise your stories?’ asked Dr Hamid, ‘by starting with a plain truth and then embellishing it? I have read many of them, but I am still not sure how you write them.’
‘It’s a form of magic,’ said Mina. ‘I don’t really understand it myself.’
After luncheon, Mina, having seen Nellie safely into the company of Kitty and Miss Pet, retired to the library. When the door opened she was surprised to see Richard, as a library was not a room he would voluntarily enter.
‘I suppose you are looking for me,’ she said.
‘I am, and I am also trying to avoid Mr Stevenson. Though, I think I might have shaken him off at last. I haven’t seen him since luncheon ended.’
‘I would rather prefer to know where he was,’ said Mina.
‘Maybe he has given up,’ said Richard. ‘He hasn’t found anything out, I mean there isn’t anything to find, and I was getting a bit annoyed by his being a constant shadow.’ He sat down and leaned forward confidentially. ‘I need to tell you something about Mr Beckler. A few minutes ago, he drew me aside and asked if my pretty sister has a sweetheart.’
Mina was amazed. ‘But Enid is a married woman! How does he know her?’
Richard rolled his eyes. ‘Mina dear, he has never met Enid. He meant you.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He obviously admires you.’
‘Oh, no, that is quite wrong,’ said Mina with a laugh. ‘He is a photographer, remember? All he wants is new customers. That is the reason for his flattering remarks. Nothing more.’
Richard shook his head emphatically. ‘It is far more than that. He made it very plain to me that he has a tender regard for you. He asked me to put in a word for him. That’s what chaps do for each other when there is a lady they are sweet on.’
Mina was mystified. ‘What sort of a word?’
‘Oh, the usual kind of thing, you know.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Just to tell you that I thought he was a fine fellow and so on.’
Mina threw down her pencil in exasperation. ‘He isn’t, Richard. He really isn’t. This is all some ridiculous scheme to drum up business and he goes much too far.’
‘He knows you think that and he said that you have mistaken his intentions. My dear sister, he means to court you.’
‘Now that is ridiculous. What would Mr Hope think of it? Mr Hope is undoubtedly encouraging and supporting Mr Beckler in his attempts to photograph spirits, whereas if he had his way, I would be locked up as mad woman. Mr Beckler cannot be unaware of that. I would be the very last woman he would pay court to.’
‘But Mina, dear —’
Mina waved him away impatiently. ‘No, just leave me to my books. If you want to do something useful, try and find out where Mr Stevenson is and what he is doing.’
‘Very well,’ said Richard, ‘but you will see that I am right.’
Mina was left once more alone, but she found it hard to concentrate on the pages in front of her. She was reading a fanciful ghost tale about a maidservant who had been frightened out of her wits at macabre happenings, only to find that her master had murdered three wives, all of whom he had married for their fortunes and then buried their corpses under the kitchen flagstones.
It was at that moment, when contemplating the general villainy of husbands and how pleased she was not to have one, that Mina realised how
obtuse she had been. She had assumed from the start that the purpose of Mr Beckler’s flattery was to obtain a customer for his business. But why should that be, she now reasoned, when he lived in Twickenham and there were many good photographers in Brighton? No, it was more than that, and it was far far worse.
Mr Beckler was Mr Hope’s creature and acted on his master’s instructions. She had seen evidence of this time and time again. Therefore, if he was trying to court Mina, he was doing so because Mr Hope had told him to. Neither man could know that Mina had been warned by a doctor many years ago that she should never marry or bear children and that she had put all such ambitions firmly from her mind. They might well imagine that she yearned to be a wife and mother as other women did, but was wretched in the belief that no man would ever make her an offer.
Did Mr Hope really imagine that being occupied with marriage and children would silence her? Or was he hoping that the ordeal of childbirth would prove fatal? It was then that the full force of the dreadful truth finally struck Mina. Mr Beckler’s courtship, if that was what it was, was not intended to lead to marriage. Mr Hope, as he had made abundantly clear, wished to destroy Mina; not necessarily by taking her life but by erasing any respect and credibility she might have earned. Mr Hope, horrible as it might seem, had instructed his acolyte to romance Mina and then shame her in order to blight her reputation. She felt suddenly nauseous. It was an insight so shocking, so disgusting, that she felt unable to confide it to anyone.
Mina did not feel safe where she was, since anyone might enter and find her there alone and in a state of distress. She retired to her room, which she felt did offer a measure of privacy. There was water in the jug and she poured some into the basin and washed and dried her face. Gradually, she felt calmer. The sooner she could leave the house and return home the better.
She managed to find some solace in a book and was quietly reading when Nellie entered.
Mina saw at once from Nellie’s expression that something was dreadfully wrong. ‘What is the matter?’ she asked.
Nellie said nothing but sat on the bed. She was clutching a slip of paper in her hand.
‘Is it that horrid Mr Hope?’ asked Mina. ‘If so, something must be done!’
‘Oh, he is the least of my troubles,’ said Nellie.
Mina left her chair and went to sit beside her friend. ‘Shall I fetch Dr Hamid?’
Nellie shook her head. Mina reached out and teased the paper from her hand. She did not resist. The note read:
You enchantress, you have bewitched me with your beauty. I am your humble slave. Meet me in the drawing room at midnight. AWH
Mina wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Did Mr Hope hand this to you himself?’
‘No, it was his minion, Mr Beckler.’
‘Unspeakable!’
‘But that is not the worst. I was in the parlour a little earlier with Kitty and Miss Pet and they went to take Little Scrap to play in the hall when your brother came in. He asked me if I had seen Mr Stevenson and I said I had not. I told him to go and I thought he would, but he stayed. We — had a conversation and he made a very tender declaration to me. He alluded to what we had once been to each other. He also alluded to meetings we had had since I was married. He was quite emotional. You know how Richard is when he is — the way he is.’
‘But the two of you were alone in the room? No one saw or heard you?’
‘So we thought. I said I would go to join Kitty and as I rose I saw a movement behind the curtains and then I saw the tips of some shoes. There was no mistaking Mr Stevenson’s coarse boots.’
‘What did you do?’
‘What could I do? I left the room. I could not tell him he had been discovered, or threaten or bribe him. Especially with Richard there. Who knows what he would have done? Your brother is a dear fellow, but he does need to be protected from his own folly. So there it is, my marriage is over. I will be poor again and return to the stage and look for a gentleman of means who will protect me. That is my future.’ Nellie sounded regretful rather than distressed.
Mina gave Nellie a sisterly hug and Nellie returned it warmly.
‘It is hard to know what to do about Mr Stevenson,’ said Mina. ‘The man knows too many tricks, and any scheme we might devise could only make things worse. But I promise to give it some thought, and perhaps I will find an answer — or we may be fortunate, and on the way back to Brighton he will sink into the mud and slime where he belongs. I only wish we could do something about Mr Hope. Will you send him a sharp reply?’
‘I feel it is best to have no communication with him at all. And I decline to tell Mr Honeyacre what that vile beast of a man is up to. He has quite enough upset to deal with.’
‘Especially as he is unable to order Mr Hope to quit the house,’ said Mina. She thought for a while. ‘Might I suggest a plan? Mr Hope is vain enough to take your lack of response as assent, but that is to our advantage. He is bound to go to the drawing room at the appointed time and when he does, there should be someone waiting for him. In fact, it would be better for safety if there were two people; Dr Hamid for his authority and good sense, and Richard as he would wish to protect you and would be most offended if he was not allowed to do so. We will show them this note, and I am sure they will know what to say. But we ought to be on our guard in case Mr Hope should attempt to gain entry to our room. Naturally the door will be locked, but we must remain alert until we are told by our gallant protectors that we are safe.’
All the plans had been made, and the arrangements completed to Mina’s satisfaction. As she and Nellie prepared to rest, both fully dressed but taking it in turns to refresh themselves with naps, Mina could not help but wonder how her scheme would be resolved and consider what a wonderful story her adventures in Hollow House might make if her alter ego Mr Robert Neil were ever to write it as a work of sensational fiction.
Rest did not come easy, however. Mina was just on the cusp of sleep when she became aware of footsteps outside her room. It was hard to tell but she thought that two or maybe even three people were creeping towards the servants’ stairs at the eastern end of the corridor. No sooner had they passed by then she heard the squeak of a hinge. A door had opened at the western end. Mina listened carefully but detected no further sound. ‘I am not sure,’ she whispered to Nellie, ‘but that might have been Mr Hope leaving for his assignation in the drawing room.’
‘How I wish I could see him discovering that his vile scheme had been anticipated,’ said Nellie, with a grim smile.
‘Once the gentlemen have spoken to him, he would do well to return to his room and never trouble you again,’ said Mina.
They waited together, but hardly more than a moment or two passed before there were further noises, footsteps at the eastern end of the corridor and a creaking and scraping impossible to identify. There followed at the western end the soft pattering sound of cautious footfall, probably from more than one individual, then several doors opened and closed in quick succession.
‘What can be happening?’ said Mina in astonishment. ‘Is the entire household awake?’
Then came a knock at their door. Neither of them spoke, but the knock came again.
‘Miss Scarletti?’ The urgent whisper was immediately outside.
Mina drew Nellie aside. ‘It’s Mr Beckler,’ she said quietly. ‘The despicable creature. He believes his master is downstairs with you, and I am alone.’ Mina’s annoyance got the better of her and she approached the door. ‘Mr Beckler, kindly return to your room and do not bother me again.’
To her surprise she heard a little squeal followed by a nervous laugh. ‘I felt something brush past me, but there was nothing there. Miss Scarletti, there are curious things happening which you must see and hear for yourself.’
The next sound was almost melodious, the rattle of twigs and dry logs beating rhythmically together. Mr Beckler gave a little gasp. ‘There is a skeleton in the corridor,’ he said, and there was no mistaking the tremor in his voice, half excit
ement, half fright, ‘It’s waving its arms at me. Oh, please come out and see!’
Mina returned to where Nellie stood and spoke softly. ‘This annoyance must end. I mean to confront him. But I won’t leave you alone until you are safe from Mr Hope. If you are equal to it, we will go together and protect each other.’
Nellie nodded eagerly.
Mina went to the mantlepiece and removed the candlesticks. She handed one of them to Nellie. ‘If it is necessary to strike him, I trust you will do so,’ she said.
‘With pleasure,’ said Nellie.
Mina unlocked the door and threw it open. Mr Beckler was leaning against the far wall, staring along the corridor, then he turned to see Mina and Nellie. His profound astonishment was gratifying to both ladies.
‘As you see,’ said Mina, ‘Mr Hope’s little ruse has failed. Some gentlemen were waiting for him in the drawing room and are even now explaining to him the folly of his actions.’ She glanced down the corridor, which was empty. ‘And there appears to be no skeleton.’
He turned back to look. ‘It was there a moment ago! I promise you! It was dancing about!’
‘Then we shall go and look for it. All three of us. If you have the courage to face it, that is. And if I find you have been telling me untruths it will be the worse for you.’
From Mr Beckler’s expression he would have found an animated skeleton preferable to an angry Mina.
The unclouded moon was throwing sufficient light down the corridor, and they crept towards the window, looking about them but seeing nothing of note. Faced with the servants’ stairs, they detected noises coming from the attic; a shuffling that resembled the movement of rats. Mina glanced at the others, pressed a finger to her lips then pointed upwards and they ascended the stairs as quietly as possible. At the head of the stairs was a small landing with single dark door and a yellow light flickering from below.
Mina was leading the way and driven by excitement she abandoned caution and pushed the door open. Nellie and Mr Beckler rushed in after her. There in a small dingy and unfurnished room illuminated by a single candle they confronted Mrs Malling, wearing an unflattering costume of billowing white muslin over her day dress, and a glowing skeletal shape with the head of Mr Malling. Too late, and with a look of alarm, he pulled on a black hood, which was painted with a phosphorescent skull.
The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4) Page 24
