House of Shadows

by Iris Gower

  I thought of kissing her cheek, and then thought better of it and ran down the stairs. I burst into the dining room, just in time to see Colonel Fred cover his ears. ‘Ghosts,’ I announced dramatically, ‘on the landing. Come quickly, all of you.’

  The guests flooded into the hall, and Beatrice was doing her bit – her head raised, her hand pointing at the window. She looked so convincing that I almost believed she was a ghost.

  Miss Spears, predictably, fainted away, her fall cushioned by the carpet. William knelt at her side to hold a bottle of smelling salts under her nose. Apparently, she was given to fainting spells. Meanwhile the ‘ghost’ discreetly vanished.

  ‘Look at the window!’ the colonel suddenly shouted.

  We all stared upward and there, silhouetted in the window, was a face, a ghostly white face. The face of a bearded man! It seemed to hover there for a moment and then disappeared. Even I was shaken, as William’s girlfriend fell into a decline again.

  ‘It’s the first time we’ve seen the ghost of a man.’ Plump Betty pulled at her corsets, a beam of sheer excitement on her face. ‘Ooh, Mr Bravage, might I stand next to you? I am just a little frightened.’ She did indeed seem to be trembling.

  ‘Brandies all round,’ Colonel Fred declared. ‘I’ve brought a whole casefull with me,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Rather subdued now, we sat in the large drawing room, quietly discussing the new phenomena. Until now the story of ghosts, of young maids, of the appearances of Beatrice, and of the noises in the night had all seemed a game. I’d been able to explain everything away to myself . . . but not this. The disembodied face of the old man, hovering in an upper window, was really spooky and frightening.

  I wandered into the kitchen looking for some aspirin and heard a slight sound behind me. Frightened I’d see a disembodied face staring at me, I was relieved to see a flesh-and-blood man standing there. ‘Tom! You’re here again.’ I hurried towards him. ‘What are you doing trying to frighten me like that? What tricks are you playing on us and why? Do you want to ruin my weekends?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey.’ He sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘I’ve only just driven up in my old army car, so what am I supposed to have done?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening here!’ I ran back into the drawing room, where everyone was talking together. Colonel Fred raised his voice as he held forth, and then young William rushed outside to examine the old building for signs of trickery, such as ladders. When he returned to the drawing room, his cheeks red with cold and a sprinkling of snow on his hair, he sank into a chair gasping with fright and lack of breath.

  ‘No sign of intruders. This is no trick, Riana. What we all saw was the ghost of a man, a desperate spirit trying to tell us something!’

  ‘Could it be Edwin Mansel-Atherton, the man accused of the murder of the young maids?’ Colonel Fred had, evidently, been reading up on the history of Aberglasney. I shivered, suddenly cold.

  I went back to the kitchen where Tom was sitting, leaving my guests to discuss the arrival of a new ghost between themselves.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ My tone was sharp. ‘The lights of your car must have thrown up images on the window.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Riana. My lights are still hooded. It’s an old official car, remember? The lights were kept dim for the blackout, so I don’t see how I could have thrown up lights on any window.’

  I was embarrassed about accusing him of something he clearly hadn’t done . . . and more so about our last meeting when I had fallen into Tom’s arms so readily, like a desperate wanton. And yet, even as I tried to be indignant and angry, I wanted to press myself against him and feel his mouth on mine. ‘Well, you surprised me, that’s all.’

  He smiled his crooked charming smile. ‘You’re getting in the habit of saying that every time we meet,’ he commented.

  ‘And we meet so often, don’t we, Tom?’ I knew I was being sarcastic. ‘Not bad for an engaged man with responsibilities, I suppose. Taking your new lady love back to America soon, are you?’

  ‘You are being foolish again,’ Tom said. ‘Miss Grist is really Mrs Grist. She has a husband who is alive and well and living in the highlands of Scotland. Our “engagement” is a ruse. I can’t explain things now.’

  ‘You never can explain! Tom, you say you love me, you make love to me, and then you vanish again. Talk to me, please! Just tell me the truth about what’s going on.’

  He took a deep breath, about to speak, but we were rudely interrupted by a thundering at the door. Tom caught me swiftly in his arms and kissed me. ‘Remember, whatever happens, I love you.’

  He’d gone then, disappeared like a shadow, leaving me with more questions than answers. All right, he’d gone through a sham engagement with Miss Grist, but why?

  When I returned to the drawing room, my guests were standing against the wall, hands in the air, and two men were pointing savage-looking firearms at them!

  ‘What’s going on here?’ I demanded.

  A gun swivelled in my direction and I flinched, taking a step backwards. The men were dressed as soldiers, armed and threatening, but after my previous encounters with bogus police I looked at them doubtfully.

  ‘On the floor!’ one of them snapped.

  I straightened my back. ‘No!’ I stated firmly. ‘I want to see some identification – if you are genuine soldiers you should have some.’

  The man pointing a gun at me appeared agitated and waved his gun about wildly.

  I pushed his arm aside and pulled off his mask, and he stared at me in disbelief. ‘What are you looking for? Tell me and I might be able to help,’ I said calmly.

  My guests began to sit down, still wary, their hands clearly visible on the table.

  ‘We have been informed there’s an American deserter at large.’ One of the soldiers came forward taking charge. ‘Has anyone been here in the last half hour?’

  ‘Only the ghost of an old man,’ Colonel Fred declared in a roar. ‘Proof of identity, if you please, sir.’ He bravely approached the man we recognized as leader, and a card was duly produced. The colonel took it, grunting like an old boar. I chuckled, amused by my own unspoken pun, and I was given a frozen look by the man whose mask I’d ripped off.

  ‘Careful, lady,’ he said, and then the penny dropped. These men were Americans sure enough, and I could see the flash of dog tags on one soldier’s shirt. Tom was an airman . . . though not a soldier, like these men. Something must have shown in my face, because I was pushed into a chair. ‘Tell us what you know, ma’am, otherwise things might get a bit nasty here.’

  ‘I don’t know anything! I don’t even know which man you are talking about, and why should I? I’m getting sick of being attacked in my own house!’

  My face was slapped hard, and then all hell broke out as Beatrice came out on to the landing, joined by the misty figures of ‘the girls’, as I had come to call them.

  ‘The ghosts!’ young William shouted, while his girlfriend hid under the table as shots rang out, aimed towards the landing. They made no noticeable difference to the mist, however.

  To my relief, now there was no sign of Beatrice. She must have taken cover – as had all the guests, with the exception of William, who was now on the landing trying to grasp hold of the mist with very little success. I saw his hand run clean through one of the shadowy figures, and I saw a glimpse of ghostly hair swinging over a cotton nightgown, and then the images faded and all was silent.

  ‘What the hell was that!’ One of the soldiers, white faced and cringing against the wall, was wide-eyed and terrified, his words coming out on a sibilant whisper.

  ‘It’s the ghosts of Aberglasney,’ I said boldly. ‘That’s why we’re here! This is a ghost-haunting weekend, and you’ve messed it all up on a wild goose chase. Why would we want spies here? Don’t you think we’ve got enough excitement as it is?’

  ‘I’m out of here!’ The soldier without a mask edged towards the
door, and I could hear him lighting up a cigarette outside, and then he began to run, his feet pounding against the drive.

  The leader looked doubtful. ‘We should search the place,’ he said. ‘We need to find out if that cursed airman has been here or not.’

  ‘To hell with all that!’ The other soldiers filed out of the house at quick-march.

  The leader looked at me apologetically. ‘Sorry for the trouble, ma’am.’ His gaze was directed at the landing, his eyes wide with disbelief, and he continued talking – almost as if reciting a well-known speech. ‘I didn’t mean to be so rough, but this man is dangerous. If you see him, keep away from him. He’s quite liable to kill you; he’s killed before.’

  ‘Sorry! What sort of man are you?’ The colonel came forward. ‘May the ghosts of Aberglasney haunt you for all the days of your life – sir,’ he added as an afterthought.

  As if on cue, Mrs Ward appeared with a tray of hot drinks, apparently without knowing what had happened. ‘Sorry I’ve been absent for a while, Riana. I fell asleep in my room with the radio on, heard a bit of noise – some banging – and guessed the ghosts had put in an appearance, so I got up.’

  ‘We’ve been shot at and frightened to death and you didn’t know?’ I asked in disbelief.

  ‘What! What happened? I’d taken a drink, Riana. It fair knocked me out it did. I’m sorry, but when I woke up I washed my face and came straight down to help.’

  ‘Who gave you a drink?’ I asked suspiciously.

  The colonel came to rest his hand on Mrs Ward’s arm. ‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I gave Mrs Ward a cocktail made up of some almost empty bottles – gin, vodka, brandy. I do hope you didn’t suffer any ill effects, Mrs Ward.’

  She beamed. ‘No, I just had a wonderful few hours’ rest that’s all,’ she said happily.

  I relaxed. I must be getting paranoid, I thought.

  The colonel was beaming happily down at Mrs Ward, and my eyes must have opened wide; surely not a romance in the air? Not between pragmatic Mrs Ward and the bluff old colonel?

  Mrs Ward’s eyes fluttered downward in what looked suspiciously like a coquettish manner. ‘I’d better get these hot drinks served,’ she said. Was that a wink?

  ‘Let me help you dear lady.’ The colonel and Mrs Ward went around the room handing out tea and coffee, and I sank into a chair, exhausted.

  I heard the cars start up outside the door and guessed the soldiers had left. I had no idea what they’d really wanted, but I was angry with them – and with Tom. So far I’d behaved like a weak fool, letting him treat me so casually. He’d only given me the smallest of hints as to his life and his ‘activities’, and yet my whole life was being disrupted by him. Next time he chose to come calling I’d send him away with a flea in his ear!

  Eventually, we all went to our rooms, and from next door I could hear William and his lady friend arguing. I gathered that while William was fascinated by the hall and its unusual residents, Miss Spears was appalled and afraid and wanted to go home to her cottage in the Brecon hills. Frankly, I didn’t blame her. It seemed ludicrous to pay to spend a weekend being shot at and frightened half to death!

  In the morning, the guests were up bright and early: going on walks in the fresh air, sitting in the library reading, and young William himself was on the landing, looking for bits of string or mirrors or goodness knows what. In spite of being a serious ghost-hunter, he was still trying to discover if there had been some sort of trickery.

  I could scarcely believe what had happened myself. It wasn’t so much the appearance of ghosts, or the intrusion of the soldiers and the way the men had treated me, that had upset me. It was Tom.

  On the other hand, I was tired of being treated roughly, as if I were some sort of traitor. Tonight I would make sure the doors and windows were securely locked. Later, I would get a dog – a big dog that would bark and growl and maybe bite any intruders.

  At breakfast the colonel was missing, and worried I went to his room. I knocked and opened the door, and there he was, handling a fierce-looking handgun. He turned and saw me. ‘Let anyone insult you again, my dear, and I’ll use this on him.’ His voice was booming fierce, his handling of the gun was clumsy, and I guessed his title of ‘colonel’ was ‘honorary’.

  ‘I’m going to get a dog,’ I said. ‘Maybe a big dog. At least then we will be warned if anyone tries to break in on us.’ Even Tom, I thought to myself.

  ‘Very well, Riana, but I think you should report all this to the police.’

  ‘No, no. I don’t want to alarm the local people. We might be shut down or something. Our ghost weekends might even be banned!’

  The colonel nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think you could be right, least said soonest mended, but at least have someone on guard outside. Back and front doors and windows, and someone at the gate perhaps.’

  I doubted I could afford all that, but I nodded placatingly. ‘We’ll have to do something,’ I agreed.

  I spent the day painting and fuming about Tom and the trouble he’d brought me, while the some of the guests lazed about or read up on the ghosts of Aberglasney and young William took his no-longer lady friend into Swansea to catch a train home. I worked a hasty loose painting of the events of the night before, omitting the shooting incident. That would be hard to explain. Instead, I did the landing scene and below in the hall the mixed reactions of the guests. I spitefully painted in Miss ‘Young William’ bottom up, crouching under the table, and ‘Plump Betty’ clutching the arm of Mr Bravage. It worked well, it was good . . . but I didn’t like it, so I painted out William’s girlfriend and put in a bit of moonlight on the parquet floor instead. It kept the colours muted and blurred and worked much better.

  In the afternoon, Diane arrived on a short visit from London and asked to look at my work. She admired my painting, but with a head on one side she regarded it speculatively. ‘Not with the “heart” you usually put into your work. Well executed, but something is lacking.’ She stood back a bit. ‘I know!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘The face in the window!’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I’ve been talking to some of the others,’ she said. ‘Betty was full of it. She said it frightened her much more than the ghosts of the young maids. It was an oldish man with a weary face, and “despair was written all over his ghostly features”. Her words, not mine.’

  Enthused, I quickly painted in the face as I remembered it – pale, hollow-eyed, a grieving expression about the hooded eyes – and I painted in just the hint of tears. I stood back and breathed a sigh of relief; now the painting had meaning, life or death according to how the observer looked at it.

  ‘Good!’ Diane said. ‘That will sell, as sure as eggs are eggs. I love it.’

  ‘Thanks to your input,’ I said, ‘it’s worked. You have a good eye, Diane, and perhaps even more intuition than dear Mr Readings had.’

  ‘Ah, dear Mr Readings. I miss him like anything, Riana, and I told you, the lovely man left me everything he owned – the house, the business and, most important to me of all, the wedding ring he bought for me.’

  I glanced at her hand where the gold band shone in the bright light through my studio windows. Impulsively, I hugged her. ‘You were always his wife in every way,’ I assured her. ‘He loved you very much.’

  ‘I was a mistress for years. I don’t suppose I will be accepted in polite society.’

  ‘There’s no “polite society” left after the devastation of the war,’ I protested.

  She looked at me with eyebrows raised. ‘You are mistaken, Riana. Snobbery will always exist, whatever the state of the world.’

  ‘Let’s go to the kitchen and have Mrs Ward make us a nice mug of hot chocolate, shall we?’

  ‘Hot chocolate! That sounds wonderful. Where do you manage to find such luxuries, Riana?’

  ‘It’s Mrs Ward’s doing. She conjures up various goodies! I think she’s got a list of the local people’s misdoings and blackmails them for l
uxuries.’

  We had to make our own hot chocolate, for I saw Mrs Ward out in the vegetable garden, with the colonel helping her to pick spring vegetables for tonight’s dinner. I smiled. ‘Those two unlikely people are getting on very well, aren’t they?’ I said.

  Diane stood at my side and watched as Mrs Ward’s head fell close to the colonel’s, clearly examining the produce from the garden. ‘They certainly are,’ she agreed, somewhat enviously.

  It was quiet that night, in stark contrast to the events of the night before. For all that, we sat up in the drawing room, bathed now with firelight, and talked quietly about the ghosts and the strange men who had intruded on us.

  ‘It must be something to do with the American airmen who were stationed here,’ William observed, newly knowledgeable after his research trip. ‘They intruded into the big houses and took all advantage of all the ladies, offering stockings and food as an inducement to wrongdoing and loose living.’

  ‘That’s extremely prudish of you,’ Betty said, perhaps feeling she should justify her own kind of approach to men. ‘Don’t forget that Americans were killed in the war as well as British.’

  ‘I agree,’ the colonel said at once. ‘There was that young pilot who died when the house was first open to us. Carl Jenkins – was that his name, Riana?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I thought of Rosie and the furore about her condition and how I’d blamed Tom for it all and felt ashamed. Poor Tom! He did so much for me, and yet I continued to blame him for everything bad that happened. But I couldn’t deny, even to myself, that he was tied up in all the mystery. I just hoped it was military secrets and nothing too sinister . . . like arms-smuggling or, even worse, murder and some sort of revenge.

  ‘May I pour some drinks, Riana?’ the colonel asked meekly.

  ‘Of course, it’s all part of the weekend,’ I said quickly. ‘Drinks all round, everybody?’ That was the latest innovation of mine – to provide a bar and a variety of drinks. I could afford these little additions now.

  I helped myself to a small sherry. I felt very tired after my day’s painting. It was something I loved doing, but I still wore myself out every time I created a picture. I supposed that I put too much of myself in it. I tensed up at the thought of the haunted face in the window, but when I drank some of the golden sherry it warmed my throat and my stomach and relaxed me a little.