‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Just letting the ghosts know we’re here, hon.’
‘Dad, there’s no such thing,’ chided Loren, indignant again.
‘Sure of that?’
Eve was impatient. ‘Come on, Gabe, open up.’ She wondered if the inside was as austere as the exterior.
Gabe pushed at the huge central doorknob with his right hand and, without a single creak, the heavy door swung open.
2: CRICKLEY HALL
‘Cooool.’
It was a drawn-out sound of awe from Loren.
Gabe smiled at Eve. ‘Not too shabby, huh?’ he asked, giving her a moment or so to be impressed.
‘I never expected . . .’ she began. ‘It’s . . .’ She faltered again.
‘Something, right?’ Gabe said.
‘From the outside I thought it’d be a mean interior. Roomy, but, you know . . . kind of skimpy.’
‘Yeah, doesn’t figure at all, does it?’
No, it didn’t figure at all, thought Eve. The entrance had opened onto a vast galleried hall that rose beyond the first floor, which itself was marked by a balustraded landing running round two sides of the room.
‘It must take up half the house,’ she said, eyes raised to the beamed ceiling high above and the cast-iron chandelier that hung from its centre. The chandelier resembled a black upturned claw.
‘The rest of the place isn’t as fancy,’ Gabe told her. ‘To your left there’s the kitchen and sitting room; those double doors directly ahead lead to a long drawing room.’ He gestured upwards with his chin. ‘Bedrooms are off the balcony, left and centre. There’s plenty to choose from.’
She pointed to a ground-floor door he had missed. It stood near the kitchen door, an old-fashioned chiffonier between them, and it was slightly ajar. She could see only a thick blackness beyond. ‘You didn’t say what’s through there.’
For some reason – for safety probably, because there was a steep descending staircase just inside – this door opened into the hall, unlike the other doors, and Gabe strode over to it and firmly pushed it shut. ‘Leads to the cellar,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Cally, you keep away from this door, okay?’
Their daughter stopped swirling round for a moment, her eyes fixed on the chandelier. ‘Okay, Daddy,’ she said distractedly.
‘I mean it. You don’t go down there without one of us with you, y’hear?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’ She swirled on, trying to make herself dizzy, and Eve wondered why Gabe’s instruction was so stern.
She ventured further into the hall, Loren following, leaving Cally behind by the open entrance door, now swaying unsteadily. To the right a broad wooden staircase led up to the gallery landing, its lower section turning at right angles towards the hall’s centre. From the turn that formed a small square lower landing, there towered an almost ceiling-high drapeless window through which poor daylight entered. Dull though the light was, it nevertheless brightened much of the hall’s oakpanelled walls and flagstone floor. Eve allowed her gaze to wander.
A few uninteresting and time-grimed landscape paintings were hung round the room and two carved oak chairs with burgundy upholstery stood on either side of the double doors to the drawing room. Apart from these, though, there was precious little other furniture in evidence – a narrow console table against the wall between the doors to the cellar and the sitting room, a dark-wood sideboard beneath the stairs, a circular torchère with an empty vase on top in the corner of the carpetless lower landing, and that appeared to be it. Oh, and an umbrella stand by the front door.
There was, however, a wide and deep open fireplace, its iron grate filled with dry logs, set into the wall beside the staircase and Eve hoped it would bring some much needed cheer – not to mention warmth – to the huge room when lit. She gave an involuntary shiver and folded her arms across her midriff, hands hugging in her elbows.
Because of the building’s unambiguously plain exterior, the hall seemed almost incongruous. It was as if Crickley Hall had had two architects, one for exterior, the other for interior: the architectural dichotomy was puzzling.
Gabe joined her at the centre of the hall. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s like I said: the rest isn’t so fancy. The drawing room’s pretty bleak – it takes up the whole rear part of the ground floor – and it’s empty, no furniture at all. The kitchen’s no more’n functional, and everything else is just okay. Oh, the sitting room’s not too bad.’
‘Good. I was worried I’d be overwhelmed by it all. So long as the other rooms are comfortable.’ She peered up at the galleried landing. ‘You mentioned the bedrooms . . .’
‘We can take our pick. I figure the one directly opposite the stairway will suit us – it’s a fair size and there’s a big four-poster bed that goes with it. No canopy, but it’s kinda quaint – you’ll love it. The room next door’ll be fine for the girls. Close to us and with their own beds from home. But there’s other rooms to choose from.’ He indicated more doors that were visible through the balustrade on the left-hand side of the landing. ‘We can jostle beds around, see what suits.’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘So what d’you think? It’ll do?’
She settled his apprehension with a smile; Gabe was trying too hard these days. ‘I’m sure it’s going to be okay for a short while, Gabe. Thank you for finding the place.’
He took her in his arms and brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘It’ll give us a chance, Eve. Y’know?’
A chance to forget? No, nothing will ever do that. She remained silent and held on to him. Then she shivered again and pulled away.
He looked at her questioningly. ‘You all right?’
It wasn’t the chill in the air, she told herself. It was the pressure of all these past months. Too much trying to live a normal life, not for her own sake, but for the girls, for Gabe. Relentless grief and . . . and guilt. It was those spiteful shards that caused her to shiver, spiking her whenever she forgot for a moment.
‘I just felt a draught,’ she lied.
Unconvinced – it was plain in his expression – Gabe left her to go to the open front door.
‘Hey,’ she heard him say behind her. ‘What’s up, fella?’ Eve turned to see him squatting down in front of a shivering Chester. The dog stood in the open doorway, his rear legs still on the outside step.
‘Come on, Chester, get in here,’ Gabe coaxed easily. ‘Your butt is gonna get soaked.’ It had begun to rain in earnest again.
Cally trotted over to the dog and patted his head. ‘You’ll catch a cold,’ she told Chester, who shuffled his front paws and gave a little whine.
Gabe lifted him gently and stroked the back of his neck. The puling began again but Gabe carried Chester across the threshold and used a foot to nudge the door shut behind them. The trembling dog began to struggle.
‘Easy, Chester,’ Gabe soothed. ‘You gotta get used to the place.’
Chester disagreed. He tried to get free, squirming his wiry body in Gabe’s arms, so that Gabe was forced to put him back on the floor. The dog scuttled back to the front door and began to scrabble at it with his paws.
‘Hey, quit it.’ Gabe pulled him away from the door but did not attempt to pick him up again. Cally and Loren looked on with concern.
‘Chester doesn’t like it here,’ Loren said anxiously.
Eve slipped an arm round her daughter’s shoulder. ‘It’s just a bit strange to him, that’s all,’ she said. ‘You wait, by tonight he’ll be treating Crickley Hall like he’s lived here all his life.’
Loren looked up at her mother. ‘He’s afraid of this place,’ she announced gravely.
‘Oh, Loren, that’s nonsense. Chester’s always been skittish about new things. He’ll soon get used to it.’ Eve smiled, but it was forced. Maybe Chester sensed something that she, herself, had sensed the moment she’d set foot inside. The something that had made her shiver a few moments ago.
There was something not quite right about Crickley
Hall.
The rest of the house was a disappointment. The girls explored with enthusiasm, but Eve followed distractedly when Gabe gave them the full tour. It was as he had said – the other rooms, apart from the drawing room, which was impressive only because of its length (it was once used as a schoolroom according to the estate manager who had first shown Gabe around) – were functional. Certainly the large kitchen fitted that description, with its old-fashioned electric cooker, deep porcelain sinks next to a scarred wooden worktop, plain but deep cupboards, walk-in larder, linoleum floor covering, and the black iron range (a fire had already been laid and Gabe wasted no time in putting a match to it). Gabe had already bought and installed a cheap washing machine and tumble-dryer on his last visit to Hollow Bay, so that was one less problem for them to contend with.
On the first floor there was, as promised, a choice of bedrooms, and she and the girls went along with Gabe’s original thought (oddly, Loren did not complain about having to share with Cally and Eve guessed that she, too, was a little intimidated by the very size of Crickley Hall). Although they had not climbed further on this first exploration, their tour guide informed them that the top floor obviously had once been a dormitory: there were still skeletal frames of cotbeds up there, but from the dust that had gathered and the weather-grime on the row of dormer windows along the sloping section of ceiling, the room had not been used for many, many years.
Most of Crickley Hall’s furniture was old but not antique and Eve was quietly relieved: children and pet dogs did not go very well with valuable antiquities, so it was another thing less to worry about.
Another area that went unexplored for now was the cellar which, according to Gabe, housed the boiler and generator (apparently the region suffered from frequent power cuts and the generator had been brought in to allow certain circuits, such as those running heating and lighting, to operate independently). Oh, and there was one other thing down there that would surprise them, Gabe had hinted, but that could wait until after they’d settled in.
They had quickly unloaded from the Range Rover the items they’d brought down with them that day, dashing to and fro in the rain, which had developed into a steady drizzle, careful not to slip on the treacherously wet boards of the bridge, the girls laughing with excitement and shrieking when they splashed through puddles, nobody stopping until every last article had been brought into the house. Then Loren had made her way upstairs loaded down with pillows and bed-sheets (it took three trips) to make up her own and Cally’s beds, while Gabe had first attended to the fire in the big hall before checking out the boiler in the cellar.
Chester slept fitfully on his favourite blanket in a corner of the kitchen, lured there and finally quietened with a bribe of chicken nuggets, while Cally painted watery pictures at the worn and scored table set against a wall opposite the working surfaces and two large windows.
Eve took wrapped crockery and kitchen utensils from cardboard boxes, soaking all in one of the two deep sinks filled with hot (so the boiler seems to be working okay) soapy water. The windows over the sinks and worktops overlooked the front lawn and river. She could see the swing from there, the wooden seat shiny with rain hanging from rusty link chains, the bridge across the busy river just beyond, and as she worked, scrubbing at the plates that were already clean, careless about not wearing the as yet unpacked Marigold gloves (a year ago it would have been impossible even to contemplate dipping her bare hands into hot soapy water), thoughts – the bad thoughts – came tumbling in.
It was the image of the swing gently stirring under the weary, almost leafless, oak that pierced the fragile membranes of her emotions. Cameron, just five years old, like Cally now, had loved the brightly coloured swings of their local park.
Her shoulders hunched over the sink, her hands locked beneath the water. Her head was bowed. A single teardrop fell and caused a tiny ripple on the water’s surface. Cam, her beautiful little boy with bright straw-coloured hair several shades lighter than his father’s but with the same stunningly blue eyes. She stiffened. She must stop. She couldn’t let the grief overwhelm her yet again. She hadn’t wept in front of her family for two months now and today, on this new beginning, she must not weaken. Only strong sedatives and responsibility towards the rest of her family – she could not let them down too – had forestalled a complete collapse, although breakdown had threatened repeatedly. Unconditional love from Gabe, Loren and Cally had pulled her through the worst of her misery – at least outwardly it had. How she wished she could be self-contained like Gabe, could keep the grief deep within. Not once throughout their ordeal had she witnessed him shed a tear, although there were times she knew he was close to it; but then, she also knew that his strength was for her and their daughters, that he had withdrawn into himself so that he could help his family bear the pain. Yes, he was strong; but then, unlike her, he was blameless . . .
A shadow fell across the light. Something moved in the water’s reflection.
Startled, she looked up, mouth open in surprise.
Something dark in the rain outside. A hooded shape. Eyes hidden in shadow, but watching her through the window.
With a small frightened cry, Eve took a step backwards.
3: GABE CALEIGH
Gabe shone the flashlight at the generator, checking the fuel dial. Quarter-full, it told him. He pressed the autostart switch but only received a wheezy retch from the engine.
The damp smell of dust and must almost clogged his nostrils as he studied the machine before him, which was lit by the dim lightbulb overhead and the beam of his own flashlight. He was only giving the generator a preliminary once-over to ascertain what work would be necessary to have it running smoothly. The battery was a little flat, but Gabe didn’t think that was the main problem. Maybe the juice had gone stale if the gen had been standing idle over a long period of time; the agent had told him that Gabe and his family would be the first tenants of Crickley Hall for ten years or so. Power cuts were frequent in these parts, the estate manager had informed him, and the generator was supposed to kick in when the main electricity failed. Probably the spark plugs need cleaning also, Gabe mused as he squatted there in the darkness of the basement room, which was next door to the much larger main cellar. Have to check the fuel filter too – probably full of gunge if it hadn’t been cleaned for a while. The machine had a thick layer of dust all over, unlike the boiler that fired up happily beside it, which meant the gen had been neglected for some time.
By profession, Gabriel Virgil Caleigh – Gabe to his wife, colleagues and friends – was a mechanical engineer who had been shipped over to England sixteen years ago, when he was twenty-one, by the American company that employed him, APCU Engineering Corp, because it had a policy of staff exchange with its British subsidiary company. The corporation felt a change of environment and learning experience would be good for him. His reckless insubordination had played a tall part in the decision for, although merely a junior engineer, Gabe could be full of his own ideas and often difficult to handle; he seemed to have an aggressive resentment towards authority. However, he possessed a superb and natural talent for most areas of engineering (although chemical engineering was a discipline that didn’t suit him at all) and his potential was clearly recognized. APCU was loath to lose someone of his ability.
In truth, the idea of sending Gabe abroad to a place where civility and mannerly traditions might temper the young employee’s fiery disposition came from the corporation’s CEO, who not only saw the British through rose-tinted spectacles, but also saw something of his younger self in Gabe and was aware of his background (it was fortunate for Gabe that he had one of those chief executives who took a genuine interest in all the people under him, especially the younger members who showed flair; any other kind of boss might well have fired such a peppery junior after their third warning). And he had been right. It worked.
Initially, Gabe had been almost overwhelmed by his new surroundings and the friendly welcome of his colleagues: he soo
n warmed to them both and began to lose much of his abrasiveness.
He attended college one day a week and quickly achieved higher-level exams in engineering, after which he applied for and gained membership of the Institute of Structural Engineering. Through this he attained more qualifications, eventually becoming a chartered member, attending interviews and writing papers on various aspects of his profession, such as the latest technology, improved processes and new materials. And as he climbed the ladder of success he met and quickly married Eve Lockley. Their family started with Loren only six months into the marriage.
Gabe glanced around the rough-bricked chamber as he straightened up, taking in the long black cobwebs that hung between the wooden beams, the coal heaped in one corner and a log pile close by. The boiler abruptly stopped its surge and the distant sound of running water came to his ears.
It came from the cavernous cellar next door at whose centre was a circular well, around ten feet in diameter, the shaft driven down to the subterranean river that coursed beneath the house itself. The lip of the old stone wall round it stood no more than a foot and a half high. When, earlier, he had brought his family down to see the well for themselves – his promised ‘surprise’ – he had repeated to Cally that she was not to come down here alone. Continuing to look around, he flexed his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, twisting his head as he did so, loosening muscles made stiff by the long drive from the city. Old lumps of metal, broken chairs and discarded machinery parts lay about in the gloom as if the basement room was the repository for anything busted or no longer useable. In a far corner he could just make out an old blade-sharpener with a stone wheel and foot pedal. The air was not only dank, but it was chilled too, much of the coldness creeping in from the well cellar. When showing Gabe over the property months before, Grainger, the estate manager, had said that the underground river – imaginatively called the Low River – ran from the nearby moors down to the sea at Hollow Bay, paralleling and eventually joining with the upper Bay River near the estuary. No wonder the whole house felt so chilled, he thought.
The Secret of Crickley Hall Page 2
