by Faith Martin
‘Let me guess,’ Effie said. ‘The bedroom where her mother died?’
Corwin grinned and wagged an admonitory finger at her. ‘And there’s your first lesson, Effie. Never assume! Because no, as a matter of fact, it isn’t her mother’s bedroom but her bathroom that gives her the chills.’
‘Oh,’ Effie said, feeling deflated and foolish.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gisela put in kindly. ‘I’m sure we all thought the same thing as well, didn’t we? I know I did!’
Everyone nodded, and Effie smiled at her gratefully.
‘And then, a few nights ago, Isabel swears she could smell lavender,’ Corwin said. ‘Her mother’s favourite scent. Apparently, Claudia Watkins not only favoured eau de cologne in that particular fragrance, but in her soap and shampoo also. Of course, being a sensible sort, the first thing Isabel said that she did was to check and see if there was anything lavender-scented still lying around, but she remembers throwing all of her mother’s used personal toiletry items away. And she was right — there was nothing of that nature left in the house to account for the fragrance.’
‘But sometimes scent can linger,’ Effie objected automatically. ‘If her mother used talc, for instance, the fine powder could have made its way into the cushions or towels, and then any disturbance of those items could then release the scent.’
She felt no compunction in playing devil’s advocate in this way. After all, Duncan had made it clear that he wanted her to use her common sense, whilst retaining a clear head and an open mind. And her own self-respect would not allow her to get lulled into seeing everything the way the rest of the C-Fits did. They might all be very nice and genuine people, but she was not about to forget that they all had a vested interest in seeing things a certain way. A way that tended to validate and confirm their own hopes and beliefs in the paranormal.
‘Yes. Good thinking,’ Corwin surprised her slightly by saying approvingly. ‘That’s the kind of thing we’re always having to bear in mind. Contrary to popular belief, far from taking even the most flimsy of evidence at face value, proper investigators are all about trying to do the exact opposite. Given any “evidence,” the first thing we do is try to dismantle it,’ he informed her flatly. ‘But in this case, Isabel was positive that the scent, in her own words, was just “suddenly there” and “very strong.” Too strong, she believes, to be any residue of the kind you’re talking about, which by its very nature would tend to be faint. And her mother has been buried for nearly two weeks now, and given the warm weather, Isabel has had doors and windows open on a number of occasions to give the rooms a good airing.’
Effie nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I see,’ she said cautiously. She could now understand why the story had captured Corwin’s attention, and given him reason to think that it might be worth checking out. ‘So we’re going out to the house to do one of those preliminary investigations that you mentioned before?’
‘Yes,’ Corwin confirmed. ‘Primarily, I want to meet Isabel Cadmund face to face and get a better idea of her. We’ve only spoken over the telephone thus far. We also need to see the house. I’ve done some basic research on the family, particularly on Mrs Claudia Watkins of course,’ he added, reaching down into a smart black leather attaché case nestling against one of the table legs. He brought out a sheaf of papers encased in clear plastic folders, which he quickly handed around.
Effie glanced at her own copy, and saw that it was headed THE LAVENDER LADY CASE FILE, with a three digit number underneath it, presumably referencing some kind of filing system.
‘During the course of the investigation we’ll add our findings to the file, which we can then take home with us and study,’ Corwin explained for her benefit.
‘What kind of findings?’ Effie asked, trying not to sound nervous.
‘Well, that’s where mostly Lonny and Malc come in,’ Corwin said. ‘They are our technical team.’
Malc grinned. ‘Sounds grand, doesn’t it?’
‘Mostly we just set up the equipment and monitor it,’ Lonny put in. ‘Microphones that are noise-sensitive and will record throughout the night or day whenever something sets them off. Then there are full-spectrum cameras recording continuously. Later we take it in turns to watch a couple of hours of footage each, on the lookout for anything that seems anomalous.’
‘My room-mate especially likes that bit,’ Mickey said with a grin. ‘The bloke thinks I’m nuts. I spend hours and hours watching an empty room in “real” time, hoping to spot something weird happening. I only stop when I actually start to go cross-eyed.’
Effie laughed obligingly.
‘Then there’s the EMFs,’ Lonny said. And seeing Effie’s blank look said quickly, ‘Sorry, electromagnetic field meters. They measure any electromagnetic energy that might be about.’
‘Ghosts, for some reason, give it off,’ Gisela put in matter-of-factly.
OK, Effie thought. Now I’m really beginning to feel like Alice after tumbling down the rabbit hole.
As if sensing that she was beginning to feel rather overwhelmed by it all, Corwin suddenly leaned forward in his chair again and caught her eye.
‘Don’t worry, it’s like everything else. It seems very confusing to begin with, but you’ll learn as you go along. Before long it’ll all seem normal, believe me. Just follow the rules and you’ll be OK.’
‘Ah, rules,’ Effie said, feeling on firmer ground now. Michael had been a firm believer in those. She could certainly follow rules, as long as she was sure that she knew what they were. ‘And they are?’
‘Once a vigil begins, don’t move around too much,’ Corwin said at once. ‘Always remember, our equipment is set up to record sound and movement, so no talking unless absolutely necessary. Keep a small digital camera and a recorder with you at all times — most of us use our mobiles for that, and if you see or hear anything, try to get some kind of evidence of it.’
Effie took a slow, deep breath, and fought the urge to gulp.
Although she’d been fairly well up on computers in the office when she’d first started work at the architects’ office, over the years the technology had changed so fast, and she’d never had much tech of her own. Michael hadn’t been keen on it either, not wanting “all that paraphernalia” in the house.
Corwin’s sweeping assumption that she was au fait with all the latest gizmos worried her slightly.
On the other hand, she had been half-heartedly thinking of getting a smartphone just lately, with all its bewildering apps. It seemed rather silly not to take advantage of all the stuff that everyone else took for granted.
Clearly it was now time to bite the bullet and launch herself into the twenty-first century. Surely if she bought the latest tablet or phone someone could teach her how to use it properly? Either Duncan or Margot, or Penny, for instance. They’d know how to record stuff, wouldn’t they? After all, she told herself firmly, it can’t be that difficult — even seven-year-olds could handle their apps with ease!
Whatever an app was.
‘It’s best if you also keep some kind of notebook with you as well, and immediately write down the time and circumstances surrounding anything that strikes you as being of any interest,’ Corwin swept on, thankfully interrupting her wandering attention.
And now Effie couldn’t help but smile. An old-fashioned notebook and pen was something she didn’t need to worry about!
‘And if you do encounter something that worries or alarms you, call for help at once. There will always be one of us nearby and we’ll come running,’ Corwin told her sternly.
‘And that’s not just because our heroic natures will make us want to come to your aid,’ Mickey laughed, ‘but because if something is happening, we’ll all be as jealous as hell and want to see it for ourselves too!’
‘But seriously, Effie, remember,’ Corwin said gently, reaching out and putting his hand reassuringly over hers, ‘the chances are that nothing of any significance will happen. But if it does, you only have to keep calm and remai
n rational. So far as I’m aware, nobody has ever come to any serious harm whilst doing the sort of thing that we at C-Fits do. We don’t do so-called “extreme” ghost hunting, OK?’
Extreme ghost hunting, Effie thought with a small gulp that she hoped wasn’t actually audible. What in the world was that?
‘Yeah, we’ll see you’re all right, Effie,’ Gisela promised her warmly. ‘And if there is a ghost about, I’ll feel it first and make sure you’re never left alone.’
Effie, not sure whether to feel reassured or insulted by the younger girl’s kindness, smiled grimly. ‘Well, all right then,’ she heard herself say firmly.
Mickey gave her a cheeky thumbs up, and she hid a weary sigh as she repeated the infantile gesture back at him.
Corwin’s fingers tightened briefly over her own, then he stood up.
‘OK then. If everyone’s happy we’ll get going. The address is on the printout for you to put in your satnavs. Effie, we usually car pool — it saves on petrol and we like to think that we’re doing our bit for the environment. Do you want to ride with me?’
Effie blinked, a little taken by surprise, and then forced herself to nod. ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’
Mickey laughed. ‘Don’t let Zoe find out you’re giving lifts to beautiful women, chief.’
‘Mickey!’ the boss said warningly, whilst Effie wondered just who Zoe might be. But nobody stopped to enlighten her as, in their keen rush to tackle their newest project, everyone made for the door.
* * *
Corwin parked the Jaguar under the boughs of an old horse chestnut tree and cut the engine. The pretty village of Adderbury was situated barely a stone’s throw from the growing market town of Banbury, and boasted its fair share of picturesque, vernacular architecture, rose-bedecked cottages and gardens set within narrow lanes. It also had a well-frequented village pub on the main road, and was definitely commuter-belt territory, with not only London but also Birmingham being barely an hour away by motorway or train.
The home of the late Claudia Watkins, however, lay further down the hill and into the village on a narrow, leafy lane tucked firmly away from the busy main road with its stream of polluting and noisy traffic. Here, in the gardens visible on one side of the residence, laurels and silver birch gave way to manicured lawns and charming flowerbeds. Red brick walls set in the distance and disappearing behind the house promised that most desirable of things: an old-fashioned country house vegetable garden. And in the very far corner, Effie could even see a lovely little orchard where several apple trees, so ancient they were almost stooped to the ground, were defiantly blooming with pink and white blossom.
As they all clustered around on the pavement, it was clear to everyone, if they hadn’t known it already, that the former occupant of such a place must have been very wealthy indeed. The house was attached on one side to another building of similar style, age and size, which had been turned into a lovely-looking country house hotel called The Rollright Inn. In today’s market, and given its desirable location, it must have been worth a small fortune.
Square, uncompromisingly Georgian, and with all of that era’s simple but elegant features, the back of the house overlooked a nearby field, where sheep were grazing peacefully. Made of the local reddish-brown ironstone that almost glowed in the sunlight and with a large expanse of blue-grey slate roof, it seemed to watch them hopefully, like a friendly dog just waiting to be acknowledged.
There was nothing in the least foreboding or sinister about it.
Beside her, Mickey whistled through his teeth. ‘How the other half live, right? Or rather how they don’t, in this case! Let’s hope the old girl doesn’t disappoint us, hey?’
‘I wouldn’t even be able to afford to rent a single room here, should the family sell up and turn it all into flats,’ Gisela agreed, instantly making Effie feel uncomfortable.
And looking back on her teenage years, Effie found it hard to recognize the girl she had once been. The large, anonymous comprehensive school that she had attended, the hours spent mooning over pop stars with her friends (with whom she had now lost all contact), the usual experiments with make-up and clothes. Her favourite colour had been amethyst, she remembered, and she seemed to dress in nothing but various shades of purple and pink!
It all seemed to have happened to someone else now.
It was harder still to remember how she had thought and felt back then. She seemed to recall that she had wanted to go into business for herself one day and start her own retail empire. Maybe travel the world. All pie-in-the-sky dreams of course, but they had meant a lot to her.
All that changed, of course, when she got a real job and grew up. And met Michael.
At first, her parents had been a little wary of Michael James — perhaps because he was their daughter’s boss, and perhaps also because he was so much older than she was. And Effie could understand why they’d been worried that he might try and take advantage of her. Both of them had grown up in working-class families, and felt a certain, understandable wariness when it came to people who had always had money and privilege.
And certainly Michael had been a wealthy, urbane and well-educated man, with that certain gloss that had been totally alien to the world in which Effie had been raised.
By an unspoken but tacit understanding, everyone had acknowledged that he’d been well out of her league. Which had made their courtship a rather fraught one!
She’d also been well aware that, before Michael had put an engagement ring on her finger, several of their neighbours and some of her mother’s friends with daughters of their own had barely been able to conceal their envy. And had almost certainly made some spiteful or sneering comments about their relationship behind her back.
But after their marriage, of course, her parents’ fears had dissipated, along with all the speculation and gossip that Michael had only been interested in a brief fling with a pretty young girl, and things had quickly settled down.
To Effie, of course, it had all been so new and exciting. Leaving home for the first time, the new job and the unexplored territory that was marriage. And all the undeniable perks that came with marrying a wealthy man.
And one of the things that Effie had come to take for granted was her home in Hampton Frome. Now, listening to Gisela, she realized, with a real start that made her feel slightly sick, that anyone who knew where she lived probably regarded her as a wealthy, middle-aged matron.
And she was!
Wasn’t she?
Except she didn’t feel like one of those at all. Effie suddenly blinked, feeling the absurd desire to cry. Recognizing the onset of mild depression, she sternly told herself to cut it out. Now was not the time to start indulging in self-pity or a bout of contemplating her navel!
‘Well, are we going to stand around admiring the scenery all day or are we going to go in?’ Jean Bossington-Smith asked crisply, thankfully snapping her out of her painful reverie.
Lonny grinned as Mickey smartly saluted her.
Corwin shook his head and reached for the gate, pushing it open and allowing them all to precede him up the short front path.
‘Let’s show a little decorum and sensitivity, please,’ he said, looking firmly at Mickey, who at least had the grace to blush a little.
‘Sorry, chief,’ Mickey said. But to Effie, he didn’t sound as if he meant it.
The front garden was relatively small, but was nevertheless packed with spring bulbs and bedding plants and looked well maintained, with not so much as even a dandelion leaf daring to raise its green head in the mulched earth.
And as they approached the wide wooden door set squarely in the middle of the building, with three large sash windows lining up either side of it like a regiment of soldiers, it began to open.
The gardener in Effie, which had been admiring what must have been a century-old wisteria that was climbing the walls, gave way as she firmly transferred her attention to the matter in hand.
The fact that they hadn’t had to r
ing the bell to gain entry told her that the lady of the house must have been watching anxiously for them to arrive, but Isabel Cadmund didn’t show any outward signs of nervousness or angst. Instead she looked at them with the beginnings of a warm smile as she stepped outside to greet them.
Dressed in warm-looking black trousers and a cream-coloured Arran sweater knitted in a complicated design, she looked to be in her early sixties. Clearly once a blonde, her hair was now mainly grey but she had made no attempt to dye it. Thick and long, it hung down her back in a functional plait. Her face was free of make-up and her grey-green eyes crinkled in attractive crow’s feet as she smiled at them.
‘Hello, you must be Mr Fielding,’ she said, looking from Lonny to Malcolm and then firmly settling on Corwin.
‘Yes. Hello, Lady Cadmund. Thank you for inviting us into your home.’ Corwin quickly introduced them all and Isabel stepped to one side.
‘Oh, please, everyone, call me Isabel. And won’t you all come in? I was just about to put the kettle on. Would everyone like tea?’
And with that prosaic and rather pleasant invitation, Effie James found herself stepping into her very first haunted house.
CHAPTER FOUR
Isabel led the way through a splendidly traditional hall, which came complete with a sweeping wooden staircase, black and white tiled floor, a grandfather clock ticking ponderously in one corner, and a side table, which currently housed a vase of seasonal daffodils that were only just beginning to droop slightly.
It gave Effie the feeling that the late owner had been very much a traditionalist who, like Michael, had preferred to keep her home well away from the upstart invasions of the twenty-first century. This impression was reinforced when Isabel showed them into a long drawing room with an open fireplace and elegant wooden tables, and a slightly worn but still elegant Wilton carpet. There was not a television in sight.
