The Lavender Lady

by Faith Martin

  And, as she finally took herself to bed and settled down under the duvet, with Toad curled up comfortingly in the small of her back, the thought flitted through her mind that perhaps it was high time that she did something to please herself for a change.

  * * *

  As the women climbed from Jean’s car, Effie noticed Corwin’s tall figure in the back garden, talking to a white-haired old man who was holding a pair of hedge clippers in his hand. No doubt he was the gardener that Isabel had mentioned before.

  When Corwin spotted them congregating on the pavement, he shook the old man’s hand and walked quickly back around the side of the house to join them. Today he was dressed in grey slacks and a crisp white shirt, open at the throat and with the cuffs rolled back halfway up his arms. Over his shoulders, he’d looped a plum-coloured sweater, tying the arms around his throat like a scarf. His smile was wide and welcoming, and Effie smiled briefly in response as he drew level with them.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to Geoff,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘As Claudia’s most long-term member of staff, he knew her well. I was trying to get his opinion on us being here, but he was being very cagey. If he’s ever heard or seen anything amiss since Claudia died, he’s definitely not letting on. But then, I got the impression that he thinks what we do is a load of old codswallop.’

  ‘He probably doesn’t want to upset Isabel by calling us a bunch of weirdos to our face,’ Mickey said cheerfully. He was in a particularly good mood because Corwin had let him ride with him in the Jag.

  ‘Probably,’ Corwin agreed now, totally unfazed.

  No doubt, Effie surmised, he was used to people thinking his chosen career was a bit of a joke, and had probably grown a very thick skin about it over the years.

  ‘Anyway, he was telling me that he sticks almost exclusively to the gardens and his greenhouse and shed, which is equipped like a small kitchenette by the sounds of it, complete with a comfy old chair. No wonder he isn’t all that keen to retire.’ He grinned. ‘But the important thing is that he hardly ever goes inside the house. And when I asked him if he’d ever been here when it starts to get dark, and had noticed a strong scent of lavender, he clearly thought I was going doolally.’

  Jean nodded. ‘Well, that’s only to be expected,’ she said complacently.

  Effie smiled, impressed by the way all the others seemed to accept such scepticism as a matter of course, and refused to let it get to them.

  ‘Besides, there’s probably lavender growing all over the garden,’ Effie felt obliged to point out. ‘And it’s one of those plants that you can get a very strong scent from, just by walking by it — it’s very rich in oils, you see. That’s why the Victorians used to plant it at path edges, so that the ladies going by it in their huge crinolines brushed against it and released the scent. Although it’s a little early for it to be flowering just yet.’

  And again Corwin shot her an approving, warm-eyed smile. ‘So he told me. He also said that most of the lavender is grown around the kitchen gardens at the back, and that there had never been any in the more formal beds nearer the house, and, more importantly, none at all in the small front garden. So that can’t have been what Isabel was smelling earlier.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Jean said with satisfaction, scribbling something in her ever-present notebook. ‘So whatever it was Isabel experienced, we’ve definitely ruled out that it could have come from any actual lavender plants in the garden nearby.’

  ‘Correct, boss.’ Corwin grinned. ‘So, let’s go and see if the temperature gauges that Malc left inside the bathroom have been recording that cold spot, or if it comes and goes.’

  But it quickly transpired that Isabel had a visitor, and so the bathroom and the cold spot would have to wait.

  After responding to their knocking, Isabel ushered them straight through to the lounge, where a man of average height in his early fifties, with greying hair and pale blue eyes, rose a little stiffly from a settee to greet them.

  ‘George, this is Mr Fielding. Corwin, George Dix, Mother’s solicitor.’

  She competently and quickly introduced the rest of them, and Effie felt her hand being taken and held fractionally longer than that of the others. In addition to that, the warmth of his smile and the quick but comprehensive glance that took her in from top to bottom told Effie that Mr George Dix probably considered himself to be something of a lady’s man — notwithstanding the wedding ring that he wore.

  Beside her, she felt Jean stiffen slightly and begin to draw herself up. Effie tensed, expecting the retired teacher to give the legal man a tongue-lashing for daring to hint that the C-Fits might actually try to steal the silver, but as she looked at the older woman apprehensively, she saw that Jean’s eyes had moved on to Corwin and that her lips had formed into a straight, tight line.

  Clearly, although she longed to, Jean wasn’t prepared to make a scene in front of their client, thus possibly ruining their chances of being allowed to continue with the investigation. And Effie felt strangely touched by how protective Jean was of Corwin.

  ‘Ah yes. The paranormal investigators,’ George Dix said now, his voice smooth and blandly amiable. ‘Mr Fielding, I’m currently reading your latest book. After Isabel told me that she’d called you in, I found myself intrigued.’

  ‘I hope you’re enjoying it,’ Corwin said mildly.

  ‘Oh, I’m only about halfway through. But it’s certainly thought-provoking,’ the legal eagle said politely.

  ‘And I’m about two thirds of the way through cataloguing the house contents,’ Isabel said. ‘George was just reminding me that I need to cross-reference certain items with Mother’s contents insurance.’

  There was a slight edge to Isabel’s voice that told Effie that she hadn’t found the solicitor’s visit a particularly pleasant one. And by the way she was hovering, and not sitting down or offering coffee, it was clear that she was anxious that he be on his way.

  ‘Well, I must be getting along,’ George said, as if sensing that he was becoming de trop. ‘Lady Cadmund, as ever, please do let me know if there’s anything that I can do to help you. Ladies and gents . . .’ Again, George’s eye lingered uncomfortably on Effie.

  Isabel, with a slight grimace behind his back, led her mother’s legal representative out of the room.

  ‘Ugh, creepy or what?’ Gisela whispered loudly. ‘Effie, he was positively ogling you.’

  ‘Yeah, gal, I think you pulled there,’ Mickey said helpfully.

  Effie stifled the urge to slap him down. It was embarrassing enough to be so obviously eyed by such a lecherous old goat without Mickey intimating that she might actually have enjoyed it.

  ‘Cut it out!’ Corwin said, a shade harshly, as Effie felt her face beginning to heat with humiliation.

  Mickey looked surprised, then a little shamefaced. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered to Effie.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ she said, forcing a brief smile onto her lips. ‘Having to put up with flirting old married men who should know better is just one of those things that we women learn to put up with. Right, ladies?’ she added through gritted teeth.

  Jean snorted. Gisela giggled.

  ‘OK, let’s get to work,’ Corwin said crisply, changing the subject.

  Which was fine by Effie. The centre of attention had never been a place in which she felt particularly comfortable.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The cold spot, according to the temperature readings that had been relayed every three minutes to Malc’s laptop, had come and gone four times in the last twenty-four hours, and had done similarly in the days prior.

  Isabel, it was clear, didn’t quite know what to make of that, which made two of them, Effie thought wryly, although the others all seemed very upbeat about it.

  The men got to work setting up the equipment, and when Malc and Lonny arrived at just gone half past six, Corwin handed out their night-time assignments.

  Effie, for some reason, had assumed that everyone would be doing the same
thing as they had the last time — but in that she was mistaken. Because of the cold spot, Gisela wanted to spend the night in the bathroom to see what she could intuit, which made sense, Effie supposed. But that meant that Claudia’s bedroom was now in need of monitoring.

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you want,’ she said calmly. After all, what else could she say? She was here to ghost-watch, wasn’t she?

  Corwin nodded encouragement at her, with a slight smile that silently but clearly acknowledged her bravery, and Effie felt an absurdly warm sensation flood through her. To cover any visible effects of it, she hastily turned to Malc.

  ‘Malc, I haven’t had time to get myself a little digital recorder yet, and I’m not sure my old phone is up to the job . . .’

  ‘No probs, Effie, we’ve always got loads to spare,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘Here,’ and he rummaged in a large canvas bag and came out with a tiny micro-recorder that barely covered her palm. ‘Just switch it on and keep it in your pocket. It’s small but it has a powerful battery for its size and it will easily last all night. It also has a very sensitive and powerful mechanism that instantly starts recording the moment a sound is made. It can even record the slightest sounds through a layer of cloth, since some of us tend to keep them in our pockets, so feel free to do the same. Although if something really juicy does happen, you might want to take it out and hold it in your hand, just so that we all get the best record of it possible.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Effie said, slipping the small gadget into her handbag and leaving the clasp open, since her outfit that night didn’t have any pockets. Even as she did it, she couldn’t help but hope that nothing ‘really juicy’ happened that she would need to record!

  Which was, she had to admit as she thought it, rather contrary of her, not to mention downright lily-livered. And it was certainly unfair to the others, who were all so clearly desperate for some ghostly action. But since it looked as if she was the one designated to stay in Claudia’s room that night, she didn’t feel particularly guilty about her disloyalty.

  She comforted herself with the thought that, when Gisela had stayed there, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And then she had to stop and wonder. If she was thinking like that, was she really the person for this job? Shouldn’t she, like the others, be hoping that something ‘juicy’ did happen? Perhaps, at their next session, she should tell Duncan that she was having doubts about being right for this project.

  But she knew what he would say. She was his ‘average woman on the street’ and what he wanted were her honest opinions and thoughts on what she felt and did. And that her reluctance was all part and parcel of that.

  With a small inner sigh, Effie realized that she wasn’t going to be able to let herself off the hook that easily. Damn Duncan! He must have known that once she’d committed herself to something she would see it through, no matter what.

  Michael had always said that quitting was for losers. Besides, she tried to cheer herself up, the bedroom was bound to be a more comfortable all-night spot than a chair in the hallway, right?

  ‘OK then, it won’t be fully dark for another few hours yet,’ Corwin said, glancing at his watch — a rather nice, if slightly flashy Rolex, Effie noticed. ‘So everyone to their positions. When it starts to get dark, either Lonny or I will come around with night-vision gear.’

  Everyone nodded, and after an uncertain pause, Isabel said that she was going into the living room to watch television. But as she passed the open door, Effie heard her on the telephone, clearly talking to her husband, reassuring him she wouldn’t be absent from home for much longer.

  Not wanting to overhear any private or personal marital murmuring, she quickly swept on and all but raced up the stairs.

  Up on the landing she paused.

  Michael would never have worn a Rolex.

  The thought startled her, as much for its clarity, as for its irrelevance. He’d always worn a slim, discreet, mechanical Swiss watch that he wound very carefully each night before taking it off and putting it on the bedside table. An Oris, if Effie remembered correctly.

  And knowing how much he’d liked to stick to routine, Effie had made sure that he had it on his wrist when he was buried.

  She shook her head, wondering why her subconscious had chosen to throw up that memory now.

  Knowing that she couldn’t dawdle on the landing forever, she turned and walked slowly towards the door at the end of the corridor. Feeling a bit of a ninny, she found herself hesitating outside Claudia’s bedroom door, and then with a small self-derogatory smile, she firmly pushed open the door and took a step inside. Then almost leapt about a foot in the air as a voice right behind her said warmly, ‘Well done.’

  She found her heart seemed to be lodged somewhere in her throat, and gave a quick, rather inelegant gulp. Then she forced a small smile, turned to face Corwin and said shakily, ‘Don’t do that!’ It came out as half-laugh, half-reprimand. ‘Creeping up on people in haunted houses should be against the law or something.’

  Corwin grinned, and held his hands up with a mea culpa shrug. ‘Sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. It’s just that I get so used to walking about quietly. It’s a habit you get into when you’ve done as many vigils as I have. You keep noise to a minimum without thinking about it. You’ll find yourself doing it too before long,’ he predicted.

  Effie took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘Good. Because I come in peace, I promise. I just wanted to make sure that you were OK with this,’ Corwin said, sweeping a hand around to indicate the room as he did so. ‘I was worried that I might have rushed things a bit, asking you to jump in at the deep end so quickly. And it belatedly occurred to me that in asking you in front of all the others, I really put you on the spot. You could hardly have said no without feeling like . . . er . . .’

  ‘A cowardy custard?’ Effie put in with a quick grin as he grappled to find a more polite way of putting it. And of course he was right. Nothing would have induced her to admit to nerves in front of the others. Especially Mickey, who being Mickey, would never have let her hear the end of it. And the thought of being the butt of his childish jokes for weeks to come was unthinkable!

  Corwin laughed and leaned more comfortably against the doorframe. ‘I have to say, you don’t strike me as the cowardy-custard type. But it’s still OK if you’d rather stay somewhere else tonight.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Effie said, looking around her. ‘It’s just a perfectly pleasant bedroom, and will probably be more comfortable to stay in all night than the hall.’

  Corwin nodded. ‘Yes, sorry about that. But long, draughty, uncomfortable nights sort of come with the territory. Actually, this place is a breeze compared to some places we investigated. There was this old railway station once that was due to be demolished. Half-derelict, with smashed windows, graffiti on the walls, you name it. Dead of winter too. Half of us came down with pneumonia. And on top of all that, the sightings of ghostly dancing lights turned out to be just kids mucking about.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ Effie assured him.

  ‘I never thought you were,’ he said quietly, with a slightly puzzled frown. ‘Why do you always put yourself down that way?’

  Afraid that she might start to blush, Effie murmured something vaguely self-derogatory and turned quickly away. The four-poster bed had been made and looked neat and crisp, and even as she remembered envying Gisela the opportunity to lie on it, Effie knew that she could never bring herself to use it.

  Instead, she eyed the chairs that were placed either side of the big sash window. Made of walnut, with lovely cabriole legs and tapestry-backed material, they had to be early nineteenth century. And whilst they might be worth a small fortune to an antique dealer, she doubted that they’d be particularly comfortable. Claudia had probably put them there to decorate the room rather than use them.

  Then she noticed that there was a rather delightful and fully padded window seat by the main wind
ow, and she gave a silent cry of delight and instinctively made her way towards it.

  As a child living in a modern council house, Effie had always wanted to live somewhere with a window seat, ever since she’d read about the feature in a children’s book, where the eleven-year-old heroine had moved to a large, gloomy house to live with her grandfather. The sight of it here in Claudia’s room made her smile.

  The day had been another hot one, and the room felt stuffy. Knowing that the weatherman had forecast a particularly muggy and humid night to come, she went to the sash window behind the window seat and tried to raise it. Either the mechanism was old or it was just stiff, but she couldn’t budge it.

  ‘Here, let me,’ Corwin offered at once, coming over, and Effie quickly moved to one side to give him room. He grunted a little with the effort of working it loose, but he finally got it free. ‘Do you want it open all the way?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Effie placed her hands on the window sill and leaned out to look across the village rooftops, and for a moment they stood in companionable silence as a blackbird began to sing magnificently in a neighbouring cherry tree.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ he finally said. ‘Don’t forget, there’s a coffee break at eleven thirty, and another one at two,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Lovely,’ Effie said.

  Corwin nodded, looked as if he was about to say something else, then clearly changed his mind and left. And it was only when he was gone that Effie finally felt able to relax.

  Because it was still light, she sat on the much-appreciated window seat and drew her book out of her bag and found her place in the latest novel she’d been reading, a classic whodunit set in the local area. She’d always loved crime fiction, especially those written in the golden era of Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers, although Michael had declared such novels to be a waste of time. He preferred the classics, but Effie had never been able to get into Dickens, Lawrence or Hardy. No doubt her rather inadequate working-class education at the local comprehensive school had something to do with that.