The Haunting of Mount Cod

by Nicky Stratton

  There was no sign of Lance when Laura and Sir Repton deposited the wheelbarrow in the woodshed. The woodshed was situated in one corner of the large cobbled square that made up the old stable block. An imposing arch topped with a scrolled pediment in the centre of the far end framed the parkland beyond through which the back drive led towards the village of Chipping Codbury. In the distance they could just make out a Land Rover bumping along.

  ‘I expect Lance has gone to collect more feed for the chickens,’ Sir Repton said. ‘He was inclined to give them scraps but Matilda was insistent he use only the best layers’ mash.’

  Laura refrained from adding her surprise that Lance would risk his back condition on such rough terrain in a vehicle renown for rudimentary suspension.

  ‘But let me show you this, it used to be the tack room,’ Sir Repton continued.

  Next to the woodshed was a door with a sign on which Laura read, “State of the Union”.

  ‘It’s the wedding planner’s offices.’ Sir Repton turned the handle. ‘We had it converted last year. It has its own kitchen – Matilda was quite envious of the gas hob.’ He pushed against the door. ‘It seems to be locked. Oh well, it’s not that interesting. They complain the facilities aren’t up to scratch of course but for canapés it’s serviceable enough and for the rest Robert tends to favour outside caterers.’

  ‘Who’s Robert?’

  ‘Robert Hanley Jones. State of the Union is his baby. He was once my protégé.’ Sir Repton gazed vacantly at the door for a moment, a wistful smile on his thin lips. ‘Those were the days; when we had the Bristol Old Vic.’ He gave the handle another rattle. ‘Well, to be precise when Matilda had the Bristol Old Vic.’ He turned to Laura. ‘Sadly the actor’s life was not for Robert, Matilda was right about that. It took him some time to realise the truth of her words, and they were harsh believe me, but he’s found his niche now. The two girls, Tam and Pom, who run the Mount Cod operation for him are first rate.’

  ‘Tam and Pom? Sounds like a pair of chihuahuas.’

  ‘Very amusing.’ Sir Repton gave a weak titter. ‘Let me show you the stables.’

  They went through a door on the other side of the archway. A shaft of light from a hole in the roof illuminated the internal stalls, each separated by wood panelling. Empty metal hayracks hung on the whitewashed walls and the floors sloped down to a gulley leading out into the yard. It all made Laura feel nostalgic and she was reminded of the fun she and her first husband Tony had had in amongst the straw bales with their wonderful head groom, Barry.

  ‘We’ve work to do here.’

  Sir Repton’s voice brought her back to reality.

  ‘Roofs are the bane of my life,’ he said.

  They moved on to what Laura assumed were once the carriage houses on the third side of the square. They now acted as a garage for an aged dark green Bentley, a miniature volcano of swallow droppings plastered to its bonnet.

  ‘Oh dear, Matilda’s car. It hasn’t been driven since…’ He tailed off.

  Laura looked at him as he placed one hand on the wing mirror. Was this a sign of remorse for his sins? ‘Do you think it would be too much to ask Lance to clean it?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to have been able to take you out for a ride.’

  ‘Are you flirting with me Repton?’ If he was feeling guilt, it was short-lived to be sure.

  ‘Were I so bold. I had thought it might be useful for the weddings but as I said, the days of the vintage car are dead. I should get rid of it.’

  ‘You can’t sell it as it is.’ Another sign of financial troubles? ‘You’ll have to wait until Lance recovers his strength, which I’m sure he will do in his own good time.’

  ‘I have every confidence in him.’ Sir Repton gave the wing mirror a pat. ‘Shall we carry on?’

  They walked out into the sunshine and made their way back towards the house. ‘That’s Cheryl’s flat above the garage.’ Sir Repton pointed to a stone staircase as they passed a double doorway to their left.

  ‘Very handy.’ Laura said. ‘Shall we go and make tea?’ I’m looking forward to the experience. One gets so used to never having to lift a finger at Wellworth Lawns.’ As she climbed the steps to the backdoor, she was reminded of something the housekeeper had said. She turned to Sir Repton. ‘I didn’t know you knew Edward Parrott.’

  ‘Small world isn’t it. He was our stage manager for a time at the Bristol Old Vic.’

  Laura was thinking about this coincidence as she put the kettle on the Aga while Sir Repton opened the packet of teabags, but she was distracted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She turned to see a deeply tanned middle-aged man in sunglasses and dark slicked back hair peering round the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Hello Repton.’ he said. ‘Look what I’ve got here.’ He walked in and beside him, clutching his arm and looking up at him adoringly was Venetia.

  ‘I parked at the front,’ he continued. ‘Cobblestones are no good for the springs on the Mazzer. That’s when I found her wandering about in the drive.’

  Venetia giggled, dropped her tapestry bag on the floor and sat down at the table. ‘I mistook him for the antique dealer on Flog It.’

  Laura noted the man’s crumpled blue linen suit worn without a tie. The top button of his white shirt was undone revealing a cheeky clump of chest hair.

  ‘But who have we got here?’ he said, looking directly at Laura. ‘Fast work, Repton, I like it.’

  ‘Robert, my dear fellow,’ Sir Repton dropped a teabag into an old brown teapot. ‘This is indeed a coincidence. We were just talking about you.’ He introduced Laura. ‘But what brings you to Mount Cod?’

  As Robert Hanley Jones lifted his sunglasses and perched them on his wavy hair, Laura saw the glint of a chunky gold watch at his wrist.

  ‘I was delivering mushroom spores from Andalucía,’ he said, adjusting his shirt cuffs. ‘The girls want to grow them in the cellar here. I’ve just taken them down. Ideal conditions. Dark and damp. I was on my way back to my car when I bumped into your friend.’

  ‘We must have just missed you.’ Sir Repton dropped another teabag into the pot.

  Laura carried the boiling kettle over. She had seen steps leading down just outside the backdoor. The cellar must have been right below them here in the kitchen. ‘Mushroom spores?’ she asked.

  ‘A new culinary delight the girls want to try out. State of the Union has to keep one step ahead of the game when it comes to vol-au-vents.’ Robert Hanley Jones eased his head from side to side. ‘Exhausting drive down from London, neck’s stiff as a backgammon board, and now I’ve got to go all the way back. Still, lovely to have met you all; I won’t stay for tea. Cheerio!’ He waved as he sauntered off.

  Laura pulled out a chair and sat down next to Venetia. ‘Well that was a turn up for the books.’

  ‘I didn’t understand a word of it. Is he some sort of gambler?’ Venetia asked.

  As Laura poured the tea, Sir Repton explained to Venetia about the weddings and the two girls employed by Robert Hanley Jones.

  ‘Tam and Pom?’ Venetia said. ‘Sounds more like a couple of poodles.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘And talking of dogs, I thought you said your saluki had died.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘But I saw him.’

  ‘Yorick?’ Sir Repton stared at Venetia.

  She nodded. ‘He bounded up the steps into the house just as I was coming out.’

  ‘Robert Hanley Jones must have a dog,’ Laura said.

  ‘He’s got a saluki too?’ Venetia sounded unconvinced.

  Sir Repton shook his head. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t; a saluki would never fit in the back of a Maserati. No. I see it now.’ He put his cup down. ‘Rosalind has taken Yorick to the other side with her.’

  ‘You mean I saw the ghost of Yorick?’ Venetia reached for her bag and began to rummage through it. ‘Where is my Rescue Remedy? I can’t believe I’ve left it behind. Repton, I may have to have a thimble of brandy in my tea.�
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  ‘Right with you, dear cousin.’ Sir Repton opened a cupboard and took out a bottle. ‘Matilda kept it for Christmas pudding. Will you?’ He gestured to Laura as he poured a good slug into Venetia’s cup. Thinking it was better to ignore their childishness, Laura declined the offer and watched as Sir Repton fortified his own brew.

  After tea, they resume their tour of the house. First they went back through the hall from where Sir Repton opened a pair of double doors that revealed the ballroom.

  The interior was something of an anti-climax.

  ‘The girls didn’t care for the oak panelling; they wanted a more minimalist look,’ Sir Repton explained. ‘They say they will finish the plasterwork soon. It looks very different at night; you’d hardly notice. The chandelier, too, they thought was out of keeping.’

  Laura surveyed the badly filled cracks and the disco ball overhead as they moved on to the next room.

  ‘Here we are.’ Sir Repton opened another set of double doors leading to a high ceilinged glass house. ‘The Orangerie is where the daytime receptions take place. This is really the extent of the wedding venue – apart from the old gunroom etcetera that is now the greeting area and home to the cloakrooms – I don’t think we need inspect them, do you?’

  Laura and Venetia shook their heads and they retraced their steps.

  ‘The gunroom has its own covered walkway and entrance, so you can see it hardly affects me in the rest of the house,’ Sir Repton continued, as they returned to the hall.

  He showed them the sitting room. It was a cosy jumble of furniture. A broad cushioned window seat overlooking the driveway, an armchair and a pretty rosewood tallboy stood at one end and in the centre of the room, two battered pink sofas and a dark red velvet tub chair surrounded a low table in front of the fireplace. At the far end bookshelves lined the wall in the middle of which was a door leading to the dining room. Sir Repton led them through.

  Laura considered the bare mahogany expanse. ‘Did you have large dinner parties?’ she asked.

  ‘I remember Matilda’s birthday here one year.’ Venetia gave a hiccup. ‘She got on the table and danced after dinner. She used to be so athletic.’

  ‘You have a good memory cousin. That was a long time ago. Come I will show you the drawing room.’

  White blinds were drawn to protect the sparsely furnished and uncomfortable looking Sheraton suite from sunlight. The Chinese rug on which it stood looked like a modern copy to Laura and she had never been fond of parquet flooring. They didn’t linger but carried on down another passage and reached another door. ‘Billiard room,’ Sir Repton said curtly. ‘I don’t think we need look in there.’

  They carried on and somehow ended up back in the hall through another door Laura had previously not noticed adjacent to the green baize one leading to the kitchen.

  ‘Goodness, it’s quite a maze.’ Laura turned as the grandfather clock beside her began to chime. ‘Seven o’clock already; I think we should get supper on, don’t you?’

  While Laura read the instructions and put the chilli con carne in the Aga, Sir Repton busied himself opening the wine.

  ‘I think we might eat in the dining room,’ he said.

  ‘Then we must have candles,’ Laura said.

  The Mount Cod silver candelabra were kept in a safe that was in a cupboard in Sir Repton’s office – another hitherto unseen door opposite the billiard room. This meant finding the combination that he kept written down in a drawer of his desk. He held the piece of paper to one side and began to turn the dial. He pulled the handle.

  Nothing happened.

  Laura stood patiently as he began muttering and tried again. As she leant on his desk and waited, she glanced at a short letter lying on top of a pile of correspondence. It came from an address in Fulham and was a request for an interview. Was Sir Repton looking for new staff members? He certainly needed them from what she had seen so far. She noted the signature at the bottom. “Ned Stocking,” the bold flourish read.

  Her thoughts were broken as Sir Repton stamped his feet petulantly.

  ‘I can’t get this to work,’ he huffed.

  Laura took the piece of paper from him. ‘Let me have a look.’ She read out the instructions. ‘Clockwise to seven. Anticlockwise to five…’

  ‘That’s what I did,’ Sir Repton said.

  ‘Did you hear the click? Here, mind out, I’ll have a go.’

  Within a few minutes Laura had it open. Sir Repton jostled her out of the way. He was stronger than she had expected and with a deft manoeuvre, he grabbed a large branched candlestick and closed the door.

  Having placed it on the table and found some candles, they returned to the kitchen and deliberated as to whether they should decant the meal from its foil container.

  ‘It’ll be cold by the time we do that,’ Venetia said.

  So they took it as it was into the dining room on a wooden trolley with some peas they had cooked, still in the saucepan, and three warm plates. After several journeys back and forth to the kitchen as they remembered knives and forks and salt and pepper, and more importantly, the wine, they finally sat down to eat.

  ‘How far that little candle throws his beams,’ Sir Repton said, a forkful of Chilli poised mid-air as he stared at the majestic flaming centrepiece.

  ‘Really Repton, sometimes your quotes are quite out of place,’ He must be drunk, Laura thought. She took a sip of claret. But was it out of place? ‘Jolly nice bottle of Pomerol.’ Laura raised her glass thinking about the quote. In his mind were the candles a metaphor for Matilda’s domineering character? Or did the flames represent her radiating saintliness? Or was she, Laura, a little tipsy? Still she made a mental note to watch out for further Shakespearean clues.

  ‘Mind you, one chilli con carne is pretty slim for three,’ she continued.

  ‘Oh but frozen peas,’ Venetia raised her fork, ‘are such a treat.’ A number of them didn’t make it as far as her mouth, but Parker and Sybil Thorndike, affecting a truce at her feet, were there to catch them as they bounced off the table onto the floor.

  They decided against the grapefruit, so when they had finished, they blew out the candles, turned off the lights and trolleyed everything back to the kitchen.

  ‘Shall we try our hand at coffee?’ Laura suggested, as she haphazardly loaded the dishwasher.

  ‘Any biscuits?’ Venetia said with plaintive longing.

  Sir Repton went to the dresser and picked up a battered tin with a picture of the Queen on it. ‘I believe Cheryl keeps some in here.’

  Venetia hurried over as he lifted the lid.

  ‘Bourbons.’ Her eyes lit up.

  It was only instant coffee but the sense of accomplishment that the three of them had made it together, gave Laura a feeling of camaraderie. He’s not a bad old stick, she thought. Too much Shakespeare over the years has obviously addled his brain to the point that he sees the likes of Banquo round every corner, but as long as he doesn’t inflict any more supernatural nonsense on us we should be able to get through until the morning, make our excuses and get back to the normality of Wellworth Lawns.

  She followed him as he carried the tray into the sitting room and she and Venetia sat down, one on each of the sofas.

  ‘I’m feeling so much better now I know we’ve got some biscuits,’ Venetia said.

  Sir Repton put the tray down on the low table in front of Laura and sat down beside her.

  ‘Who needs home help?’ he said.

  Laura watched as he spilled coffee on a pile of magazines as he poured from the pot. Venetia was right; her daughter Angela, or Angel or whatever she called herself must have got it wrong. Doddering old Repton couldn’t possibly have murdered his wife.

  The coffee began to drip onto the moss coloured carpet. Sir Repton took out a handkerchief, lurched forward and dabbed at it.

  Laura looked at the stain. ‘You must ask Cheryl to clean it properly in the morning,’ she said. ‘Mind you, you’ve got your work cut out with her. I’m a
fraid you’ve let her get the upper hand.’

  ‘Alas, I know it.’ Sir Repton sighed. ‘But what can I do? Help is almost impossible to find.’

  ‘Domestic engineers, that’s what they’re called,’ Venetia said. ‘I saw a frightening programme the other day. A pair of them went into an innocent woman’s home and proceeded to verbally abuse her about how untidy the house was.’ Venetia took a bite from her biscuit. ‘Then they demanded she put her treasured possessions in a car boot sale and wash the kitchen floor, while they stood around drinking cups of tea. I expect there were a lot of complaints on Watchdog.’

  ‘It is a terrible thing to be old and alone and at the mercy of others.’ Sir Repton stuffed the handkerchief back in the pocket of his blazer. ‘I’m so grateful to you both for being here with me.’ He leant sideways and patted Laura’s knee. Her muscles tensed and he hastily retracted his hand.

  Venetia pulled at her cardigan and gave a little shiver. ‘Has it gone cold in here?’

  ‘I should have lit the fire,’ Sir Repton apologised.

  ‘We’re too used to central heating at Wellworth Lawns, that’s the trouble.’ Laura was about to add that actually it might be nice if he could crank the temperature up a bit, when they heard a thud and Parker ran forward and cowered at her feet.

  Venetia jumped up. ‘What was that?’ she gasped.

  Laura looked round and saw a small tripod table beside the tub chair. Beside it on the floor was a lead tea caddy, the lid lying a foot or so away.

  ‘It is her.’ Sir Repton’s voice trembled. ‘She is amongst us.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Laura got up and went to pick up the caddy. She placed it back on the table. Then she reached for the lid and inspected it. The knob in the middle of it depicted the head of a miniature sculpted Buddha. ‘Charming workmanship,’ she said.

  ‘Was it Rosalind? Oh dear, I don’t like this.’ Venetia sniffed the air and laughed nervously. ‘Perhaps she was trying to do some dusting.’ And then, her voice now staccato, ‘I think I smell Pledge.’