‘What did you do to Zofia?’
‘The maid?’
‘Housekeeping assistant,’ Katie corrected automatically. ‘We don’t say “maid” any more.’
Violet sniffed. ‘Same job.’
‘What did you do to her?’
Violet walked to the doll’s house and crouched down in front of it. ‘I used to spend hours with this. Hours.’
‘Zofia?’ Katie said.
‘I can’t open the doors now, though. It’s very frustrating.’ Violet reached out. Her fingers looked solid enough to Katie, but Violet was having difficulty in getting them to hook around the edge of the house. ‘Can you help me?’
Despite the weirdness of the situation, Katie was suddenly curious to look inside the doll’s house. She hunkered down next to Violet and attempted to open the front. It was the kind that the entire front should swing out, forwards, but it became more nebulous as soon as she tried to touch it. Her fingers hit something solid and she was excited for exactly one second before she realised she’d just hit the chair that was tucked underneath the desk. She could see them through the image of the doll’s house, now.
‘I don’t think it’s really here. That’s why neither of us can touch it.’
‘But why am I here?’ Violet said. ‘Why aren’t I in the same place as my doll’s house?’
Exactly the question Katie had been planning to ask. But if Violet didn’t know, who would?
‘I’m bored to sobs,’ Violet was saying. ‘You have no idea.’
‘Is that why you frightened Zofia? Because you were bored?’
‘Who’s Zofia?’
‘The maid. Housekeeping assistant.’
‘Oh, her. I was just experimenting. I blew into her ear.’ Violet pursed her lips to demonstrate. ‘I didn’t know if it would work.’
‘Well, you really scared her,’ Katie said. ‘It wasn’t very kind.’
Violet turned and gave her a disgusted look. ‘You shouldn’t be so concerned about her. Maids see everything, you know. When you think you’re alone and your face falls because you’ve just been gutted like a fish, your maid sees it. And don’t ever think they’re your friends. They’re not on your side, not even for a second. They’ll sell you out in a heartbeat.’ Violet walked to the bed. The floaty movement gave Katie a headache.
‘Can’t you just, I don’t know, move on?’
‘How? I can’t leave the house. I’ve tried. I can walk as far as the pond and then I wake up back in the house. In the cellar, actually, which is rather embarrassing. Not to mention grubby.’
Violet had a very refined accent, the word ‘rather’ coming out ‘raaathar’.
‘Not move out of the house, move on. You know, into the light or something.’
Violet gave her a sudden, piercing look. ‘Die, you mean? Properly?’
‘Um—’
‘No, thank you. A shred of life is better than none at all. Just you wait, you’d be the same in my position.’
Katie swallowed. She hoped, fervently, not to find out.
‘But if you’re so bored,’ Katie began.
‘What do we have here?’ Violet had floated over to the bed and was peering at the padded headboard. ‘A hair. A long brown hair.’ She tried to pluck something from the fabric surface but couldn’t.
‘Left by Mrs Moore, I imagine. You frightened Zofia away before she could turn the room around.’
Violet flapped a hand. ‘She’s fine. I didn’t really frighten her.’ Her face turned petulant. ‘Why are you so worried about her? What about me? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m dead. It’s not fair.’
The shimmering was worse and Katie felt as if she was going to be sick. ‘What can I do?’
Violet didn’t answer; she was still trying to pick up the hair from the pillow, watching her own ghostly fingers intently.
Katie wanted to ask Violet the obvious question, but she wasn’t sure how. She plumped for the direct approach. ‘How did you die?’
‘Rude girl,’ Violet said, but she smiled. She really was extraordinarily pretty.
‘Did somebody hurt you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Violet turned away, the movement strange and fluid, as if Violet were becoming a little more insubstantial and ghost-like. ‘I imagine that’s why I’m still here. I’m probably supposed to be absolutely furious about it, but I can’t seem to summon the feeling any more. It’s funny how these things just fade away.’
‘Violet,’ Katie tried again. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Why don’t you look it up?’ Violet said. ‘Violet Leticia Anne Beaufort.’ And then she disappeared.
*
Across town at End House, Gwen Harper closed her eyes and wished that, just once, she could swap her power from ‘finding lost things’ to ‘shutting people up’. Amanda had been going non-stop since she arrived and Gwen’s head was still pounding from the white wine at the opening the night before. She closed her eyes and lightly massaged her temples.
Amanda had covered the shockingly narrow aisles at their local small supermarket, her mother’s weird obsession with linen napkins, and something about a C-list celebrity who’d been photographed with, as far as Gwen could gather, a B-list celebrity. Which made it news, apparently. She tried to tune Amanda out, just for a moment, just to let the pain in her head abate a little. She’d had some tea and about three pints of water, surely—
‘What about the chalk man in Dorset? You could visit him.’
Gwen opened her eyes. ‘Chalk man?’
‘Like the white horse. Only a man. With a massive willy.’
‘Ah.’ Gwen closed her eyes again. She had a horrible feeling she knew what Amanda was going to say next.
‘You shag on it. You and Cam, I mean. It’s supposed to cure infertility.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Oh, everyone knows that. It was in the paper and everything.’
‘A chalk man. On a hillside.’ Gwen tried not to show her distress. Amanda was only trying to help. And it was her own fault for confiding in Amanda in a moment of weakness. She should’ve been more like Iris and kept her thoughts firmly confined to her journals.
‘The fertility rates around the hill are above national average — all the women around there have, like, three kids each. At least. It’s been proven.’
‘I really don’t want to talk about this,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’
Amanda put her hand on Gwen’s arm. ‘I know it’s painful, but talking can help. And surely anything is worth a try. I’d have thought you’d be open—’
‘How are your kids?’ Gwen interrupted Amanda with the topic of conversation guaranteed to distract her.
Amanda pulled a face. ‘Monsters. Milo has decided five is the best time to start the day and Lucy refuses to poo in the toilet.’
‘That sounds—’
‘She’s trained, I mean, she’s able to hold it, but she won’t do it unless I put a nappy on her.’ Amanda shook her head. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’
‘Indeed,’ Gwen said.
‘Oh, crap.’ Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s fine,’ Gwen said. She busied herself by topping up their cups from the teapot. Chamomile with essence of burdock.
‘Can’t you cure yourself?’ Amanda didn’t seem to be able to leave the subject alone. She’d always been the kind of woman to wedge her foot so firmly into her own mouth that the only conceivable option was to keep on pushing, perhaps in the hope that it would eventually appear out the other end.
‘Apparently not.’ Gwen thought of the spells she’d tried, the herbal remedies she’d downed. She’d had enough evening primrose and dandelion root to last her a lifetime.
‘It’ll happen,’ Amanda said, cosy certainty in her voice. ‘Maybe if you stop trying. Lots of people find that. They give up, and they adopt or just decided it’s not happening or whatever, and then they get pregnant—’ she
clicked her fingers ‘—like that.’
Gwen dug her fingers into her palm to stop herself from screaming ‘shut up, shut up, shut up’ into Amanda’s face.
Amanda drained her mug and stood up. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on. You must be so busy. I saw that piece in The Guardian. We’re going to try and make it to your launch-party thing. If we can get a sitter. If not, me and Kev are going to go into Bath this weekend. We’ll take a look, then.’ She laughed a little nervously. ‘Won’t be able to buy one, though. Out of our price range.’
Gwen smiled. ‘Don’t worry about that.’
‘I won’t keep you,’ Amanda said again and, miracle of miracles, she actually headed towards the door. Amanda never stayed for just one mug of tea. It was unheard of. At the door she hesitated. ‘Is it true you’re doing one of your box things for the Bath City of Culture thing?’
Gwen nodded.
‘Fancy,’ Amanda said, approvingly. ‘You’ll be too famous to talk to us little folk soon!’
Gwen waved and closed the door. Amanda had never asked her about her work before. Not in detail. She felt a creeping pride and realised that one of the best things about the magazine coverage and the exhibition was that her friends and neighbours actually believed that she was working now. She’d just been dabbling before. Being eccentric. Making funny little boxes. Now, it was a proper job. Nothing had changed except people’s perception, which meant, of course, that everything had changed.
Chapter 8
The Grange was filled with MOPs determined to have a good time, many of them ignoring their children while they did so. Katie dodged several toddlers and even a crawling baby on her way to and from the kitchen.
She’d just dumped a tray of empty glasses on top of the bar and told Anna that she was taking her break, when Max took hold her elbow. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
‘Don’t you mean steal a drink?’ Katie said, trying not to be pleased.
‘I’m working now. I pay when I can.’
‘Really?’ Katie said. ‘Where’s your name badge?’
Max gave her a look. ‘I’m willing to talk about what you believe is going on here. With an open mind. Can’t you lay off just for a bit?’
‘Sorry,’ Katie said. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know your life. I’ve got no right to judge.’
‘That’s okay.’ Max looked surprised.
‘You’re staff now, right?’ Katie said.
‘I guess.’
‘That means you can enjoy the Costa del Sol.’
Katie led the way round to the back of the hotel. A screened-off area hid the bins from MOP view and there were a few straggly deck chairs arranged around an old picnic table. ‘It’s the summer staff room. Fag-break area. It’s grim.’ She gestured to a faded pink plastic chair. ‘Sit.’
Katie fetched a couple of Fabs from the kitchen. Something had tried to knock him out with a ceramic urn, he’d been de-hexed by Gwen and menaced by Cam and he was still speaking to her. He deserved an ice lolly.
His eyes lit up when she returned. ‘God, I haven’t had a Fab in years.’
‘When you said you were a con man,’ Katie began, after a few minutes of companionable lolly-induced silence, and then stopped. She realised that there was no good way to finish that sentence.
Max didn’t help, just lowered his eyes and concentrated on finishing the rapidly melting lolly.
‘Have you been travelling around for long?’ She wanted to ask where home was. What he really did for a living. Just how black his heart truly was. But how did you do that? How did you say ‘are you dangerous?’ without sounding unhinged? Without inviting the truth she didn’t want to hear or the lie she expected?
‘Couple of months,’ Max said. ‘I’ve been feeling sort of dissatisfied for a while and then something happened. It made me want to take some time off.’
‘From conning?’
‘Sort of. From that life, yeah. But it’s not that simple.’
‘It is. You just stop stealing from people.’
‘Send me a postcard from where you live some time.’
‘What?’
‘Where everything is so black and white.’
Katie nibbled the sprinkles and chocolate that covered the top part of her lolly. It was black and white. Stealing and lying equalled bad. Max was a bad person. She should walk inside and talk to Jo, instead. She shouldn’t speak to him ever, ever again. ‘So, what happened? What made you reassess your life of crime?’
‘I was already taking it easy, having some time away. I was moving around, playing lots of poker tournaments. Nothing dodgy for once, not really gambling.’
Katie made to interrupt but he pointed at her with his empty lolly stick. ‘Playing poker isn’t gambling. Well, it is. But if you have skills then you have a good chance of winning. You can influence the outcome to some extent.’
Katie licked some strawberry that was threatening to run down her wrist. ‘Right, so—’
‘One place, I had a bit too much to drink and got knocked out of the game early. You know what it’s like when you’re already drunk and you just keep drinking?’
No, Katie thought. Not really.
‘I don’t know how much I’d had, but I ended up seeing Greg Barton’s act.’
‘You must have been really slaughtered.’
Max nodded. ‘It wasn’t exactly my intention. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
‘To say the least.’
‘Exactly. I had found a comfortable seat and fallen asleep for a while. When I woke up the show had started and my head was pounding so I just stayed put. I got sucked in, though. The man is a real pro,’ Max said, his voice full of admiration. ‘I mean, you should see his cold reading.’
Katie felt sick. ‘So, what, he’s like some kind of hero to you?’
Max’s eyebrows drew sharply down. ‘Hardly. I think he’s scum. He preys on people when they’re vulnerable, grieving. He breaks all the rules. No scruples whatsoever. But, you know, sometimes you gotta admire technique.’
Katie wasn’t sure about that, but she didn’t want to stop Max talking.
‘But then he spoke to me. Called me out in the audience. I mean, I didn’t even have a ticket. I definitely hadn’t been at the meet and greet before the show, when the runners pump people for info, which they can feed back to Barton for the show. I’d stumbled in there, dead drunk, passed out in an empty seat.’
‘What did he say to you?’
Max’s smile vanished. ‘It’s personal.’
‘Fair enough,’ Katie said. ‘But it shook you up?’
‘It got to me,’ Max said. ‘I know all the tricks and I know it’s a kind of con, but the things he said... Put it this way. I’d really like to prove he’s a grifter.’ He smiled a little. ‘I’m going to prove it.’
‘You should be careful. I read about a medium. Got accused of faking in a newspaper and he sued them for a load of money.’
‘I know,’ Max said, his smile fading. ‘But I’m hoping I can catch him out, anyway. I would love to ruin his sordid little career.’
‘Sordid career? Pots and kettles spring to mind.’
Max shook his head, deadly serious now. ‘He’s violating the code.’
‘There’s a code?’
‘Of course.’ Max counted off on his fingers. ‘Only steal from the crooked, only scam the dishonest, family’s off limits.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you,’ Max said, standing up. He held out his hand for Katie’s lolly stick, which, she now realised, she’d been mangling while they talked. She passed the twisted bit of wood to him and stood up. ‘Back to work, I suppose.’
‘Are you really working here?’
‘Just temporarily.’ Max smiled. Not his usual small one, but a wide, loopy grin. ‘I quite like bar work. An honest day’s work and all that. I could get used to it.’
‘You’d better not.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t outstay my welcome.’
‘Bit late,’ Katie said, automatically, and was rewarded by Max’s smile growing even wider.
‘I know you don’t mean that,’ he said, pointing at her with the remains of his Fab. ‘But don’t worry. I think Patrick only hired me because he’s desperate. As soon as he finds a permanent replacement, he’ll chuck me out.’
Katie felt an alarming mix of feelings. Terror, because he wasn’t joking about being a con man and that was bad. That was really bad. And sympathy because he seemed genuinely sad about something, and Barton had upset him and she could see it had shaken him in some fundamental way. And arousal because, well, because Max just seemed to have that effect on her. Which brought her neatly back to terror.
*
That night, Katie sat cross-legged on her sofa and fired up Google on her laptop. Gwen might be convinced that seeing Violet was some terrible curse, but Katie felt properly awake for the first time in months. The magical world that she’d always known was there, hiding in the shadows of the mundane world of toast and television, had finally come into sharp focus. She was linked to it and she wasn’t about to hide under her duvet until it went away. If Gwen wasn’t going to help her, she was going to do it herself and she was going to start by helping Violet.
Katie typed Violet’s name into the search engine. She paid for a subscription to The Times so that she could search the past issues and was rewarded by a scanned-in story from the beginning of August, 1937.
The case of missing heiress Violet Beaufort took a sinister turn today with the news that some personal effects of the young lady have been recovered from the Beaufort estate in Avon. Lord Beaufort maintains that his daughter was away at the time of her disappearance, visiting friends in Norwich, and until now the search has been centred upon the route. The alarm was first raised on 7th July when Violet Beaufort did not arrive as expected and there have been no clues to her whereabouts and no statements released by the police regarding the investigation since the initial appeal for information.
Katie blinked. Why would it be odd to find ‘personal effects’ of Violet’s in her home? Maybe they were items that no young lady would leave behind when planning an extended trip away. Or, perhaps, they’d been hidden. Another thought popped into Katie’s mind: perhaps they had blood on them.
The Secrets of Ghosts Page 11
