05 - Mistletoe and Murder (9 page)

“Might I ask, do you have men
working in number 49?”

“On and off. Until I knew
where I stood with number 50 I could only do so much. They have been stripping
off the old wallpaper and moving some of the doorways. I also need to look into
the electrical arrangements, this is going to be an upmarket hotel you
understand. I want electric lighting and hot water in every room. That means
plumbers and electricians.”

“I don’t suppose they ever
work late?”

“No. Are you imagining one of
my men might be masquerading as a ghost?”

“Only by accident. Quite
frankly Mr Mollinson I don’t believe in spirits and I aim to find a logical and
very living cause for the disturbances at Miss Sampford’s home.”

“Well just don’t look at me. I
have nothing to do with it. Now, if you don’t mind I have a lot of work to do.”

“Thank you for your time Mr
Mollinson, might I ask one last thing?”

Mollinson gave her a
suspicious look, but didn’t say she couldn’t.

“Might I borrow a key for
number 49?”

“Why?” Mollinson asked
gruffly.

“I just want to take a look
around and see if there is any possibility of someone making noise in that
building which could transmit to number 50.”

“I’m not the cause of this
‘ghost’.” Mollinson snapped.

“I don’t mean to imply you
are, but if someone wanted to create a supposed ghost and knew a house was
sitting empty, they might be tempted to sneak in and cause mischief.”

“I’ll think about it.”
Mollinson said, with the implication that he would not.

Clara decided she would be
best to leave while she was ahead.

“Thank you for your time Mr
Mollinson.” She made her way downstairs and back into the heaving throng of Christmas
shoppers outside.

It took far longer than Clara
liked to get back to Berkeley Square and the afternoon was wearing thin by the
time she was in the front door. She gave her hat and coat to Mr Humphry and
went immediately to see Tommy. She was pleased to find he had a blisteringly
hot fire burning in the hearth of his room and went straight to it to warm her
hands.

“Cold out there?” Tommy asked,
he had removed one scarf so Clara assumed he was beginning to feel better.

“Bitter.” She answered, “Mollinson
proved a dead end, so far. What are you reading?”

Tommy held up the blue bound
book he was perusing.

“Carnacki the Ghost Finder.
Andrews loaned it to me. Actually, he loaned it to Oliver, but such is the way
of things.” Tommy grinned.

“And what does Carnacki make
of ghosts?”

“Pretty cynical, much like
you. Tends to find they are the product of some nefarious human being rather
than anything supernatural, though he has encountered the odd real one. Its
fiction, you understand.”

Clara nodded as she rubbed her
hands together.

“Anything exciting happen
while I was gone?”

“Annie says Jane is
threatening to leave.”

“Oh dear.”

“She has convinced her
otherwise. Think it was largely to do with being accosted by that ghastly ghost
hunter in the middle of the night. Talking of which, his troops have arrived.”

“Oh really.” Clara considered
this, “What are they like?”

“One is a tall fellow called
Simon Jones, about thirty-five, looks like an academic or something. Dreadfully
enthusiastic and talks a lot, quite gives you a headache. Then there is a woman
called Bridget Harper, can’t quite work her out. She seems rather aloof and
rather sad. She didn’t say much when she arrived. Looks about the same age as
Jones. And lastly there is Captain Adams, ex-army, looks about seventy. Typical
former soldier type; brusque, overbearing and with a moustache a walrus would
be proud of.”

Clara laughed gently.

“So, have we much to fear from
them?”

“I doubt it, though Adams has
brought a pistol and a shotgun. Apparently he takes ghost hunting quite
literally.”

“That’s not good, poor Miss
Sampford. I hope she doesn’t find her wallpaper smattered with holes.”

“Let’s just hope that ghost
really is an incorporeal being, or else the wallpaper may be smattered with a
lot worse.”

“Indeed.”

“Now to Miss Sampford’s
relations. William Henry Sampford and the, ahem, delightful Amelia Sampford
arrived roughly an hour ago. I was introduced as a friend of Elijah’s. I have
to say Miss Sampford seemed quite in a dither around them.”

“Tell me about them, as much
as you can.” Clara settled herself on the edge of Tommy’s bed and prepared to
listen.

“My first impression was a bit
like that of Captain Adams. William Henry seemed rather abrupt and fierce, the
sort of man who always gets his own way. His disdain for Miss Sampford was
apparent at once. I didn’t talk to him for long, but I got the impression that
he has a cruel streak about him and has very little concern for anyone else. He
gave my legs a funny look, perhaps he thinks I took to a wheelchair for pleasure.”
There was a sour note in Tommy’s words, “His wife was little better. She
flapped around Miss Sampford, but it was all so false. Kisses on the cheek and
light hugs, so insincere. I spotted her eyeing up the room as soon as Miss
Sampford was distracted, no doubt taking a look at how her husband’s money was
being spent. Mr Andrews walked in about then and that didn’t go down well at
all. Miss Sampford tried to avoid explaining his presence, but Andrews let it
slip. I imagine the looks that came across William Henry’s and Amelia’s faces
would be akin to if they had stepped in a recent deposit of horse dung with
their best shoes. I think the only thing that saved Andrews was that Miss
Sampford said he had come by Elijah’s request. It seems William Henry is rather
more indulgent to his cousin, probably because he doesn’t have to fund his
existence.”

“William Henry is not a
believer in ghosts then?”

“Apparently not. He sneered
the whole time Miss Sampford was explaining the situation. I almost could see
him wondering if he could have her locked away in an asylum for suggesting her
house was haunted.”

“We need to watch him. That
could be just what he planned. Use the ghost he had created to prove Miss
Sampford had lost her marbles.”

“I would watch that Amelia
even closer.” Tommy said, “There was something about her I didn’t like. The
sort of woman you could imagine drowning kittens and enjoying it.”

Clara grimaced at the analogy.

“Anything else?”

“The Sampfords are sleeping on
the third floor, out of harm’s way. I thought you would be glad about that.”

“I am, in a way. But it might
have been just as advisable to have had them in close quarters where they could
be watched. I fancy setting one of those bells Mr Andrews has outside their
door, to see if they like to roam about in the night.”

“Even if they are behind the
ghost, and certainly I would not put it past those two heartless creatures,
they could not be acting in person. They must have hired someone.”

“Yes, I quite agree with
that.” Clara wondered how one went about hiring a person to play a ghost.

It was then that the doorbell
rang. Both Tommy and Clara looked up.

“More guests?” Said Clara.

“Seems likely.” Tommy
answered.

Clara stood and headed for the
doorway. She had to leave Tommy’s room and walk down a short corridor to see
around the staircase and to the front door. As she stood partly in the shadows,
she saw Humphry open the door to an elderly couple.

“Mr and Mrs Sampford.” She
heard Humphry intone, “How lovely to see you again.”

“London doesn’t get any better
Humphry.” The elderly gentleman puttered as he came into the hall and deposited
his umbrella and hat in the butler’s waiting arms, “Has my nephew and his awful
wife arrived yet?”

“Edward!” Hissed the woman
beside him.

“Well they are awful Hilda.
You can’t deny that.”

Miss Sampford suddenly
appeared from the drawing room. For once she seemed delighted to have guests.

“Edward!” She flung her arms
around the old man.

“Hello sis, are you keeping
well?”

Clara decided it was time to
make her presence known and to discover exactly which members of the Sampford
clan the new arrivals were. She walked out into the hall as if she had just
come from the far room.

“Oh Clara, this is my dear
brother Edward and his lovely wife Hilda.” Miss Sampford announced with a
smile, “Edward, would you believe, is ten years older than me, but he doesn’t
look it, does he?”

Clara came forward and
politely shook Edward’s hand.

“This is my friend from
Brighton, Miss Clara Fitzgerald. I knew her mother.” Miss Sampford continued,
“She has come to stay for Christmas with her brother Thomas Fitzgerald, a war
hero you know.”

Clara found Miss Sampford’s
lies strangely disturbing as well as flattering. She shook Hilda’s hand and the
older woman peered at her short-sightedly through narrow glasses.

“Nice to meet you Miss
Fitzgerald. It will be lovely to have a younger person at the dinner table,
other than Elijah of course.” Hilda was a warm sort of person, one you could
imagine hugging comfortably. Her head and hands shook constantly as she spoke,
as if they had a life of her own. It was quite distracting.

“Edward and Hilda complete our
Christmas party.” Miss Sampford informed Clara with a steady look, “I suggest
we all freshen up before dinner. Edward, I have had Mrs James cook your favourite
boiled gammon with cider gravy.”

Edward beamed brightly.

“Hear that Hilda? Cider
gravy.”

Hilda rolled her eyes in mock
opprobrium.

“Humphry will show you to your
rooms. Clara might I speak with you for a moment?” Miss Sampford retreated to
the drawing room and Clara followed as Edward and Hilda Sampford were shown
upstairs.

“Shut the door Clara.”

Clara obeyed then noted that
Miss Sampford had poured herself a large glass of whisky.

“My nephew has arrived.” She
took a long drink, “Did you know?”

“Tommy told me.”

“Poor Tommy, why am I related
to such dreadful people? William Henry is such a blunderbuss.”

“Miss Sampford, you may have
asked me down here to investigate a ghost, but that doesn’t mean you can’t rely
on my help in other ways.” Clara went and sat next to her client and touched
her arm lightly.

“You are most kind, dear. All
that business last night has quite shaken me.”

“Well it mustn’t. Last night
was nothing more than human clumsiness and a lot of silliness.” Clara smiled,
“I hear Mr Andrews did not find favour with your nephew?”

“Hmph. William Henry will
tolerate Andrews, but only because Elijah’s father was very generous towards
him in the past and he doesn’t dare offend the boy. For William, being nice to
people is only worth it if money is involved.”

“Are Elijah’s parents coming
down?”

“No, Elijah’s father is
deceased and his mother is quite frail these days, so she remains in the
country all year round.” Miss Sampford took more whisky, “I just have this
feeling in my bones that this will be an awful Christmas.”

“Nonsense.” Clara said
reassuringly, “Everything will be fine. It is the anxiety of these last few
weeks playing on your nerves.”

“I hope you are right Clara.”

“Really now, what bad thing
could possibly happen?”

Miss Sampford’s face took on a
sad expression.

“That is not a question you
should ask when you are discussing the Sampford family.”

Annie helped Jane peel potatoes.
The girl looked utterly despondent and had sobbed for most of the morning. She
was mortified she had forgotten Miss Sampford’s instructions and run up the
back stairs last night, and she was terrified of bumping into Mr Andrews. The
arrival of further guests had not eased her concerns.

“If you girls are done with
that, you can go sweep the flour off the back stairs.” Mrs James was fussing
over several boiling pans and rapidly losing patience with a sherry trifle that
was refusing to set, “Go on Jane, take the dustpan and brush. Annie will keep
you company.”

Annie found it mildly amusing
how quickly she had been accepted into the household, it was as if she had
always been there and certainly Mrs James had no concerns about asking her to
undertake chores with the other maids. Had the situation been different Annie might
have been mildly offended but, as it stood, she was well aware of the advantage
to be had in being seen as part of the staff. She followed Jane to the back
stairs.

“I shouldn’t say, but look at
this mess.” Jane motioned to several sets of floury footsteps dotting the
stairs. What with Andrews analysing the scene, followed by his troop of ghost
hunters and the servants clattering up and down the stairs, the flour had been
scattered everywhere.

“I’ll fetch a damp cloth.”
Said Annie.

She disappeared briefly and
returned with a bucket and a clean rag. While Jane swept up the worst of the
mess, Annie washed down the stairs.

“Is there not a light in here,
it’s so dark.” Annie protested as they worked their way upwards.

“No, I should have brought a
candle.” Jane swept at a pile of flour near the skirting board, “Shall I fetch
one.”

She looked to her companion
but Annie had paused and was staring at the shut door to their right. They were
just at the third floor, collecting the flour that had been traipsed up the
stairs. There were people talking in the corridor. Jane opened her mouth to say
something, but Annie signalled for silence. The two maids stood still and
listened.

“Really William you must do
something!”

“And what exactly do you
propose?”

“I swear that was a new rug
downstairs and two maids? What is the woman thinking? Quite frankly, I can’t
see why she needs the butler.”

“Humphry is an institution. He
used to work for father.”

“May I point out that
we
don’t have a butler? Really William, she is just frittering away our money.”

“What do you expect me to do,
bump the old girl off?”

There was a long silence.

“Amelia!”

“Well, she is old. Who would
notice?”

“I’m doing everything that I
can and that’s an end to it.”

“Clearly it is not enough.”

“I don’t intend to murder my
own aunt.”

“Then what are you up to?
Don’t deny that you have been doing something. All those secret trips to
London. Perhaps murder isn’t on your mind, but you are plotting something.”

“Do be quiet Amelia.”

“All this talk of ghosts. What
is that about? Has the old girl lost her mind?”

Again there was silence.

“William?”

“I don’t want to talk about it
anymore.”

“You’re up to something, I
know you are up to something.”

A door opened and then closed.
Footsteps retreated down the corridor. Annie glanced at Jane. The girl was
shaking.

“My poor mistress.” She moaned
softly.

Annie dropped her wet cloth
into the bucket. She needed to speak with Clara as soon as she could.

~~*~~

Clara had taken the
opportunity, while wandering around London, to do a bit of Christmas shopping
and she wanted to carefully stash away her gifts in her bedroom. This, however,
was proving problematic, for Mr Andrews and his band of ghost hunters were
stationed in the corridor plotting out their next move. Oliver was hovering
nearby with his camera.

“The only way to solve this
one Andrews is to lock every bally door and keep an eye on the entire floor!” A
surly man with a huge moustache was declaring to the group. Clara assumed this
was Captain Adams.

“Not all the doors can be
locked.” Andrews said mildly, his usual gruffness had been tempered by the
presence of the military man.

“What rot! Then I’ll stand
here with my shotgun and shoot the first soul who comes through that door!” The
captain waved an arm at the doorway to the back stairs.

“Really Adams, you may take
out an unfortunate maid.” A woman, Clara imagined this must be Bridget Harper,
told the captain sternly. She was leaning in a languid manner against the wall
and looked a tad dazed, as if she was not entirely present in spirit and mind.

“Have you tried a pentangle? I
was reading they can be quite useful against this sort of thing.” The final
member of the party (it had to be Simon Jones, Clara concluded) piped up. He
was a tall, lean man with a slight stoop, carrying a book under his arm, “I’ve
always wanted to try one of those.”

“I told you before, none of
this black magic nonsense.” Captain Adams barked.

“It’s not black magic, it can
be used for protection, really captain…”

“Gentlemen, we do things
scientifically.” Andrews calmed the argument, “We will set out the bells and
wires again. We will put a wax seal around the door too, to see if it has to be
opened to allow the ghost through. All the guests will be informed to stay in
their rooms. We will take turns to keep a vigil. Now Bridget, when will you
feel up to performing?”

The woman looked at him with a
strangely unfocused expression.

“Who is that woman?” She
pointed to Clara.

“Miss Clara Fitzgerald.”
Andrews said through gritted teeth, “Might I introduce my associates Captain
Adams, Simon Jones and Mrs Bridget Harper.”

Bridget pushed herself away
from the wall and walked towards Clara. She had strange, hazy blue eyes that
made her seem to look straight through you.

“You walk with the dead.” She
told Clara solemnly.

Clara imagined this was a
scare-tactic and took no notice.

“Might I ask,” She said
looking past Bridget to Andrews, “What is the point of tripwires if you then
complain when a person, such as Elijah, falls over them?”

“Miss Fitzgerald does not
understand ghosts.” Andrews told his companions as if he was lamenting Clara’s
scepticism, “The tripwires are to avoid fraud, Miss Fitzgerald, not to trip
every soul who decides to go for a walk in the middle of the night.”

“And the bells?” Clara asked.

“Ghosts have been known to
ring them. In fact bells hold a fascination for the supernatural.” Andrews
puffed up his chest as he got onto his favourite subject, “I remember a case in
Scotland, I was up in the Highlands at this old shooting lodge said to be
haunted day and night by an old gamekeeper who had shot himself. It was the
first time I had used bells on wires and it was quite remarkable how the ghost
was attracted to them and rang them. In fact, you could track the progress of
the ghost about the building by the bells he rang.”

“I will be conducting a séance
later.” Bridget Harper interrupted in that oddly ethereal tone she had made
quite her own, “You should attend.”

“I don’t do séances.” Clara
said firmly, “Last one I attended the medium ended up dead.”

Bridget was unmoved. She gave
her shoulders a slow shrug and then turned away.

“I want to use that room.” She
pointed to the library.

“We shall have it all
arranged.” Andrews assured her, “Now, if I might show you up the back stairs so
you can get a feel for the place.”

Clara turned to Oliver as the
band of ghost hunters moved off.

“You don’t believe this
nonsense, do you?” She asked him.

“Not a lot of it, but it was
odd about the camera. Here, let me show you something.” Oliver fudged in his
pocket and pulled out a photograph, “The plate was pretty badly smashed, but a
few fragments remained and I wondered if I might be able to get an image off
them. I fixed them into a fresh frame as best I could and then developed a
photograph from them. This is what I got.”

Oliver handed over a grainy
image with a large jagged line cutting vertically down the centre. It showed
the hallway in a brief moment between the flash going off and Elijah knocking
over the camera, as such the image was slight blurred and twisted at an angle.
An arm was just visible at the bottom of the image – apparently Elijah’s as he
tumbled backwards – but it was the strange form in the middle that caught the
eye. The large line caused by the cracking of the plate had marred most of it,
but just discernible was the outline of the back stairs door and, it seemed, a
figure in a black cloak was hovering just before it. Clara examined the picture
for several moments.

“Could it be a trick of the
light?”

“Yes, possibly, but I can’t
see how. It looks like a figure to me.”

“Elijah said he thought he saw
someone.”

“Yes.”

Clara handed back the picture.

“Could be Jane.” She said,
“Then again, it could be our ‘ghost’ at long last.”

“A real person, then?”

“Or an oddly cast shadow.
Look, if the captain starts keeping watch with a shotgun in his hands, you’ll
stay out of the way, yes?”

“Not concerned about me, are
you Clara?” Oliver grinned.

“I just would prefer everyone
alive on Christmas day, that’s all.”

As she spoke Annie ran up
behind her.

“Clara! I must speak with you
immediately.”

She almost made Clara jump.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want anyone else to
hear!”

Clara motioned to her bedroom
and Oliver followed the two women as they went inside and closed the door.
Annie was breathless as if she had been running around the house looking for
Clara.

“I just heard something
awful!” She declared, pacing back and forth across the room, “I was on the back
stairs cleaning with Jane and I heard Mr William Henry Sampford talking about
getting rid of his aunt!”

“Oh dear.” Clara dropped onto
the edge of the bed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I heard him talking
about it to his wife. Something about him making several trips to London over
the last few months and that he was going to take care of his aunt, but not in
a nice way.”

“All right Annie, keep calm.
He can’t do anything while we are in the house.”

“Can’t he?” Oliver
interrupted, “Seems to me that would be the best time, when there were plenty
of suspects on hand to shift the blame onto.”

“Nothing is going to happen to
Miss Sampford while I am here.” Clara said firmly, “Annie, you best get back to
the kitchen before you are missed and impress upon Jane that she must say
nothing, especially to her mistress.”

Annie nodded.

“More than ever I am certain
this ghost nonsense is a blind, a means to distract us from what is really
going on here.” Clara said, “But it won’t distract me. Let Andrews and his
cronies bumble around in the dark after spectres I have a very living culprit
to catch, and I intend to get them before they commit their crime.”

“Well if I was a ghost.” Oliver
said with mock seriousness, “I would certainly be worried.”

Clara put her tongue out at
him.