Denied to all but Ghosts

DENIED TO ALL BUT GHOSTS
.

By

Pete Heathmoor.

Smashwords Edition

Published by

Pete Heathmoor on Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 by Pete Heathmoor

This ebook is licensed for your personal
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of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are
productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Author's Note.

The cities, towns and villages in this story
are genuine; however, several buildings are works of fiction.
Should you travel to Flash in Derbyshire then you may be
disappointed not to discover a seminary built in the Gothic Revival
style.

Similarly, should you visit Yoxter in
Somerset you will not find a manor house of medieval design as I
have described. If someone since the time of writing and
publication has managed to build either building then please let me
know, for I would enjoy visiting both estates and would certainly
benefit from a stay at Flash Seminary.

The Crooked Spire in Chesterfield perhaps
should be a work of fiction but is entirely authentic and really is
worth taking a look at.

Oberammergau, the beguiling Bavarian village,
is very beautiful and very much real, as is Bristol. Well at least
I hope Bristol is because that's where I live.

With German nouns, I have retained the German
convention of spelling them with a capital letter. The use of
German is purely for artistic embellishment and I apologies to any
German readers who may take umbrage with any inaccuracies or
misuse.

I know of no clandestine organisation
referred to as the firm though I believe the London Metropolitan
Police Service does exist. Any links between the service and the
nebulous firm are purely fictional.

Pete Heathmoor

Bristol, England. October 2012

Table of Contents.

Prologue
- The Grievous Widow.

Chapter 1
- A Laber of Love.

Chapter 2
- Glossing over the
Negligence.

Chapter 3
- A Blimp on the Landscape.

Chapter 4
- Heavenly Homes in the High
Peak.

Chapter 5
- A Flash of Benevolence.

Chapter 6
- A lame Recluse.

Chapter 7
- A meeting of Kinds.

Chapter 8
- A Word in your Hell-like
Ear.

Chapter 9
- Provenance, the Englishman and
the Python.

Chapter 10
- Butch and Sundance

Chapter 11
- A One Trick Horse in
Prague.

Chapter 12
- The Lure of Academia and the
Family.

Chapter 13
- An Odour of Primacy.

Chapter 14
- A Ruse by any other Name.

Chapter 15
- To succeed with success as
opposed to failure.

Chapter 16
- A much better Day than
Yesterday.

Chapter 17
- Artistry remembered in the
Cotswolds.

Chapter 18
- Spires, Desires and Family
Favourites.

Chapter 19
- The Shadow of a Dream.

Chapter 20
- Provocation in the Crypt.

Chapter 21
- ‘Twere well it were done
quickly.

Chapter 22
- Satan and the cuddly Bear.

Chapter 23
- Out of the Frying Pan and into
the Slaughter.

Chapter 24
- Swords and the Doors of
Prescription.

Chapter 25
- A surfeit of sour-Kraut.

Chapter 26
- A visit from the
Constabulary.

Chapter 27
- A Fool and his Ego are easily
parted.

Chapter 28
- A journey into darkness.

Chapter 29
- Vicars and Hearts.

Chapter 30
- Different to all the rest.

Chapter 31
- Another Language is to possess
a second Soul.

Chapter 32
- The Lion, the Witch and the
Freezer.

Chapter 33
- The Student and the
Poodle.

Chapter 34
- Welcome to my World of
compromise.

Chapter 35
- Pigeons and the exploitation
of Oranges.

Chapter 36
- The lady and the Vamp.

Chapter 37
- Sex, Lies and ambition in the
Digital age.

Chapter 38
- He only ordered a Pizza.

Chapter 39
- The suspension of Reality.

Chapter 40
- The best laid plans of Malice
and Men.

Chapter 41
- And the Sinner is...

Chapter 42
- A Case of mistaken
Calamity.

Chapter 43
- A Sledgehammer to crack a
Slut.

Chapter 44
- Cometh the Hour...

Chapter 45
- Words of Healing.

Chapter 46
- The Geometry of the Soul.

It was not the city he remembered. His mind’s
eye recalled the vibrant capital, the elegant buildings bathed in
the dappled sunlight of a spring day. Milling tourists, frenziedly
imbibing upon the obligatory offerings before their short-stay
breaks concluded and they hastened home to edit their digitally
acquired memories.

Now on a jaded January day, snow was falling
and settling persistently upon the frigid ground. What had
commenced as a gentle flurry of feathery white snow had ripened
into a whiteout of brawny flakes that clung tenaciously to their
dark woollen overcoats.

The two tall men laboured up the cobbled
streets towards the castle and the only benevolence offered by the
dissolute winter’s day was the absence of any wind.

“Remind me in the future to avoid Prague in
winter, Holger,” muttered Marchel Cavendish almost inaudibly to his
younger colleague walking to his left, finally abandoning his state
of wordless introspection.

Holger Ehlers glanced right and blinked to
dislodge the snowflakes that impaired his view of his mentor. He
noted, despite the gloomy tone of Cavendish’s voice, that his
mentor’s blanched lips were forcing a rueful smile. Ehlers
concluded that Cavendish was one of those few people whose
countenance did not improve when smiling, for it emphasised the
ragged scar on his left cheek and gave his accustomed melancholic
mien a sardonic unsettling skew.

Cavendish cursed volubly when they reached
the zenith of their climb. Any shelter afforded by the steep slope
was immediately revoked and they were assailed by an obdurate
easterly wind that inexorably sapped their bodies of warmth and
drove the falling snow in an almost horizontal trajectory.

“Any idea where we are supposed to go,
Holger?” Cavendish asked the apprentice. He knew in his own mind
the general direction in which they were heading but had entrusted
Ehlers with the responsibility of guiding them to the widow’s
lair.

Ehlers pedantically extracted his mobile from
the deep pocket of his overcoat and flicked open the leather cover,
fighting the wind’s voracious malevolence as he prodded the screen,
summoning the GPS map that was piloting them.

“Not far now, Marchel,” answered Ehlers
brightly, who seemed to be enjoying the winter assignment in Prague
unlike his pensive superior. It was only Ehler's third venture with
Cavendish and he was aware that he had yet to gain his superior's
full confidence.

The rutted cobbled street rapidly filled with
snow whilst the wind whisked the polished stone tops clean as they
abandoned the main thoroughfare with its snaking tramlines. The
side streets were deserted and the city suburb exuded an aura of
eerie claustrophobic introspection, mirroring Cavendish’s
disposition as he turned up the collar of his long woollen coat and
brushed the cloying snow from his short blonde hair. Cavendish had
earlier scoffed at Ehlers’ fur-covered Cossack hat but now felt
resentful of its tendered solace.

“We’re here,” stated Ehlers. They stood
before an elegant town house, built during the halcyon Hapsburg
epoch. Cavendish, no fan of the ostentatious period design,
desperately hoped that the house was adequately heated, for he felt
chilled to the bone.

The feeling was not altogether physiological,
for he took little pleasure in what he was about to do, it was
perhaps the most onerous of the duties that he had to carry out.
Hence, it was with growing reluctance that he led Ehlers to the
ornate front door and rang the doorbell. As they waited for the
door to open, Cavendish formally addressed Ehlers.

“Remember, Holger, speak only when spoken to.
If I want you to chip in, I’ll ask.” Ehlers was well versed in what
was expected of him and he nodded dutifully. Several minutes
elapsed and the black painted door remained disparagingly closed.
Cavendish stood unflinchingly in the biting cold of the afternoon,
his temper rapidly fraying, and was about to kick the door when it
slowly gaped before them.

A stooped elderly woman, wearing what Ehlers
interpreted to be a black evening gown, studied them with barely
concealed contempt, it took Ehlers several seconds to realise that
she was wearing a mourning dress.

“Good afternoon, Cavendish and Ehlers. I
believe we are expected,” announced Cavendish solemnly. The woman
made no reply but stepped back and opened the door to its full
extent.

Cavendish hurried inside followed by Ehlers
and they found themselves standing in a large echoing entrance
hall. Ehlers nervously stamped his feet on the marbled floor to rid
his shoes of accumulated snow.

At first glance, the room appeared
elaborately and tastefully decorated with ornaments that befitted
an eighteenth century house belonging to the well heeled. Yet it
quickly became apparent that many years had elapsed since the room
had received attention and was on the cusp of becoming run-down.
Ehlers watched Cavendish brush the snow from his shoulders and
emulated his mentor’s actions whilst removing the Cossack hat from
his head.

The woman circumspectly appraised the
visitors. The man who had spoken was the taller of the two and
stood well in excess of six feet. His blonde hair was side parted
on the left and framed a thin, almost gaunt face; he possessed the
palest of blue eyes that scrutinized his surroundings in a cold
surreptitious manner. His most striking feature was a scar that
seemed to bisect his left eyebrow and scour his prominent left
cheek.

The taller man’s subservient colleague’s
blonde hair was of a richer hue and had been spiked with gel,
leaving it flattened against his scalp by the hat, which he now
meekly clutched in both hands in front of him. His eyes were a
deeper blue and possessed an innate honesty whilst his square
dimpled jaw complimented his handsome kindly face. Both men wore
identical clothing, leather lace-up shoes, slate grey turn-up
trousers and long woollen coats. For two men to possess outwardly
identical clothing yet invoke such a contrary reaction said much
for the subtleties of discernment.

“If you would like to follow me, gentlemen,”
said the woman. She turned and limped in obvious discomfort towards
the staircase, Ehlers guessed her to be in her eighties and
certainly to be arthritic on her left side.

Cavendish led the way, following her slowly
up the elaborate marble steps to the first floor where she ushered
them into a room off the landing. Ehlers’ assessment of the hallway
was equally applicable to this room, which he took to be the old
study. Both men were drawn towards the roaring log fire that
crackled in the patterned hearth. Sitting around the fireplace on
two threadbare couches were, presumed Ehlers, the remaining members
of the Klum family.

Cavendish and Ehlers stood centrally before
the couches on a worn rug that revealed the absence of a dog,
judging by the surfeit of animal hair upon which they stood. As the
elderly woman sat down a younger woman rose from the couch nearest
the fire to pose belligerently opposite the two men, her youthful
beauty contradicting her jaded surroundings.