Ghost Song (47 page)

It was horrid to have to handle the body, but it could not be helped. Shona half dragged, half carried it into the burned sitting room and put it behind the door. She threw one of the fire-damaged curtains over Elspeth and stood back to consider. Yes, it was all right. Even if anyone happened to look through a window from the garden (this was not very likely but you could never be sure), all they would see was the fire-damaged chimney breast, the charred remains of the chair, and what looked like a singed curtain lying on the ground. She locked the room and pocketed the key. So far so good.

Would the body be completely stiff by tomorrow night? People tended to think they knew about rigor mortis from reading whodunits and watching TV programmes, but Shona was not sure if she knew much at all. Grandfather's books were still in his old study though, and there would surely be something in one of them about rigor.

She found the entry in a set of slightly battered encyclopedias, although the information was a bit vague as medical information often was. You had to allow for warm rooms or cold rooms, it seemed, and also for the dead person's age and a few other things as well, but the gist was that rigor started to set in about six hours after death, stayed there for between twelve and eighteen hours, and then passed off again. Usually it had disappeared by thirty-six hours after death. This last bit surprised Shona; she had assumed that once a body had stiffened, it stayed that way. But it would probably make it easier to do what she intended tomorrow night.

The funeral was at midday and had to be got through without anyone realizing Elspeth was dead. Shona dressed carefully for it, in a black jacket. She tied her hair back and although she did not normally wear much make-up, today she put on quite a lot. People seeing this would assume it was to hide the traces of tears.

Everyone who came back to Grith House, which was most of the village, said how brave Shona was being in the face of such a shattering tragedy. It was all so dreadfully sad, wasn't it? And where was Miss Ross? Elspeth? Surely she was here?

‘She couldn't face it,' said Shona. ‘She hopes everyone will understand, but she simply couldn't cope. I know she seems to be one of those really strong people, but actually she's very sensitive. She just broke down this morning, and in fact she's in bed. I'm really worried about her.'

The local doctor, who happened to be one of the mourners, asked if he could help. Perhaps he should take a look at Miss Ross?

‘Oh no, don't do that,' said Shona at once. ‘She's taken a couple of pills—Valium, is it? And she particularly asked that no one fussed over her. She hates fuss, you know. I expect she's fast asleep at the moment. But if she's no better tomorrow I'll phone you. Would that be all right? You'd come out to see her, I mean?'

The doctor said that of course it was all right and he would most certainly come out if wanted. He added that Shona seemed to have managed today's events very well, particularly since the main drawing room was closed up. He hoped that would soon be put to rights for her. Shona said she hoped so as well, and the doctor patted her shoulder in a fatherly fashion and wandered into the dining room to find a drink.

Every time anyone went past the drawing-room door Shona's whole body tightened with nervous tension and by the end of half an hour her neck ached and she felt as if she had been beaten with iron bars. Once she thought there was a sound from inside the room and her whole body leapt with panic. Had Elspeth not been dead after all? Had she fought her way out of the curtain shroud, and was she even now making her blind fumbling way to the door, beating on it to be let out? Nerves, said Shona firmly. She's dead as mutton. But she still found herself standing close to the locked door, as if barring the way of anyone who might try to go in—or anyone who might try to get out…

Out of consideration for Shona, people only stayed for an hour. The Cheesewrights stayed on, of course, stacking plates and carrying glasses out to the kitchen. Nonsense, they said, when Shona said there was no need and she would clear everything up herself; of course they would see to it all. They bustled about, reminding one another of choice little bits of the day, and remembering how nicely the vicar had spoken of Mrs Seymour, quite beautiful it had been to listen to him, and what a wonderful array of flowers there had been. Oh dear.

Edna said they would leave some supper out for Shona and for poor Miss Ross. She might feel like a bite to eat later, you could never tell.

‘That's very kind of you,' said Shona, but inside she was screaming at them to go.

After what felt like a lifetime, they put on their coats and then Edna saw it had started to rain. They had not brought umbrellas and Mona did not want her best hat spoiled, so Shona hunted out an old one for them to borrow.

‘If you make a dash for it now, you'll miss the worst of the storm,' she said, and the Cheesewrights, who did not like storms, went scurrying down the gloomy driveway with the thick laurel bushes on both sides.

The rain was coming down quite heavily: Shona could hear it dripping mournfully from the trees and splashing out of the leaking gutter outside the kitchen window. She waited to make sure neither of the Cheesewrights came back for something they had forgotten, then crossed the hall and unlocked the sitting-room door.

It was a gloomy room at the best of times, but with rain rippling down the window panes it was bathed in an eerie greenish light as if the whole house lay under water. Shona closed the door and looked down at what lay behind it. The thick curtain was just as she had left it. Or was it? Hadn't a fold slipped a bit? Exactly as if a hand had feebly tried to push it off? Nerves again, nothing more. Elspeth Ross had been dead since half past ten yesterday morning and it was now four o'clock so if the encyclopedia could be trusted, rigor should be almost gone. Shona changed into jeans and trainers, and found the cellar-door key. The rain had turned the hall into an underwater cave as well. She unlocked the cellar and the door swung open. There were the steps and the gaping darkness. She had resolved not to remember the nightmare of all those years ago, but she found that she was unable to ignore it.

Oil lamps flickering and Grandfather and Mother moving back and forth, building that wall, laying brick on brick, so a murdered woman could be hidden… So that no one would ever know…

No one would ever know about this murdered woman, either. The wall built all those years ago was still more than half in place. The workmen had knocked out some of the bricks to get at the water pipes and the police had knocked out some more when Anna's body came tumbling out that day, but most of the wall was still there. And—this was the important thing—the bricks they had knocked out were still there as well.

Shona propped the door open, then went back to the drawing room. Elspeth's arm, when she lifted a corner of the curtain to feel it, was cold and very slightly stiff. Was that rigor wearing off? Presumably it was, which meant the next part ought to be relatively easy.

Once she had conquered her stupid revulsion at actually handling the thing that had been Elspeth Ross, it was very easy indeed. Shona was glad she had tied that tea towel over the face; even so, she kept imagining Elspeth's boiled eyes watching her reproachfully through the cotton. She left the curtain over the body, managing to make a kind of parcel by tying string round it at the ankles and wrists, then took hold of the ankles and dragged it out of the room. The parcelled-up body needed only a shove to send it falling down the steps.

Walling the body up took a long time, but not as long as Shona had feared. She had searched the outhouses beforehand and found a large bag of plaster filler—she thought it was the kind plasterers used when they were repairing walls in old houses. The bag had been opened, but it was still two-thirds full and some thrifty person had resealed it with a garden tie. Shona had been relieved to find it, because she had been thinking she would have to take the bus to the nearest DIY store or even a builders' merchant to buy something suitable. She had not wanted to do that partly because she had no idea what to ask for, and also because a young girl buying heavy-duty plaster mix and carrying it home on a bus might be remembered. But it was all right—there was the nearly full bag, and there were even instructions printed on it as to the amount and temperature of water needed to mix it. Carrying the sealed bag into the kitchen, she thought her grandfather and her mother must have bought several packs of this all those years ago: one packet would not have been enough to cement that wall in place. But there had been some left over, which Mother had stored in the outhouse because you never knew what you might want in the future.

Mixing the filler was not difficult. Shona carried two big plastic bottles of water down to the cellar and used an old plastic bucket which she stood on a couple of old towels. The towels could be burned afterwards and the bucket could be well washed and left outside to weather, which would get rid of any tell-tale traces.

She had brought torches and oil lamps and in the flickering light she again had the eerie feeling that she had gone back to that night just before her ninth birthday. Were the ghosts of Mother and Grandfather watching her, as she had watched them that night? Once she turned round sharply, thinking there had been a soft footfall on the steps, and once she was sure something blew cold sour breath on the back of her neck. But each time there was nothing and she turned back to her task.

Anna was here, of course, watching and jeering.
You're on your own now, aren't you?
said Anna.
You can't risk making any mistakes, because there's no one left who'll watch out for you… So get it right, Shona, otherwise they'll catch you… And you know what will happen if they catch you, don't you? Thornacre Asylum for the Criminally Insane… That's what'll happen to you, Shona.

I'm not insane, said Shona to Anna's spiteful ghost. I'm not.

They'll say you are, though, and they'll lock you away for the rest of your life. Thornacre Asylum, that's where they'll put you, Shona… Perhaps they'll even lock you up in your father's old room… And wouldn't that be a grisly way to sit out your life,
said Anna.

Shona shivered and focussed on what had to be done. Elspeth's body was awkward and floppy and it was difficult to drag it through the opening of the partly demolished wall. When she finally managed to cram the flabby thing into the small space, it fell forwards, the shrouded arms dropping onto Shona's shoulders in a travesty of an embrace, the head lolling forward. Shona gasped and shuddered and pushed the disgusting thing back, wedging it more firmly. It sagged a bit, like a very round-shouldered person, but this time it stayed put. She was annoyed to find she was trembling so much she had to sit on the ground for several moments. Horrid dead thing with its scalded, boiled-meat face. The sooner it was bricked up and out of sight the better.

Don't make any mistakes, Shona… You really can't afford to make any mistakes.

She began to spread the wet plaster filler onto the bricks, laying the discarded ones on top of each other in careful rows. The slap of wet mortar formed a rhythm in her mind. Tantallon, it said, like the old hunting cry, ‘tantivy'. Tantallon, Tantallon, keep up, Shona, keep in step, or they'll find you out. They'll put you in Thornacre for the rest of your life. One brick on top of another, Shona, that's the thing. Tan-Tallon, Tan-Tallon…

Iain Seymour would have known how it felt to cover up a victim's face. The newspaper said he had buried them on the headland—had he shuddered because they were staring sightlessly up at him? Had he been relieved when the earth finally hid their faces? But he had been mad and he had been caught. Shona was not mad and she was not going to get caught.

She managed to banish the nagging rhythm of the castle's name and to finish building the wall. It was surprisingly easy and as the jagged-edged hole began to fill up, it did not look at all bad. Probably a master bricklayer would not have passed it, but it was not very likely that any master bricklayers would come down here to make an inspection. If the house were to be sold, as Shona was already planning, builders would probably tramp round, but by that time the filler would have hardened and all anyone would see was an old cellar wall, uneven with age. The bricks themselves were genuinely old and she could smear them with dirt or soot as well. If she could drag something in front of it—something that looked as if it had been there for years—that would be even better. There was an old free-standing stove in the outhouse that might do if she could get it down here. It would take all night to dismantle and bring it down here piecemeal, then reassemble, but she had all night.

Anna whispered that no matter how much Shona covered her tracks, she would never be free of the memories. She would never forget what she had done, said Anna, it would be with her always. The wall and what was behind it…Elspeth Ross, whom Shona had killed…

But I will forget, said Shona silently. I
will
.

She had forgotten. The bustle of activity in her last few weeks in Moil had pushed the ghosts into the darkest, deepest places of her mind.

There had been the round of subdued farewells to people in the village—the Cheesewrights, the doctor, people at the school she had attended. She was sad to be leaving, Shona said to them all, but after Elspeth had decided to go back to her family in Lincolnshire the house had seemed too full of tragic memories. Oh yes, she would return for visits, she said, knowing she would never do so.