Ghost Song (48 page)

She placed Grith House with a big anonymous firm of estate agents in York—a company who specialized in renting country houses to people coming to work in the UK on two- or three-year contracts. She would have liked to sell the place outright, but she had finally decided she could not risk any kind of comprehensive renovation because of what was behind the cellar wall. The agents would let the house to people who wanted a reasonable family base during their stint in England, but who would not bother about more than surface redeco-ration. Short of leaving it standing empty, which would have been asking for all kinds of trouble, or continuing to live there herself with the ghosts, which she could not face, Shona thought this was the best solution. She would be able to check the house between tenancies and make sure the cellar wall was undisturbed. She instructed the agents to communicate with her through her bank, saying with perfect truth that she was moving to London, and was not yet sure where she would be living.

By the time she found the little Tabard Square flat and the job with the Harlequin Society, the deaths of her mother and Elspeth had become a dream—one of those uncomfortable dreams she had occasionally experienced as a child. Something unreal and something that dissolved when light shone directly onto it.

Until a mention of an old theatre, its name so very similar to Tantallon, touched a chord in Shona's mind. Until an old, hastily constructed wall beneath the Tarleton—a wall almost identical to the wall at Grith—brought the fears pouring back.

Anna's body had been found and her killer had remained a mystery. Shona had got away with that death. But if Elspeth's body were to be found, they would know it had been Shona herself who put the stupid creature there—there was no one else who could have done it. So the brick wall in the cellar must never be broken open, because Elspeth's body must never,
never
be found. It must always remain one of the secrets. Secrets…

This time when Shona came up out of the past, she was no longer so sure she was in Levels House. When she looked round her, the room with its soft comfortable chairs and pleasant oak mantel was blurry and indistinct, as if another image was trying to get through: the image of that darker, bleaker house where she had grown up. The fragments of memory—the terrible truth about her father, Anna, the deaths of her mother and Elspeth, the need to play a part to people at Moil—all whirled and spun in her head, but she forced them away, because this was not Grith: it was Levels House. She and Hilary had driven here earlier today.

Did you?
said Anna's voice.
Are you sure about that, Shona? Are you sure this isn't Grith after all?

Shona was no longer sure. It was difficult to keep things separate sometimes—the past and the present, Grith and the Tarleton, the Tarleton and Tantallon castle… the Tarleton and Tantallon castle, both with its curtain, the one a swathe of velvet, the other a wall made of stone… But the similarities did not mean they were both killing grounds. Tantallon had been Iain Seymour's killing ground, but it had no connection with the old theatre. She must be careful not to become confused. She got up, a little stiff from having been in one position for so long, and went out to the hall, closing the sitting-room door. The stairs had a delayed creak, just as Grith had, so you kept thinking someone was creeping up behind you.

She washed in the old-fashioned bathroom at the end of the corridor, then went into her bedroom and closed the door.

You don't think a closed door can keep me out, do you?
said Anna.
I'm still here and I'll always be here. I'll always watch you. I didn't watch you that day you stole out to the potting shed because you hadn't murdered me then, but I watched you afterwards. I was there when you found out about Iain Seymour—a charming man, but a monster. Was he waiting for you that day when you read the newspaper cutting and the letter from Thornacre Asylum, Shona? Did the ghost of that charming monster reach out to you and did you take his hand?

This was unbearable and it was unfair. Shona had had no idea what she was going to find that day in the attics at Grith.

Then that was very stupid of you, because you should have guessed there'd be secrets. All attics have secrets,
said Anna.

All attics have secrets… Shona felt the dull ache that had been hovering over her temples descend like an iron weight and press agonizingly down, splitting her head into two separate halves. She opened the bedroom door and stepped outside.

The main landing was wide and L-shaped; most of it was in deep shadow, although a thin light came in from an uncurtained window in the other half of the L, so it was possible to see the way fairly well. Anna came with Shona, of course; Anna would not have let Shona do this on her own: she did not alter much, the bitch, she was always there if there was anything furtive, always demanding attention.

The attic stairs were tucked behind a half wall at the very end of the landing and they were narrow and very steep. Shona went up them cautiously, wincing when a worn tread creaked loudly, but reaching the top apparently unheard. The door leading into the attic was not much more than a large hatch; it opened outwards onto the small landing but a black hook latch—the old-fashioned kind you saw on garden sheds and gates—had been fastened to it, presumably to keep the door in place. When Shona lifted the latch the door swung open quite easily and a little breath of dry warmth gusted outwards. So far so good. But when she ducked her head to go through, the door swung back into place, closing itself with a little soft click, and Shona jumped and turned sharply round. But it was only the sloping old floor that had caused the door to close and she relaxed and turned back to survey the attic. It was very dark, but after a moment she located a light switch near the door. It was probably safe to switch this on for a few moments; it was unlikely that a light would be seen up here and in any case she could not make a search in the pitch dark.

She paused, frowning. She could not remember why she had come up here, but her head still felt as if it was split in two separate pieces, so perhaps the reason was in the half she could not reach. She thought there were things in that half—things she had done earlier in case she had to carry out any kind of plan—but she could not get at the memory of them.

But attics were places where forgotten letters and newspaper cuttings lay undisturbed for years—letters that blew your whole world apart if you found them. Was there something about the Tarleton in these attics? Something that would bring its secrets boiling to the surface? The sick pain in her head increased. Secrets were dangerous, they had to be buried as deeply as possible. It did not even matter if they were not your own secrets…

Madeleine Ferrelyn had secrets. She had winced with sudden pain at a memory earlier that evening. Or had it been fear? Was she afraid there was something deep in the Tarleton that might be uncovered? Something behind that wall?

And you mustn't let them break open the cellar wall, remember…

But that's the Tarleton wall, thought Shona. Not the wall at Grith. It wouldn't matter if they knocked the Tarleton wall down. Or would it? Oh God, I can't remember!

At first glance the attic did not seem to contain anything more sinister than discarded household junk, dust and cobwebs, but Shona began to explore, moving warily across the floor, remembering to test each section of the old boards before she trod on them. The attic looked as if it extended across most of the house, which meant she might walk directly over Madeleine's or Hilary's bedroom without realizing it. They should both be fast asleep by now, but footsteps directly overhead might wake one of them.

Still with no real idea of what she was looking for and still moving through the blurred, head-aching confusion, Shona began to investigate the contents of three large cardboard cartons in a corner. The first two held things from the 1960s, and she moved on to the third, seeing that it contained gramophone records, all old 78s, some in battered sleeves with names so faded as to be almost unreadable, some lying loose. The record labels were all HMV. His Master's Voice. Was there anyone over a certain age for whom those words did not conjure up the famous image—the dog looking into the flaring horn, half puzzled, half curious about the sounds issuing from it? HMV as record-makers had long been absorbed into a conglomerate, but you still saw the signs over record shops.

There were six records in the box, and the top one had a date of 1917, so it was reasonable to assume the others would be of the same vintage. Shona began to turn them over, one by one, handling them with great care.

H
ILARY HAD BEEN ALMOST
too tired to wash and undress before tumbling into the deep comfortable bed in the bedroom at the back of Levels House, although she was not too tired to check messages on her phone to see if Robert had called. He had done so—there was a brief message left at seven that evening, just asking her to call. She considered doing so right away, but it had only been a brief, casual-sounding message, and it was nearly half past ten which seemed a bit late to phone someone she did not really know very well. She amended this last part, because it felt as if she had known Robert for a long time; even so, half past ten was still a bit late and there was also the fact that she was having to struggle to stay awake. It had been nice to hear his voice; she smiled as she got into bed, thinking she would call tomorrow morning.

It annoyed her to be so extremely tired, because she wanted to lie awake going over everything that had happened. That strange clause in Frank Douglas's will—that was a peculiar thing. Madeleine had said it could not legally be enforced, but legal or not she had complied with it. Was there anything strange about her having done so? Hilary was only half inclined to accept what Madeleine had said about not wanting to risk the rest of the inheritance; the market value of the Tarleton, even then, would surely have far outweighed her modest-sounding inheritance.

Hilary wanted to think about the actual reopening of the Tarleton, as well. Reclaiming the past… She would try to track down that old actor's autobiography—he had appeared on Toby's stage so he would have known Toby. Hilary would quite like to have known Toby, as well: she was hoping they would be able to find some more of his music for the reopening. There was the idea she had had for a radio biography programme as well; she would still like to try that and might be able to work on it in tandem with the opening…

Toby seemed to have strayed into her dreams, because she thought she could hear him singing. The sounds seemed to be coming from a long way off, but there was a faint background hum, so it was impossible to hear any actual words. That would be the hum of all the people in the Tarleton's audience, of course. The song was not one she had ever heard before—or was it? She listened intently; it was a distinctive melody and sounded as if it was mostly backed by a piano.

Hilary came up out of sleep as abruptly as if something had shaken her, and discovered she was sitting bolt upright in bed. Moonlight was coming in through the partly opened curtains and her heart was bumping. For several moments she felt dizzy and strange and it was difficult to push back the waves of sleep. The surroundings confused her, because the furniture was all in the wrong place and the scents were not the scents of her bedroom…

Then she recalled she was at Levels House. Her watch, which she had put on the bedside table, showed it to be a quarter to midnight which surprised her because she felt as if she had been deeply asleep for much longer. She remembered thinking about Toby as she fell asleep, wondering about the radio programme, and she remembered hearing him singing…

It was then that Hilary realized two things. One was that the music in her dream was not unknown after all. She had heard it before—only once, but it was an occasion she was not likely to forget. She had heard it in the darkened Tarleton, on the night she and Robert had glimpsed the ghost.

The other thing was that she could still hear it.

Hilary sat very still. The likeliest explanation was that she was asleep, and dreaming about Toby. The next likeliest explanation was that somewhere in the house someone was playing an old record. This was a bit farfetched, but the evening's discussions might have revived old memories for Madeleine, and she might have some of her father's old recordings and be playing one of them quietly in her room. But would anyone do that at midnight, with two guests in the house? And it's the Tarleton's ghost song, thought Hilary. It really is the song Robert and I heard that night, I'm sure of it. Even if I am still dreaming, I'll have to find out where it's coming from.