Property of a Lady (26 page)

‘I didn’t think anyone read Lewis Carroll any more,’ said Michael. ‘To children, I mean.’

‘Beth loves
Alice in Wonderland
. She likes the story about the girls who live in the treacle well.’

‘Of course she does,’ said Michael, secretly entertained.

‘But,’ said Nell, ‘I think Alice – I mean our Alice, not Lewis Carroll’s – saw that figure while she was in the house. The one Elvira saw, and the one who took Beth. I think it sent Alice mentally off-balance for a time.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘No, nor am I. And she heard sounds from the attic, as you did. That’s where they found her after she collapsed. On the attic floor in a kind of semi-coma.’

‘The attic,’ said Michael, half to himself.

‘Yes, but there’s more. She was inside Brank for a good two years – initially as an emergency admission, maybe she was even sectioned, although I think she was a voluntary patient afterwards.’

‘Two years is a long time.’

‘I know. It’s my guess she clung to the safety of being inside the place as long as she could. But, listen, when they released her from Brank, they did so into the care of family connections in New Jersey.’

Again it took a moment for this to sink in, then Michael said, ‘But that’s where—’

‘—Liz Harper’s cousins live,’ said Nell.

‘It’s coincidence,’ said Michael. ‘New Jersey is a huge place.’ But his voice did not sound very convincing, even to him.

‘Yes, but Liz inherited the house from someone,’ said Nell. ‘There’s a family link between Liz and Charect, we know that. Supposing the link is through those cousins. Supposing it’s even through Alice?’

‘Alice’s journal doesn’t make any mention of having a connection to the family,’ began Michael. ‘Or does it? Wasn’t there something about her pulling strings to get that particular ghost-hunting assignment?’

‘Yes, there was. I checked her journal. You have an incredible memory.’

‘Only for things that interest me.’

‘She talks about Charect being special in some way, too,’ said Nell. ‘I read it again – well, parts of it – and some of the things she writes could indicate she knew a lot more about the house than she was letting on. I’m trying not to leap to conclusions, but I do wonder if she was related to the Lees. Have you heard from Jack or Liz Harper yet?’

‘No, but I haven’t checked my emails since lunchtime. Hold on, I’ll do it now.’

The laptop had gone into its sleep mode; Michael activated it, and opened the email programme.

‘There is an email from Jack,’ he said. ‘That’s something at any rate, except—’

‘What? Michael, what is it?’

Michael said, ‘I’ll forward the email to you in a minute, but listen.’

Michael—

I got your email and voicemail message, and I know you said the house is pretty much derelict, but we think we’ll still come over. Liz is really keen to see the place as soon as possible, particularly since— Well, since the most astonishing thing!

We got to New Jersey two days ago, at least I think it was two days ago, because time has got a bit skewed for us with everything that’s been happening. But we were greeted with some very sad news indeed. Liz’s doughty old godmother died two days earlier. She was in her late eighties, the grand old girl, and she’s been living with the cousins for about four years. Apparently, she just sat down after supper, said, ‘I feel a bit peculiar,’ closed her eyes and died. Way to go, as they say, but think of the shock to everyone. Liz cried, because she was really fond of her, and so was I, despite all the things I used to say about her. (I didn’t cry, of course.)

Godmamma was English – can’t remember if you knew that – and one of that wonderful tough breed that went through World War II and came out the other side. She never married, but she was engaged to one of Liz’s cousins – the previous generation of cousins, or maybe even the one before that. He was in the army, and he went out to Hiroshima and was there when they dropped the atom bomb in ’45. Alice always kept in touch with his family.

Michael broke off as Nell gasped.

‘Alice,’ she said. ‘It’s our Alice, isn’t it? That’s the link. She contrived to get the Charect House investigation because it had been in her fiancé’s family.’

‘That’s what it sounds like.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.’

Michael resumed reading.

We got there in time for the funeral – Ellie stayed behind at the house for that, and one of the cousins’ teenage daughter stayed with her – but Liz and I went. Afterwards, we were able to help with sorting out the dear old love’s things. Liz gets a few of the pieces – some glassware and really beautiful porcelain. God knows how we’ll get it to England without it smashing, but we’re going to try. Ellie gets a little legacy that’s to be put into a savings fund to mature when she’s eighteen. “So she can opt to study or go round the world or squander it on lush living, whatever she wants,” Alice had specified. My guess is it’ll be round the world, and I think Alice would have approved of that.

Locked away in a kind of travelling desk that she must have had for fifty years, were all her papers – birth certificate, life insurance, passport. Photographs of the guy who was burned to a crisp in Japan. Michael, I didn’t weep at the funeral, but I did then, seeing those photos, although I pretended to Liz I had something in my eye.

(She said, “Oh yes? And is that Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto I can hear drifting down the rail track?” She’s such a cynic, that Liz.)

So there were these photos – good-looking guy he was, warm smile, absolute tragedy he died like that. And books. A lot of books. I should think they’re worth a bit – we might send Nell West an inventory to see if she’d know of a market for them. Terrific old tales of legends and ancient British folklore, and even some on magic. Plus a really battered book called
The Ingoldsby Legends
. (What, or where, is an Ingoldsby?) I did glance at a couple of pages of that one, and trust me, it’s a chiller in places, although I think a fair amount might be what you lot call black humor. The humor we aren’t supposed to get.

We all sat on the porch after the funeral, remembering her, telling anecdotes about her, as you do when somebody’s died. I haven’t pieced her life together completely, because everyone had a different memory, so it’s like putting a jigsaw together. I dare say there are a lot of pieces still missing.

But as far as I can make out, she worked with various societies for psychic research in England – I know it sounds off-the-wall, but she was that kind of lady. She’d have taken huge delight in debunking fraudsters and scams, but secretly she’d have loved it if she came across anything that smacked of the real thing. Not that I think there is a real thing. No ghosts, no pack drill.

Here’s the amazing thing. She went to Charect House. She actually went there, sometime in the sixties. I don’t know why or how, or if it was a psychic investigation, or what it was. Because around that time she got ill – no one here knows the details, but some kind of nervous exhaustion from overwork is the popular view. That’s when she came to live in New Jersey, to be near Joel’s people. She looked on them as family, and they looked on her as the daughter-in-law or sister-in-law she should have been. She was an adopted aunt to half a dozen of the kids, as well as godmother to Liz and one or two more.

But this is the explanation for Ellie’s nightmares. Ellie used to stay with these cousins for weekends, and she was there this summer for almost a month. Alice was there as well, and Ellie took to her. You know how it is with kids and old people – they often have a remarkable affinity.

We’ve talked to Ellie as much as we dare – not wanting to revive the nightmares which, thank the lord, have been quiescent for the last week – and she says, in that unconcerned way, that yes, Aunty Alice did used to tell really great tales. An old house in England, and a man who used to sing and knew spells for putting people to sleep. “Sleeping Beauty stuff,” she said. “I don’t believe all that, of course. It isn’t cool to believe fairy stories.”

We asked what kind of a man Aunty Alice talked about, and Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He had black eyes.’

I don’t know about you, Michael, but it seems clear to me that Alice had talked to Ellie about some of the psychic investigations she did – not spookily or frighteningly, because beneath the crusty exterior she had a heart of gold and she loved kids. But she’d tell stories they might find fascinating – stories they wouldn’t have come across before. And she was a world-class raconteur when she got going, I’ll say that for her.

So there you have it. The explanation for Ellie’s nightmares, we’re absolutely certain of it. Happy ending. And we’re setting off for JFK tonight – there’s a stopover in Paris, and Liz says we should make it a three-day stay at the very least. I dare say I can be made bankrupt as easily on the Left Bank as I can anywhere else. Then it’ll be London on or about the 22nd. OK for you?

Liz and Ellie send you their love. I send whatever’s appropriate and manly!

Jack.

‘Is it the explanation?’ said Nell, after a long pause.

‘It could be for Ellie. But it doesn’t explain what I saw,’ said Michael. ‘Or what happened to Beth.’

‘Or what I saw and heard in the old churchyard where we found Beth. Or,’ said Nell, ‘what Alice saw for herself forty years ago.’

‘Harriet saw it as well, thirty-odd years before Alice,’ said Michael.

‘There are two things I could bear knowing more about,’ said Nell, thoughtfully. ‘The first’s William Lee himself. There didn’t seem to be a grave for him in the churchyard, if you remember? And Alice mentions a local legend—’

‘That he was dead and underground these seventy years, but sometimes still seen in the house,’ said Michael. ‘Does that mean William is the man we both saw?’

‘I don’t know. But it sounds as if there’s something peculiar about his death,’ said Nell. ‘You remember the clock I bought for Liz?’

‘The one in the drawing room? The property of a lady.’

‘Yes. Nineteenth-century long-case clock, mahogany and rosewood, and it was made—’

‘By Brooke Crutchley.’

‘Yes! How did you know that?’

‘Because I’ve got a photocopy of the catalogue on my desk. Jack sent it. It says, “Brooke Crutchley was the last of the famous clockmaking family, and this piece was made for William Lee. In view of the manner of William Lee’s death, this item is expected to realize a high figure”.’

‘I suspect,’ said Nell, rather drily, ‘that the auctioneers added that bit about William to push up the price. But the clock came from Charect all right. Alice and Harriet both mention it, if you remember.’

‘I do. And I thought I heard it ticking that first day I was at the house,’ said Michael. ‘Only, I couldn’t have, because there was no clock in the house at that stage. Sorry, did you say something?’

‘I think I shivered,’ said Nell.

‘You said there were two things. What was the other one?’

‘Oh, to try to pin down when and why the name of the house was changed. It was Mallow House until around 1890. If a ghost legend started up around then, that’s probably the reason for the change.’

‘You mean somebody local thought it might ward off the evil influences?’ said Michael incredulously.

‘I do know how flaky it sounds,’ said Nell, a bit defensively. ‘But this is a small market town, remember, and in 1890 it wouldn’t have been much more than a village. They probably still had a resident witch and leapt through the bonfire at Halloween.’

‘And they say the countryside is boring,’ said Michael, smiling. ‘Nell, I’m coming back next week. Term finishes here on Tuesday, and unless I can catch up with Jack and head them off, I’ll have to be around to explain what’s been happening. I thought I’d drive up on Wednesday.’

‘I wonder if I’ll have found William Lee by then.’

‘I expect you and Beth will have family things to do for the holiday, but if not, would you both come out to lunch somewhere one of the days?’

He had no idea how she would respond, and he thought there was the tiniest pause. Then she said, ‘I think we’d like that very much. We haven’t got any family things to speak of. Thank you.’

‘I’ll ring you when I get to the Black Boar. Oh, and I’ll post the photocopies of Harriet’s journal tomorrow. Till next week, Nell.’

Nell had decided to start the search for William Lee with death records. This would mean the archives office again, where she had found the initial letters between Alice Wilson and the local council official who had called her in. She would drive over there after dropping Beth at school.

Beth was pleased to hear they were going to have lunch with Michael and excited about the Christmas preparations for the shop’s open day. Nell had found some Victorian glass decorations, and they were going to spend the weekend putting them up. There would be gold and scarlet everywhere, and a huge tureen of warm punch, together with mince pies. Beth thought this was pretty good.

‘Um, Dad would have liked us doing this, wouldn’t he?’ she said. ‘I mean – he wouldn’t mind that we enjoyed it without him.’

‘He’d have said have a ball,’ said Nell, fighting to keep her voice steady.