The Ghost Sonata (24 page)

Port Meadow

Gilda entered a small church graveyard shaded by yew trees and filled with mossy, tilting grave markers sunken halfway into the earth. Many of the tombstones were so old, she could no longer read the dates or inscriptions. The silvery trees surrounding the churchyard gleamed in the weak, golden light, and Gilda's heart beat faster as she realized she must be very close to the location of the treacle well. According to her Alice Trail map, it was supposed to be behind the tiny stone church.

She felt the familiar tickle in her left ear as she approached the church, walking past a row of Celtic-shaped stone crosses that marked a family grave.

Behind the church, shallow steps led down to the opening of the treacle well. Gilda stood at the top of the steps, sensing coldness emanating from the black water below. At first, she was surprised at how unremarkable and easy to miss this “sacred landmark” was. She had expected to find something akin to the illustrations she remembered from nursery rhymes and fairy tales of her childhood: wells encircled by high stone walls and equipped with buckets hanging from pulleys. This well was far more subtle and easy to miss—but also somehow more mysterious. It was a circular hole in the ground that lacked even a simple plaque or inscription to explain its significance. Someone had left a bouquet of wilted roses at the edge of the water. As she peered into the murky depths of the well, Gilda reflected that something about the water actually
looked
treacly—as if it might be mixed with molasses and maple syrup.

For a moment, she imagined herself jumping into the well and discovering a secret entranceway to some magical world. After all, there was something about that circular hole in the ground that reminded her of Alice falling down the rabbit hole. For some reason, she also thought of her father.
If he were still alive I'd probably try to bring him some of this water in a bottle, just in case it really is a “healing” well
, Gilda thought.

Gilda walked slowly down the steps that led to the well, feeling as if she were stepping down into a grave. She remembered the strange story from
Alice in Wonderland
:
“Three little girls lived at the bottom of a well . . .”

Gilda's reverie was interrupted by the cracking of a twig behind her and a hand touching the back of her neck. Startled, she fell forward, down toward the dark water.

31

A Clue in the Graveyard

 

Crikey! Are you okay?”

Gilda caught herself just at the edge of the cold water, but she scraped her knuckles and thoroughly drenched one of her knees in the process. When she looked up she was shocked to see Julian peering down at her.
What happened to Jenny? How did Julian find me here—all the way across Port Meadow?

“I'm sorry!” he said, a nervous laugh in his voice. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“I wasn't scared.”

Trying to compose herself, Gilda stood up and slowly walked up the steps from the well. As always, her heart beat a little faster around Julian. Along with her surprise at seeing him, she was also suddenly conscious of the random eccentricity of her clothing—the cloddish hiking boots she had paired with fishnet stockings, and the scarf she had wrapped over her pillbox hat and tied under her chin.

“What were you doing down there?” Julian observed her with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“I was just going to ask you the same question. What are
you
doing
here
?”

“Oh, I can see I'm not wanted.” Julian hung his head and pretended to shuffle away. “I'll just be on my way, then.”

“I thought you were supposed to be on a date with Jenny Pickles.”

“I put her back in her jar.”

“Her jar? Oh, I get it. Pickle jar. Ha-ha.”

“That Jenny is a cute girl,” Julian continued, “but her mum asks too many questions.”

“Jenny isn't
that
cute,” Gilda heard herself say, immediately wishing she had censored herself. She couldn't help feeling mild satisfaction at the news that Jenny's mother had actually tagged along on the outing.

“You're jealous?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why slag her off?”

Gilda removed the scarf she had tied around her neck. She had an urge to tie it around her knee, which ached from being drenched in freezing water. “I didn't say anything
mean
about Jenny. I just meant she's okay-looking if you're into the 1950s-beauty-parlor look.”

“Works for me.”

“Fine, Julian. Then why are you
here
?”

Julian's face broke into a dimpled grin. “Maybe I like fishnet tights with hiking boots, too.”

“Who wouldn't?”

“Look, I just didn't much feel like practicing on such a gorgeous, gloomy afternoon, so I thought I'd see what was happening in the graveyard, that's all.”

“Did you follow me here, or what?”

“That boy Danny told me you might be around here.”

“Danny?”

“The plump one at Wyntle House. Seems he has his eye on you.”

“Oh.
That
Danny. He better not have his eye on me.”

“He told me you were out ghost-hunting. He said, ‘She's looking for the ghost of Rosamund the Fair, what wafts 'round the ruins of the nunnery beyond the meadow. I'm the one who gave her the idea.' Strange little bloke.”

“That Danny has no idea what I'm up to.”

“What
are
you up to?”

Something about Julian's bemused, curious gaze made Gilda waver, wanting to tell him the truth about her investigation.
He told me he saw a ghost once
, she thought.
What if he could help me?

“Julian,” she said, meeting his blue eyes and trying to convey an attitude of gravity. “There's something I didn't tell you about myself.”

Julian placed his hands on Gilda's shoulders. “Don't tell me: you're engaged to a top member of the Russian mafia, and for my own safety, you can no longer associate with me.”

“Obviously true,” Gilda joked, feeling acutely aware of the touch of Julian's hands on her shoulders. She paused. “I'm actually a psychic investigator.”

“And I'm the ghost of Princess Diana.”

“I'm serious.”

“I left my tiara in the grave though, and—”

“Julian, there's evidence of a haunting surrounding this piano competition, and I'm trying to get to the bottom of it.”

As the two of them walked slowly through the graveyard, Gilda described some of the strange events that had happened during the past few days.

“It does sound a bit creepy,” said Julian. “And I'll grant you this; there are eerie things happening 'round here.”

“Like what?”

Julian pulled the tarot card from his pocket. “What do you make of
this
?”

Gilda studied the dramatic image of lightning striking a tower. She immediately recognized the style of the Gill tarot deck: it had to be from the same deck as the cards Wendy and Ming Fong received. “Where did you find this, Julian?”

“I found it in my pocket when I was walking here. I assumed
you
gave it to me.”

“Why would I leave you this tarot card?”

“I reckoned it was a sort of flirty joke—something to give me a bit of a scare.”

“I know how to do tarot card readings, but I'm not the one who gave this to you.”

“So, who did?”

Gilda stared at the card, thinking. “Well, Jenny is the last person you saw before you found this, right?”

“Yeah, but she doesn't seem like the tarot card type. I saw Danny, too.... Truth is, I left my jacket in the coatroom during my sight-reading performance, so almost anyone could have slipped me this card.” Julian considered the image of two people falling from a burning building. “Not a very encouraging fortune, is it?”

“That's why my guess is that it's from someone who wants to psych out their competition . . . unless something more supernatural is at work.”

“A ghost who wants to play cards?”

“Maybe a ghost who needs to disrupt things in some way—possibly a spirit who's drawn to this piano competition for some reason. Oh—ick!”

Gilda stumbled. Her boot had stuck in a soft patch of mud. Her shoelace had come untied, causing her to pitch forward. Her shoeless stocking foot landed in the cold, squishy ground.

“Oh, crumbs! Here, grab my hand.” Julian grabbed Gilda's arm helpfully, but was unable to conceal the note of mirth in his voice.

As Gilda balanced on one foot and leaned forward to retrieve her shoe, she felt such a strong and sudden tickle in her left ear, she almost fell once again. She quickly shoved her wet foot back into her boot and knelt down to examine a diminutive tombstone marking the grave exactly where her boot had planted itself deep in the mud.