The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones (17 page)

“Wel , I must admit that I have never thought of that before, that the former occupants should have equal rights to us who own the house.”

“Why should we not?” demands the Marquis.

“We have always assumed that the house is exclusively ours to do with what we wish.”

“We live here too. We have no choice. We wish it were otherwise,” observes the Marquise. “Just because we are dead doesn’t mean that we are deaf, or blind, or teenagers. And we have already put up with a lot. Too much, in fact.”

“They are arguing that as they are forced to live here, their rights should be careful y considered, with every respect to you and the Earl.” I gloss over the fact that they could actual y live wherever they like but choose to remain here. Why complicate negotiations?

“Wel , I shal discuss the matter with my husband.”

“Please tel the Countess that we would be most grateful, and most reasonable. No more pyrotechnics, we promise,”

adds the Marquise.

The Countess straightens herself and heads for the door. “I had better save my husband from everybody’s good intentions before it proves too late.”

* * *

The Countess approaches me in the hal way.

“Paul, Constance would like a word with you, and with you too, Fiona. He is upstairs in our private apartments.”

I am fascinated to see how the Earl has been affected by his ordeal, so I am not arguing. Fiona and I climb the stairs to the first floor and, as we hit the landing, Fiona takes my hand. “Paul,” she says with some admiration, “I have to admit, it looks like you are the man in a crisis.”

“Not in al crises,” I correct her.

She draws me face-on to her and hugs me tight.

“You are not doing badly so far – the arrest of a serial kil er, a critical mediation between worlds, and maybe the continuation of the Affligem line. Those are big contributions.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“Don’t you?”

“Don’t know, real y. I am just doing what I am doing.”

We climb the next stairway behind the door and find the Earl in the formal reception room. He is looking shockingly white but his eyes are bril iant with excitement – some might say 'deranged#. To me he is more like the sun burning through an early morning haze. He is having some very hot thoughts which wil burst out to scorch us al in a few minutes.

“Paul, Fiona, thank you for coming. Did you see that?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“I didn’t see a thing,” Fiona admits.

“Paul did you see what happened down there?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Al of it?”

“I cannot answer that, but I believe I probably did.”

“Did you see them attacking me from al sides?”

The Earl waves his arms around wildly, making whooshing noises to describe the hectic pace of a Star Wars inter-galactic dog fight. “You saw al that?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see anything at al , Fiona?”

“Not a thing, but I believe that it happened.”

“It was extraordinary,” the Earl beams. “One of the most exciting episodes of my life. I would never have believed it possible.”

He lapses into silence for a few seconds, al sorts of wonderment passing across his face. “And you saw everything?”

he checks with me again.

I decide not to try to be too precise in my response. The Earl is not listening to philosophical cavils. “Yes.”

“I have obviously seen them wondering around the house, and occupying dark corners, but I never guessed that they could possibly behave like that. I thought that they were sad, passive creatures, not outraged tyrants capable of laying their ful fury on me.”

“Ghosts can certainly do that,” I comment.

“You have seen them like that before?”

“Many times. They often seem to get super-agitated when I turn up. It is what they do in front of a receptive audience, I suppose. I bring out the worst in them. I am afraid I probably did that tonight too.”

“But it was me they attacked.”

“I am sorry about that.”

“Why do you think it was your doing?”

“I met the Marquis de Reynaud and his family here earlier.”

“Here?” the Earl demands, pointing at the floor.

“Wel , more in the corridor.”

“Through there?”

“Exactly.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing much. He just did the introductions to his wife and to his two daughters, but I must have triggered something inside him. He presumably knew that you are receptive to the spirit world, and me too, so he suddenly had an audience to air his grievances in front of.”

“That he is sick and tired of the noise and bustle around here. I think I got that.”

“Yes, that is his grievance.”

“He wants a clearing out of the Augean stables?”

“Exactly.”

“Wel , I can understand that. I get rather keen on that from time-to-time myself, but we do it for the children.”

“You don’t need to do it for me,” Fiona protests. “I don’t know who half of these people are either.”

“That makes it very simple, then,” the Earl declares. “They can al pack their bags in the morning, and we can have a family holiday for a change. That we haven’t had in years.”

“The other occupants of the house wil be delighted to hear that.”

And, indeed, on cue, the Marquis appears in the doorway. The Earl notices him immediately.

“Your Lordship,” I announce formal y, “his Excel ency the Marquis de Reynaud. Monsieur le Marquis, his Lordship the Earl of Affligem.”

The Marquis nods.

“We have met many times, most recently under most unfortunate circumstances, for which I apologise.”

“Apologies accepted,” the Earl replies enthusiastical y. “And I must apologise to you, too, Monsieur le Marquis, for al the inconvenience we have caused you.”

“It is not the only inconvenience we have suffered in our lives, nor the most serious, but we are pleased that you are wil ing to comply with our request.”

The Marquis bows and disappears.

“Exquisite,” exclaims the Earl, rubbing his hands. “Fascinating! And to think, Fiona, that you are missing it al .”

“I feel cheated,” Fiona concedes. “Everything is happening around me and I cannot see a thing.” She turns to me. “Are you going to tel Father about Alice?”

“Alice?” inquires the Earl.

“Yes, Alice. The girl in the vil age who disappeared a couple or so years ago. Paul knows her.”

“You do? Where is she?”

“She is back in the vil age.”

“Wel , that is a relief, not that I know who she is. I only heard the rumours of her disappearance. I would never recognise her by sight. Her parents must be relieved, whoever they are.”

“Not exactly,” Fiona intercepts.

“Not exactly?”

“She has not returned alive.”

The Earl looks across at me. “She is a ghost too?”

“Yes.”

“And you have seen her?”

“I meet her every day.”

“Fascinating! Might I meet her too?”

“I am sure that she would be delighted to meet you, My Lord.”

“So what’s her beef? Was she murdered?”

“Yes.”

“That is sad. By whom?”

“By her father. Strangled.”

“That is terrible. Why?”

“He lost his temper. He didn’t approve of her lifestyle.”

“Ah yes, she ran off with one of the tourists in the vil age, didn’t she?”

“Yes, the friend of Inspector John’s daughter who was staying here.”

“Inspector John’s daughter is here?”

“No, she died too two or three years ago. Committed suicide.”

“This is becoming a very tragic vil age. Fated.”

“I didn’t know that,” says Fiona.

“Yes,” I reply. “Inspector John is here to commune with the spirit of his dead daughter.”

“Good Lord,” exclaims the Earl. “We are al at it.”

“Except that Inspector John is not psychic. At least, not that he has admitted to.”

“So this has al to do with that chap who was arrested in the vil age the other day?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “That was M. Picard, Alice’s father.”

“And to do with your losing a tooth? You were helping her?”

“Yes, I was.”

“She must be delighted. How do ghosts show their gratitude?”

“Usual y by disappearing into the light – being released.”

“Have you liberated many such souls, Paul?”

“A few. Not always on purpose.”

“How do you mean?”

“Wel , I once got so angry with a ghost who was bugging me, much as they were getting at you this evening, My Lord, that I turned round on him and told him to ‘fuck off!’.”

Fiona looks at me, startled that I should swear in front of her father. She glances over at her father expectantly, apprehensively.

“And he did?” asks the Earl, unfazeded, indeed without acknowledging that I have said anything wrong at al .

“Yes, permanently. I watched him become light.”

“What does that look like?” asks the Earl.

“A bit like spontaneous combustion, I suppose. He went incandescent, and evaporated.”

The Earl rubs his hands again. “That must be an incredible sight. I would love to witness that.”

“I would love to witness anything at al ,” Fiona comments wistful y. “Anyway, back to Alice.”

“Back to Alice what?” the Earl asks.

“She has a problem she needs help on,” Fiona continues.

“What sort of help?”

“She wants the police to find her body,” she says.

“Do they know where her body is?”

“In a way. Paul has drawn them a map and left it where they can find it, which they probably have, but we need them to fol ow up on it. We thought that you might be able to help her, Father. Put in a word with the police to go digging around Montauban.”

“Where on earth is that?”

“The other side of Toulouse, towards Bordeaux.”

“And you are sure that they wil find her body there?”

“If they dig in the right place,” I confirm.

“And you know where the right place is?”

“I kept a copy of the map, but if we are there, Alice can come with us and point us there exactly.”

“Now that would be exciting,” sparks the Earl. “Can I meet this Alice?”

“Of course you can. I am meeting her at ten tomorrow morning in the usual place.”

“Which is where?”

“In the barn that is fal ing apart next to the house Inspector John is renting.”

“In that case, I’l definitely be there. Let’s start out at quarter-past nine. I am not as fast on my legs as I used to be, but I don’t hobble yet either.”

“Good night, then, Sir.”

“Good night, Father.”

Fiona steps forward to give her father a hug and a kiss.

“Good night, my dear. Good night both of you. I shal sleep soundly tonight, because of the ghosts in the house, for a change.”

“It must be nice to have someone on the same wave length for a change,” Fiona observes as we get undressed. “It is wonderful for Father, too. He is in seventh heaven, you can see. I wish I could share it al .”

“I am afraid that I haven’t anything I can teach you,” I apologise. “I don’t know how I do it myself. It just happens. It is not at al deliberate. I don’t particularly want to see them, and sometimes I definitely don’t want anything to do with them. I’d rather be here here, surrounded only by wal s that don’t move or have people walking through them. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“I bet you wouldn’t give it al up, though, Paul.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Why?”

“It’s distracting. What do you do with it?”

“Wel , you can help Alice for starters.”

“I suppose so.”

“And you do enjoy being useful, Paul, don’t you, despite al appearances to the contrary?”

“I do what I can.”

“And you do it very wel . I am glad that you and Father have found something in common. My parents are both uncharacteristical y fond of you, you know.”

“My time is almost up.”

“You can always apply for an extension if you are useful to us. I cannot be with you for the sake of it, but I can claim that I am keeping you on board. That wil be enough to keep you here, and I’d like that very much.” Fiona frowns. “But do your parents like me?”

“I am sure they do.”

“Wil they object to our situation?”

(Our situation at this precise second is that we are standing facing each other in evident mutual y-eager anticipation).

“Why would they? They pretty wel accept everything.”

“Yes, but this arrangement must seem a bit weird to them. I’ve been in many odd situations, but this is definitely one of the strangest.”

“I am trying to think what my parents would find weird. Normal life, probably, that they do find weird. Doing things the same time on the same day in the same order. Believing what everybody else believes. They see everything upside down so this wil look more or less the right way up to them. I won’t tel them anything, but Mum wil know immediately that something is going on. Nothing gets past her. She picks up disturbances in the cosmos. What?”

“Nothing.”

“She does. I’m not joking. It drives her crazy that Dad pretends not to notice anything at al although he does real y. I bet you that Mum knows al about us already from the other end of the Mediterranean. She wil have sensed it. She is probably tel ing Dad al about it right now.”

“That must be a bit disconcerting having your mother know everything that happens to you.”

“I can’t say. I’ve had it al my life, and I can’t avoid it anyway. It’s just there. And she never minds much, whatever I do, and Dad just comes up and hugs me if he picks up on anything that is disturbing me.”

“It must be wonderful not to be subjected to impossible expectations. I have always found it crippling to have people watching me al the time and criticising. I bet even now everyone is gossiping about us even though we think that what we are doing it al on the sly. Nothing is secret in this place.”

“If you try hard enough, you can see everything.”

“But do you want to?”

“That is my point,” I conclude triumphantly. “No, I don’t want to see everything. I want a normal life for a change. Just like you, but we are escaping different things.”