Haunted by the Past, page 4
part #11 of Ismael Jones Series
I started forward, and Penny was quickly there beside me. We had to weave our way between the distorted statues, but even up close there was no way of telling whether they were supposed to be family ancestors, local dignitaries, or mythological figures. They just stood around, staring at nothing and ignoring each other, like unpopular guests at a party.
“Remember the timeslip?” I said. “All those historical people filling up the grounds, like the echo of a gathering long gone?”
“That was a bit odd, wasn’t it?” said Penny. “I mean, it didn’t seem to tie in with all the hauntings and disappearances.”
“I think we have to consider the possibility that the timeslip might have been just a madey-uppy story, to attract visitors,” I said.
“Like the wishing well?” said Penny.
She pointed to the in-no-way-special attraction: a well so generic as to be completely lacking in character. We wandered over to take a look. A stone circle barely three feet high, recently white-washed by the smell of it, with a sloping roof that had recently been painted a virulent red, to make sure no one could miss it. There was no bucket on a chain, so it clearly wasn’t a working well. A prominent sign announced: Ye Olde Wishing Well.
“There’s nothing about this to suggest an ancient pagan shrine,” I said. “Never mind a setting for human sacrifice.”
“Looks a bit twee, to be honest,” said Penny.
We leaned over the stone wall and peered down into the depths. There was nothing to see but an impenetrable darkness. I produced a small coin and dropped it in, but there was no sound of the coin hitting water, or the bottom of the well.
“Must go down a hell of a way,” I said finally.
“Did you make a wish?” said Penny. “Be a shame to waste the opportunity.”
“I might have,” I said.
“What did you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I said, “or the wish won’t come true.”
“You believe that?” said Penny. “You soft, sentimental creature from another world.”
“Of course I don’t,” I said.
“Then why won’t you tell me what you wished for?”
“Because it’s traditional,” I said firmly.
“Blow me,” Penny said sweetly.
She headed for the Hall’s front door, and I strolled along after her. As we drew closer, the front of the Hall looked increasingly old and decrepit. The stonework was as marred and pitted as the statues, and I had to wonder if the moss and ivy was all that was holding it together. There was only the one door in the front of the house, with a long banner nailed above it. One end had already worked loose and was flapping plaintively in the breeze, saying Glenbury Hall welcomes the Ravensbrook Historical Society!
“The group Lucas Carr belonged to,” I said.
“Yes, thank you,” said Penny. “I did pay attention at the briefing.”
She came to a sudden halt facing the door and shuddered briefly. I stopped with her.
“Cold?” I said.
Penny looked at me. “Are you really not getting the same bad feeling I am? Like someone is dancing on your grave?”
“I’m not feeling anything,” I said.
“Even after all the stories we were told about this place?”
“They were just stories. You should know better than to believe that kind of thing.”
Penny scowled at me, and then at the Hall. “Normally, yes. But there’s something about this house...”
I studied the Hall carefully, since it was obvious she was being entirely serious.
“Penny...It’s just an old house.”
“And you’re not feeling any kind of threat?”
“No,” I said. “Are you?”
Penny shrugged unhappily. “I’m not sure.”
She stood and stared at the Hall, and I stood there with her.
“Do you want me to go in first?” I said, after a while. “You could always hide behind me.”
Penny’s head came up, and her chin jutted defiantly. “That’ll be the day.”
“Remember,” I said. “We don’t get scared, because we’re the scary ones.”
“Always,” said Penny.
We strode up to the front door, which turned out to be a massive slab of dark-stained oak, with a raised pattern of black iron studs. There was no obvious bell, ancient or modern, just a heavy steel knocker that had recently been polished to within an inch of its life. The knocker had been fashioned in the shape of a horned demon head, with a ring thrust into the fanged mouth.
“The Glenburys were supposed to be devil-worshippers,” said Penny.
“Would they really advertise it this openly?”
Penny shrugged. “That’s the aristocracy for you.”
“I’m surprised the current owners decided to hang on to such an ugly thing,” I said. “It doesn’t exactly make a good first impression, does it?”
“No one takes that stuff seriously, these days,” said Penny. “The guests would probably think it adds character.”
I took a firm hold of the steel ring and banged heavily on the door. The open grounds soaked up a lot of the noise, but the echoes seemed to carry on a lot longer than I expected. After a while, I reached for the door handle. I had no intention of waiting around like a poor relation, until the owners felt like answering. I threw the heavy door open and barged in, with Penny right beside me. Both of us prepared for anything, and more than ready to punch it in the face whether it was a ghost or not.
Perhaps especially if it looked like a ghost.
The lobby was a big sprawling affair, with a high wood-beamed ceiling and a great curving staircase. Widely spaced electric lights did their best to push back a gloom that looked like it had been around for centuries and wasn’t going to give up its territory without a fight. The walls were buried under heavy wood panelling that looked like it could have used a generous application of wax and a lot of elbow action. The bare wooden floor at least looked like someone had attacked it with a mop fairly recently.
Hanging tapestries and faded paintings did their best to adorn the walls, while bulky old-fashioned furniture with no pretentions to style or elegance stood carelessly around the lobby, as though waiting for someone to take pity and move them to a more sympathetic setting. The last of the evening light slammed up against the diamond-paned windows, as though discouraged from entering by the general ambience. The only truly modern touch was the standard hotelier’s reception desk on the far side of the lobby, directly opposite the front door.
Behind the desk, a man and a woman looked as though they’d been interrupted in the middle of a fierce argument. They were both in their late forties, and clearly husband and wife, though currently not very happy about it. I slammed the front door shut, and the sound of the impact reverberated so loudly in the lobby I half expected to see layers of dust jump off the furniture. The husband and wife glared suspiciously at Penny and me, getting ready to demand an explanation for our sudden entrance, so I deliberately wandered over to inspect an historical display that had been set up next to the reception desk. Penny stuck her nose in the air and slipped gracefully in beside me.
It’s always best to keep potential suspects off balance, if you want to get anything out of them.
The pokey little exhibit consisted of various farm implements, a bunch of old maps...and a prominently displayed CD in a blank case, next to a sign proclaiming that it was a dramatic audio reconstruction of the ghostly gathering witnessed by two women in the nineteen fifties. And that copies of this special treat could be pre-ordered, for a very reasonable price.
“Why an audio play?” said Penny.
“Presumably because making a film would have been too expensive,” I said.
A shop window dummy had been dressed in a long scarlet brocade coat with gold piping, baggy breeches and stockings, flat shoes, and a silk cravat at the throat, and topped off with a long curly wig. The dummy stared blankly across the lobby, as though quietly resentful of the indignity that had been forced upon it.
Standing next to it, on a small easel, was a carefully labelled reproduction of a portrait of Lord Ravensbrook. A harsh-faced man, with cold eyes and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled in its life.
On the other side of the dummy, a laminated sign provided details on the Monmouth Rebellion of sixteen eighty-five. I skimmed through the information, but there was nothing in it about Lord Ravensbrook and his planned rebellion. I stepped back so I could study the costumed dummy carefully.
“Is that supposed to be Ravensbrook?” said Penny.
“It’s wearing the same clothes as the man in the portrait.”
“Fashion can be a harsh mistress.”
“Can we help you?” the woman at the desk said loudly, in a tone that suggested she really doubted it.
Penny and I gave our full attention to the frowning couple, and then sauntered over to the reception desk, hitting them with our best We’re in charge, you just don’t know it yet look. The husband and wife moved a little closer together, to present a united front in the face of strangers, but before either of them could say Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? I got in first.
“I am Ishmael Jones, and this is my partner, Penny Belcourt. We are security experts, called in by Mr. Carr’s company to establish what happened to him. I believe you were told to expect us....”
The man actually relaxed a little, relieved that help had turned up, but his wife was made of sterner stuff.
“Do you have any identification?”
I smiled. “People in our line of business don’t carry IDs.”
The husband and wife glanced at each other, and then nodded pretty much in unison, reassured the company hadn’t sent just anyone to investigate their problem.
The woman drew herself up and put on a professional smile for us. “I am Marion Glenbury, and this is my husband, Arthur. We run the Hall.”
Marion was tall and dark-skinned, with a shaven head under a violet silk scarf. She was wearing a smart navy-blue business suit with the kind of padded shoulders I hadn’t seen since the eighties. Her back was straight, and her gaze was steady, and she looked ready to launch herself into battle at a moment’s notice. Something in the practiced smile and thoughtful look made me think she was someone who would always be looking for the next fight.
She didn’t offer a hand to shake, so Arthur quickly made up for it by thrusting his hand across the desk. His grasp was firm but fleeting, and while he didn’t have any trouble making eye contact, there was no real warmth in his gaze or his smile. Tall and thin, he wore a smart suit as though he’d been told to, and looked like was carrying all the troubles of the world on his narrow shoulders. His face was pinched, and his receding hair was thickly streaked with grey.
Not exactly the dangerous scion of the Glenbury line that I’d been led to expect.
“Welcome to Glenbury Hall, home of my ancestors,” said Arthur, flashing us a determined smile. “Though I fear that just at the moment, you’re not catching us at our best.”
Marion sniffed loudly. She kept switching her cold stare from Penny to me and back again, and seemed a little peeved that it wasn’t bothering either of us.
“It’s about time you got here,” she said. “It’s vital this unfortunate business is sorted out as quickly as possible. And preferably without having to involve the local authorities. I wouldn’t trust them further than I could throw a wet camel.”
“It has to be said, Mr. Carr’s disappearance couldn’t have happened at a worse time,” said Arthur. “Right at the start of our grand opening.”
“Why don’t you want the police involved?” said Penny.
“Because no one in this area has ever trusted my family, or the Hall,” said Arthur. “Of course, you can’t really blame them for that...”
“I think you’ll find I can,” Marion said sharply. “It’s nothing but rank superstition, from a community so invested in its past they’ll cling to any old nonsense to justify it.”
“My family has been here for some time,” said Arthur, nodding to Penny and me almost apologetically. “And there’s no denying some of my ancestors took advantage of their position...Small towns do so love to hang onto their old grievances even though the people responsible have been dead and cold and in their graves for centuries.”
“Not everything is about your family,” said Marion, and Arthur stopped speaking as though she’d hit a switch. She fixed her cold stare on me, as the most likely source of opposition. “You have to find Lucas Carr, as quickly as possible. If we can get this mess sorted out, it’s just possible that the meeting of the Historical Society can still go ahead as planned.”
“Assuming Mr. Carr is still alive,” said Penny.
“Well of course he’s alive!” said Marion. “Why wouldn’t he be alive? We just can’t find him, that’s all.”
“You don’t seem too upset about what might have happened to him,” said Penny.
“Of course we’re concerned,” Arthur said quickly. “But you have to understand, this man’s disappearance could destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
“I don’t see any reason to assume that anything bad has happened to Mr. Carr,” Marion said firmly.
“The Hall does have a reputation,” I said politely.
“And Mr. Carr isn’t the first person to disappear from this house under mysterious circumstances,” said Penny.
“Stuff and nonsense!” Marion said loudly. “No one really believes those old stories these days.”
Arthur nodded immediately, but in a way that suggested he didn’t necessarily agree.
“Let’s start with the basics,” I said. “How did Lucas Carr go missing?”
Marion stared at me. “Has no one explained the situation to you?”
“We’d prefer to hear the details directly from you,” Penny said smoothly.
Arthur started to say something, and then stopped to look at Marion for permission. She nodded impatiently, and he launched into his story. It didn’t take me long to decide he’d spent some time rehearsing what he was going to say, probably under Marion’s direction, so he could be sure of presenting himself and the Hall in the best possible light.
“I was here at the reception desk, sorting out the last of the paperwork before the Historical Society arrived.”
“Our very first booking,” said Marion, unable to keep from butting in.
“Yes, dear,” said Arthur. “I was about to say that.”
“Well, get on with it,” said Marion.
Arthur didn’t actually sigh, but looked like he wanted to. “When you open up your home to visitors, your reputation stands or falls on how you treat your first guests. Marion and I had gone to great pains to make sure everything was in order, but I was still caught off guard when Mr. Carr turned up just after ten o’clock this morning, hours before the rest of the Society were due to arrive. I hadn’t even finished working out the schedule for the day’s events. You have to keep these people busy, or they don’t think they’re getting their money’s worth.”
“I was at the back of the Hall,” said Marion, butting in again. “Working on the floral displays.”
“Mr. Carr booked in,” Arthur said patiently. “He signed the register, and then said he was tired from travelling and wanted to go straight to his room. So he could have a bit of a lie down before the rest of the Society arrived. I gave him his key.”
“A proper metal key,” Marion said proudly. “None of those plastic key cards, that only work when they feel like it. An old-fashioned key is just part of maintaining the proper historical ambience. It’s the little touches that make all the difference.”
“Mr. Carr almost collapsed, carrying his suitcases in,” said Arthur. “From the sound the big ones made when they hit the floor, it was obvious they were really heavy. I offered to help take them up to his room, but Mr. Carr refused. He insisted on carrying both suitcases up the stairs himself. He had a smaller third case he wanted to take as well, but that was just too much for him. So he said he would leave it here, and come back down for it later.”
“Didn’t you offer to carry the smaller case?” I said.
“Mr. Carr was very firm, that no one was to touch his luggage but him,” said Arthur. “So I just smiled and nodded and gave him directions to his room. Because the customer is always right, even when he’s wrong. Mr. Carr put the smaller case down on the floor by the desk, and then struggled up the stairs with his suitcases, to his room on the next floor. Number Four.”
Arthur gestured at the massive curving staircase, with its bare wooden steps and heavy bannisters.
I looked at Marion. “And you didn’t see any of this?”
“No,” she said flatly. “I already told you. I was at the rear of the Hall, arranging flowers in vases. I always say there’s nothing like a few fresh blooms to add a touch of colour to even the grimmest of settings.”
She didn’t look around the gloomy lobby. She didn’t have to. Arthur allowed the smallest wince to cross his face, but said nothing. I looked thoughtfully at Marion.
“So you never actually saw Lucas Carr arrive?”
She seemed a little startled, as though the thought had never occurred to her.
“Well, no. Not as such. Not in person...”
“Marion didn’t join me here until after some time had passed,” said Arthur. “Three quarters of an hour, maybe more.”
He looked to Marion for confirmation, and she nodded impatiently. Arthur took a moment to pick up the reins of his story, and then continued.
“My wife noticed Mr. Carr’s case was still standing by the desk. And that was when I realised he hadn’t come back down for it.”
“Even though it had been three quarters of an hour?” said Penny.
Arthur shrugged. “I was busy. I had a lot to do. I just forgot about it.”
“I said I’d take the case up to Mr. Carr’s room,” said Marion, butting in again now it had become her story. “I wanted to check that everything was all right, because we really didn’t need any problems, on our first day. I carried the case up to the next floor and knocked on the door to Number Four. There was no answer. I knocked again, and called out to Mr. Carr, but there was still no response. I was worried something might be wrong, so I hurried back down here and grabbed the pass key.”
