Ghosts and Lovers Page 9

  “I think so. He appears to have been a serving officer in the Royal Navy. No doubt he was pressed for free time and had no idea when he would be back in England.”

  “So why didn’t his ghost stick around?” Julia asked.

  “I think what we’re seeing is a kind of three-dimensional recorded image of the man. It has no free will. In effect it’s not a ghost or spirit but an apparition.”

  “He felt pretty damn solid to me!” Julia grumbled.

  Claudia snorted with laughter and immediately held up her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  Julia gave her a scathing look that melted into a grin. “Well, I’m not too fussed, Claudia. Now I’m over the shock, I can see the funny side.”

  Claudia hovered on the verge of a riposte. Martin touched her shoulder. “You had no idea of Charlotte’s domestic situation?”

  Julia shook her head. “None.”

  “Was Charlotte planning to elope?”

  Julia thought for a moment then nodded. “Now I’ve got my mind clear, yes, I think they were planning to elope and soon. Sir George was a big factor in her mind. Charlotte didn’t like or trust him. I get the distinct impression she very much wanted her freedom.”

  Martin tapped his chin with a finger. “That’s significant.”

  “You think?” Claudia asked.

  “Yes. If Charlotte had become sexually active with her fiancé, there would’ve been a good chance she’d become pregnant. Legitimate or not, an heir to her claim would really put Sir George out in the cold.” He shook his head. “A man like that wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to secure a large inheritance.”

  “That’s awful!” Claudia gazed at Julia with sympathy.

  “Well, it wasn’t—or isn’t me,” Julia said. “In spite of everything I can take a detached view of this. Martin, is Charlotte likely to call again tonight?”

  “It’s possible. If you’re still willing we can try again.”

  Julia looked at her coffee mug. Putting it down on the table she shook her head. “Oh no. Not tonight.”

  Julia invited herself to their bed again. “I don’t feel safe anywhere in this house. It’s my home, and I don’t feel safe. How sad is that?”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Jules,” Martin replied. “Then you’ll have your home.”

  Claudia reached and took Julia’s hand. “Marty’s right. Have a little faith.”

  Julia sighed. “I do have faith, in both of you. Permit me the right to feel a little bit lost. Right now, though, I need to sleep.”

  Julia kissed Claudia on the cheek and hugged her, called goodnight to Martin where he lay beyond her and settled down to sleep.

  Claudia stayed awake a while longer, wondering how her husband proposed ending the haunting of Tennington Old Hall. I know he’s got something up his sleeve. But what?

  Chapter 7

  The next morning the security gate bell rang as the three of them ate breakfast. Julia answered it, and Claudia heard her talking to someone. “Is that Mrs. Gosling?” she asked Martin.

  He nodded. “Sounds like her. I wonder what she wants?”

  Julia came through to the kitchen with Mrs. Gosling in tow. The elderly lady smiled at them. “I’m sorry to disturb you at breakfast, dears, but I was out this way visiting my sister. I have some news from the village.”

  “Sit down, Mrs. Gosling, and have some tea.” Julia pulled out a chair and arranged a place setting for the older woman.

  “Thanks, dear. Cycling can be hard work at my age.” She sat, and Martin poured her a cup from the teapot. “I’ve only stopped for a bit.” She accepted the cup. “My cat needs feeding.”

  “So, what’s up in the village, Mrs. G?” Martin asked.

  “The vicar has the archdeacon coming down from Norwich today. She’s going to investigate the goings-on in the vault.”

  “I didn’t think it’d take long for the church to respond, somehow,” Martin murmured.

  Mrs. Gosling looked hard at Julia. “I’m sorry to say, dear, the village didn’t like it when bad Sir George was put into his family vault.”

  Julia flushed at the implied criticism. Claudia looked askance at Mrs. Gosling. “Why would people be fussed over a bunch of old bones?”

  “We don’t know the area, love,” Martin said. “Country folks have long memories, and if half of what’s been said about Sir George is true, mention of him could still rouse strong feelings.”

  Mrs. Gosling nodded agreement. “That’s right. People are saying that bad Sir George should’ve been left where he was. Putting him in his family vault will only lead to trouble.”

  “In what way?” Martin asked.

  “Well,” Mrs. Gosling began and looked embarrassed. “They say his ghost will rise to haunt the village until he’s put back where he belongs.”

  “I don’t think his spirit’s interested in the village,” Martin emphasized with a shake of his head. “The root of the problem is right here, in the hall.”

  “What all else can you tell us about bad Sir George?” Claudia asked.

  Mrs. Gosling leaned closer and lowered her voice. “My old granny used to tell us he shot trespassers on his land and beat up any man who crossed him. Not only that, he was free and easy with the village women and girls around here whether they were willing or not.”

  “So Tom Bailey said,” Martin observed.

  “Brrr!” Mrs. Gosling shivered. “It gives me the creeps just talking about him.”

  Martin looked thoughtful. “If what Tom said about him is true, it makes me wonder if bad Sir George did sire a few children. It could be more than one person around here could call him ancestor.”

  “Maybe that’s part of the reason behind the feeling in the village,” Claudia said.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Gosling replied. “There are rumors about some folks, I’m sure. Still,” she said, draining her cup. “I should be on my way. Thanks for the tea.”

  Martin stood and helped her feet. “May we call you if we have any more questions, Mrs. Gosling?”

  “Of course, dear. I’m afraid I don’t have one of those mobile phones. I can’t be doing with them at my time of life. If you need to ask me anything, call in at the old schoolhouse on the green.”

  “I know it,” Martin said. “You’re having some work done there, I see.”

  “Yes, my son’s a building contractor. He’s having it renovated for me.” She shook her head, a fond expression coming to her face. “It’s a lot of fuss and noise, to be sure, but he means well and it’ll be nice once it’s done. Now, I’d better go.”

  “I’ll show you out.” Julia rose and guided their guest to the door.

  They heard Julia say good-bye. She didn’t return for some minutes, and when she reappeared she looked worried. “Martin, I just popped into the family room. I can smell that tobacco smoke again!”

  They followed Julia to the room. Claudia noticed the smell of cherry tobacco smoke at once. “It’s a lot stronger, Marty,” she said.

  “Yes, I can smell it.” He moved forward cautiously. Then he stopped, staring. Claudia and Julia gasped in unison.

  A man suddenly stood by the fireplace, one hand resting in casual fashion upon the mantelpiece, his other held a clay pipe from which a stream of smoke emerged. He wore a broadcloth tailcoat of a rich shade of puce, the hems, cuffs, and edging all trimmed with fine white lace. Beneath it was a mustard colored waistcoat with a silver watch chain, and his white duck breeches almost glowed. A white powdered full-bottomed wig covered his head, and the face that looked out at them from between the hanging lappets was stern without being haughty.

  “Good day to you, sir,” Martin said.

  “Good day to you too, young fellow,” the spirit replied. He pointed at Julia with the stem of his pipe. “About time that young chit called in a useful chap, one with his wits about him.” He growled. “She’s left it long enough.”

  “May we know your name, sir?” Martin asked.

  “General Si
r Allerdyce Attoe, sir, at ye service.” The spirit gave him a courtly bow.

  “I’m—”

  “Oh, I know who you are,” the general interrupted before Martin could get his name out. The spirit smiled. “Word gets around, ye know.”

  Claudia shivered. “I’m not sure whether I’m flattered or not, sir,” Martin replied.

  “Be flattered! No room for indecisiveness on this campaign, Mr. Grey.” General Attoe pointed the pipe at him. “Ye need to get to the bottom of this matter and quickly, ye hear?”

  “I intend to do so. May I ask, are you tied to this place? Do you wish release?”

  “No and no. I’m not tied to this atmosphere. I’m only here to witness justice being done.”

  Martin tilted his head. “Justice, sir? For whom?”

  “Justice for a young woman who was fatally wronged.”

  “And her name?”

  The general shook his head then looked around and sighed. “You know her name.”

  “I think I do. Charlotte was certified dead by a doctor, but we know she was buried alive in the family vault. How did it come about?”

  “The doctor’s name was Prendergast.” The spirit screwed up his face in disgust. “A jobbing, mercenary creature and drinking crony of you-know-who. At that person’s behest and with the aid of a large bribe, the poor girl was condemned to a terrible fate.”

  Martin and Claudia looked at each other, and Claudia could see the triumph in her husband’s eyes. “I see,” Martin said. “Can you tell me who else is haunting this place?”

  The general tapped the side of his nose. “Not directly, old chap. One’s hands are tied, ye know. Naming calls, and there are higher powers that govern such things.” He gestured around him. “I can say this. Not everything here is what it seems. Not everyone is who he or she seems either.” He pointed to Julia. “It’s no coincidence the young lass over there sent the bones away from this place.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, m’ dear, the truth will out.”

  Julia stepped back, her face blanched. She made to speak but hardly opened her mouth before the spirit vanished as suddenly as he appeared.

  “Well!” Claudia exclaimed. “What was that all about?”

  “I think we just had a very useful visitation,” Martin said, walking over to the fireplace. “The smell of the general’s tobacco still lingers.”

  “I really saw a ghost!” Julia said, wide eyed. “But why did he point to me?”

  “I don’t think he was pointing to you.” Martin slowly rubbed his chin.

  “But—”

  “I think Marty means the general pointed at Charlotte,” Claudia said. “Somehow, you’re one and the same.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t feel right,” Julia muttered, walking on wobbly legs to sit on the sofa. “Do you mean to say I really am some kind of reincarnation?”

  “It’s possible.” Martin came over to sit beside her. “Equally—and I think a more likely explanation—is that you’re representing Charlotte here in this time.”

  “Why?” Julia asked plaintively.

  “I believe it has to do with bad Sir George.” Claudia nodded to herself. “Maybe you’re here to put him to rest for good, somehow.”

  “I’d like to know how.” Julia sighed. “But where do we go from here?”

  “Sir Allerdyce said not everything here is what it seems, and not everyone is who he or she seems,” Martin pointed out. “I think we need to know more about the house and Charlotte’s mystery lover. The lover might be easier to find. I have a friend in London who can check the National Maritime Museum records. They have the logbooks from all historical navy ships, so it’s possible they can narrow down those likely to have visited nearby ports in the time frame we’re looking at. From there we can get a manifest of the ship’s company.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Claudia paused before broaching the next topic. “Is there any way we can find out more about Charlotte’s death? Find proof of what happened? The general said she was interred alive, and although he didn’t confirm it outright, we have reason to think her cousin might be responsible.”

  “That could be harder to find out.” Martin smiled at her. “But we’ll try.”

  Julia took a call on her cell phone. She rolled her eyes as she talked and looked at them. When she ended the call she sighed. “That was Alex. We’ve got to head down to London. The studio has a problem with my last recording and needs me there to fix it. I might have to stay overnight. Will you be okay here?”

  “Not a problem,” Claudia said. She gave Julia a friendly hug. “I should think you’d be grateful for a day away from this situation.”

  Julia smiled. “I would, actually. If you need me, you have my number.” She kissed Claudia on the lips, then hugged and kissed Martin likewise. “I’m glad you’re here for me.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” they said in unison.

  * * * *

  Alex lay in bed, listening to the roar of Cambridge’s early morning traffic. She’d woken a few minutes before the alarm as usual and was ready to slap the off button when it buzzed. Only then did she get off the bed, slowly and wincing with discomfort, and walk into the bathroom. Her butt hurt from Paul’s ministrations, and she felt the need to clean herself up. The face looking back at her from the bathroom mirror didn’t look happy.

  “Why do I put up with him? Why do I put up with any of this?”

  A dry chuckle seemed to come out of nowhere and the air grew cold. She shivered and looked around, but the moment passed as quickly as it’d come.

  * * * *

  Martin’s friend came through with the data. Martin pointed at the screen and smiled. “Maggie works quickly. The entry came under the naval archives, and here he is. Commander Richard Robinson, Royal Navy, Captain, HMS Theseus, steam gunboat. Uh-oh. ‘Died in action against slave traders off Benin, Africa, 1852.’”

  “Sheesh!” Claudia sighed. “Another death.”

  “Yes.” He gave a wry smile. “I don’t think we can blame Sir George for this one.”

  “It happened after Charlotte died,” she pointed out. “I’d like to think they’re reunited in death, but somehow I think it isn’t so.”

  “I think you’re right. It could be Richard’s spirit is visiting to try and free her from this plane of existence.” He pursed his lips. “The key is in the relationship between Charlotte and her cousin. Given what happened in the vault, there’s a huge amount of negative feeling there. We need to find the cause and dispel it. I think we should visit the local newspaper, and see what its archives have on the deaths of Charlotte and particularly Sir George. The demise of someone in his station in life had to have made the news, especially back then.”

  The local papers had merged over the years, and the archives had been collected together under one roof. As with many places the staff levels had undergone cutbacks and downsizing, so it took a while before someone could take Claudia and Martin into the archives. The woman showed them to a desk with a microfiche reader and set the box holding the relevant newspaper editions alongside it. “We’d just got everything on microfilm when digital technology came along,” she said and sighed. “Now our bosses are talking of transferring everything to electronic storage. It’s a horrible task trying to keep up with everything. Oh well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Thanks,” Martin replied absently, already working the reader. After a few moments he nodded. “He were go. ‘Death of Sir George Attoe, Bt. Third of February, 1893. The Baronet, Lord of the Manor of Tennington St. Lawrence, was found dead at his home, Tennington Old Hall yesterday. A neighbor, Miss Tilly Waterfield of High Wood Farm, noticing the chimneys of the hall were not emitting smoke on one of the coldest days of the year, decided to call upon Sir George. She failed to gain admittance, the servants apparently having been dismissed some months before. On peering through a window, she was horrified to witness Sir George’s body sitting in a chair in what appeared to be a state of advanced decay. She raced to the village to raise the alar
m and returned with the local constable who effected entrance to the hall.’”

  “Hmm! He seems to have died a sad and lonely death.” Claudia nodded. “Tragic, really.”

  “Very.” Martin scrolled the film. “Let’s see what the coroner’s report says. Here we go, ‘Inquest into the death of Sir George Attoe. The coroner ruled death through natural causes, probably up to three weeks before. Miss Tilly Waterfield, the young lady who discovered the body, attested under oath she had spoken to Sir George the week previous to his death. She also stated his house gave every appearance of being occupied until the day before the discovery. In neither case could she provide evidence to support her attestation, and her testimony was subsequently disallowed.’” Martin leaned back and looked at Claudia. “That is a bit odd.”

  “You’re right. If Tilly’s to be believed, it implies bad Sir George’s body underwent rapid decay, far more than it would do in winter. I wonder what happened?”

  “Forensic techniques weren’t that advanced back then. There’s no way of knowing, really. He might have been murdered. Advanced decay would conceal the evidence for that, but there was no suggestion of foul play. He was an old man by the reckoning of that time, so he could’ve died through natural causes.”

  “Could there be a connection between Tilly Waterfield and Sir George Attoe?” Claudia asked. “She seems to have been familiar with him and his habits.”

  “There could well be a connection.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps the old bugger mellowed with age, realized he was vulnerable. He might have found he couldn’t alienate people and get away with it.”

  “Perhaps. I doubt it.”

  “Give him the benefit of the doubt.” Martin stretched and clasped his hands behind his head. “Unless something turns up, I don’t think we can rely on finding anything Tilly said or wrote about the incident.”

  “We can ask around the village,” Claudia suggested.

  “We could. It depends how much unrest Sir George’s internment caused.”

  “Hopefully it hasn’t caused anything more than interest.”

  “Hopefully. I don’t want to cause a riot.”