Haunted (8 page)

He floundered there on the puddled stone, shoulders racked and limbs twitching, choking and then gasping air alternately, his head light with dizziness.

Ash had no idea how long he remained so, but when he finally collapsed onto his back, chest still rising and falling spasmodically, there were faces peering down at him. Simon, Robert, and Nanny Tess, their nightclothes soaked, the younger of the Mariell brothers completely bedraggled.

Ash tried to speak, tried to tell them, one shaking hand pointing back at the pond. But his words were almost incoherent.

‘Someone . . . someone else . . . in there . . . Someone was holding me . . .’

Robert Mariell leaned forward, touching Ash’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘You’re all right now. Just take it easy and get your breath back.’

Ash managed to get an elbow beneath him. ‘No! There’s . . . there’s someone else . . . a girl . . . in the water . . .’

Robert exchanged curious looks with his brother and aunt. Ash was convulsed by a coughing fit as he tried to push himself further upright. He wiped away water from his eyes and mouth.

‘Nanny, would you turn on the pond lights,’ he heard Robert say.

Ash looked up at them again and Nanny Tess moved from view. Christina took her place, her face expressionless.

He rolled onto his side, coughing more water, his eyes closing tightly. He had thought . . . But no, Christina’s night-clothes were not even wet. Nor was her face, her hair. A flaring of light caused him to open his eyes again.

Ash forced himself to stand, feeling someone helping him, but not knowing whom. He staggered the few feet to the low wall, his sodden clothes heavy, weighing him down, and sank to his knees to search the pond. He felt the presence of the others around him, but did not look up. They said nothing as they, too, watched the floodlit water.

There was no disturbance in those murky depths, merely a stirring of its surface.

He frantically scanned the weed-ridden water, even dipped in a hand to clear floating scum. Breathing was still painful, but he managed to say, ‘I followed someone from the house. I heard someone running . . .’

‘Ah, I think I understand,’ he heard Robert say.

Ash turned towards him, then followed the direction in which Robert Mariell was looking, away from the pond, back towards the terrace. Something was lurking there, crouched low to the ground.

Robert snapped his fingers and the dog edged forward, almost sullenly. ‘I’m afraid you were chasing Seeker. We allow him to roam the house at night.’

‘No, no,’ Ash protested. ‘I saw a girl. She was running . . . running away from me.’

‘That can’t be so, Mr Ash. Unless you, Christina, were wandering around in the moonlight . . .?’ Robert smiled at his sister, his question not meant to be taken seriously.

She shook her head, a small frown furrowing her brow. ‘I was asleep in my room. All the noise woke me.’

Using the wall for support, Ash pushed himself up. He was still weak, still trembling, and he sat on the crumbling brickwork, resting his elbows on knees, face buried into his hands.

‘No, there was—’ he began to say, but Robert interrupted.

‘I heard footsteps outside and went to my bedroom window. I saw only you out here, Mr Ash, no one else.’

‘But in the water . . .’

‘Seeker mistook you for an intruder. He attacked, you fell into the pond. Perhaps it was fortunate that you did – Seeker can be extremely ferocious.’ He indicated the weeds still gently stirring in the dark water. ‘You became entangled in . . . that mess. You panicked, you imagined someone holding you.’

Ash shook his head.

‘There can be no other explanation,’ Robert went on, undeterred. ‘Unless, of course, you met our ghost . . .’

Ash’s hands came away from his face and his eyes were wide as he stared in turn at each of the Mariells. He could not be sure, such was his shock and now confusion, but when his gaze met Christina’s there seemed to be the faintest shadow of a smile on her lips.

Kate raised the brandy glass and her companion on the sofa moved closer. He clinked her glass with his own, then leaned forward to kiss her lips. She responded, but not seriously, soon parting to sip the brandy.

Harcourt smiled, then drank from his own glass. His dress tie hung loose around his fly-collar, the evening suit jacket unbuttoned, the beginnings of a paunch grateful for the freedom. Lamplight from behind reflected unflatteringly through his thinning, blond hair.

‘I enjoyed this evening,’ Kate said quietly, her fingers twisting the squat stem of the glass. She eased off her left shoe with the toe of the right, repeating the manoeuvre on the other with her stockinged foot. Her legs stretched out beneath the long gown and her shoulders sank back into the soft cushions of the sofa.

‘There’s more . . .’ her companion intimated.

Her reply was playful. ‘Too much of a good thing . . .’

‘You deserve to be spoilt.’ He leaned closer to her again. ‘I’m in no mood to leave, not tonight.’

Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘The cat’s away, I take it.’

He shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. This
rat’s
away. I’m on business. Out of town as far as Helen’s concerned.’

Kate frowned. ‘I don’t like these games, Colin.’

‘I’m deadly serious, old thing.’

Despite the lightness of his tone, she saw that he was. ‘It isn’t what I want—’

The ringing of the phone from the hallway interrupted her. Harcourt looked at his watch. ‘Christ, it’s a bit late for phone calls, isn’t it? Leave it, let them go away and bother someone else.’

With a sigh, Kate struggled from the sofa. ‘It might be important. It’d
better
be, this time of night . . .’ she muttered, going through to the hallway.

Harcourt moodily sipped his drink as he listened to Kate’s voice from the open doorway.

‘McCarrick, hello?’ A pause. ‘Edith . . . is something wrong?’

In the sitting room of her small terraced house in the city suburbs, Edith Phipps clutched her nightgown tightly to her throat. She sat in a wicker chair by a table big enough only to hold a telephone and lamp. She looked around furtively, almost as if the night shadows might be eavesdropping.

Her voice was agitated when she spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Kate . . . listen to me. I think something has happened to David.’

‘What are you saying, Edith?’ Kate McCarrick’s tone was as anxious. ‘Have you heard from him?’

‘No – I woke from a dream.’

There was a hint of exasperation in Kate’s question. ‘A dream? Edith, do you know what time it is?’

‘I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep . . .’

‘You didn’t,’ the voice at the other end said as Edith continued speaking.

‘. . . but it was so vivid, so frightening. I saw David drowning.’

Kate was firm, her unease hidden. ‘Calm down, now. It was only a dream.’

‘No, it was much more than that,’ Edith insisted. ‘He’s in danger, I sense he’s in danger. Everything was so confused . . . David was under water, something was dragging him down. He was so afraid . . .’

‘Are you registering a precognition?’

‘Please don’t go official on me, Kate. I’m calling as a friend. There is something very wrong at this house David is investigating. I have this feeling of dread for him.’

Kate was aware that her own anxiety was growing, despite her irritation. ‘If you’re concerned, then so am I. Unfortunately there isn’t much either of us can do tonight. Listen, I’ll contact the Mariells first thing tomorrow.’ She noticed Harcourt in the doorway leaning against the frame, drink in hand, watching her. ‘He should have called me from there this afternoon, but perhaps he was too busy setting up equipment – I understand Edbrook is a large house.’

‘Can’t you call tonight?’

Kate forced herself to resist the medium’s urgency. ‘No, that would be ridiculous. It’s far too late to disturb them.’

‘Kate . . .’

She was adamant, but her voice softened. ‘Please don’t worry, Edith. You know, it really might have been just a bad dream. Don’t you remember we were discussing David over lunch? Perhaps it triggered off something in your sleep.’

‘If you won’t, then let me phone the house now.’

‘You know that isn’t possible. The Institute’s clients are guaranteed absolute discretion – I can’t even discuss the case with you. And besides, I don’t have the number, I’ll have to go through Directory tomorrow.’ Kate eyed the brandy in Harcourt’s glass, feeling in need of a stiff shot herself. ‘Now please go back to bed and try to stop worrying – this kind of thing won’t do your condition any good at all. I promise I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news, good or bad.’

‘Please, Kate . . .’

‘
Good night
, Edith.’

The medium blinked when the line was disconnected. She studied the receiver for several moments before replacing it. Edith stared at the opposite wall, her mind on David Ash.

Kate was thoughtful as she turned away from the phone. Her way was blocked by the tall figure of Harcourt. ‘That sounded fraught,’ he said.

‘One of the Institute’s resident spiritualists,’ Kate replied distractedly. ‘She was quite upset.’

‘Obviously a neurotic type.’ He grinned disdainfully.

‘Normally she’s as down-to-earth as you and I.’

‘Down-to-earth? Someone who converses with ghosts? Come on, Kate, I accept you take your job of researching such things very seriously, but there must be times when even you find it difficult to swallow.’

‘Not very often, as a matter of fact.’ Kate brushed past him, going back into the lounge where she picked up her brandy. She turned to him as he followed her. ‘I think you should leave now, Colin.’

Harcourt stopped dead. ‘Hey, what did I say? I wasn’t knocking you, nor the Institute. I know how dedicated you are. It’s not always easy for us ordinary folk to understand what it’s all about though.’

‘I’m aware of that. But I’m a little tired.’

‘Preoccupied, you mean,’ he retorted.

‘I don’t want to argue. The evening’s been too nice for that.’

‘Well, let’s continue it then. Look, I’m supposed to be away on business.’

‘Tell your wife you got through quicker than you thought you would. It’ll be a nice surprise for her.’

Harcourt was incredulous. ‘You’re serious?’

Kate nodded, going to the door.

‘What the hell’s got into you?’ Harcourt stared at her, incredulity turning to exasperation. ‘Is it something to do with this man you were talking about on the phone? This . . . David, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m just tired. Please go, Colin.’

Harcourt thumped down his brandy glass on a coffee table and strode to the door, collecting an overcoat draped over an armchair on the way. ‘I’ll never understand you, Kate,’ he said with more resignation than bitterness.

Kate’s reply was apologetic. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

He paused in the doorway. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t bother.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

With a twitch of disgust, Harcourt disappeared into the hallway. Kate blinked at the slamming of the front door.

She sank down onto the sofa, the brandy glass held over her knees. Her face was troubled, and her thoughts were of David Ash.

Perhaps she should have accompanied him on this case, as she had on other occasions in the past. She remembered the last time, more than a year ago . . .

‘When was the last time you went to church?’ asked Kate.

‘Now there’s a question,’ Ash said.

‘Whatever, there’s a chance for you to catch up on all you’ve missed.’

He took the vodka from her and pulled a face when he tasted the tonic she’d added.

‘Neat poison will kill you.’ Kate sat beside him on the sofa. She pushed at the heels of her shoes, working them off, then settled back against the cushions. She sipped her wine while Ash waited for her to explain.

‘An interesting case turned up today, one I’d like you to handle,’ Kate said at last.

‘Does it mean taking the cloth?’