House of Shadows (29 page)

I hurried upstairs just as he was going in to the blue room, Beatrice's room. I pushed the door open and there he was on the floor, tapping the boards, a chisel and a hammer lying alongside him.

‘What do you think you are doing?' I stared down at him, my hands clenched to my sides, longing to hit him.

‘What does it look like?' He sat up and leaned back against the wall. He looked unruffled; Justin always appeared to be in full evening dress, even though he now wore casual trousers and an open-neck shirt. ‘I'm searching the old house.'

‘But
why
?'

‘You must be incredibly stupid, Riana. My father's plans are here somewhere. Designs for a new type of aeroplane engine, so revolutionary and brilliant that I could still make a fortune from them if I discovered them, even now. Everyone wants to get their hands on my father's drawings, from the United States Army Air Forces to the Russians.'

I went cold. Was that why Tom kept returning to me, making love to me, only to learn if I knew about the drawings and where they could be kept? He was in the United States Army Air Forces, after all.

‘Sounds as ridiculous as the presence of ghosts to me,' I said ‘Now get up from here and get out of my house before I call the police and tell them your intention was to come here and rob me.'

‘How would you prove that, Riana my darling? All I would have to do is show the police my birth certificate and they would back off. With my name it would be hard to prove that I am not the rightful owner of the house, wouldn't it?'

‘Where's Beatrice when I need her?' I muttered, and Justin turned his back and continued to remove floorboards.

In the kitchen, Mrs Ward was washing the floor, her hair tied up in a scarf and a hint of steel curling pins peeping out over her forehead.

‘How can I get rid of that man, Mrs Ward? He's trying to ruin my house! He's busy pulling up floorboards at the moment in the blue room.'

Mrs Ward gave me a quick glance, but remained tight lipped.

I stared at her for a long moment. ‘What do you know about these designs that Mr Edwin created? Is it common knowledge that there are lost plans, worth a fortune, hidden in this house?'

She shrugged. ‘There was talk when he was taken away by the police, but we villagers didn't know anything about designs and plans and such and no one has ever found anything in the house. If they were to exist though, they'd be worth a mint of money.'

‘How do you know that?'

‘Just the way that strange men have been here to search. I suspect all this nonsense about lights and ghosts has always been more to do with folks searching the old place than any ghosts.'

I shook my head and tiptoed across the wet floor and went out into the garden to be on my own to think things through. I sat under the cloisters. Could it be true that the mysterious noises in the night, the bumps and crashes, had been made by men searching the place all along? And the flickering lights on the landing, so eerie in darkness, were the candles of burglars come to rob Beatrice of what was rightfully hers? I shivered. It seemed as unlikely an explanation as the ghosts.

It was cold in the garden, and a rim of frost edged the stonework. But in a few weeks spring would be coming and the brave yellow of daffodils would make bright splashes across the borders of the gardens. But I was running ahead of myself. I had to plan for my Christmas party for my ghost hunters. My first job was to get rid of Justin. I would ask Diane if she knew of a good lawyer who could look at all the facts – my bill of sale versus Justin's claim to the house because of his name – and learn exactly what the law was about the ownership of Aberglasney.

I would be desolate if Justin proved to be the owner, but I felt my bill of sale was legitimate and legally binding. However, I knew it would take heaven and earth and the might of the law to move Justin out of my home.

THIRTY-TWO

D
iane arrived for a visit, but she was in a very funny mood. ‘I find Justin very convincing,' she said.

We were sitting on the sofa. It was comfortable and warm in the room, with a glass of good port to keep us company.

‘Why on earth are you taking Justin's part?' I was disturbed by Diane's attitude. She seemed to think Justin was the true heir to my house and that I could do worse than to marry him.

‘Don't be silly, Riana. I'm thinking of you. He's young, he's ambitious, and as I told you I will be leaving the gallery and all the goodwill of the business to him. He's become very close to me.'

‘He's charmed you,' I said bluntly. ‘Has he made love to you yet?' As soon as I spoke the words, I regretted them.

‘Riana! How could you be so gross? I loved my Mr Readings. You know that the greatest day of my life was when he put a ring on my finger.'

‘I'm sorry, that was uncalled for,' I said at once. ‘Of course, you wouldn't want a boy like Justin, not after a good man like Mr Readings.' And yet I looked at Diane afresh. She was much younger than Mr Readings, of course. She was a comfortably upholstered but nonetheless attractive widow with lots of money and influence. But then I was being silly. Why would Justin want me and the house if he'd already settled for Diane and her fortune? I hugged Diane and kissed her cheek and told her again how sorry I was . . . and yet and yet, was she really my friend? Was anyone really my friend, including Tom, my dear man? And then there was Mrs Ward . . . She was constantly there at Aberglasney. She had every chance to search the house whenever she cleaned and dusted and changed the linen. Has she discovered any papers? And if so, was she keeping them from me? I was growing paranoid, and I hated it.

Diane persuaded me to go to London, and together we visited her lawyer – who was young and keen and told me my documents regarding Aberglasney were legal and binding. ‘Of course, the son has a right to contest the will,' he added, and my spirits sank.

We travelled to the guest house, and once there I sat in a chair my head in my hands. ‘You know Justin is forcing himself on me, don't you?' I said miserably.

Diane looked at me sharply. ‘You don't mean . . .' Her words trailed away, but she had a glitter in her eyes that I didn't like to see.

‘Not physically, of course,' I replied hurriedly. ‘I mean that he insists on living in my house, in spite of my protests. Well, today I've got an appointment with another lawyer, Mr Prentice, a fine London lawyer who specializes in houses and wills and such.'

‘Why didn't you tell me?' Diane said. ‘I've wasted my time advising you and taking you to see my lawyer. What are you thinking of, Riana? Don't you trust me?'

‘I trust you, but I don't trust Justin,' I said. ‘No doubt he advised you which firm to visit.' She nodded slowly, and I smiled. ‘I thought so. You are too trusting, Diane.'

I went to see Mr Prentice on my own because I knew Diane would put Justin's case to him, even if it was only out of a sense of rightness and fairness. The lawyer had modern premises, very unlike Mr Jeremy's dark offices and book-lined study. Mr Prentice sat in a bright light room with two windows and a warm light over a polished, immaculate desk. His ink tray was spotless, no ink blotches stained the burnished wood, and even the nib of his pen was shining as though it had never been used.

Mr Prentice read the bill of sale in silence, absorbing it all quickly and digesting it in silence. At last he spoke. ‘Looks legal and binding to me,' he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So what is the problem, Miss Evans? I assume there is one, or you wouldn't be here.'

I told him about Justin and his claims, and he leaned back in his chair, adjusted his glasses, and listened carefully.

‘I visited Aberglasney once,' Mr Prentice remarked, ‘on a business matter concerning putting funds into designs for a new type of aeroplane engine. Unfortunately, I couldn't raise the money, but the plans were brilliant, quite brilliant. We haven't seen their like again. But later, if I remember rightly, Mansel-Atherton was accused of murdering five girls.' He paused and lit a cigar. ‘All nonsense, of course, not a real shred of evidence against him. I hear the room had been freshly painted. I always thought that if the chimney had been blocked, the lead paint fumes could have killed all the girls in one night, as they lay sleeping in their beds, but not a man like Edwin Mansel-Atherton. He had no motive, for a start. Still, the case ruined him. He killed himself, I believe. Now back to business.'

He paused and picked up a great tome of a book. ‘The point is, did Mr Mansel-Atherton ever acknowledge this son in writing? The man had a wonderfully creative brain, so he would know what he was about. Was the father's name on the birth certificate? These questions I must answer before I know for sure what this young man's claims amount to. I will write to you with my findings, Miss Evans, and in the meantime don't worry too much. I think you are pretty safe. Where may I contact this young man?'

‘He's in my house, and he won't be moved,' I said, and Mr Prentice frowned.

‘He's going to have to be evicted through the law courts then,' he said. ‘Or, and officially I didn't tell you this, you could have friends to literally remove him by force.'

That sounded tempting. I could imagine Justin being thrown out on his ear. How indignant he would be that his arrogant pride had been dented! I put my papers away in my bag and got to my feet. ‘Well, thank you, Mr Prentice. I will wait to hear from you then. Please be as quick as you can.'

He rose and shook my hand. ‘Of course, Miss Evans. I'd be delighted to act for you at once.' His smile was warm, and his hand held mine a little longer than was necessary.

I drew away, blushing. He was a very attractive man, even though he was of mature years. What a pity I was in love with Tom – who didn't appreciate me at all, who came and went at a whim, and who seemed to get me into danger whenever he was around. And yet my heart ached for him.

I left the office walking on air, however. Aberglasney was almost surely mine, and a good-looking man had found me attractive and showed it. I really felt positive for the first time in ages. Also, Mr Prentice had given me an idea to mull over about the death of the maids.

I turned a corner and stopped walking abruptly. Ahead of me was a couple, arm in arm, and I recognized Diane's fashionable hat. I slowed my pace and kept a discreet distance behind them. The man too looked familiar: the hair, the slant of the shoulders, the cut of the clothes . . . it was Justin and Diane! She'd lied about their relationship, making me feel disgusting for even suggesting there was something between them, and there they were together! Thank goodness she hadn't come to see Mr Prentice with me; she would have proved to be a thorn in my side.

I took the underground back to Diane's house and packed my bags as quickly as I could. I didn't even leave her a note; I just wanted to get home as quickly as I could.

It seemed an age before I again stood in the roomy hallway of my house, and I sighed with pleasure. It was all mine, and at last I was beginning to learn the real secrets of Aberglasney.

THIRTY-THREE

T
here was no sign of Mrs Ward so I made a cup of tea and sat in the kitchen, drinking it thirstily. I'd thought about what Mr Prentice had told me about the death of the young girls, and I realized what he'd said made sense, even it hadn't been the paint itself that had killed them. Hadn't Mr Jeremy told me that lead poisoning took days, not hours? It would be difficult to kill five people at the same time though, that much was true. Wouldn't they scream, run away, or even overpower a man by sheer numbers? In any case, I believed Beatrice. She knew her husband and common sense told me that she spoke the truth. Perhaps Mr Prentice had the truth of it: perhaps the chimney
had
been blocked, and they had suffocated from the fumes of the fire.

I put down my cup and went upstairs with my case, aware for once that the house was deathly quiet. One by one I searched the rooms, poking a brush up chimneys – bringing down lots of dust, and once a very dead bird, but no sign of plans or papers at all.

Lastly I went to Beatrice's room. It was cold and empty, and when I put my hand near the bars of the electric heater there was no warmth in them; Beatrice had not been home.

I sat cross-legged on the floor and poked dispiritedly a little way up the chimney, thinking I was completely on the wrong track. Nothing but soot fell into the hearth, spattering the carpet and my skirt in the process.

The wall was cold behind me as I leaned back against it, exhausted and disappointed. It seemed so logical that if a blocked chimney had been the cause of the deaths of the girls then the papers would be hidden there – preventing the smoke from finding a way out.

I found a newspaper left on the bedside table – proof that neither Mrs Ward nor Treasure dusted in here too often – and spread it over the floor near the fireplace. I decided I would make a determined effort this time! I leaned halfway up the chimney, feeling soot fall in my hair. The brush handle met resistance this time, and – very excited – I pushed harder, feeling like the chimney sweeps of old must have felt.

Suddenly, a huge parcel fell into the grate, covered in a chunk of soot as big as a brick, followed by sheets and sheets of newspaper. A box wrapped in old newspaper lay in the grate, and I stared at it for a moment, not daring to think I'd found the hidden ‘treasure'. Was this box really what all the fuss had been about?

I picked up one of the loose newspapers. It was yellow and crumbling, and when I looked at the date I saw it was over twenty years old. As I looked at it, I knew the truth: Edwin had hidden his designs in the chimney, wrapped in old newspaper, all those years ago. But the box, and the papers, had blocked the chimney, causing the deaths of the young maids, who had all slept in the blue room together . . .