House of Shadows (6 page)

‘It's the spirits,' Tom said, laughing. ‘The ones in the bottles.'

I leaned against him, weak with laughter, and then I froze as I heard a blood-curdling scream from the hallway of the house.

I was running then, across the lawn with Tom just ahead of me. In the hall, everyone was on their feet, their white faces turned up to the top of the stairs. One of the younger girls was pointing, her hand shaking.

‘Betty –' I touched her shoulder – ‘don't be scared. It's only—' I broke off as Tom caught my arm and made a shushing noise.

‘Young lady –' his voice was stern – ‘pull yourself together. It's exactly what you came to see, wasn't it? A ghost from the past.'

Betty nodded her blonde head. ‘I know, but this is the first time I've seen anything supernatural at one of these weekends! Usually, it's just a laugh and a drink and the chance to meet—' She stopped and looked around at the faces of the other guests.

‘Come along now, dearie.' Colonel Fred shook his head reprovingly. ‘This is not a dating club. This is a serious ghost hunt. She's gone now, frightened off by all that screaming. You've spoilt the night for us all, so please don't come here again.'

I started up the stairs.
Beatrice must be frightened and confused by all the noise
, I thought.
I must reassure her
. I got almost to the top before I realized the ghost hunters were following me.

One young gent stopped me and held out his hand. ‘I'm William,' he said. ‘And I'd like to use the description of your ghost in my report to
Spirit News
, the magazine for believers, if that's all right.' He shook my nerveless hand. ‘This is the first time the whole thing hasn't been a charade, a set up, an act! Your ghost is real enough, for my sensors picked up something strange, some unfamiliar vibrations, and I will certainly book your next weekend of ghost hunting,' he said, gesturing to the other silent guests, ‘and so will most of the people here, I feel sure.'

The others surged around me, and then I felt a push and I was falling downwards, hitting stair after stair, landing in a heap in the hall. My head narrowly missed hitting the huge sideboard that stood near the foot of the stairs.

Tom picked me up and held me gently in his arms. ‘Riana, are you all right?' His face was pale, anxious.

I puffed out my breath and rested against him for a minute. ‘I'm just winded that's all.' I tried to smile though I knew I'd have some bruises in the morning.

Betty brought me a cup of tea and, though she was fluffy and flirtatious, she was very concerned and very kind.

Young William, his camera swinging around his neck, enquired anxiously after my health, and when he had assured himself I wasn't really hurt he smiled. ‘Dear Miss Evans, you will have to furnish other rooms because your fame will grow once this news gets out.' He leaned closer, smelling of brandy. ‘Your ghost must have become irritated with the disturbance and used her force to project you back down the stairs. Tell me, Miss Evans, what do you call her? Your ghost, I mean.'

Weak and wanting to laugh hysterically, but restrained by Tom's warning hand on my shoulder, I told him, ‘Well, we just call her Beatrice.'

‘And,' Tom added, ‘you are privileged to see her. She rarely comes out of her room. It is the blue room, the one that's haunted.'

I dug him in the side with my elbow.

‘And are we likely to see the five maidens who died there so mysteriously?' the colonel asked.

I had no time to reply, which was just as well.

A young business-suited man stood in front of me. ‘Jack Winford.' He held out his hand and I took it. Suddenly, I was surrounded by enthusiastic ghost hunters, each determined to ask questions concerning the murder story and the haunting and how often the ghosts were seen and my head was filled with the babble of voices.

Tom rescued me, taking me outside into the cool air of the cloisters. ‘I don't think I can stand too much of this,' I said, sitting down abruptly in the shadows.

Tom sat beside me, his body warm as he rested his arm around my shoulder. ‘You can and will put up with it until you make enough money to refurbish the entire house,' he said firmly, ‘and then you can bring in a manager to run the ghost hunts and hide yourself away and do your wonderful painting.'

I remembered then how my painting, or what I thought was my painting, was slashed to shreds, and as I listened to the voices of my guests from inside the house I shivered. What was I doing having strangers in my house, and who had pushed me down the stairs? Because I had been pushed by a human hand, not moved by some supernatural force. I shivered, suddenly scared.

‘Can you sleep with me?' I asked before I realized what I'd said.

Tom understood me, however and kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘Yes, if that's what you want. I'll come and stay in your house. There are plenty of rooms and several comfortable sofas.'

‘Thank you, Tom.' I felt myself blush, and I bent so that my hair covered my face.

Tom took my arm and led me inside to the comparative quiet of the library. The ghost hunters were all in the hall, watching the stairs, with Brownie cameras at the ready and flashlight and sensors and all sorts of equipment I didn't begin to understand.

Tom and I drank some wine and then fell asleep alongside each other on the sofa. I woke to find his arms around me. He had taken off his jacket and my face was against the smooth material of his shirt. I pretended to sleep a little while longer enjoying the closeness and warmth of him, but at last he stirred, and I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

There was a bustling noise in the hallway and the ghost hunters were coming back to life. I heard Mrs Ward in the kitchen, the smell of bacon permeated the air and I breathed a sigh of relief; after breakfast I would have the place to myself again. I could start to paint more pictures, work on the sketches I'd drawn last night.

William – ‘young William' as the other guests called him – seemed to have formed a truce with Betty, who in spite of her plumpness was very pretty, and together they went outside to wait for the taxi taking them into town.

‘Perhaps I should arrange a bus,' I murmured, and Tom, who had come outside after me, rested a friendly arm on my shoulder.

‘I think that would be a very good idea. It would mean the visitors would have to keep to a time schedule and leave promptly at whatever time you decided.'

‘I'd have to charge a small fee, or put up the price of the visit by a few shillings, otherwise I'd lose out,' I said and burst out laughing. ‘I'm becoming quite mercenary, aren't I?'

‘Businesslike, that's what you are becoming, and just as well if you mean to turn this old heap back into a liveable, pleasurable house with a show garden.'

‘Oh, I never thought of showing the gardens.' I hesitated. ‘I suppose the cloisters are worth seeing, and the yew-tree arch, and even the entrance flooring is as old as . . . well, very old.' I decided that I would have to research the history of Aberglasney very thoroughly. I would ask Beatrice where the original plans were and see if I could find out anything more about the house at the library in town.

At last, all the visitors had departed, and Mrs Ward was kind enough to provide us all with a roast for lunch. We sat down together: me and Tom, Mrs Ward and her daughter.

‘Thank you so much, Mrs Ward.' I cut a juicy piece of beef and popped it into my mouth.

Rosie smirked. ‘It was me who cooked the dinner, Miss Evans,' she said. ‘My mam taught me. I've known how to cook since I was a little girl.'

‘The gravy is a delight,' I said, feeling slightly reproved.

‘Mam made that, miss. She's good at gravy is our mam.'

‘Well, you are both invaluable to me.' I hoped I was being tactful. ‘Perhaps we can make this a regular arrangement. Do you both think you can bear to come and work for me, say once a month?'

Mrs Ward nodded, her mouth full, and it was Rosie who spoke up. ‘That would be very handy, miss, what with Dad lost in the war, but all this screaming about ghost shakes me up, mind.'

‘This ghost business is a lot of nonsense.' Mrs Ward tightened the knot on her wraparound apron and adjusted her turban, tucking in a stray curl of permed hair. ‘Hysterical people see what they want to see.'

‘There's a lot of truth in that, Mrs Ward, but it seems to be paying, and if I earn money I can put the old house right and afford full-time help before too long.'

Mrs Ward brightened up. ‘Well, as long as I don't have to speak to them townies. I'll stay in the kitchen and mind my own, and you, Rosie, will do the same thing.'

‘I will that, Mam,' Rosie said meekly, but her eyes were on Tom. ‘Mr Tom, sir, I hear the soldiers are having another party tonight with some of the village girls. Can I come along, sir?'

Mrs Ward bristled. ‘Don't be so forward! In any case, remember that those soldiers are . . . are not from this country,' she added, looking flustered.

‘They are black Americans, Mrs Ward. They are getting together from all over Wales,' Tom said easily, though I could tell he was offended. ‘They are good brave men, and if the enemy had come here they would have defended the people of this village – including you and Rosie – with their lives.'

Mrs Ward lowered her eyes. ‘I got to agree with that, sir,' she mumbled. ‘I suppose you can go, Rosie, so long as you keep yourself tidy.'

We all knew what she meant, and I met Tom's eyes, trying not to laugh. Rosie was ecstatic.

‘You'd be welcome,' Tom said. ‘And perhaps Miss Evans would kindly come along as well?'

I could hardly say no in the circumstances. ‘That would be very nice,' I mumbled.

At last I was alone in the house. Tom had gone, and there wasn't even a sign of Beatrice; she must have been frightened off by the crowds. The quiet was a little unnerving after all the excitement, but I looked forward to seeing Tom at the social evening he'd arranged for the remaining black airmen.

For the rest of the afternoon I painted as if I was possessed. I was so involved in my colours and what was appearing on the canvas I forgot to eat the sandwiches Mrs Ward had left for me for my supper; I only remembered them when I realized I badly needed a drink.

I sat outside, fed the sandwiches to one of the feral cats that wandered the estate looking for mice, and drank a hot cup of tea. Then I went back to the studio to catch the last of the light.

The painting was of the house; the weather-worn exterior was a lovely mellow golden, heavy with shadows where the light didn't touch it. In one window was a dim figure that I didn't even remember painting, but it looked good, very good, and my heart lightened. I felt in my bones that the canvas would be bought and put in the London gallery.

It was only when I heard music and laughter from the perimeter of the gardens that I remembered the party. Hastily, I washed and dressed in a clean full skirt and a white collared blouse. I couldn't find suitable shoes so I walked across the grounds barefoot, enjoying the cool feel of the grass.

Tom's men had cleared the lecture room, moving the tables to one side and leaving a good space for dancing. Rosie was looking very pretty in a demure blue dress and blue sandals, her hair loose around her flushed face. I hoped she wasn't drinking too much.

One of the Americans bowed and asked me to dance. I took his hand and he held me at a discreet distance, holding me lightly around the waist. ‘I'm Billie,' he said in his soft drawl, ‘but the men, they call me the black bomber, miss, because of the colour of my skin and—' He hesitated, and Tom appeared at my side.

‘And because this man is a wonderful bomb-aimer,' he said. ‘Now, may I cut in here and dance with Miss Evans?'

Before I knew it I had been swept into Tom's arms and we were whirling around the floor to the tunes of the Glen Miller orchestra. I felt my hair fly around my face and my cheeks flush with pleasure as we danced and laughed. After a while, breathless, I begged for a drink, and Tom brought me a glass full of amber liquid.

‘Here's a scotch and rye, Riana. Drink it up! It will do you good.'

The liquor wove its way in a spiral of fire down my throat and into my bloodstream, and instantly I felt light headed. The music changed to a slow waltz, and Tom took my hand and led me to the dance floor. He drew me close, and – almost without thinking – I put my head on his shoulder. Gently, he rested his cheek against my hair, and I'd never felt more happy and more comfortable with a man in my life.

I reminded myself that he would have to leave for America before long; I didn't really know when the last of the airmen would go. I supposed it would be wise to ask Tom rather than go on wondering when I would be alone again.

We had the last dance together, and then Tom took my arm. ‘I'll walk you to the door, honey,' he said softly. He took my hand, and we left the heat and the cigarette smoke of the mess room and went out into the night.

The moon was full casting an eerie light over Aberglasney. As we drew nearer the doorway I thought I could hear voices. ‘Tom, have the visitors made a mistake and come back to the house, do you think?'

‘What do you mean, honey?' He sounded puzzled.

‘Don't you hear the voices?'

‘All I can hear is the pounding of my heart when I feel your hand in mine, honey.' He turned me to him and kissed me, a real kiss, deep and passionate. I warmed against him, the alcohol dancing in my blood, and the sounds of voices faded. I was drunk on Tom's Scotch – and what's more, I at last admitted it to myself, I was intoxicated with Tom. His hands gently moved over my shoulders, down my arms and on to my waist as he pulled me closer.

To my great disappointment, Tom released me at the door. ‘See you tomorrow, Riana,' he said softly, and then he was gone into the shadows.