The Silence of Ghosts (12 page)

No one spoke at first. We could hear nothing bar the cold west wind soughing through the trees around us. It sounded chill as it blew flat across the waters of the lake, but its force was broken by the oaks and birches that formed a barrier between the lake and the fell that climbed high above us. To begin with, it seemed as though nothing was happening. I thought that, quite possibly, Hilary Mathewman’s presence was sufficient to dispel whatever hauntings there might have been. Octavia sat quietly, and I thought she had possibly fallen asleep. Rose sat close to me and held my hand, not in any promise of a séance, but rather to reassure me. Her breathing was tight, like my own.

Then somewhere far away, but within the house, a thin voice began to sing. None of us could make out the words at first, so thin and soft were they. To begin with, I thought it a single child’s voice, as a soloist might sing in a choir. It was a lilting song, and it came towards us slowly. As it approached, I slowly made out other voices, quite how many I could not be sure, all singing low, all singing in perfect harmony, with now one, now another breaking through. The tune was catchy, but unfamiliar.
Then I began to make out some words. Hilary looked at me and whispered.

‘It’s a children’s song,’ she said. ‘It’s called “The Carrion Crow”, but it makes little sense. It was popular at the beginning of the last century, in Jane Austen’s time.’

Had they died all that time ago? I asked myself.

There was no way of telling where the voices came from. Our candles were burning straight up, the flames like little golden rods. I could hear the words now, as if they were in the room. They sang like children who have been taught the words of a song without understanding it.

A carrion crow sat upon an oak

Fol de rol, de rol, de rol, de ri do

Watching a tailor cutting out his cloak

Sing heigh ho! the carrion crow
,
Fol de rol
,
de rol
,
de rol
,
de ri do
.

Wife, wife! bring me my bow

Fol de rol, de rol, de rol, de ri do
,

That I may shoot yon carrion crow

Sing heigh ho! the carrion crow
,
Fol de rol
,
de rol
,
de rol
,
de ri do
.

The tailor he shot and miss
’
d his mark
,
Fol de rol
,
de rol
,
de rol
,
de ri do

And shot his own sow quite through the heart

Sing heigh ho! the carrion crow
,
Fol de rol
,
de rol
,
de rol
,
de ri do
.

They appeared at the top of the room, all four of them, their arms intertwined, and I saw at once that the clothes they wore were grave clothes and that they had been in the ground for well over a hundred years. Their song shifted, and now they sang only ‘Sing heigh ho! the carrion crow, Fol de rol, de rol, de rol, de ri do’. Their faces were greyish-white and their eyes were pink and their hair fell lank and dirty round their shoulders.

I looked across the table at Hilary Mathewman. Her calm had left her, and she seemed badly frightened. I was frightened enough myself, and another glance confirmed that Octavia and Rose were as rigid with fright as before. I also noticed that a bad smell was filling the room, a smell of decay. It was as if these were not ghosts but actual bodies of the dead translated from their graves, yet they seemed in other respects alive, for they walked and sang as they might have done in life.

And then they began to dance, shod feet clapping against the floor, sticks brought out from nowhere to join in the dance, circling and circling without growing dizzy. I was reminded of the dance in my dreams. They moved in a circle and their faces were wreathed in smiles, but I did not find them harbingers of joy.

At that moment, Octavia said something very low, something I could not make out. It seemed to mean something to the children, though, for no sooner had Octavia spoken it than they started to retreat. The choking smell went with them. They faded into the darkness at the far end of the room, then stood still and fixed their eyes on us, like smoke rising in one place, or shadows converging.

It seemed the greatest possible relief. Had Hilary done something to send them away, or had it been Octavia’s short exclamation that had repelled them? It didn’t really matter, for this might be the last we would see of them, fading, weakening. Hallinhag House would be fit to live in again.

Or so I thought.

‘Hilary,’ I asked. ‘Is this the end of it? Will they just leave now, go back to wherever they came from?’

‘I’m sorry, Dominic, but this is only the beginning. This is not a séance. Let’s say it’s just a trial of strength. The children don’t have anywhere to go to. Hallinhag House is their home. Don’t you know that ghosts don’t wander far?’

‘How can that be? There are no bodies buried here.’

She half smiled and shook her head.

‘Have you examined the attic?’

‘I didn’t know we had one.’

‘You do. I have found the attic by looking at the house from outside. It’s a matter of finding the entrance.’

I was – and still am – sceptical. I had been upstairs and downstairs many times in my childhood, yet I had never noticed anything of the sort, nor had anybody spoken of one. Since I can’t get either down or up for the moment, I prefer to leave any discoveries till later.

Rose turned to Hilary.

‘Why did they come here in the first place? To this room? We didn’t invite them, did we? What about you, Hilary?’

Hilary pointed at Octavia.

‘She is their host,’ she whispered. ‘Her presence brings them here from time to time.’

As she spoke, I became aware of sounds upstairs. I looked down the room to see the four ghostly children fade and disappear. Without preamble, the room grew bitterly cold despite the log fire burning fiercely in the hearth. Then the fire went out. Moments later, all our lamps and candles were extinguished, as if by a stiff wind, though a profound stillness continued to lie across the room. Octavia cried out as if in physical pain. Rose took my hand and squeezed it tightly. There was another sound from upstairs. Not a footstep. More unformed. It was followed by a repetition of the same sound, this time accompanied by what sounded like a deep moaning. A moment’s silence, then a thump and a moan followed by what I can only describe as twittering.

It was Hilary who responded to this first.

‘It’s coming down the stairs,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what the hell it is, but we should get out of here fast.’

She was frightened. Rose dug her fingernails into my palm. As she did so, I remembered that my cigarette lighter was in my right-hand trouser pocket. I pulled it out and fumbled for the candle that had been sitting on the table next to me. I found it and clicked my lighter. Its flame seemed brilliant in the darkness, and the candle was soon alight as well. With these two flames we lit two of the lamps, then made for the door, Rose constantly with me, holding me safe while I hopped and dragged my right leg. Hilary had Octavia in her arms. We opened the door and made for the hallway. The sound was louder here, and when I looked up the staircase I could make out a shape, large and inhuman, as it thumped and slithered its way down. We got to the front door and got outside. I shut it behind me, as if doing so would create a barrier against whatever was in there. Hilary led us to her car and we piled in, our hearts beating like flags snapping in a high wind. She started the engine just as we saw the front door open slowly, and drove off in a flurry as the opening widened to reveal shadow and something darker than shadow in the doorway.

Sunday, 22 December

Blencathra Cottage

Pooley Bridge

We spent the rest of last night in Hilary Mathewman’s cottage, all in one room, all shivering, all sleepless, all in a silence that went on and on, with only occasional interruptions. Hilary drove us there, missing collisions with trees and boulders every few seconds. She used her headlights, swearing at the Germans and whoever made the blackout rules. I expect she’ll have a visit from one of the wardens sometime today. There weren’t enough
beds, but, quite frankly, I don’t think any of us could have had the patience to try one, to close their eyes and start to sleep. We’re all very tired now, but none of us can rest.

I’ve decided to find some means to get back to London. First, I have to ring my parents. I won’t tell them anything about what has happened, just that I feel trapped at Ullswater and that Octavia misses them. The only phone Hilary knows of is at the Lakeside Inn. Rose will take me there later today, once she and Hilary have had a chance to get things straightened out here. She has offered to put us up for as long as we need, but I don’t want to be a burden. All the same, none of us wants to set foot in Hallinhag House again.

Hilary told us that we would have been welcome to stay longer but that she has some visitors coming tomorrow for Christmas. They are old college friends, one she played hockey with on wet, muddy fields, the other an old school friend who had gone up with her in the same year.

Rose took me to the little hotel, the Lakeside Inn, where they have a telephone. I rang my father. He sounded pleased to hear from me at first, and I told him I was getting on well with my leg; but when I suggested coming down he grew angry.

‘Don’t you realize there’s a war going on?’ he shouted. ‘You of all people should know that. London’s being badly hit. They have a new bomb we call Satan, a monster that wipes out everything in its path. Just yesterday our Air Raid Warden told us they have over three thousand unexploded bombs round the city. Your mother and I can get to Russell Square tube in time, once the sirens go off. But you’d never make it in time. You’d be hobbling and mincing along when the first bomb landed on your head. The little shelter we put up in the living room was far too inconvenient, so we gave it to some friends. Don’t even think of coming here.’

I said a few words to my mother, wishing her a Happy Christmas. Of course, I said nothing to either of them about the hauntings. They would have visitors, she said, a group of able-bodied young men on leave from the RAF. They wanted to do their bit, she confided.

‘There won’t be room for you,’ she added, ‘but once this ghastly bombing is finished, I’m sure we can round up some petrol. Or you might get a seat on a train. You could wear your uniform. That will guarantee a place, that and your leg.’

I told her about the leg and how much Rose had helped me.

‘That’s absolutely wonderful, darling. You should give her a box of chocolates or something nice for her mother, if she has one. We wouldn’t want to see her socially or anything, of course; but it’s nice to show your appreciation.’

We talked about Octavia and I explained how well her hearing aid was working. I remained silent on the subject of the voices Octavia could hear. My mother is quite superstitious and would have hysterics if she knew what has been happening.

Of course, without telling my parents that we needed to leave Hallinhag House, and why, I couldn’t ask for sufficient funds for a hotel, either. Our dilemma was solved when Rose invited me and Octavia to stay with her and her mother. I leapt at the chance and gave her money to buy whatever is needed for Christmas lunch. One of her patients, a farmer, has given her a splendid turkey, so grateful was he for her attention, and her mother has made stuffing from breadcrumbs and lamb sausage and a Bramley apple pie with fruit from Dr Raverat’s garden, where he keeps a fine tree full of apples and songbirds. There is even to be a pudding, made from Rose’s great-grandmother’s recipe. I wished I could go back to the house to salvage a bottle or two of port, something we had always used in our family recipes.

For all that her mother is well on in years now, I can see where Rose gets her looks from. She’s a dainty woman whose features have remained well marked throughout a long life. Her skin has suffered from years of working in kitchens, but she hasn’t lost the twinkle in her eye and she has a slim figure any woman of her age might envy.

She has noticed how Rose and I are together, for we make no secret of it. Once, she came in on us while we were holding hands, and I could see she’d taken note of it. I could see she was upset by it, too, but she said nothing and has made no fuss. But how will she be if we announce our engagement, as I hope we will before long? A one-legged man cannot be much of a catch in her eyes, however politely-spoken and well read he may be.

She has started work on a teddy bear for Octavia. His name is to be Bertram, he will have tan-coloured fur, black buttons for eyes and smart trousers of corduroy. Octavia is to be kept in the dark.

I am driven mad by my feelings for Rose. I want her with me all the time, not politely but passionately. I know next to nothing of women, and I believe she is as innocent of men. I love her, and love gives me the most exquisite feelings; but I also lust after her, and it is very hard to be with her, admiring her with great propriety while wanting her bodily. If I’d sailed longer waters and not come to grief as I did, I’m sure that by now I would have sated my curiosity in such matters. Sailors seek out houses of ill repute in every port they enter, and I do not doubt I would have succumbed to the same temptations as my shipmates, even if there would have been better favoured premises for us officers. But I’m glad now that never happened.

One part of me is determined to marry Rose after Christmas, then to return to London with her and Octavia. Or we could marry in London and come back up here to the Lakes.
Rose has a fondness for the little church in Martindale, and that would exclude any sort of society wedding. There wouldn’t be much food to go round anyway. Her mother could bake a small wedding cake and we could rent one of the cardboard covers I’ve heard about, to make it look tall and fully iced outside. There’d be another disincentive for a society bash too, the difficulty many people would face in travelling far with petrol rationing.