05 - Mistletoe and Murder (17 page)

Miss Sampford nodded sadly.

“Should I die of fright,
peoples’ first thoughts will be of the ghost.”

“I believe that is the gamble
the ghost is taking.” What Clara didn’t voice out loud was that she also
suspected the perpetrators of this hoax were running out of time. They had
already upped the ante by pushing Simon Jones downstairs, now they were no
doubt panicking. Whatever their ultimate goal it had to be achieved soon, before
anyone began to get too suspicious about a man falling down a set of stairs.

“I must admit I am dreading
everyone going home. The house will be so empty again. Please solve this
mystery before that happens.”

“I promise Miss Sampford. I’m
going to nab this ghost.”

Miss Sampford gently smiled.

“I remember once being like
you, young and full of confidence. How did I let it all slip away?”

“I don’t think you have.”
Clara answered with certainty.

That night Clara and Miss
Sampford went through the motions of switching rooms. Jane and Flo transferred
boxes and belongings, changed bed linen and stoked the fires. Then, when all
the other guests were tucked up in their rooms, Clara and Miss Sampford once
more switched places. Annie gave Clara a hug and a kiss before she followed
Miss Sampford to her room.

“Take care Clara.”

“Ghosts don’t scare me Annie.”

Annie pulled a face.

“They scare me.”

Clara was unperturbed. She
doubted she would even notice a ghost should one come prowling. She felt utterly
exhausted and full of the chills and flushes of a good head cold. She dressed
in her warmest nightgown and wrapped a scarf about her neck for extra warmth,
before climbing beneath the blankets. Somewhere a church bell rang and carol
singers circled the Square giving a stirring – if off-key – rendition of We
Three Kings. Clara listened to them until some irate householder yelled at them
to be quiet and threatened to summon the police. There was a slight commotion
as the carollers responded in kind with a few choice words and the soft thud of
thrown snowballs, and then there was another yell and the sound of running
feet. Clara sighed; yes, the Christmas spirit was alive and well.

The house fell into peace and
quiet. The fire waned down to soft embers and the room fell still. Clara
listened to her own breathing and the first wet patters of a fresh fall of
snow. Silence, deep dark silence. The minutes ticked by on the face of an old
mantel clock. Clara pulled the blankets further up to her nose. She wanted to
fall asleep but a part of her resisted, she realised she had lied to Annie –
she was a little scared.

Then, there it was. The
faintest of creaks as the far door of the back stairs opened. No one was on
watch in the hall tonight, a good feast and plenty of wine and whisky had made
even the usually alert Andrews hanker for his bed. But the tripwires and
trickery were all present. Clara waited for the far bell to tinkle; it didn’t,
a hand had reached out and stopped it while the wire was safely cut. Clara had
no doubt that the camera had also been sabotaged as before, which was why she
had suggested Oliver remove the lens cap right before he went to bed, but leave
the cord in a position that made it seem as if the lens cap was still in place.
In the dim light the camera would take an extremely long exposition and it
might, with any luck, catch something. It all depended, Oliver had said, they
might get nothing but a blank plate. But if they did get a picture… well, then
Clara might have yet another clue to expose the person behind this prank.

She lay still. Footsteps fell
on the floor very quietly, very stealthily. Every now and then there was a
pause and Clara suspected this was to negotiate the numerous tripwires Andrews
had placed. Again these were not the actions of an ethereal being.

The footsteps came closer.
Clara judged they had gone past Miss Sampford’s room and were now heading
towards her own. So there
had
been an accomplice at the dinner table and
they
had
informed the ‘ghost’ of the switched bedrooms. Clara pulled
herself up a little in bed. She had left the curtains drawn back on the windows
to allow in the moonlight. The room was relatively bright as the snow reflected
the opalescent starlight. The footsteps had come to Clara’s door. The handle creaked
tentatively under a hand. Clara had chosen not to make life easy for the ghost
and had locked her door. When the handle resisted against the lock there was a
pause, then a scrape of metal. Someone on the other side had placed a key into
the lock.

Clara held her breath. The key
turned. The tumblers of the lock clicked and the handle once again twisted
beneath murderous fingers. The door groaned open, the tip of a foot was
visible, and a veiled head. The figure ducked into the room and Clara realised
it was a woman wearing an old-fashioned dress, the sort her grandmother used to
wear with large full skirts and a nipped waist. The figure was dressed all in
black. The veil hung completely over her head and revealed nothing. The
mysterious woman pushed the door closed behind her and approached the bed with
cautious steps.

Clara pretended to be asleep
and breathing deeply, but her eyes were open just enough to watch the figure’s
movement. As the veiled woman reached the side of the bed, her other hand came
from behind her back holding a long, thin knife that caught the moonlight and
sparkled. The woman leaned over Clara, her arm raised; there was no doubt what
she intended to do. As the knife flew down Clara rolled to her left, the blade
ripping the blankets but missing her entirely. Before the mystery woman could
recover Clara lunged at her and grabbed the arm with the knife. They wrestled,
the veiled figure proving remarkably strong as she dug her fingernails into
Clara’s wrists. Clara started to shout out for help and the mystery woman
panicked. She let go of the knife and threw herself backwards, dragging Clara
completely over the bed and sending her toppling to the floor. In the fall
Clara let go her grasp to prevent her face smashing nose-first into the floor,
and the momentary release allowed the veiled woman to dash for the door.

Clara was on her feet in an
instant and running after her. The woman was already through the door and
heading for the main stairs. Clara chased her, going so fast she didn’t see the
tripwire Andrews had laid where the corridor met the landing. She caught her
foot and went down hard on her elbows. She was stunned for a moment and when
she regained her feet the woman was already racing down the next set of stairs.
Clara followed, hobbling slightly on the foot she had caught. On the ground
floor the front door was standing wide open and nothing but a faint trail of
footsteps in the snow indicated where the woman had gone.

Clara ran into the Square, the
cold biting through her gown and her feet burning on the icy snow. The
footsteps left the path and hastened into the road where a day’s worth of
traffic had cleared most of the snow. After that they were lost. Clara stood
and stared into the darkness, turning left and right to try and see the veiled
woman, but she was gone, vanished into the dark. Shivering, Clara abandoned the
chase and headed back indoors, cursing Andrews and her own clumsiness.

She had just shut the front
door when Oliver and Elijah came hurrying down the stairs.

“What happened?” Oliver asked.

“The ghost.” Clara said as she
put the bolt across on the door, “She came into my room.”

“She?” Elijah asked
incredulously.

“It was wearing a dress.”
Clara shrugged.

“And you chased her?” Oliver
motioned to the door.

“As best I could, come look at
this.” Clara led them back upstairs and to her room. She quickly lit a candle
and then walked over to where the knife still lay on the floor, “She lost it in
the struggle.”

Oliver was silent, but Elijah
gave a pained squeak.

“She was intent on murder.”
Clara clarified, “Naturally she thought I was Miss Sampford after our
conversation over switching rooms.”

“Oh Clara.” Oliver suddenly
came over and hugged her, “I’m glad you are all right.”

“But… my aunt…” Elijah looked
a little sick, “Who is behind this?”

“Someone in this house who has
access to keys and can unlock the front door for our felon. That also explains
why the activity has increased over Christmas. The murderer could not make
their move until their accomplice was installed in the house. That probably
rules you out Elijah.”

“Thanks.” Elijah remarked
bitterly, “Will she come back?”

“Not tonight.” Clara said,
though she had to admit to herself she was not entirely confident of that. The
ghost now knew it had been rumbled and would probably become more desperate to
attain its end.

“But the accomplice is still
here.” Oliver added, “Clara, I won’t have you sleeping alone in a room with a
murderer on the loose.”

“Honestly, Oliver…”

“No, I insist, where is
Annie?”

“Watching over Miss Sampford
and there she will remain, I’m more worried about that poor woman than myself.”

“Then I shall camp out in your
dressing room for the night.” Oliver said stoutly, “For your own protection.”

Clara rolled her eyes.

“That is completely
unnecessary.”

“I think not, I shall fetch my
blanket and my dressing gown and shall be ready for action at the slightest
disturbance.” It was quite clear Oliver would not be moved from acting the role
of heroic protector. Clara conceded, she felt too tired and ill to argue.

Oliver left to fetch his
blankets and Elijah was alone in the room with Clara.

“I never thought…” Elijah was
in a daze, staring aghast at the knife, “You must believe me, I honestly
thought this was a genuine ghost.”

“I do believe you Elijah.”
Clara assured him as she went to sit on the edge of her bed.

“I can’t believe anyone would
want to hurt my aunt. She has done no harm to anyone.”

“Sometimes we do harm without
even knowing it.” Clara shrugged, “And then again some people are just wicked.”

“This is about money, isn’t
it?”

“Maybe.”

“Tomorrow I shall insist all
the keys in the house are collected and handed over to Humphry for safekeeping,
only my aunt shall be allowed one for her room, then this vile creature cannot
creep in undetected.” Elijah paused, “Unless you think Humphry is the
accomplice?”

“I don’t think that. He has
been with your aunt a long time, besides he would not need to wait until so
many guests were here to enact his plan. He could have done it anytime when
there were far fewer witnesses to notice.”

Elijah nodded.

“Yes, I see that.” His eyes
were still on the knife, “Does this mean Simon Jones was murdered?”

“I suspect so. He probably
chased the ghost and realised, like I did, that she was a real person. The only
option the murderer had then, if she wished to continue her plan, was to push
him to his death and hope everyone would think it an accident.”

“And my cousin?”

Clara said nothing for a
moment.

“I can’t decide on that one.
Everything points to it being suicide, but without a real reason for his death
I can’t be certain. I don’t suppose you ever saw him in London, did you?”

“No.” Elijah said, but there
was something in his tone that made Clara look at him hard.

“But perhaps you had heard
rumours?”

Elijah bit his lip.

“Your aunt is in a lot of
danger, now is not the time to be coy.” Clara reminded him.

“It was only talk.” Elijah
said unhappily, “Some of the fellows at university are… experimental. One time
I heard them mention my cousin’s name. I was surprised how they knew him and
they said certain people knew William extremely well. It took me a while to
understand what they meant.”

“I don’t suppose you could put
me in touch with these fellows?”

Elijah grimaced.

“The scandal…”

“Elijah, I am discreet, but I
can’t tiptoe around when your aunt is in danger. If William Henry’s death is
connected or if it is not, it is important I find out. Equally, if his death
was not suicide I can’t leave the matter unresolved.”

“Let me think about it.”
Elijah ducked the issue, “I… I should get back to bed.”

He left the room just as
Oliver returned. He was carrying blankets, pillows, an oil lamp, candle, and a
length of curtain cord. Clara looked at him curiously.

“In case she comes back and we
need to tie her up.” He informed her, “Also I went and took the camera down and
replaced the lens cap. Just in case we got a picture, don’t need it ruined by
over-exposure.”

“Are you sure you are
sufficiently prepared?” Clara asked as straight-faced as she could manage.

Oliver looked at his bundles.

“I think so. Should I borrow
the colonel’s shotgun?”

“Hm, no.” Clara started to
crawl back into bed.

Oliver made his way to the
dressing room and for a time could be heard arranging his bedding. Then all was
quiet. Clara rested her head back on her pillow and tried to clear her mind.
She wanted to preserve the image of the woman she had seen as precisely as she
could manage. The face had been obscured, but she could garner some details.
She was about five foot, for a start, shorter than Clara and her hands had been
pale and smooth, not the hands of an old person. Her dress was curious, but
then if you were pretending to be a ghost, Clara supposed, it was prudent to
dress in old-fashioned costume. And she had been wearing a faint scent – Clara
tried to focus her mind on the aroma. She had smelt it before, but exactly
where would not come to her. It was a floral scent, not overly heavy and rather
like roses, but with a hint of something else. Perhaps it would prove
important. Clara did her best to fix all these minor details in her mind before
sleep over-took her and she finally got some much needed rest.