House of Shadows (30 page)

I cleaned up the grate as best as I could and took the box to my studio. As I suspected, it contained a sheaf of technical drawings. I meticulously copied the drawings – leaving bits I thought vital out and altering complicated arithmetic that I didn't even understand. A couple of hours passed, but when I had finished I put the original drawings into my art folder, hurried to the blue room and stuffed my ‘copies' up the chimney. I was confident no one would make sense out of them, even if they found them.

I heard the front door open, and I knew Justin had come back from London as quickly as he could. He and Diane had realized I must have gone home. I heard voices in the hall and realized Justin had brought company.

I changed and went downstairs to greet my guests. I knew I had to keep a cool head and play Justin's game for now, work out just what he and Diane wanted.

Mrs Ward had returned and she nodded her head to me in apology as she carried a tray of drinks through the hall. ‘Sorry I was out when you came home, Riana. I didn't expect you till the morning.' She paused. ‘I hope you don't mind, but I've invited the colonel to come over for a drink, ahead of the rest of the ghost people.'

‘Of course I don't mind.' I was relieved. Whatever Justin planned, he couldn't do any harm while there were guests in the house. Tomorrow was the Christmas ghost-haunting weekend party, so the house would be overrun.

I noticed my visitors had made themselves at home. Diane had kicked off her shoes and was seated next to Justin. She beamed at me as if nothing was amiss and took a drink with a sigh of satisfaction.

‘Why did you run off home so suddenly?' Diane said, looking at me over the rim of her glass.

‘A whim?' I said. ‘Actually, I saw you and Justin together arm in arm and didn't want to play the gooseberry.'

Diane laughed. ‘Well, I suppose I'd better tell you my guilty secret then. Justin is my son.' Diane dropped the bombshell without a blink of her eye, and I stared at her in amazement.

‘Your son?' I looked at Justin and saw the same features: the dark hair, the slant of the eyes, the upright carriage.

‘You and Edwin Mansel-Atherton then?'

‘That's right. We were lovers once, and dear Justin is the result.'

‘But Edwin never acknowledged him, did he? And that's why you pressed me to marry him! Diane, I thought you were my friend.'

‘Of course I'm your friend, but I'm also a mother. I would love you and Justin to run Aberglasney together. What could be better?'

‘But I'm not in love with Justin. I could
never
marry him. Sorry, Justin.'

‘Excuse me, Riana.' Mrs Ward came into the room with another tray of drinks. ‘Don't forget we've got visitors tomorrow,' she hinted.

I got to my feet. ‘Well, if you'll all excuse me, I'd better help Mrs Ward get the bedrooms ready. Help yourselves to drinks.'

‘Aye.' Mrs Ward spoke wryly. ‘I've been upstairs to put the linen out, and it looks as if we've had the chimney sweep in some of the bedrooms.'

Justin and Diane gave each other a quick glance. ‘We'd better help then.' Diane was the one to speak. ‘Come on, Justin. You can help me clean up for dear Riana's sake. We don't want her weekends ruined, do we?'

I knew at once Diane had realized that the chimneys must be where the papers were hidden, so I decided to speak. ‘These plans of Mr Mansel-Atherton's. They might be a lever for you to use against me concerning the ownership of Aberglasney, Justin, but I would never marry you. I'm in love with another man.'

‘Rubbish!' Diane said softly. ‘You haven't started to live yet, Riana.'

‘Well, about the designs everyone's making a fuss about. I wondered if they were hidden in the chimneys. I did look, but I found nothing.' I spoke the lie easily, knowing I could be among enemies, not friends.

Diane looked at me for a long time. ‘So you've found them then? You're not a very good liar, Riana. Still –' she waved a limp hand at Justin – ‘we can talk about this later, but perhaps we should just get out of the way for now. We'll take a drive to the village pub, shall we?'

‘Later' I took meant as once I was alone and Diane and Justin could bully me into telling the truth.

‘I'm so tired,' I said and declined Diane's invitation, but urged them to go on without me. Once they had left, I rubbed my forehead, and Mrs Ward touched my shoulder. ‘Shall I make you a cup of cocoa, Riana? You look so pale.' She made me a drink and then took off her apron. ‘I've had enough for today,' she said. ‘Kitchen is closed.'

Diane and Justin returned from the pub some time later, having had, I suspected, a good chat about the designs. ‘Finished tidying the rooms?' Diane yawned. ‘One more drink and then I'll retire for the night,' she said. And, true to her word, once she'd drunk the large gin Mrs Ward had poured her – and Justin had done likewise – she kicked off her shoes and, rather unsteadily, asked Justin to take her arm and lead her up to her room.

‘Well, our guests will sleep well tonight.' Mrs Ward kicked off her own shoes and put her feet up on her little stool.

‘How can you say that?' I knew I sounded weary. ‘They might start searching the place once everything is quiet.'

‘I don't think so. I slipped some of that laudanum stuff in their drinks. I could see Mrs Diane's eyes beginning to close when she was going upstairs.' Mrs Ward smiled, and I wondered if she had an ulterior motive in keeping my two guests quiet for the night. What was wrong with me? I was suspecting everyone I came in contact with. Was I in even more danger now I'd found the plans?

I went to bed at last, but I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and wanted Tom to come to take me away from everything. But then how was I to know if he cared for me, or if he too only wanted poor Edwin's papers, like all the others? Tom was in the United States Army Air Forces, I reminded myself, and the plans for a new engine would probably help his career along well enough. He could even be a spy! Perhaps that was why he'd been abducted.

I fell asleep at last and dreamed of Mrs Ward, all the ghosts of the dead girls, and poor Edwin, along with a smiling Diane and Justin, holding out a wedding veil towards me as they stood round my bed.

I woke sweating. It was dark and silent and I was alone and very afraid, and it took me a very long time to fall asleep again.

THIRTY-FOUR

T
here were fewer guests for this year's Christmas ghost-haunting weekend. Colonel Fred, of course, and young William, plump Betty, and most of my ‘old faithfuls', as I called them. To my surprise, the handsome lawyer Mr Prentice turned up in a fine shiny car, with a letter and a wink for me. With Diane and Justin, it was a healthy crowd. Almost.

I read the letter quickly and smiled. Mr Prentice had done his research well. Justin had no claim; he was not a Mansel-Atherton at all. The name on the birth certificate read ‘Jameson' – Diane's name before she married, I imagined.

I passed the letter to him. He read it and shrugged. ‘Ah, well. It was a good try. No hard feelings?' he said airily.

Speechless, I returned to my guests and hid my fears about the designs, about Justin, and about my foolish longing for Tom, and made a show of being happy for my guests. I'd made name cards for everyone, and with good humour everyone pinned them on before we sat down to dinner in the decorated dining room.

The table was graced with a starter of fish and toast. Somehow, with her usual skill, Mrs Ward had managed to acquire some tinned anchovies and a pound of salt butter – the taste was delicious. I knew she'd cooked rabbit and chicken for the main course, with tiny roast potatoes and tinned peas. We'd have tinned fruit and custard for pudding. All in all a good meal, considering the war had not long ended.

After dinner the guests retired to the sitting room where they could relax and smoke and have a drink or two of mulled wine, which I hoped would make them feel more festive, before my little speech and then the ghost hunt would begin. I felt a shiver of apprehension, however. Something was amiss tonight, and though I tried my best to hide it I felt spooked and scared, and I wasn't sure if it was of the living or the dead.

Justin came and sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. I looked at him disapprovingly, but it made no difference.

‘Where are they?' he said without preamble. ‘The drawings, did you find them? I take it from what Mrs Ward said that you've been poking up chimneys here.'

So Justin was my enemy. ‘Did you attack me when I first arrived?' I asked, my lips trembling. ‘Have you been plotting against me and interfering with my paintings all this time?'

‘Hey, hold your horses. I haven't attacked anyone, and no, I haven't done anything to you or your precious paintings. Silly daubs, that's all they are.'

That stung, but I knew he was trying to distract me. ‘Go away,' I said. When he did not, I rose and refilled my glass and sat next to the colonel. ‘What are you hoping for tonight, Colonel Fred?' I spoke as cheerfully as I could, and he tipped up his glass of brandy and winked at me.

‘Who knows, dear lady? I might just make my fortune here tonight.'

‘What do you mean?' I asked uneasily.

‘Why, I might just capture a ghost on film, Riana. What do you think I mean? Mind you, if anyone gets a good picture it will be young William. He's the clever one here. He's got a very good degree, you know, even though he is a bumbler at times.'

I felt bewildered. I really knew nothing about these people I was accommodating in my house. Who could I trust, and who meant me harm? I wondered if the drawings were safe in my studio, but it wouldn't do to check now; someone would be sure to follow me.

The front doorbell rang out, sounding somehow like the knell of doom. I heard Mrs Ward go to answer it, and then Rosie came into the room, a young child in her arms. His skin had darkened, and his curly hair had also grown darker, and I realized it was her son – hers, and the handsome airman Carl Jenkins.

‘I want them, the drawings.' She stood in the middle of the room, her feet planted firmly on the carpet. ‘Carl died trying out a version this new engine. Not quite correct, the engine wasn't, because Mr Mansel-Atherton never gave the Americans all the designs, as he promised. My Carl crashed his plane because of the mistakes, so by rights my son should have any money coming from the designs.'

Justin jumped to his feet. ‘The drawings might not even still exist.' He sounded angry. ‘My father might have destroyed them. Have you thought of that?'

‘Carl told me about them. They exist all right, and as for her –' she nodded in my direction – ‘doing the place up, she must have found the drawings by now.'

‘Who are you working with Rosie?' Justin demanded. ‘Just who is pulling your strings? Is it that other yank, Tom Maybury?'

I went cold. ‘Excuse me,' I interrupted them both. ‘Rosie, there are no drawings, no plans. Not any more. Wise up, it's all a story. If such plans still existed, the house would have been saved. It wouldn't have been sold to me in the first place.'

‘Riana's making sense,' the colonel said. ‘I don't know what these drawings are, but they are obviously worth a considerable amount of money or folk wouldn't be so eager to find them.'

‘What do you know, you silly old man?' Rosie sank into a chair. She had tears in her eyes – were they genuine?

I looked at her baby's sweet face. His eyes were huge and dark, and he clung to his mother as if he would never let her go. Rosie clearly took good care of him, so she couldn't be all bad. And her man had given his life to trial Edwin's designs – only without the originals, the Americans had evidently got the new engine wrong. ‘You might as well stay Rosie,' I said. ‘I'll make you up a bed.'

‘I can't go anywhere anyway,' Rosie said. ‘There's no inn or hotel that will take me in – not with a black American child, they won't.'

‘You shouldn't have come here,' Mrs Ward interjected. ‘Wherever you go there's trouble.'

‘Oh, look, little Carl –' Rosie's tone was mocking – ‘there's your loving grandmother. Want to hold him, Mother? He's quite civilized. He won't bite or anything.'

‘That's enough, Rosie,' I said sharply. ‘No one here is prejudiced against you or your son.

‘You kidding?' Rosie said. ‘I've been shunned by the villagers. No one would put me up, not even for one night.'

‘No wonder, calling on good people at this time of night. Where's your sense, girl?' Mrs Ward's tone had softened. ‘Come into the kitchen. I'll make you a cup of tea and a bite to eat.'

‘I'm so tired, Mum,' Rosie said softly. ‘A cup of cocoa in bed would be lovely, thanks.'

‘Rosie can have my room, Mrs Ward,' I said. ‘The bed is big enough for her and the baby in there.'

‘But where will you sleep, Riana?' Mrs Ward asked.

‘I'll take the blue room. Beatrice has gone away visiting relatives again.'

‘But my dear,' the colonel said, ‘that is the room that is most haunted! That's the room we all want to visit!'

‘That's fine.' I felt doubtful and superstitiously frightened at the thought of sleeping in what was supposed to be a haunted room, but Beatrice seemed to manage all right when she was here. ‘I'll be going to bed later than everyone else, anyway. I always do when I have guests.'

‘I'll sleep in the haunted room,' Justin said.

Then young William volunteered. ‘Please, Miss Evans, let me sleep in there. I might just get a good picture – a reward for all the weekends I've spent here – and I haven't had a good picture yet.'

There was a clamour of voices, and I held up my hand. ‘William wins the prize,' I said. ‘He's the youngest and the keenest ghost hunter. He can have the blue room, and I'll take his room.'