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Lucy said, ‘I’ve heard of that, but I thought it only happened in a séance.’

Dinah replied, ‘Oh no, there’s been thousands of apports over the centuries, in all sorts of situations. Anything from jewels to stones, to clothes – books.’ She held the strands up to the light. ‘It's definitely hair.’

Nat said, ‘Do they have any roots?’

Lucy croaked. ‘Don’t – that’s awful.’

‘Well we could maybe get some DNA.’

Jess said, ‘That’s a thought.’

Dinah examined the strands. ‘Yeah, they’re some roots – Christ – a living ghost?”

Lucy murmured, ‘I don’t know how you can handle that Dinah, I just couldn’t.’    

Jess peered at the painting. ‘There’s an inscription on the bottom of the tomb. I can’t quite read it.  See?’  She pointed to the bottom right hand corner of the empty tomb.

Dinah knelt to get a better look.  ‘I can see it Jess, but I can’t make it out.’

Jess bit her lip. ‘I shall have to get a magnifying glass – there’s not one here.’ Turning to Nat, she said abruptly, ‘You say the priest did the exorcism? Did any of you see anything?’

Nat shook his head, ‘I wasn’t there; it was Douglas and the priest.’

‘So, did they see anything?’

‘No, not really but they did find an old writing desk up in the attic. It was covered in maggots. They were alive squirming; the stench was awful.’ 

Jess shivered thinking of the writing desk in her room. Surely, it couldn’t be the same one?  Douglas had been uncomfortable with it when she first saw it.   So, he knew the place was haunted. Why hadn’t he warned her?

‘Is it a malign spirit?’

Nat shook his head ruffling the brown lock on his forehead. ‘Well as I said, O’Reilly was adamant Muriall  was haunting the Manor, but she was protecting us from a dark sprit infesting the place, a demon.”

‘Some ghosts can be murderous.’ Dinah said, ‘They can physically hurt someone, then there’s the mystery of Duncan.’ 

Lucy murmured, ‘Maybe he didn‘t drown.’ 

Nat shook his head. ‘No-one’s sure if it was suicide or something else. Our solicitor says he might have gone after Muriall  – who knows?’    

Raking fingers slightly trembling through his hair, George muttered, ‘Welcome to the house of death.’

Dinah gave a short sharp laugh. ‘Come on let’s be practical about this?’

Hunching up slim shoulders, Lucy interjected, ‘Practical? What’s practical about a bloody ghost?’  

George raised bushy eyebrows. It wasn’t like Lucy to swear. She was obviously frightened out of her wits.

Dinah tried to smile reassuringly, rubbing Lucy’s arm.  ‘Nat we need that Jesuit exorcist quickly – like tomorrow. How soon can you get hold of him?

‘It’ll take time you know. They’ll have to have meetings about it. The Archbishop will have to agree it. Then they’ve got to get the right priest.’

‘We haven’t got time.  I think whilst we’re waiting, we should hold a séance.  After all, we have the apport.  That may attract Muriall  – maybe she’ll give us a message or tell us what she wants’.

Lucy walked over to George to clutch at his arm. “Now you really are frightening me.  No way – there’s no way I’m going to any séance.  I’d die – die of fright.”

Nat, ignoring Lucy said, ‘If we did a séance we’d need a medium.”

Dinah said, ‘Jess is a medium.’

Jess retorted swiftly, ‘I’m not – for want of repetition. I just draw them – a psychic artist is quite different to a medium.  I don’t go into trance, or have spirits manifesting through me. Neither do they talk through my mouth. ‘

‘You do go into trance Jess or at least a different state of consciousness to draw or paint them.  What about the hypnotic trance, meditation?’

Jessie spluttered her face whitening. ‘Yes, but like Lucy, I’m petrified of them. I’d pass out if I saw a ghost.’

‘Come on Jess, you know your guide will protect you. Red Cloud isn’t going to let one manifest unless you give permission.’

‘Guide?’  Idly patting Lucy’s arm, George said, ’So what’s that?’

Pouring another glass of wine and handing it to Jess, Dinah said, ‘Spirit guides choose their mediums or channels. They also guard the portal to the spirit world, so that no malign spirits can slip through.'’

Jess nodded, ‘Although, sometimes an evil spirit does enter the earth plane.’

‘Yes, but it’s very rare Jess.’ said Dinah. ‘Red Cloud is a high level guide.’

‘Red cloud?’ George raised his eyebrows.

‘Red Cloud was the guide of the Welsh medium Estelle Roberts. It was through her that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made his first contact with his son.  He’s also Jess’s guide.

Jess said softly, ‘Maybe we could just sit as a circle?  I mean no deep trances or that sort of thing.’

George beamed, ‘Great idea – great.  What about now?’

Shaking her head, Jess said, ‘No. I’ve had enough to contend with tonight. Anyway, I’d need to get the room ready, and besides it’s late.’

Looking over to Nat, she said, ’I‘ve only got a small table in the suite. Is it possible for you to get us a bigger one for five?’  

George looked at Lucy. ‘You in?’

Lucy shook her head. ’I couldn’t really.’   

‘Aw come on Sis. We're just gonna sit in a circle, no trances okay?’   

George beamed, when Lucy nodded.  ‘So that‘s set then?’ 

Looking at the portrait, at Muriall’s soulful face, the shimmering strands of hair, Lucy shivered.

Jess bowed her head, ‘Look – I need time.  It’s all been too much. Can we just leave
it,
for
the time being?'

Nat frowned. ‘It’s not going away Jess – sooner we get this sorted the better.’

Dinah putting her arm around Jess said, ‘I think Jess needs some space, how about a week from now?
’

CHAPTER  3
2

Wearily, Jess returned to her room to see the answer phone flashing.  Pressing the button, she listened to his voice, ’Jess – you have to stop this.  We have to meet up.  Nat has just told me about the attack. For goodness sake – don’t you think you have punished me enough?  Please answer this message; I’m worried sick about you. I love you. Just answer – please.’ 

Tears sprung to her eyes, stupid – stupid pride.  She should answer it – wanted to answer it; the bitterness replaced with yearning. Her hand hesitated over the phone.  She realized how awkward it was for all concerned. The friends would feel obliged to invite him to the séance. It was after all his hotel. They couldn’t spurn him because of the quarrel. Maybe he wouldn’t turn up.  Part of her felt relieved at the thought, but another part longed for him to be there. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to get this together – meet it with dignity. Even if her heart did threaten to leap through her chest.

Dropping her hand to her side, she turned to the window, looking over the lake, the water dark and still, the mausoleum barely visible. Walking out to the
balcony,
she clutched the wrought-iron  railing as she whispered, ‘Muriall – who are you?  What do you want?

Re-entering the room, Jess shut and locked the large windows. She looked again at the phone; it was late; the wine had gone to head; her speech might be fuzzy; she might babble, or not make sense – best to leave it until she was quite sober. But then, without the wine maybe she wouldn’t find the courage to phone him.

After undressing and donning an oversized tee shirt, she brushed her hair, plating it into two long braids and pinning them on top of her head. That familiar heaviness tugged at her eyes, as she climbed into the bed pulling the duvet up around her.

Muriall struggled awake to Becky pounding on the door. ‘Milady, wake up, wake up.

Unlocking the door, she met the frightened eyes of the
maid
, ‘Oh
m
ilady tis terrible news – you must come quickly.  Tis the village of Tanmore, the soldiers are tumbling the cottages.’ 

Splashing her face with water Muriall flung on a fine lawn shirt hanging ready for her along with men’s underdrawers and her leather knee breeches. Oh God, this would happen with Duncan on his way to Jamaica.

Pulling on thigh-high boots, she snatched up her riding crop and belt with her short sword.  Whilst buckling it on, she dashed after the maid, shouting out to her to run to the stables and see her horse was saddled.  Meanwhile, she ran to Guy’s room.  ‘Guy, wake up, wake up Guy,’ When he didn’t answer, she pushed the door open, only to find the cluttered room empty.  Running down the broad oak staircase, she made her way to the dining room but again, the room was empty.  Seeing a servant scurrying by she shouted, ‘Where’s Sir Guy?’  

‘He’s saddling his horse in the stables milady, tis such a terrible thing – a terrible thing.’

Hearing the clatter of horses’ hooves outside, she ran to find Guy waiting for her, his delicate face paler than ever. ‘Come on Sis, seems the devils couldn’t wait.’

She saw John the footman already saddled up along with the kennel man and head groom.  A couple of other male servants made up the group.  At least if there was a skirmish, they had enough manpower and weapons. She just wished Duncan was with them. He would certainly have rounded up more men, and he was a formidable adversary.

As they rode to the village, Muriall said, ‘So the estate owner is evicting them?’

Guy’s face was grim. ‘Aye – he wants the land for grazing.’

‘But surely he can’t do this – how can he turn a whole village out of their homes?  There must be ninety families living there.  They can’t possibly turn starving families out of their very homes?’

‘Tis within the estate owners’ rights.  They can do anything they like with the land; you know the tenants have no rights at all.’

‘But we know these tenants.  They are quite prosperous, built the cottages themselves. Do you remember? They saved the land, over four hundred acres, from the bog, split the stones up themselves and built the cottages with their own hands.  Now that fiend is destroying their homes.  I know the tenants have the rent ready.  They are renowned for paying their rent upfront.   Oh God – how is this allowed to happen?’  

‘Tis avarice – selfishness.  Many of the estate owners just treat their tenants like animals.  Look at Father, he has them use tunnels.  He has forbidden any of them to show themselves when he is in residence. He even has the tunnels running under the front lawns, so they cannot be seen. Only the house servants are allowed above ground and that is through sheer necessity.’

Before reaching the village, they could hear the screams, smell the air acrid with smoke, hear the roar of soldiers’ voices.  The scene that met them tore at Muriall’s heart.  It was a picture from Dante’s Inferno no less.  Thatch, slates and stones flew through the air as the infantry tore off the roofs of the cottages.  A small canon boomed creating jagged holes in the stone walls, tumbling them to the ground.

Muriall could see the villagers had been abed when the soldiers attacked the village. Some were half dressed, others still in their nightclothes. Men fought with spades and bits of wood only to be felled by armed militia.  Women screamed holding onto doorposts, desperate to stay in a home now just a pile of rubble and burning wood.  Their children sobbed clinging to their skirts. 

Guy with Muriall following, led the group into the melee of muskets, swords and blood, screaming for the soldiers to desist.  Riding up to the Captain she shouted, ‘I order you to stop now, I am from Rhonan
Manor,
and I order you by the name of the Earl to desist.’

The man trying to keep his horse quiet shouted back, ‘I take orders from the General – forgive me but this work must be done.’    Turning her horse away from him, she cursed, ‘Damn you; these are decent law-abiding people.  You are doing the devils work this day Sir, the devil’s work.’

Guy rode to her side. ‘Tis no use Muriall – there is nothing we can do.  There are too many. Come let us go now.  ‘

‘Never.’  She screamed, ‘I’ll fight them with every bone in my body. Come Guy raise your sword and fight.  Charging into the crowd, she swiped at the soldiers working on the cannons, trying to pull others from their horses. They dare not touch her for she was one of the Quality, yet neither did the soldiers fall back.  Guy, John and the other men bravely took on the attackers, swords in hand to be met with broadswords or knocked to the ground fighting to keep out of the way of the horses, rearing terrified, their eyes wide, hooves chopping air.

Leaping off her horse, Muriall went to the aid of one young woman holding a baby whilst fighting to snatch some belongings from the smoking ruins, her child crying, clutching a rag doll.  Using the flat of her sword, she struck a soldier on the back, whereupon, she rallied the horse around to hit another across the side of his head.  Dazed, he looked at her with shocked eyes, before falling to the ground.  She turned to help the woman, snatching up a frying pan, bed linen and some clothes before escaping from the flames. 

Short of killing the soldiers, Guy and Muriall were almost helpless. They could not turn them away.  Horrified at the screams of the children, she looked to see older ones bravely trying to fight the soldiers with their bare fists only to be flung aside. As she raced to towards them, to her horror, she saw a young man barley sixteen years old, try to defend his mother.   Everything turned to slow motion as she ran to help him only to see the soldier lift his gun and shoot the lad in the head, hearing the mother’s anguished wail as he fell dying at her feet.