The Ghost Before Christmas (4 page)

Chapter Six

Peter carried a bottle of wine and four glasses up to the gallery and set them on a side table. Lyn and Daisy had unpacked while he and Trevor had been talking to Dan, and an intriguing array of parcels had been laid out under the tree between the fireplace and the window. They'd just returned from the pub restaurant and were about to settle down for the evening.

He reached for the corkscrew. ‘That was one of the best meals I've eaten.'

‘It was good.' Trevor watched Lyn carry Marty into their bedroom. ‘Need a hand to get him down, sweetheart?'

‘No thanks. I'll bath him, get him ready for bed, show him how to hang up his sock, and join you as soon as he's asleep.'

‘Same here.' Daisy lifted Poppy out of her carry-cot and took her into their bedroom, next door to Trevor and Daisy's.

Peter poured Trevor a glass of wine. ‘Sit, drink, and be grateful we have self-sufficient wives.'

‘I will as soon as I unload some secret things from the car.'

‘Secret things?' Peter's eyes lit up. ‘Vintage single malt … Cuban cigars …'

‘Lyn and Marty's surprise present.'

‘Nothing expensive that Daisy will want, I hope.'

‘We'll find out tomorrow.' Trevor ran down the stairs, opened the front door, and retrieved the box he'd hidden behind his tools in the back of the car.

He hesitated when he returned to the hall. He switched on the main light and studied the staircase. It reminded him of something he'd read about but couldn't quite remember …

A knock disturbed him. He opened the door. Dan was on the step, a jug of beer in one hand and a tray of cheese and biscuits in the other.

‘Admiring the staircase?'

‘Come in, Peter's opening a bottle of wine.'

‘If you don't mind, I'll pass on the wine. It goes straight to my head because I tend to drink it like beer. Which is why I brought my own jug of that.'

‘You'll have to drink it all,' Trevor warned.

‘I intend to.'

‘The cheese and biscuits look good, but I doubt any of us have any room left to eat them.'

‘You will after a glass of wine.' Dan set the tray on a table and closed and locked the door.

Trevor picked up the plate and balanced it on the box he was holding. ‘The church up the road, how old is it?'

‘Same age as the castle, twelfth century.'

‘There's a castle here?'

‘The ruins of one on the hilltop behind us. If you want to see inside the church I'll give the vicar a ring. He took to locking it after thieves stole the commemorative brass plaques from the walls. The scrap merchant they tried to sell them to recognised them, kept the thieves there, and called the police but it still cost the best part of two grand to repair the damage they did to the walls and reinstate the plaques. I didn't know you were interested in old churches.'

‘I'm not. Your family aren't Catholic by any chance?'

‘They were – until the Welsh Revival in 1904.'

‘You remember it?' Trevor smiled.

‘Only the family stories. Apparently it caused quite a rift. My great-great-grandfather caught the bug and was instrumental in building a chapel here, much to my great-great-grandmother's disgust.'

‘I haven't seen a chapel.'

‘It's across the road. It was turned into a bakery in the nineties.'

Trevor set down the box and tray. ‘Can you show me exactly where Nia was found on the stairs?'

‘I wasn't here. Elin was. Do you want me to get her?'

‘Please, if it wouldn't cause too much disruption in the pub.'

Dan handed him the jug and left.

‘You two having a Christmas Eve party by yourselves down there?' Peter called down from the gallery.

‘Just looking at something.'

‘Is it a game? Should I try to guess what it is?'

The door opened and Dan ushered Elin in.

‘I can't stop …'

‘I know you're busy, Elin. It's good of you to spare the time.' Trevor pointed to the stairs. ‘Can you show me exactly where Nia was sitting when she appeared the morning after Christine vanished?'

‘She was about halfway up.'

‘Can you be more specific?'

Elin thought for a moment.

‘Try closing your eyes, and picturing the scene,' Trevor advised.

She did as he suggested, before opening her eyes again. ‘There.' She pointed to a thicker, more heavily carved banister half way up the stairs.

Trevor headed for the kitchen.

‘Where's he going?' Elin asked Dan.

Peter answered. ‘Trevor always moves in mysterious ways. He doesn't believe in sharing.'

Trevor returned with a wide-bladed cook's knife.

‘Please don't destroy our staircase?' Elin pleaded in alarm.

‘I promise I won't.' Trevor walked slowly up the stairs. When he reached the ornate post, he slipped the knife beneath the back of the tread. It slid in easily. He moved his fingers to the side beneath a lip in the wood, lifted, and swung two treads up, like a lid on a box.

‘How did you know …' Dan began.

‘Harvington Hall. It has four priest's holes, believed to have been built by the Jesuit builder and master constructor of priest's holes, Nicholas Owen. I wondered when you said Nia couldn't be found then reappeared without explanation. The date over the door, 1580 – it was the height of the witch hunts against Catholics during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. With a name like Owen, chances are Nicholas' family was Welsh … so, if your family were Catholic and wanted to create a safe room for a visiting priest, who better to ask to build it.'

Dan walked up the stairs and looked in the hole. ‘It's small, barely big enough for Nia and that box.'

Trevor lifted out the box and handed it to Dan.

‘You're not curious enough to open it?'

‘If it's not been looted, chances are it contains a chalice and other artefacts used in the Catholic service. The real hiding place is here.' Trevor pushed the back wall of the small secret chamber. It folded back to reveal steps. ‘Find us a torch, Peter.'

‘Damn, I left my torch bag at home.'

‘There's one in the kitchen.' Elin left. She reappeared a few minutes later with a large torch. She handed it to Trevor. He stepped down and shone the light. Dan peered over his shoulder.

‘You could hide a family in there.'

‘At least a dozen people,' Trevor agreed. ‘There's a blanket and pillow inside. We'll show it to Nia tomorrow, but I think we can be fairly certain we've found her and Pengy's bolthole.'

Chapter Seven

‘Do you think there could be other priest's holes in the house?' Dan pulled a leather chair next to the sofa on the gallery where Trevor and Lyn were curled together in front of the fire.

‘It's possible. Harvington Hall had four, but it's a mansion. Most Catholic manors had more than one, but compared to Harvington Hall this house, beautiful as it is, is pocket-sized,' Trevor declared.

‘Sitting here, this feels like a mansion.' Daisy cut a piece of cheese and popped it into Peter's mouth.

‘Compared to our house and yours, it is,' Trevor agreed. ‘But what most people fail to realise is just how many people lived in mansions and houses this size. Not just the family but servants. This would have been a community, with maids, manservants, and farmworkers all crammed head-to-toe in the attics.'

‘You seem to know more about this house than I do,' Dan observed.

‘You thinking what I'm thinking?' Peter mumbled through a mouthful of cheese and biscuit.

‘That if there was another priest's hole …' Dan began.

‘One with a secret exit from the house to the outside, it could explain Christine's disappearance,' Peter finished for him.

‘It could, but if that's the case what's she been living on for the past two years?' Trevor asked.

‘The twenty grand she withdrew from the bank the day she left.'

‘You have a point.'

‘Have you any idea where another priest's hole could be located?' Dan asked.

‘I'm not an expert on priest's holes,' Trevor protested. ‘I saw them in Harvington Hall and was interested enough to read about them, but they could be anywhere in the house.' He rose and laid his hand on a solid beam six inches thick and seven feet long. ‘One house had a beam like this on a pivot so it could be moved. The panelled wall behind it was actually a door to a secret chamber. Owen created trapdoors in floorboards, rooms enclosed in wood panelling as well as staircases, entrances to passages concealed in chimneys …'

‘So who's for a game of hide-and-seek after Christmas lunch tomorrow?' Peter interrupted.

‘Looks like we all will be. But there's no guarantee we'll find another hidden room, Dan,' Trevor warned.

‘Let's just hope we find something useful and telling.' Dan left his chair. ‘Time I left to help clear up in the pub.'

‘Time we were in bed. Marty will wake early,' Lyn warned.

Daisy looked at her watch. ‘Poppy will wake any minute for her feed.'

‘Why is it kids can make you more exhausted than a double shift?' Peter complained.

‘Because you're getting old.'

‘One more quip like that, Evans, and I'll help you into old age a lot quicker than you'd like.'

‘No fighting with old bosses, darling.' Daisy lowered her legs for the sofa and felt for the slippers she'd kicked off.

‘Ssh …' Lyn held up her finger. ‘Did you hear that?'

They fell silent. A whispering echoed round the gallery.

‘Voices – faint and distant …' Daisy began.

‘Wind whistling down the chimney,' Dan dismissed.

‘Or wind whistling through packed soot. You did say this was the first time a fire had been lit here in years. You've had the chimney swept?' Trevor checked.

‘I stood underneath and looked up. I saw sky. It was clear.'

‘I hope you're right and there's no soot bombs lurking in hidden crevices.' Trevor picked up the empty cheese and biscuits tray and followed Dan downstairs.

‘Do you really think a secret passageway to the outside from inside this house could have remained hidden for centuries?' Dan opened the front door.

‘It would explain Christine's disappearance.'

‘I never liked Christine,' Dan confessed.

‘I gathered that much from the way you talk about her.' Trevor stepped out and glanced across at the pub. The windows, free from blinds and curtains, glowed golden, and glittered with silver Christmas decorations. The bar was crowded. Elin was talking to diners in the restaurant. Dewi was supervising staff in the kitchen. An attractive barmaid, holly pinned into her hair, was pulling pints. ‘That looks like an advertisement for a perfect Christmas. Thank you for inviting us here, Dan.'

‘You've forgiven me for asking for your help?'

‘If Alun's innocent, the evidence is out there. All we have to do is find it.'

‘You've made a good start.'

 ‘All I've found is one priest's hole. That's a flimsy foundation for solving a case.'

‘See you in the morning.'

‘Goodnight.' Trevor gave Dan the tray and watched him walk to the pub. A few hours spent in his old colleague's company had made him realise how much strain Dan was under.

When they'd worked together, Dan had rarely mentioned his family, but Trevor had seen how devastated Dan had been when his nephew, Jake, had been killed on duty. Now Trevor realised Dan was closer to his nephews than most people were to their sons.

Lyn was asleep when Trevor walked into their bedroom. He checked Marty in his travel cot, before going to the window. He opened the drapes and the skylight. Cold air blasted in and he dropped the window until it was barely an inch from the frame.

People were shouting ‘Goodnight' and ‘Merry Christmas' to one another in the pub car park. Car doors slammed, engines revved. Trevor turned his mind back two years to the night Christine disappeared.

Had she heard the same sounds? Had she looked out of the window and seen the light burning in the outside porch of the pub, the Christmas tree glittering in the pub's window just as he did now?

He glanced at the clock on the dressing table. Ten minutes to midnight, the locals didn't keep late hours. He could hear water running. A stream or a river? He'd check in the morning to see if there was a channel deep enough to take a body …

Time to stop thinking. Turn off his brain and sleep. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of loose jogging pants, and climbed into bed. The sound of running water seemed to echo louder in the darkness once he'd switched off the lamp. Something cried outside, an eerie sound that reminded him of the peacock cries in horror films. He lay down beside his wife, wrapped his arm around her waist, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Eight

Lyn woke with a start to the sound of louder, more urgent whispering than they'd heard on the gallery earlier. She couldn't make out the words. Were they speaking Welsh? A draught chilled her face … it subsided … and returned in greater force … and subsided … and again …

She opened her eyes. The numbers were illuminated on the electric clock. 2.30 … the draught returned, black fingers touched her face … her eyes …

She stifled the urge to scream. She grabbed Trevor. He prised her fingers from his throat.

‘Trevor …'

‘I hear it.'

He switched on the light. The whispering grew even louder, harsher. Something small and black hurtled around the lamp, circling faster and faster …

He grabbed Marty from his cot. ‘Get out.'

Lyn tumbled through the door on to the gallery. Daisy and Peter were already there. Peter in red silk boxer shorts and a pre-Daisy T-shirt printed with the slogan, “
Dip me in chocolate and feed me to the lesbians
.”

Angry at being disturbed, half-asleep, Peter snapped. ‘Don't try telling me it's bloody
ghosts
, Joseph.'

‘Phone Dan. Ask him to fetch the girls and take them to the pub.'

‘I'm not going anywhere.' As pale as her white towelling robe, Daisy was cradling Poppy.

The noise grew louder, more intense.

Trevor handed Marty to Lyn. ‘Phone Dan, Peter,' he reiterated.

‘You're not going back into that room?' Lyn cried.

‘Not until you're out of here, and safe.'

Peter finished talking to Dan and switched off his mobile. ‘Whatever's in there can't be a bloody ghost, Lyn, because they don't exist.'

Trevor heard the door open downstairs. ‘Help Dan get the girls to the pub.'

‘I'm staying here,' Peter insisted.

Dan appeared at the top of the stairs with Dewi.

‘Get the girls out,' Trevor shouted. ‘Go,' he urged Lyn. ‘I'll be fine and with you in a few minutes.' He opened his bedroom door a crack. The black object flew out on to the gallery. He ducked.

‘A bird?' Daisy cried.

‘A bat,' Dan corrected. ‘I saw clouds of them flying around at twilight last summer. I wondered where they'd settled.'

‘My guess, as they're awake in hibernating season, is somewhere close to the chimney. The fire must have warmed them into thinking it's spring and time to wake.' Trevor pulled back the curtains on the gallery, opened a window, and tried to guide the bat towards it, but the creature promptly headed in the opposite direction.

‘You do know they're a protected species. You can't move a bat colony.' Dan ushered a reluctant Daisy, Lyn, and the babies down the stairs.

‘That's no excuse for you to house us in their territory.' Peter ducked as the bat flew directly at him. ‘This is not the way I intended to spend Christmas Eve.'

As soon as he heard the front door close behind Dewi, Dan, and Lyn and Daisy, Trevor opened the bedroom door and switched on the light. He went to the window he'd opened a crack and flung it wide.

The bat made a beeline for it and flew out.

Peter watched it go. ‘That'll teach you to be a bloody fresh-air fiend, Joseph. Perhaps he'll be kind enough to tell his mates to shut up when he returns to the batcave. The noise is getting to be annoying.'

‘If it is the bats.'

‘What the hell else can it be?' Peter demanded.

‘Bat ghosts.'

‘Not funny, Joseph.'

Dan reappeared with Dewi. Both were wearing bright red Welsh flannel dressing gowns. Dewi's black curls were ruffled, Dan's sparse hair standing on end.

‘The girls are safe with Elin. She's settling them into spare rooms in the pub.'

‘Thank you.' Trevor went to the fireplace on the gallery.  

‘You'll be pleased to know that the bat is also safe, and outside,' Peter informed Dan and Dewi.

‘I think you're right, Trevor. As they hibernate at this time a year the fire must have raised the temperature in their colony fooling them into thinking it's spring.' Dan joined Trevor at the hearth. ‘Judging by the noise, there must be another hidden priest's hole close by.'

Trevor tapped the panelling, opened the window seat that jutted out from the end wall, and tried to lift the lid, but it was solid. He stepped onto the window seat, leaned forward, and checked the panelling above the fireplace.

‘Solid?' Peter asked.

‘Rock solid.' Trevor stepped down and looked at the wooden buttresses either side of the stone grate. He pushed and pulled at them. When they didn't move, he turned his attention to the floor of the hearth, the wooden frame that enclosed it, and the flagstones that floored it.

He stood back and looked at the pyramid of logs in the hearth. ‘The firewood.'

‘What about it?' Dan asked.

‘Move it.'

‘Come on …'

‘Move it, Peter.' Dan and Dewi had already set to work.

When they'd lifted the last of the logs from the floor Trevor tugged at the wooden plinth they'd been resting on. He raised it.

Dan looked beneath it. ‘Shallow and empty,' he said in disappointment.

‘You're forgetting the priest's hole on the stairs, Dan. Shallow and empty is the illusion Nicholas Owen strove to create.' Trevor crouched down in front of it and pushed the bottom of the plinth. It slid open.

The murmuring and whispering grew louder more intense.

Trevor closed it again quickly. ‘Get a blanket we can drape over this hole. Close all the bedroom doors and windows and the doors to the downstairs rooms, Peter. If the bats fly out I'll try to contain them under the blanket.'

‘Here.' Dewi handed Trevor a bedcover.

‘Thank you.'

‘I'll hold it over both of us.' Dan grabbed a torch, crawled down beside Trevor, and draped the fabric over the plinth.

Trevor opened the plinth again and pushed the panel in front of him. It didn't go far. A massive plank of wood had fallen, preventing it from moving more than a few inches. But a few inches was all he needed.

‘What the hell are you two doing under there? That
smell
 …' Peter complained.

Trevor saw blacker shadows moving in the gloom beyond the shaft of light. ‘It's eau de bat droppings.'

Dan handed him the torch. Trevor directed the light inside the chamber. Clumps of bats hung from the ceiling and wall rafters. He swung the torch downwards. It illuminated a blonde-haired, mummified corpse, trapped beneath a cracked timber support. Both wood and corpse were silver-grey, coated by a fine layer of bat dung.

Trevor sat back on his heels. ‘We need forensics and a pathologist, but it's my guess it's an open and shut case, Dan. She came in here. The support beam fell and trapped her.'

‘What's lying beside her?' Dan asked.

Trevor moved the light. ‘A handbag and a metal box. I may be able to reach them and lift them out.'

Dan drew closer. ‘No, leave them for the forensic team.'

‘You know what's in the box?'

‘It's the one my sister kept the Holbeins in.'

‘So you'll have them back. Merry Christmas to the Evans family, Dan.'

‘It will be for one little girl. She may have to wait for her Christmas present. But I'm guessing it shouldn't be too long before her father comes home. I can't thank you enough, Trevor.'

‘Yes, you can. Please, move us into a bat-free zone in the pub, away from this noise and smell. That should do it.'