Eglantine (7 page)

But he still seemed very enthusiastic about the possible results of his investigation. Before he packed up his equipment and left, he thanked Mum again and again for her hospitality. And he assured her that he would ring us as soon as he had anything at all to report.

As it happened, however, I was the first one with something to report. Because after Richard had gone, and I went up to Bethan’s room, I discovered that Count Osric was begging Princess Emilie to run away with him.
Lady,
he said,
hast ever
a trusty page in thy train
? When Emilie replied that she did have a trusty page, he urged her to disguise herself as her page’s brother, and
go forth at night from
the palace’s northern gate
. Once through the gate, she was supposed to
traverse the city’s great street
until a forest was at her left hand; then she was to enter a path that would appear, and follow it until her
dear
foot
should press a cliff above the sea.

‘I don’t think those PRISM people are paying enough attention to the story,’ I remarked to Mum, after informing her of these latest developments in Eglantine’s fairytale. ‘That Richard guy didn’t say anything about it. But it must have
some
meaning, don’t you think?’

Mum grunted. I soon learned that she was losing faith in PRISM’s ability to help her, because that afternoon Trish came over and spent two hours discussing Bethan’s bedroom with Mum. They decided that its
chi
must be all wrong. Mum wondered if she should hang a crystal over the window, or place a light in the ‘seventh house’ to counteract all the thunder energy. Trish began to talk about the Predecessor Law.

‘I’d forgotten about it,’ she said, ‘until I read my books again. Basically, the overall vibration that remains in a space from those who lived there before you controls much of what’s happening now. That’s the Predecessor Law. And it’s beyond anyone’s ability to change the Predecessor Law by installing cures or studying the
bagua
.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do?’ Mum demanded. ‘For heaven’s sake, Trish -’

‘It’s all right. Calm down. There
is
a solution.’ No doubt Trish began to describe what the solution was, but at that point I wandered away to look at a nature program on the television. So I missed what she said, and as a result I was very surprised when I came home, on Monday afternoon, to find Mum and Trish in Bethan’s room, performing a purification ceremony.

They were both dressed in white. Trish wore a long, fluttery white dress. Mum had dug up a pair of old tennis shorts, a white T-shirt and a pair of white socks. They were sitting on the floor, cross-legged, with their eyes closed, making a long, low, breathy noise that sounded a bit like ‘suuuuu’.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, and Mum frowned without opening her eyes.

‘Go away, Allie,’ she said.

‘But what -’

‘It’s all right, Allie,’ Trish murmured. ‘You can watch from the door, as long as you’re very, very quiet.’

At first I thought they must be meditating. Mum does that, every so often, though usually not in white clothes. But then Trish began to speak. Not to chant – to speak. Her voice was low and soothing.

‘Thank you very much for your life,’ she said. ‘Whoever you are, whenever you lived in this house, I’m sure you left it more beautiful than it was when you arrived. Wherever you are now, we hope that you can be happy and at peace, and we’ll try to help you. Don’t worry about this house. We love it, and we’ll care for it, so you don’t have to stay here any longer. We wish you well. Don’t worry about us, either, because we will seek to be happy and healthy without your presence . . .’

She went on and on, for about ten minutes. Then she chanted one of her sutras, and Mum chanted one of
her
sutras, and when they finished, they clapped their hands sharply three times, in unison.

Only at that point did they open their eyes, and struggle to their feet with a great cracking of knee-joints.

‘Do you think Eglantine is really worried about the house?’ I began, but Mum shushed me again. She took a handful of sea-salt from a little silver dish beside her and began to scatter it over the floor.

‘We’ll leave that there for a day,’ Trish announced.

‘Then we’ll sweep it up and scatter some fresh flowers, instead. Perhaps light a few candles.’

‘What’s the salt for?’ I inquired.

‘Salt is the densest ingredient that we use in everyday cooking,’ Trish replied solemnly. ‘It’s one of the most important elements of
life
, and therefore stands in direct opposition to the spirit world. We want to encourage the
life force
in this room.’

‘It’s worth trying,’ Mum added. ‘If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to bring in a Feng Shui master, and that’s going to cost money.’

She left the room, then, and Trish went with her; they were going to refresh themselves with some jasmine tea. I stayed. I looked around at the bright, empty room, and wondered if Eglantine was going to take any notice of a Chinese purification ritual. I worried that she wouldn’t, because she hadn’t been Chinese.

‘Eglantine,’ I said aloud, ‘I’m really, really sorry about what happened to you.’ I was, too. I was beginning to feel as if I knew her better, and the fact that she might have choked to death . . . well, I was finding it harder and harder to think about anything so awful. ‘The thing is, though,’ I went on, ‘there’s nothing we can do about it. Can’t you see that? Can’t you please go away and leave us alone? I bet
you
wouldn’t have liked sharing a room with
your
little brother.’

A deep, dense silence answered my request. Dust-motes drifted through a shaft of sunlight.

If Eglantine had heard me, she wasn’t the least bit interested.

I went and got my journal, so that I could copy down the twenty-eight new lines that had appeared on the walls the previous night. Count Osric was still relating to Princess Emilie his plan for her escape.
I will anchor my ship against the cliff
, he said.
A red light shall float at the masthead. I will come
with a boat and bear thee away. Then, with the strong ship
we will go to another land – a summer-land, where we shall
be forever happy. Oh, fly with me, lady, or I die! Fly with
me, I pray thee by our love. I bid thee from all pains. I proffer
thee all delights!

But Emilie was doubtful. When he implored her, she begged him to
command her, rather
- for without his command, she would not have the strength. So he commanded her, and she obeyed.

Then night fell upon the kingdom of the white-bearded king, bleak and dark and cold. The shrubs were heavy with raindrops which lurked in the hollows of the blossoms and the leaves. A cold wind blew. Emilie
arrayed herself like a page
, and went forth to meet her lover. She left the palace gate. She traversed the crowded streets. She trembled but did not faint. She had just passed the sentries at the city gate, when the story stopped.

By this time, I have to admit, I was becoming obsessed. I wanted to know what was going to happen. So I wasn’t as pleased as you might expect when, the next morning, I found only one line written on the walls. It said,
A wood was at her left
.

‘Wow,’ said Bethan. ‘Just one line.’

‘That’s pretty good,’ said Ray. ‘That’s better than we’ve had since the very beginning.’

‘Maybe the purification ceremony was the right thing to do,’ said Mum, sounding a little dazed. We were all standing around in Bethan’s bedroom, staring at the lonely new line.
A wood was at her left
.

I thought, Emilie and her page must be about to reach the edge of the sea-cliff.

‘Maybe I should perform the ceremony again,’ Mum continued. ‘One more time for luck, do you think?’

‘What about the flowers?’ I inquired. ‘Weren’t you supposed to wait for a day, and then scatter flowers and light candles?’

‘I’ll ask Trish,’ said Mum. She did – that afternoon – and Trish told her on no account to disrupt the order of proceedings. First the salt had to be swept away, she instructed. Then the flowers had to be scattered and candles placed about the room, particularly in the seventh house. After two days, the room could be cleared. ‘And if you’re still getting the odd line of text,’ Trish added, ‘then you can go through the ritual once more. Just to reassure the spirit, and give it release. But I doubt you’ll have any more trouble,’ she concluded confidently.

She was wrong. On Wednesday morning, I found ten new lines.

This was after Mum had spent thirty-six dollars on flowers from the florist, and burned through a whole packet of kitchen candles.

She was very cross.

‘All right,’ she growled, glaring around Bethan’s bedroom. ‘If that’s how you want to play it, Miss Higgins, we’ll do it the hard way!’

And she went downstairs to telephone the Feng Shui master.

CHAPTER
# eight

For the next few days, our house was like a hotel, with people in and out of it all the time.

Firstly (as I mentioned before) a journalist from the local newspaper called us, and asked if she could come over the next day, and take some photos. Having heard that our house was haunted, she wanted to write a story. She seemed particularly interested in the fact that PRISM was involved.

It turned out that she’d been told about us while collecting information for a story about the local under-twelves soccer team (from one of the Bracco brothers, probably). Mum agreed to an interview – I don’t know why. Possibly she liked the journalist, and couldn’t say no. Certainly the poor journalist was very young and timid, and hard to turn down. Her name was Claire Hickey. She had a shy little voice, and lank blond hair, and she looked a bit like a white rabbit. Mum let her take a photograph of Bethan’s room – with Bethan in it – and Bethan, needless to say, was thrilled. He’s a real publicity hound.

After Claire had gone, I pointed out that newspaper stories about haunted houses were always stupid ones, poking fun at the whole idea of ghosts.

‘Claire’s not like that,’ said Mum. ‘She’s a very polite, serious girl. She doesn’t think we’re silly.’

‘She doesn’t?’

‘No. Not at all. She told me that her grandmother once saw a ghost. And she
promised
not to give out our address.’ Mum hesitated, perhaps as she realised that journalists don’t always keep their promises. ‘Anyway,’ she declared, ‘this is her first job, poor little thing. Her wages are woeful. And she’s so keen. I had to help her out.’

Claire visited us on Thursday afternoon. On Friday evening, the PRISM investigators returned. Richard had called Mum on Wednesday, to inform her that the result of Saturday night’s investigation had been ‘inconclusive’. His aperture settings had been wrong.

‘Infra-red’s a tricky thing,’ he apologised, ‘and falling asleep didn’t help. I’m really sorry. I’ve worked it all out now, though. I’ve been practising. Would you mind
very
much if we came one more time? Just once more, I promise. Because I really think you’ve got something, there.’

With a sigh, Mum said ‘yes’. So on Friday evening we welcomed Richard and Sylvia into the house again, pointing out as we did so that Bethan’s bedroom walls were already pretty well covered with text.

‘That’s all right,’ said Sylvia. ‘We’ll manage. We’ve brought several cameras, so we’ll focus each one on a different stretch of white space. Did you bring the coffee, Richard?’

‘Yes. I brought the coffee.’ Richard flashed Mum a grin. ‘I’m not going to fall asleep
this
time,’ he assured her.

‘From what Richard tells me,’ Sylvia continued, ‘there does seem to be something very odd happening in that room. Hopefully, we’ll find out what it is tonight. Oh!’ She began to search through one of her bags. ‘Here’s that old book you gave me. According to Richard, taking it away didn’t make any difference – is that right?’

‘No,’ said Ray. ‘I told you we should have burned it. Maybe we should do that now -’

‘Oh! No! Wait!’

Mum’s shriek made us all jump; we were standing in the kitchen, surrounded by PRISM technology, and Ray nearly dropped his coffee cup.

As we stared at Mum, she exclaimed, ‘Wait! Wait! Give me that book!’ She snatched it from Sylvia’s hand, and waved it at us. ‘Maybe we should
put it back
!’ she cried. ‘Maybe that’s the whole problem. It was taken out from under the stairs – maybe it ought to be returned!’

Everyone exchanged glances.

‘Maybe moving that book started this whole thing in the first place!’ Mum finished, triumphantly. But Ray shook his head.

‘That can’t be right,’ he objected. ‘Remember what that room looked like when we first bought the place? And the book was still under the stairs
then
.’

Mum’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘I still say we should burn it,’ Ray said firmly. ‘It can’t hurt.’

‘It might,’ I pointed out. ‘It might make Eglantine mad. Madder than she is now, I mean. It’s her book, after all.’

Ray began to laugh, hopelessly. ‘I can’t believe that we’re having a serious discussion about a ghost’s state of mind,’ he groaned. ‘Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone insane.’

‘It’s all right.’ Sylvia did her best to comfort him. ‘I know it’s hard, but it’ll sort itself out. Just don’t burn the book, if you please. Not yet. Not until we have a record of this nocturnal activity, at the very least. Now – where’s my double adaptor?’

She and Richard were all settled in upstairs by ten o’clock. They sat near the door, one on either side (in case they had to go to the toilet), clutching their torches and their thermos flasks. The floor was covered with talcum powder. Red lights blinked and tape-recorders whirred as Mum quietly closed the door on them. She said she felt as if she were shutting a hatch on a deep-sea diving capsule, or a space-shuttle cockpit. She giggled nervously as she wondered, aloud, if we would ever see them again.

I was quite prepared for a noisy night, full of startled screams and frantic curses. In fact I didn’t expect to sleep very well. But I did, and was awakened the next morning by the sound of excited whispering in the hall. Because it wasn’t even six o’clock – and because I
never
get up before seven on Saturdays, unless I absolutely have to – I turned over and went back to sleep. So I missed the two investigators, who were gone by seven.