The Haunting of Highdown Hall (13 page)

“I’m addicted to the stuff, chillies I mean. I can’t get enough.”

“Me too,” he replied. “Raised on them.”

“Have you tried the food at Wham-Bam?” he continued, referring to a food vendor that set up regularly in the pedestrian square that ran from the bottom of School Hill to the old bridge that crossed the river and took you to the beginning of Cliffe High Street, a pretty stretch of the town dominated by Harveys Brewery, antique shops and cafés.

“No,” replied Ruby intrigued. She had always meant to try the food from there, vegetables deep-fried in spicy batter, a sort of Indian tempura she supposed. The smell whenever she passed by made her mouth water.

“The chilli pickle there, it will blow your head off. I’ve tried to cajole the recipe out of them several times, but they won’t give it, it’s a closely guarded secret.”

Before she could reply, he was back on the subject of Cynthia again.

“So, Cynthia, do you think she’s evil?” he said, in between mouthfuls.

“I’ve told you before; I choose not to believe in evil. Cynthia’s frightened, that’s all, and a frightened spirit can be dangerous to deal with, in much the same way a frightened living person is. The way she acted today, lashing out, it’s got something to do with Lytton.”

“Yeah, the mysterious Lytton. I wonder who he is.”

“Was,” Ruby reminded him, and then, more to herself than him. “I’ll have to check.”

For the next few minutes they ate in companionable silence, the food really too good not to give it their full attention.

Cash was the first to finish, pushing his empty plate to one side.

“So,” he said, picking up the threads of their previous conversation, “this choosing not to believe in evil business, I’m really not convinced you know. I could name some pretty evil people out there, an endless list of them.”

Ruby pushed her plate aside too; she was too full to eat any more.

She paused a few moments before attempting to explain.

“Have you ever looked at a newborn baby and thought, crikey, you’re an evil little sod, aren’t you?”

Cash looked horrified.

“No, of course not.”

“No, me neither. There is only innocence in their eyes, a purity.”

“Until they reach teenage years that is.”

“Ah, teenagers,” Ruby couldn’t help laughing too. “The less said about them the better. Seriously though, people aren’t born with a propensity for evil, whatever they become in life, whatever choices they make along the way, perhaps as a result of injustices they’ve suffered, perhaps not, once they were good and that goodness remains at core, even if it does become buried under layers and layers of crud.”

Cash raised an eyebrow at this but remained silent.

Ruby finished her half pint of lager. “Look, I’m no expert on what happens on the other side, Cash; I don’t really know to be honest. But from what I’ve seen, what I’ve
felt,
love is the ultimate force. Evil doesn’t stand a chance against it. The light, or home as we call it, is pure love, with no conditions attached. We come from it and, at the end of our human journey, we go back to it. Despite what we get up to in between, there’s no judgement in the light, no fear or damnation. What there is, is unconditional love and understanding.”

“So, everyone gets away with it you mean? Murderers, rapists... politicians.”

Ruby smiled again as she shook her head. “No, I don’t think anybody gets away with anything. There are always consequences to actions. I’m sure murderers, rapists and yes, even a fair few politicians, have to undergo intensive re-education of some sort; a form of rehabilitation if you like. My feeling is that wrong-doers have to suffer every suffering they’ve ever inflicted; not just on their victims, but the families of their victims, their friends, everyone their actions have touched, no matter how remotely. In doing so they take responsibility, experience the sorrow – and the weight of that sorrow must be horrendous. Hell enough I should think.”

Coming to the end of her sentence, she noticed that it wasn’t only Jed staring at her.

“What?” she said, feeling her face start to burn.

“You,” said Cash. “You’re amazing.”

“No I’m not!” snorted Ruby, crimson now.

“You are,” Cash insisted. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. Not only are you gifted but you’re compassionate too. I don’t know, you shine with it.”

Ruby was glad the waiter chose that exact moment to come over and clear their plates. His compliment had rendered her speechless.

Having ordered coffee for both of them, Cash said, “So, reincarnation, I presume you believe in that too?”

Ruby nodded her head. “Don’t get me started on reincarnation,” she said, “we’ll be here all night. It just makes sense to me, that’s all, to have more than one life; we’ve so much to learn.”

“You mentioned your mum was a psychic too, does she believe as you do?”

Ruby stiffened. Had she mentioned that? She must have done, when they first met.

“My mum is psychic and my grandmother, and her mother before that. In fact, my great-grandmother was quite renowned in Victorian times. Rosamund Davis. Google her, there’s quite a bit about her on the internet. She documented meticulously all her psychic experiences. Quite austere she was to look at but Gran assures me she was as soft as a kitten inside. It was my grandmother who brought me up though, she taught me to respect the gift we have, to use it wisely and to help. And yes, I tend to agree with my grandmother’s beliefs, not just because she taught me, but instinctively.”

Cash continued to hold her gaze, a talent of his she decided.

“Tell me to shut up if you want, that it’s none of my business, but is... is your mum okay?”

Ten out of ten for perceptiveness. As tempted as she was to tell him it was indeed none of his business, she felt she should say something, to stop future prying if nothing else.

“My mum is fine,” she said carefully, “my grandmother looks after her.”

“Where do they live?”

“Hastings, they live in Hastings.”

Knowing she should elaborate at least a little bit, she continued “Like me, my grandmother taught my mother to use her gift wisely. Unlike me, my mother didn’t listen. She was a real live wire when she was younger.” Ruby smiled at the memory. “I remember her always laughing. Unfortunately, she had a bad psychic experience, when I was still a child. She didn’t protect herself properly. She retreated into herself after that, had what you might call a breakdown. Rarely laughed again. I miss that sound.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cash, reaching across the table and covering her hand with his.

“Don’t be,” said Ruby, surprised at how comforted she was by his touch. “I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened to my mother – my grandmother says it wouldn’t help me if I did – so, I can’t tell you much more than that I’m afraid. You know as much as me.”

His hand still on hers, Cash said, “That’s fine. I feel privileged you’ve told me what you have. I’d like to meet your grandmother and mother one day.”

“Really?” said Ruby, it was the last thing she had expected him to say.

“Really,” he replied. “They sound as special as you are.”

Feeling a stirring inside her chest, a sensation that both scared and excited her, they paid the bill and left the restaurant, Jed less hopeful but ever loyal, trotting behind them.

Although Cash lived close to Chaula’s, he had a flat in Fullers Passage, he insisted on walking her home. Instead of cutting through back streets, they decided to take the more scenic route, through the heart of town. Linking arms as they walked, he quizzed her about various historical buildings, eager to know if they were haunted or not.

“Bull House, where Tom Paine lived,” he said, “is he still there?”

“I’ve never been inside,” Ruby replied. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“But what if he is?” Cash pressed further.

“Then maybe the current owners are happy to live alongside him.”

“That happens?” Cash was incredulous.

“It happens.”

“What about The White Hart Hotel, that’s
got
to be haunted.”

“I know one of the managers there; they know what I do but they’ve never contacted me. I think that answers that question.”

“And The Judges Inn, it’s as haunted as The Pelham Arms apparently.”

“A rumour the landlord encourages,” Ruby confided. “It helps bring the punters in.”

Ruby burst out laughing.

“What?” Cash came to a halt.

“You,” she said. “You look so disappointed.”

“I’m surprised, that’s all,” he replied a little ruefully.

“You’re more likely to find a spirit in Waitrose than in The Judges Inn, I’m telling you.”

“Really?”

“No, not really!” Ruby giggled again. “What I’m trying to say is that spirits don’t conform to stereotype, they’re not always to be found in the most obvious of places.”

Picking up pace once more they soon reached the top of the High Street. Cash nodded over the road at St Anne’s church, raised up above the pavement on its own hillock it made an imposing silhouette against the night sky with its surrounding graveyard.

“Now, that, you have to admit, by moonlight at least, is spooky.”

“Peaceful, I’d say,” replied Ruby wistfully.

Again they stopped, this time to stare across at the various stone markers depicting lives long gone.

“Peaceful,” Cash repeated after a few moments, “Yeah, that’s another way of looking at it.”

The beginnings of understanding,
thought Ruby, before turning into Irelands Lane towards home.

Chapter Ten

Ruby and Cash put in an early appearance at her office the next day. Before saying goodbye the previous night, they had made plans to spend the morning together. He was ahead of schedule at the moment, so he could spare a few hours to work on ideas for her website. She, meanwhile, would continue to try and find out about Lytton. If they managed to make enough headway they might even nip up to the Pelham Arms for lunch.

Cash sat down at the meeting table and pressed his laptop into action. Ruby, meanwhile, switched on the kettle. As soon as the room started to warm up, Jed sloped in and settled himself in front of the heater. As he did so, Ruby noticed Cash look up, albeit briefly.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, Ruby wandered over to her desk calendar. Christmas was just three weeks away. It’d be nice to have the Highdown Hall case done and dusted by then. She could then look forward to a week off over the festive holidays, spending it with her mother and grandmother in Hastings, fantasising already about the evocative smell of homemade orange and cinnamon mince pies, a family recipe passed down through the ages.

Settling herself down, she was just about to type ‘Cynthia Hart, Lytton’ once again into Google when the phone rang.

“Hello, Psychic Surveys,” Ruby answered.

“I need your help. I can’t stand it anymore.”

After urging the distressed man to calm down, Ruby ascertained that he lived in a flat in Brighton, his name was Paul Ashton and he believed he was being haunted. Not only did his flat have a ‘nasty’ feel to it, he had experienced somebody pressing down on him several times as he attempted to sleep, as though trying to suffocate him. What’s more – and this was the last straw, Ruby gathered – his cat, Lips, now had to be fed outside, refusing to enter the house.

“My brother phoned me yesterday,” the man continued, hardly drawing breath, “and he could hear screaming on the line. Of course he asked me what the heck was going on at my end but I didn’t know. I heard nothing, just my brother’s voice. He told me he had a really bad feeling about what was happening in the flat and to get out quick. He said the screaming sounded evil. But I can’t just leave; my brother lives miles away in Leicester, I live in Brighton, I work in Brighton. I have to stay. Please, I’m not imagining this. Help me.”

“When was the last time you experienced an attack?” asked Ruby, all thoughts of Lytton temporarily suspended.

“Last night. I’m hardly sleeping. I’m too afraid.”

“And did you know the former occupant?”

“No, but I’ve heard about him from the neighbours, a right wrong ’un he was apparently, into drugs and all sorts.”

Grabbing a pen, Ruby said, “Look, give me your full address, I can be with you in less than an hour, is that okay?”

“Less than an hour? Oh, thank you, thank you so much.”

“No problem,” said Ruby. Before he could ring off, however, she remembered to ask how he had heard of Psychic Surveys.

“My friend in Hove, his son had a ghost in his bedroom; you managed to get rid of it. The Carters. Look, I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll pay anything. Just help me.”

“The Carters, yes of course,” said Ruby, replacing the receiver, more determined than ever that Mr Kierney would not tarnish in any way their growing reputation.

“Lytton, Lytton...” mused Cash in the background. “I can’t find any mention of him in relation to Cynthia Hart. It would help if we had a first name I suppose.”