The Haunting of Highdown Hall (16 page)

“That must have hurt,” Ruby replied, sensitive to his reaction.

“Not as much as I thought it would.” Cash seemed genuinely unaffected. “We’re a tight-knit family, my mum, brother and me; I don’t feel as though I’ve missed out by not having a father figure around.” Perking up he continued, “I’ll introduce you to her soon, my mum, she’s a fantastic cook too, does a brilliant jerk chicken. If you like spicy, you’ll adore it.”

After dinner they had watched
The Elitists
and both thought it was every bit as good as
The Phoenix
, but thankfully not as heart-wrenching or as long. As he got up to go, Cash suggested working on her website in her office again the following morning. “It would be lovely to have the company,” she grinned.

Watching him retreat once more up the pathway a few minutes later, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed at how compliant he was. She had told him she just wanted to be friends for the moment, but she had also wanted him to take the lead and kiss her again.
All in good time,
she reasoned as she shut the world out,
all in good time.

***

On Thursday, they both actually managed to do what they had supposed to do the previous day – Cash working beside her on her website, Ruby typing up another report as well as answering the phone and booking in more surveys – space clearing mostly, dispelling negative energies that had built up within domestic walls, energies that were responsible for headaches, lethargy and a general lack of wellbeing. She also had another go at finding out some information about the mysterious Lytton online but failed dismally.

Cash had to leave just after lunch, he had a client to meet, but before he went he showed her his proposed design for her home page. Ruby hadn’t really known what to expect but she was impressed with what he’d done. Clean and crisp, it was welcoming too, and very user-friendly. ‘Psychic Surveys’, as a bold heading, and their phone number were prominently placed at the top of the page. Underneath there was some Latin text showing where her introductory blurb about the company would go, and various buttons for people to press for further information on the different services they offered – home consultation, business consultation, space clearing, cleansings, distance healing and, last but not least, spirit release.

“It’s... brilliant,” she managed, thrilled.

“It’s getting there. I’ll get the other pages knocked up soon but you’ll need to provide me with the copy for them too.”

“Yes, of course,” nodded Ruby.

“And forums,” he continued. “We’ll forget about them, shall we?”

“For now,” confirmed Ruby.

Shutting down his laptop, Cash grinned at her.

“What?” she couldn’t help but quiz.

“PsychicSurveys.com,” he said, drawing out the words. “It’s got a ring to it hasn’t it?”

Reciting it a couple of times in her head, she had to agree. It did.

***

Jed has just settled himself cosily beside her when Theo burst in, her larger-than-life personality immediately filling the room. Behind her came Ness, so much smaller in comparison. Moments later they heard Corinna bounding up the stairs and the team was complete once more. They squeezed themselves around the meeting table, Ness, as usual, taking on tea duty.

Raising an eyebrow at Jed, Theo asked Ruby whether she’d managed to find out anything about Lytton.

Faltering slightly, Ruby admitted, “Well, I’ve searched and searched, but I still can’t find anything about Lytton online that might help us. There’s no mention of him at all in connection with Cynthia Hart. Like Cash said, it would help if we had a first name.”

“Cash?” said Theo, raising an eyebrow yet again.

Feeling her cheeks redden, Ruby was relieved when Theo quickly continued.

“The reason you’ve had no success – well, one of the reasons – is the man you’re looking for isn’t called Lytton at all, he’s called Rawlings, Geoffrey Rawlings.”

“Rawlings?” Ruby was confused.

“Yes,” continued Theo, adjusting her aqua blue gossamer scarf, a fetching contrast to her hair. “Rawlings was a man of many personas it seems, Clive Lytton being just one of them. A good name for the times I have to admit, very debonair.”

“And?” prompted Ruby, eager to know more.

“Liked to sniff around up and coming starlets, did Rawlings. They were a speciality of his; the younger and more naive they were, the better. He led them to believe he could help them achieve their dreams.”

“How?” said Corinna, fascinated.

“By selling their souls to the Devil.”

Ruby balked. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” replied Theo, enjoying the stir she was creating. “Hallucinogens helped him to convince his victims he was best friends with a certain you know who. He would feed them cocktails which, unbeknown to them, had been previously laced with something, mescaline probably. Whilst under the influence of the drug, he would suggest that the person who stood before them was the great Lucifer himself, no less. He would then try to initiate sex, an essential ingredient of the ritual he would tell them; it would help to cement the pact. Sometimes he was successful in getting his wicked way, sometimes he was given a well-deserved clip around the ear.”

“How do you know? About how successful he was I mean?”

“Because Cynthia wasn’t the first starlet to succumb, there were others. It all came to light when his last victim, Darlene Grayson, furious at what had happened to her, how she’d been duped, exposed Rawlings, or Lytton as Cynthia knew him, by tipping off the police about one of the parties he liked to throw. Several underage girls happened to be in attendance. Rawlings was caught in the act and arrested. The case went to court and he was sentenced to two years for gross indecency. He spent it banged up in Lewes Prison, funnily enough, right on our doorstep.”

“When was this?” Ruby continued to probe.

“In 1960, after Cynthia had passed. Too bad she wasn’t around to realise what a charlatan she’d got herself involved with.”

Ness took up the reins. “Cynthia was involved with him before she shot to fame. She must have been in her late teens/early twenties at the time. Impressionable.”

“And desperate,” added Theo.

“Certainly that,” conceded Ness. “Although officially Cynthia’s name was never mentioned in connection with either Rawlings or Lytton, putting two and two together I think it’s safe to assume her fear of passing over has something to do with him and the Devil he conjured up for her, courtesy of drugs and alcohol.”

“Erm, excuse me,” Corinna piped up. “Mescaline, I’ve never heard of it, what is it?”

“Ah, so young,” sighed Theo, looking fondly at her. “Mescaline, my dear, was the forerunner to LSD. A psychedelic drug, it was brought to the public’s attention thanks to authors such as Aldous Huxley. He wrote an essay about it in 1954 called
The Doors of Perception
and another one two years later entitled
Heaven & Hell,
topically enough. Both documenting experiences he had whilst high on drugs. Perhaps Rawlings was a fan.”

Ruby shook her head in wonder.

“How did you find all this out?” she said, “I couldn’t find a thing.”

“Simple really,” said Theo, draining her mug of tea. “Not everything’s online. Ness and I found a picture of them together in an old newspaper at the archives – ‘Cynthia Hart and Clive Lytton’, the caption ran, the pair of them were attending a play in the West End in which Cynthia had bagged herself a small role. She looked every inch the movie star, even back then when she was still a struggling actress. He, on the other hand, looked very much in lust.”

Placing her mug on the table, Theo continued, “I recognised him straightaway, Lytton I mean. In the mid-sixties he was busted again for his behaviour. He formed a black magic cult, a popular thing to do at the time. However, he didn’t bargain for the fact that some of his disciples really were into black magic – heavily so, drawing rather a lot of attention to themselves with their practices. You can get away with that sort of stuff in the Nevada desert, but not in South London. The police were called in yet again, and back he went to court. It was all over the papers at the time, I remember it well, most amusing. Far from being a scary Aleister Crowley type character, he was a gibbering wreck, asking to be imprisoned, to be kept safe from the ‘nutters’ as he called his devoted followers. He wasn’t given a sentence this time, just cautioned. Kept himself to himself after that.”

“So Lytton, Rawlings, or whatever he was called, he wasn’t in league with the Devil at all?” Corinna double-checked.

“No more than you or I,” scoffed Theo. “One of life’s fakers I’m afraid, a sorry specimen of a man. I expect he’s getting quite worried about everything now he’s nearing the end.”

“Nearing the end?” gasped Ruby. “Do you mean he’s still alive?”

Theo tossed aside a few rogue strands of pink hair. “He may well be.”

“How do I find out?”

“According to 192.com, there are 40 Geoffrey Rawlings living in the United Kingdom, three of whom live in Brighton. Of those three, one is in his fifties, which, of course, rules him out but the other two are in their eighties. I’ll bet you a pound to a penny one of those is him.”

“But why would he be living in Brighton?” Ruby was puzzled.

“Oh, he’s a local man. He was born in Brighton, hence his spell at Lewes Prison. I know he spent time in London in between but chickens come home to roost usually.”

“I’m on to it,” Ruby nodded, eager to find him. Looking admiringly at the old lady in front of her, she added, “Thanks so much, Theo. I don’t know how you find out these things.”

“It’s called research, darling,” Theo replied, somewhat pointedly Ruby thought. “You know, that little thing you’ve been busy doing as well?”

Ruby looked away. Just like Ness, Theo could often see straight through her.

***

Ruby rang Cash after they’d all gone. He was busy with a client, so rang her back just over an hour later. Quickly, she told him that Lytton’s real name was Geoffrey Rawlings, that he was a charlatan and a rapist to boot, or as good as, that it looked like he had tricked Cynthia Hart into believing she had sold her soul to the Devil – the probable reason behind her reluctance to move on – and, the best bit, that there was a possibility he was still alive and living locally.

“What do you mean a possibility?” Cash asked.

Ruby explained Theo’s theory.

“So, what are you planning to do? Visit them both?”

“Absolutely. If one of them is our Rawlings, he can damn well explain to Cynthia himself what he did. She might not believe us but she
will
believe it from the horse’s mouth.”

“You’re not going alone,” warned Cash, “it could be dangerous.”

Ruby couldn’t help laughing. “I hardly think I’ve got anything to fear from someone in their eighties!”

“No, no way Ruby. I’m coming with you. When do you intend going?”

“Tomorrow. Can you make it?”

“If it’s the afternoon I can.”

Agreeing, Ruby hung up, amused at the insistence of her ‘protector’.

Chapter Twelve

As they drove into Brighton, parking was not the only issue on Cash’s mind.

“Are you sure this Rawlings bloke isn’t into black magic anymore? I’ve seen
The Devil Rides Out
you know; those Satan worshippers, they can be pretty scary people.”

“Now, Cash,” Ruby looked at him in mock-earnestness, “you shouldn’t watch films like that if they’re going to upset you. You’re better off sticking to Disney.”

“Humph!” was Cash’s less than impressed reply.

As Cash had suspected, they had trouble parking. Both Rawlings lived close to the centre of Brighton, one in Kemp Town, the other not far from Western Road, the main shopping thoroughfare. A busy seaside city, second only to London in popularity, it was rammed at the best of times, but in the run up to Christmas it was bordering on the manic. After cruising the streets around Kemp Town for more than twenty minutes, Ruby eventually found a space, about a ten-minute walk to the first Mr Rawlings flat in Mount Pleasant. Expertly squeezing her car between an Audi and a Land Rover, she and Cash walked the rest of the way. As they drew close, Cash couldn’t help pointing out that Mount Pleasant was anything but.

“The views are nice though,” shrugged Ruby. “You can almost see the sea.”

“With binoculars perhaps,” was his surly reply.

Ruby smiled.

“Are you still cross with me?”

“Cross with you, why?”

“For the Disney remark.”

“Oh, that. No, I’m getting used to your wisecracks,” he answered wryly.

Stopping in front of a red brick semi-detached house, Ruby said, “This is it.”

“How are we going to explain who we are?”

“We’ll say we’re film students, from the university or something, studying the life and times of Cynthia Hart. We’re canvassing information on her from people likely to have been fans.”