The Haunting of Highdown Hall (2 page)

Banishing Lytton from her mind, Cynthia began to imagine the impact she was soon to make. All eyes would be on her as she swept down the oak staircase, she would hear sharp intakes of breath and then, as always, the vying would begin. Guests would elbow each other out of the way to reach her, some surreptitiously, others arrogantly, each and every one of them desperate to have her bestow on them even a cursory glance. Amusing really, considering how many years she had spent craving attention. And now it was
her
attention they craved; the film star, the diva, the most beautiful woman in the world.

She smiled at the thought, her face brightening further as she relaxed into a laugh. Returning to her dressing table, Cynthia picked up a silver compact – a gift from Chanel, her name engraved in swirling letters upon it, and reapplied blusher to the hollows of her cheeks. From a crystal bottle she dabbed
Phoenix
onto her wrists and cleavage; created in her honour by the House of Balmain, it was appropriately sensual with base notes of sandalwood, amber, patchouli and musk. Inhaling the heady scent, she listened again as excited chatter rose up from the floor below, electrifying the air in her bedroom.

Sally returned at last.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she rushed to explain. “The lock to the safe needed greasing; I had to call the butler to help me.”

“No matter,” Cynthia replied, indicating for her to fasten the jewels around her neck.

After she had done so, Sally took a step back.

“Oh, Ma’am,” she said, pure devotion in her doe-like eyes. “No diamond could shine as bright as you.”

Cynthia ignored the compliment. “Has everybody on the guest list arrived?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Including John?”

“Including Mr Sterling,” Sally confirmed.

Checking herself one last time, Cynthia stepped forward, ready, yet again, to enthral.

Chapter One

“Good morning, Psychic Surveys. How can I help?”

As the caller started explaining, Ruby couldn’t help but groan.

“Sorry?” said the caller, immediately picking up on it.

“Er, nothing,” Ruby attempted to gloss over, “bad vibes you were saying? Cold spots? Yes, that’s certainly something I can help you with. I’ll need to do a survey first and then we can decide on a course of action. Are you in tomorrow morning? Say ten o’clock?”

Pencilling the appointment in her diary, Ruby wondered (not for the first time) why it was that such inviting house prices at the new housing estate in Horam, a nearby East Sussex village, never rang alarm bells with the buyers. It was well known that Brookbridge had been built on land that was steeped in an unsavoury past. Ever since it was finished residents had been calling her complaining of ‘unusual activity’, as they called it – in their living rooms, their bedrooms, heck, even their bathrooms at times! After performing a survey, followed by a cleansing, on one of the houses eighteen months ago, word of her services had spread. Since then, Psychic Surveys had visited several houses on the estate as family after family reported being spooked by “strange goings on”. She replaced the receiver, testily.
What do they expect?
It’s the site of one of Britain’s most notorious mental asylums; countless books and websites have been devoted to the horrendous practices that were carried out there. Of course there are going to be bad vibes and cold spots. It’s only a matter of time before there’s an actual manifestation with troubled souls galore unable to move on. Knocking down walls, putting up new ones and giving the whole place a fancy new name isn’t going to change that fact.

No, it wouldn’t. But she, Ruby Davis, the latest in a long line of psychic females, could. She had a gift. A ‘gift’ her grandmother had taught her to utilise fully. As soon as she had been old enough to understand, Gran had drummed into her how important it was not to waste it; this precious gift had been bestowed on her, on
them
, for a reason. It was nothing less than her duty to help restless, earthbound souls to move on.

And Ruby took that duty seriously – as did her freelance team: Theo, Ness and Corinna. All psychically aware to varying degrees, she could call upon them at any time. Knowing that she didn’t have to cope alone when her workload got too much, when a spirit became more challenging than normal, or she simply needed a bit of company on a job (living and breathing that is), made her life that much easier. Cool and level-headed all three of them, they were absolutely indispensable.

Assessing her diary; tomorrow looked set to be a busy day. After Brookbridge, she had a house in Hove to visit. Belonging to a young couple, it had become the scene of repeated nightmares for their young son, who kept dreaming that another little boy was attacking him. His parents couldn’t understand it – he wasn’t being bullied at school or anything – and were at breaking point, not having had a decent night’s sleep since they moved in several months ago. She was their last hope, the mother had tearfully confided on the phone yesterday, they desperately needed her help.

“How did you hear about Psychic Surveys?” Ruby had asked, trying to calm Mrs Carter down.

“Word of mouth.”

Ruby smiled to herself. This mysterious ‘word of mouth’ kept her very busy indeed. But at least it meant people were pleased with what she and her team were doing, that they could rest in peace again – a right that didn’t belong solely to the spirit world. Although personal recommendations were great, she couldn’t avoid the fact that in this day and age she needed a website, especially if she wanted to build up her business. To date, Psychic Surveys had mainly worked on cases in the South East, including London. But spirits didn’t just confine themselves to one geographical area. The net needed to be cast wider and a website would help do that considerably.

Ruby knew there were other psychics doing what she was doing, but often in a more furtive manner, not out there, loud and proud as she was, as a bona fide high street business. In that, Psychic Surveys was unique. She wanted to unite as many psychic freelancers as possible under one umbrella, their aim to ease the minds of the living and convince the dearly departed it was time to move on. Not that they didn’t do long distance healings, Theo specialised in them, from the comfort of her fireside armchair, and often with great success. But it would be good to have a physical presence too, perhaps more offices up and down the country one day, where people could pop in with their concerns, chat about them over a cup of tea, ‘normalise’ the paranormal, remove the taboo.

In pursuit of this vision, Ruby had already discovered it was possible to purchase a website off the shelf, virtually speaking, and to set it up with very little technological know-how. So she had tried – and failed, dismally, her very little technological know-how obviously way too scant. “We all have our strengths”, her grandmother had soothed when Ruby had complained; but business was business, she needed a pro and fast. A shame then, that she couldn’t afford one. Although she charged for what they did, she had to, it didn’t seem ethical to charge too much, certainly not the fees surveyors of more earthly matters insisted upon. Theo, Ness and Corinna thought the same. Each of them agreed that theirs was a service as much as a business, hence their sliding scale of fees and the occasional client who wasn’t charged at all. Corinna didn’t rely solely on her wages from Psychic Surveys; she worked several shifts in a pub in Uckfield too. Theo was retired, and so had her pension. As for Ness, she seemed to have some private means of support, the source of which Ruby didn’t know and didn’t like to ask. Ruby had also worked part-time up until two years ago, in bars and shops mainly, even enduring a stint at Tesco stacking shelves. She’d never forget the store manager’s words to her on her first day:

“Welcome to the graveyard shift,” he had said. If only he knew.

Now, she was finally able to devote her time fully to Psychic Surveys, something she was grateful for, even if it did mean she had to rein in her lifestyle considerably: cut down on nights out, eat budget brands and only buy sale clothes, that sort of thing.

Thankfully, the rent was low on this excuse of an office of hers, procured from a friend of a friend. Set right at the top of a draughty old building that dated back to Tudor times (despite its more recent Victorian façade), she had to climb three flights of stairs for the pleasure of boiling in summer and freezing in winter. One day they would occupy more visible, ground floor premises on Lewes’s historic high street, but for now they were stuck up under the eaves, in a room that, at best, could be described as ‘cosy’, although to be fair it would look much bigger if not for her desk. Made of yew, with an inlaid green leather top, she’d managed to get it for a bargain price at Ardingly Antiques Fair, due to its previous owners’ clumsy or careless natures. Her office chair was equally impressive; a captain’s chair, regal almost, even if horsehair did poke alarmingly out of its parched leather skin. She’d get the seat recovered when she could, but for now a cushion on top would have to do. Sometimes she wished she had chosen more compact furniture, but there was very little she could do about that now. It had taken two strong, obliging men from the solicitors’ below to haul that beast of a desk up here; there was no way she was going to risk their wrath by asking them to take it back down again. Perhaps she’d attack her books instead, there were far too many of them lining shelves, stacked against the walls, on top of the filing cabinet. Most of them dealt with paranormal matters, but far too many were much-loved novels that she’d brought into work to read when things were quiet and had never taken back home. Ruby was the proud owner of a somewhat eclectic collection; Stephen King and Dean Koontz sat alongside Lee Child and Marian Keyes. Some books she couldn’t bear to part with, some she knew she’d never read again. Culling the novels at least might make a difference.

Ruby’s office was opposite the entrance to Lewes Castle, which was set slightly back from the High Street and reached via a small cobbled square. Sadly, the view from her tiny garret window was not of the grey and crumbling walls of the South and West Towers (all that remained of the imposing fortress built by the Normans after William the Conqueror’s victory in 1066), but of the sky, also grey more often than not, and only fleetingly punctuated by birds. If she stood on her chair she could just see the verdant South Downs that lay beyond the town, but her more usual view was Rowland Hilder’s
‘Morning Shadows over a Country Track’.
‘Borrowed’ from the family home, it graced the wall to the left of her desk – since childhood she had been fond of its oast house, autumnal fields and skeleton trees.

It wasn’t only tomorrow that was going to be busy, today would be too. She had several reports to type up from various visits carried out last week, plus the team were coming in for their weekly meeting after lunch. Theo had been to assess a house in Sussex for a new client. Buried deep in the countryside, the house had once belonged to a famous film star, someone Theo had admired very much in her younger days. The current owner was spooked to say the least judging by his voice when Ruby had spoken to him on the phone last week. Theo had jumped at the chance of doing the initial survey and they were going to discuss her findings today. His was another word of mouth enquiry. It seemed, for the present at least, the lack of a website was hardly leaving them bereft. Psychic Surveys had never been busier. Which was worrying, really, when she thought about it; so many souls having trouble crossing the great divide, and for so many different reasons.

Sighing, she returned to her laptop and began typing.

***

“Hi, Ruby,” Ness said as she wandered into the office, heading straight for the kettle which lived on top of a second, much smaller desk, pushed up against the rear wall. Their ‘meeting desk’ as Ruby grandly called it – not an antique this time, but a cheap and cheerful purchase from Ikea around which the four of them would huddle together.

“Cuppa?” she enquired.

Ruby nodded her head enthusiastically. Her office had no radiators, only a Calor Gas heater blasting valiantly away. Despite it, she still felt cold – the early December chill permeating the poorly maintained walls of this ancient building and burying itself deep inside her bones.

As Ness busied herself, Ruby typed the last few sentences of her report on a house in Southover Street, in the bustling city of Brighton, eight miles away. When they had visited, neither she nor Theo had sensed any ‘paranormal’ presence, so Ruby explained that after careful consideration it was their recommendation that the residents call in a plumber. Old pipes often explained the inexplicable, she typed – airlocks could be responsible for some very strange noises indeed. If that didn’t resolve matters, Psychic Surveys would visit again, at no extra cost. Finishing the last sentence, she had no idea whether Mr and Mrs Gill would be disappointed or relieved that there was an apparently ‘normal’ reason for what was happening in their house. It surprised her how often it was the former, as though people actively
wanted
dealings with the supernatural, to be able to boast to their family and friends that they lived in a haunted house perhaps – everyone loved a good ghost story after all. But dealing with supernatural matters was not what films such as
Ghostbusters
and
Casper
made it out to be. There were very few laughs involved and rarely any excitement – what there was, was a whole lot of sadness.