The Haunting of Highdown Hall (20 page)

Arriving at his flat, just around the corner from the Bayswater Road, she had been disappointed by what she had found. It was not grand at all, but positioned at the top of a once grand but now run-down Victorian town house. Less than salubrious characters peppering the streets about it.

The front door had been left open. She let herself in and climbed three flights of stairs, trying not to breathe in the stale smell of urine, sweat and something else, something vaguely familiar.

Reaching No.8, Lytton’s flat, she found the door to that open too. Before entering, she listened carefully to see if she could hear anyone inside, but all was silent.

“Mr Lytton?” she had called upon entering. And then, more daringly, “Clive?”

The room was empty. Looking around, she had noted a large bed in the far corner, grubby curtains hanging at the windows and little else. Had it not been for the tempting promise of what he could do for her, she would have turned on her heels right then. Where
was
he?

“Ah, my darling,” said a voice to her right. Mr Lytton emerged from the bathroom, clad in a silk dressing gown. “There you are. Come in, come in. Just us tonight, I’m afraid. Lucinda and Arabella couldn’t make it. Terribly disappointing, I know.”

Briefly, Cynthia wondered who Lucinda and Arabella were; she had also wondered at their names, they seemed to belong to creatures far more exotic than her. Walking towards her, Lytton reached out an arm, shutting the door behind her. She was in his lair. A fly caught in a spider’s web.

Lytton must have noticed how nervous she was.

“Relax,” he had said, “have some of this.”

It was the smell she had noticed in the hallway, the smell that sometimes drifted out from the dressing rooms of the back street theatres she worked in, making her feel lightheaded whenever she breathed it in.

“Go on,” he had noticed her reluctance, “it won’t hurt you.”

She did as he wanted her too, took a few drags of the cigarette offered to her, wanting very much to relax; it was something she didn’t allow herself to do very often.

After a few moments her head started to spin but she found herself giggling too, suddenly everything seemed funny; she remembered that, gloriously funny.

She continued smoking, one cigarette perhaps or was it two? She had drunk vodka too, not her normal tipple, shot after shot. She couldn’t remember having so much fun. Mr Lytton was clearly having fun too.

How many hours had passed? She didn’t know. Time was as hazy then as it was now. Finally, she had asked him the question she had longed to ask him all night.

“How can you help me?”

She remembered his words.

“Your dreams, I can help you achieve them. It’s what I do.”

Beating back a faint wave of nausea, she had leaned forward, eager to hear more.

“Tell me...”

And he did. About the Devil he served, the dark lord who made all things possible. Cynthia remembered giggling even more at his words, taking another shot of vodka, her head lurching violently as she did so.

Recovering herself, she had scoffed, “And the Devil’s going to help
me
?”

“The Devil is on your side.”

Which was more than God was, she remembered thinking. She had prayed so hard for recognition, her fervent pleas falling on deaf ears.

“And how do I get in touch with the Devil?” she was still only teasing, or so she had thought, her mind swimming by this time.

“Through me,” had been Lytton’s reply, reaching for the bottle and pouring the contents straight into her mouth, some of it missing, dribbling down her chin, onto the dark green dress she had been wearing.

Darkness had claimed her then. Not the all-consuming darkness that held her in its grip now, but a patchy darkness she had woken from to find herself riding Lytton, sitting astride him, completely naked as was he, her dress discarded. Peering closer she realised it wasn’t Lytton. It was the creature he had been talking about, the Devil himself, impossibly handsome but with depthless eyes, eyes she could drown in. And then he had smiled; a smile that had both scintillated and terrified her, his mouth a cavern which she had to stop herself falling into. His hands had come up then to grab at her breasts, sharp claws leaving trails of blood behind them she was sure. She had ridden him harder, harder still, realising after a few moments that it was she who was the one laughing, a wild sound, joining him in madness. She had – and she shuddered to admit it now – enjoyed rutting with the creature below her. She had wanted all he had to give, at whatever price.

Again blackness consumed her; again she had come round. Lytton was nowhere to be seen. She remembered sitting up in bed, the carnage surrounding her jolting her fully awake; empty vodka bottles, several of them, cigarette ends, clothes strewn everywhere, hers not his. Moving slowly, she had felt sore, violated in places she hadn’t thought possible. Testament to the evil she had courted.

Gathering her clothes, she had hurried from Lytton’s flat, vowing never to return. For days after she had lain low, sobbing, aching and refusing to move from the dismal confines of her tawdry room. She had lost her part in
Summer’s End
; they couldn’t afford to wait for her. Life had seemingly fallen apart; but then it had blossomed, unexpectedly, spectacularly, the Devil true to his word, despite the fact that she had doubted him.

And now it was payback time. Now he had come to collect. The Devil didn’t forget.

Chapter Fourteen

Back at his flat, Ruby and Cash continued to soothe a highly agitated Rawlings; Ruby terrified that today might spawn another casualty. She suspected that at his age his heart might be weak, perhaps prone to angina which could easily lead to a heart attack. However, after keeping a careful eye on him, he gradually calmed, eventually asking them to go.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Ruby was worried still.

“Fine, I’ll be fine,” he said, but his voice was subdued.

Having settled him in his armchair with a fresh cup of tea, she found a tartan blanket in his bedroom, thrown on top of a hard-backed chair in the corner. Sniffing it, it didn’t smell too bad. She returned to the living room and tucked it round his legs. Next she switched the TV on.

“Leave it on BBC1,” he ordered, “always rubbish on the other side.”

Doing as she was bid, some drama in full flow, she turned to him. “I’ll phone you tomorrow and perhaps I’ll come by later in the week? Check you’re okay.”

“Suit yourself,” the old man grunted in reply. Before she and Cash took their leave, however, he spoke again.

“I know what I did,” he said, his voice so low Ruby wasn’t actually sure he meant them to hear. “I know what I was, I’m not proud. And I
am
sorry. I hope she finds peace soon.”

“Me too,” whispered Ruby, gently shutting the door behind her.

***

Outside on the street, Ruby phoned Theo.

“She had to have four stitches,” Theo bluntly informed her.

Theo and Corinna often worked together; there was a strong bond between them, almost like that of a mother and daughter.

“Tell her... please tell her I’m sorry. Where is she now?” asked Ruby.

“At home, with her parents. Resting. She’s exhausted.”

“Yes, of course she is, I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Do that,” said Theo before adding, “I think we need a meeting soon, set a few things straight.”

“Yes,” said Ruby meekly. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow too.”

After hanging up, Ruby felt the burden of guilt weighing heavily upon her.

“Hey,” said Cash, putting his arms around her and drawing her close. “What happened to Corinna, it’s not your fault. You were doing what you thought was best.”

Comforted by his embrace, she felt tears prick at her eyes but she would not let them fall. She was stronger than that. Unfortunately, her emotions refused to cooperate with her steadfast thoughts and several tears escaped, spilling rebelliously onto her cheeks. Quickly she pushed Cash away, wiping roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I need... I need to get back to the office,” she said hastily. “I’ve got admin to do. I’ll drop you back home.”

Cash must have sensed she meant it; he didn’t push further. Instead, he walked with her back to the car; the subsequent drive from Brighton to Lewes a silent one.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Cash’s voice was concerned but firm as he got out of the car. “Okay,” was all she could manage in reply.

Ruby was already dreading tomorrow. Not because of Cash, but because of the conversations she would have to have with Theo and Mr Kierney.

Sitting for a few minutes in her car, her hand on the steering wheel, she decided not to go to her office after all. She would go home. Not to the flat in De Montfort Road but to Hastings; her real home, back to her grandmother. She desperately needed validation for her actions, reassurance that she had done the right thing in bringing Rawlings to Highdown Hall, even if the right thing had made things worse. Only Gran, a woman whose passion for helping grounded spirits she had inherited, could give her that support. Putting her foot down on the accelerator, she sped out of Lewes and onto country roads.

***

Ruby’s mother, Jessica, and grandmother, Sarah, lived together in a cottage in the Old Town of Hastings. Theirs was a modest 3-bedroomed house, the bedroom that used to belong to Ruby kept much the same as it was when she had left at the age of eighteen, eager to strike out on her own. Sarah always kept a vase of fresh flowers in Ruby’s bedroom, not just because she loved them, but because she believed their bright beauty kept alive a room that lay mostly empty, preventing it from stagnating or drawing attention.

It was just after six when Ruby arrived in the Old Town. She parked her car in the free zone, about a ten minute walk from the house.

Although she had lived in Lewes for several years, Hastings – the town she had grown up in – was still very much a part of her. She loved it here, it
felt
like home. She was particularly fond of the Old Town, with its mixture of houses and cottages vying for space amongst its tiny, winding lanes; some dated back as far as the thirteenth century, while a few distinctly more modern ones were at odds with their surroundings. The High Street ran the length of the Old Town and was traffic-free. Like her adopted town of Lewes, it boasted an interesting assortment of shops, rather unique one-of-a-kind shops, selling antiques predominantly, but also second-hand books, jewellery and clothes. Dotted in between were several warm and welcoming coffee shops, as well as cafés and a couple of fish restaurants. There were pubs too, some of the finest in Hastings many would say – The Jenny Lind, The Hastings Arms, The First In Last Out – frequented not by the people who lived in the more modern part of town but the residents of the Old Town themselves. People she had grown up with, people who remembered her well, who always welcomed her back with open arms.

Drawing closer to Lazuli Cottage, the cry of seagulls loud above her, Ruby wondered if she should have called ahead. But she needn’t have worried. As she walked up the cobbled path, weeds poking determinedly between the stones, the door opened.

“Ruby! Lovely to see you, darling,” said her grandmother, her voice like velvet, as comforting as home itself. “I’ve just put the kettle on. Come in. You can tell me all about it.”

Entering the narrow hallway, Ruby couldn’t help but smile. Of course she didn’t need to ring ahead, she never did with Gran. Following her, she bypassed the living room where a log fire burned, the smell of smoke and wood capturing the very essence of winter.

“Where’s Mum?” she said, taking a seat at the kitchen table, a table that like her grandmother and mother before her, she had camped under as a child, lost in a world of her own making, a world just as removed from this one as the next.

“Upstairs, sleeping,” said Sarah, pouring hot water into a teapot. “She’s not feeling well.”

Jessica hadn’t felt well for as long as Ruby could remember. No, that wasn’t strictly true, she chastised herself. If she reached back through the years, to when she was six, perhaps seven, she could remember her mother laughing, always laughing it seemed, full of life, exuberant. Not so pleasant memories of that time were the rows between her mother and grandmother, lots of them, the worry in the older woman’s voice striking a chord with Ruby. Her mother had been headstrong, reckless even. She must have been, it was the only explanation for what had happened to her, for the way she was now. Reckless when dealing with the spirit world for sure, opening herself up to forces she could have easily avoided. But what forces exactly? Ruby didn’t know.

According to Sarah, every person’s soul, without exception, was precious, no matter what heinous act they had committed; there was atonement, certainly, but in the form of re-education, not burning pits of brimstone and fire. Fear was often at the root of heinous acts. Fear, loneliness and rejection. Never just a propensity for evil alone. Once you understood that, believed that even the worst amongst us was magnificent at core, you began to understand the way the universe and everything in it worked. That everybody,
everything
was part of a much greater good. Ruby wanted to believe her grandmother. What she said made perfect sense. But if it were true, if evil as such did not exist, if demons weren’t real, only the product of a creative mind, what had frightened her mother so much, rendering her little more than an empty shell for nearly eighteen years? Gran would never say.
It won’t help you to know, Ruby,
she had told her once after Ruby had summoned up the courage to ask.
What is a part of your mother’s world does not have to be a part of yours. Carry on with your work, stay in the light and you won’t go wrong.