The Haunting of Highdown Hall (9 page)

Crouching further into the corner, she made herself small, smaller still, shielding her eyes from the Devil searching for her. The Devil that she sensed was near. It was too soon to pay. She didn’t want to pay. Not now, not ever.

Damn Lytton!
She raged as sobs tore through her.

***

Lytton? Who’s Lytton?
Ruby wondered, careful to keep her thoughts shrouded for fear of enraging Cynthia further. And what was the bargain she had struck with him? So quickly the dead star’s anger had given way to terror. A terror that seemed to be anchoring her, that was connected in some way to someone called Lytton. It was clear Cynthia had no recollection of her passing. She remembered the party it seemed, but not the heart attack or the events leading up to it. Perhaps an explanation was the key to releasing her.

Looking around the bedroom, Ruby could see what Theo had meant; it was most definitely a shrine. Kept that way by Sally presumably, the devoted maid.

Velvet drapes, deep red in colour, like the precious stone she herself was named after and sumptuous if dusty to behold, adorned two sets of floor to ceiling windows. In between the windows was a dressing table, art deco in style with an assortment of silver brushes and combs artfully arranged on top as well as crystal scent bottles, some full, and some half full. On each and every item lay more dust. She knew if she scrutinised further, she’d see cobwebs too. If Mr Kierney had employed a team of cleaners, Cynthia obviously hadn’t let them into her bedroom either.

Double doors with ornate handles, also art deco in style, led to a walk-in wardrobe, empty but for a few padded hangers swaying slightly in the breeze that Ruby had created by opening the doors. Where were Cynthia’s clothes? Lovingly placed in storage perhaps? In the attic above them? Or perhaps they’d been auctioned off or sold to a museum somewhere. There was another door, a peek around it revealing a large en-suite bathroom in shimmering white marble, a sizeable glass bottle that looked to contain bath salts standing beside a smaller empty bottle on a floating glass shelf above the dramatic claw-footed tub. Back in the bedroom, Persian rugs, predominantly red in colour, but with blue in them too and green, the colours once vibrant she presumed, now distinctly faded, were scattered across the oak floorboards, but the bed was the star of the show. Obviously custom-made, it was much bigger than king-size, it was enormous, the wood dark and sturdy, walnut perhaps? There were four intricately carved half posts at each corner, a silken cover in midnight blue with scatter cushions not thrown but arranged on top, some sequinned, although bare in patches. Walking over to the bed, she laid her hands upon it. Vibrations, not entirely savoury, could be detected, but Ruby ignored them. Cynthia’s private life was none of her concern.

On either side of the monolith were two bedside tables, sturdy also and in matching wood – again custom-made she’d wager. Quickly, Ruby rifled through the drawers, they had been emptied too, home now to just more dust and cobwebs.

“Cynthia,” she called out. “I’m leaving now but I’m coming back with Theo and some friends of mine. In the meantime, please remember, you are not alone. We are with you, my friends and I, and our intent is to help you. There’s no need to be frightened anymore.”

Nothing, zero, nada was the response. Cynthia was gone. Hiding again.

As soon as she left the room, Cash stood up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern very much apparent in his eyes.

“I’m fine. But Cynthia, she’s not. Far from it.”

Walking side by side down the corridor, they returned to the staircase. “There was such a dark feeling coming from that room, it was almost, I don’t know how to describe it... cloying somehow. And then it just went, disappeared. Have you... you know... sent her on her way?”

“Not yet, I’ll need the entire team to do that I think. Fear tends to make a spirit resistant and for some reason, Cynthia is very afraid.”

Descending the stairs, Cash replied “I’ll help. I want to. In whatever way I can.”

“What, you mean hold a crystal or something?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “Unless you promote me to smudge stick duty that is.”

“Smudge sticks?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “You know what they are?”

“Yep, they’re herb wands, used predominantly to purify psychic space and create an aura of protection; I’ve been doing my homework.”

“In that case,” she laughed along with him, “promotion might just be on the cards.”

***

“Did you sense her?” said Mr Kierney, materialising from the same shadows he had retreated into as they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Yes,” Ruby replied.

“And, what you do, this cleansing business, it works doesn’t it?”

“Usually.”

As soon as the word left her mouth, Ruby knew she had made a mistake. Proving her right, Mr Kierney seized upon it.

“Usually? What do you mean
usually
? It either works or it doesn’t.”

She rushed to reassure him.

“I mean usually we are successful,
very
successful concerning the removal of spirits, as many of our former clients would testify. In fact, I remember you saying, you heard about us through a former client didn’t you?”

“I did,” Mr Kierney agreed grudgingly.

“A Mr Warner, from Peckham in London? A friend of yours?”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about him. It’s my case I’m interested in.”

Taking a deep breath, Ruby continued “I’ve made a connection with Cynthia, which is an encouraging sign. She knows who I am and who Theo is. I’ve stated our intent – which is, of course, to help her. Fear tends to make a spirit resistant. Now that she knows she’s not alone, hopefully she’ll feel less fearful next time we meet, more inclined to move on.”

“I don’t give a damn about her feelings. Just get her out of my house.”

My house? Only by default.

Crossing the Grand Hall, Ruby was disappointed by Mr Kierney’s attitude. Cynthia was as scared as he was, more so, a little sympathy for her plight wouldn’t go amiss.

Before leaving, curiosity got the better of her. “Mr Kierney, where are all Cynthia’s personal things, her clothes, things like that? The drawers and wardrobes in her bedroom are empty.”

“Don’t look at me, I can’t get in there, remember?” Less defensively, he continued, “What I do know is that Sally sold a lot of stuff off, broke her heart according to my mother. Cynthia may have left her the house but she didn’t leave any funding to pay for it.”

Ruby nodded in understanding. It was as she thought. No matter. Although personal possessions were handy when trying to connect with a spirit, they weren’t the be all and end all. She had connected well enough with Cynthia just being in her precious surrounds.

Reaching the door, Ruby asked “Is Monday okay for my team to visit?”

“Monday? You can’t do sooner?”

She could juggle her week to fit in with his demands but she didn’t want to – she wanted instead to find out as much information about the movie star as possible before she returned. Knowledge was armour too; it would help them further, she was sure.

“I’m sorry, Mr Kierney, Monday is our earliest slot. Would you like me to book you in?”

“If you really can’t do better than that, I suppose so,” he replied, seething.

Just before she and Cash stepped back into the winter sunlight, Mr Kierney spoke again.

“What if it doesn’t work, if she refuses to budge?”

“Then we go deeper,” Ruby replied.

“Deeper? At what cost? Financial I mean.”

“We can come to an agreement regarding cost. What truly matters is sending Cynthia to the light.”

“And my peace of mind!” Mr Kierney pointed out aggressively.

“And your peace of mind,” Ruby acknowledged.

“I hope you’re right. I hope you can get rid of her. That you’re not just a bunch of charlatans.”

“We’re not,” said Ruby, bristling at the accusation, “and we’ll prove it.”

“You’d better,” Mr Kierney replied stiffly before adding, “You do know I’m a journalist, don’t you? For a much respected national newspaper?”

“I do,” said Ruby.

She also knew a threat when she heard one.

Chapter Six

Cash was proving to be very punctual, turning up on her doorstep as promised at eight the next evening, waving a DVD at her.

“It’s
The Phoenix
, Cynthia’s signature film according to the woman on the till at Asda.”

“You actually bought it?” said Ruby, motioning for him to come in.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, it was only three quid, along with other greats from the era.”

“Like what?” Ruby led him down the hallway to the kitchen.

“
Gone With the Wind
,
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
, do you want me to go on?”

“No, no, I get the picture.”

“Literally,” he said, winking at her.

In the kitchen, she was about to ask if he wanted red or white wine at the exact moment he proffered a bottle of red.

“Red then,” she said, laughing.

“Is that okay?” enquired Cash, worry crossing his face. “Or do you prefer white? If you do, I can always pop back out and get some; the off-license isn’t far.”

“No, not at all, I like both to be honest,” she said, taking the bottle from him and examining the label. “This looks really nice.”

The Australian Shiraz promised plenty of spice and bursting berry flavours. Extracting the cork, she poured them both a generous glass and handed one to him. The nerves she had been trying to keep under control all day suddenly getting the better of her, she took two huge gulps, wishing she’d had the foresight to have a glass of something relaxing before his arrival.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a little too intuitively she thought.

“Fine,” Ruby mumbled, thinking all the while:
Get a grip, girl!

Looking around, he asked, “Is, er, Jed with us?”

“No, not right now. I haven’t seen him all day.”

“So it’s just the two of us?”

“It is,” she confirmed, leading him through to the living room.

Heading for the sofa, she tried to seat herself comfortably but was amazed at how awkward she felt, her limbs behaving as though they belonged to someone else entirely. Cash, however, was clearly at ease, kicking his boots off and settling cheerfully beside her.

How she wished she hadn’t worn her tightest pair of jeans. Flattering they may be, but the waistband was digging into her stomach, making her feel even more uncomfortable. She’d have to make an excuse later, say she was popping to the bathroom or something and swap them for a slightly looser pair. Hopefully Cash, like your typical male, would remain oblivious to such a costume change.

“Have you got the DVD?” said Ruby, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

“Yeah, here it is,” he said, passing it to her. As he did so, his fingers brushed hers, causing her to tremble slightly. Quickly, she focused on the blurb in front of her.

Cynthia Hart pours her heart and soul into the determined and feisty character of Gayle Andrews, not only portraying one of literature’s most stirring heroines but becoming her in a truly effortless performance. Her first award-winning role, it is one that cements her place in the hall of fame, inspiring not just her generation but generations of women to come.

“Wow!” said Ruby, impressed. “And all for just three pounds.”

“I would have paid a fiver if pushed,” replied Cash, tongue in cheek.

“And have you seen it?
The Phoenix
?”

“I think so, when I was a kid. Around Christmas time probably. From what I remember, it was good. Or rather she was good. The film’s a bit corny really.”

“Shall I put it on?” Corny or not, Ruby was intrigued.

“Sure,” he replied, leaning further back into the sofa.

At just under three hours, the film
was
good, it was excellent. Several times the harrowing story of Gayle Andrews nearly reduced Ruby to tears and she’d had to reach for a hanky to dab discreetly at her eyes and nose. Ploughing through a second bottle of red wine together, this time one she had in stock, had done nothing to help her emotional state, she was sure. Thankfully, Cash didn’t seem to mind the copious sniffing and sighing going on beside him. Glancing at him every now and then, she thought his eyes looked suspiciously misty too on occasion.

The young and vibrant actress on screen was so different to the spirit full of dark brooding emotion she had encountered at Highdown Hall only yesterday. It was hard to reconcile the two. What had happened to Cynthia Hart during her lifetime? Why was she so frightened? Finding out ‘what’ wouldn’t be hard. There was a mountain of stuff on the internet about her. The ‘why’, however, could prove more difficult.