The Secrets of Ghosts (26 page)

‘I trust you. That’s enough.’

‘But I can’t help you. I want to, but I’m drawing a blank, you know that. Is Barton any use?’

‘I doubt it. My instinct says he’s a fraud, but I might be wrong,’ Katie said. ‘What if he isn’t? And we don’t know Hannah Ash. She seems genuine, but I’ve not always been the best judge of these things.’

‘Lily Thomas was a long time ago,’ Gwen said.

‘Seven years,’ Katie said. ‘Not long enough.’

‘What do your instincts tell you?’

Katie closed her eyes. ‘It’s too noisy in my head. I don’t know.’

Gwen poured the tea. ‘I know that feeling.’

They sipped tea for a few moments and Katie enjoyed the feeling of peace Gwen’s kitchen always gave her. Cat wound around her ankles purring loudly and she reached down and scratched behind his ear. She felt a spark, like static electricity, and it reminded her of holding Fred’s hand. Fred Byres’s recovery was the elephant in the room. She wanted to ask Gwen how he was getting on, but she didn’t want Gwen to look at her with that awful expression again. The one that was part shocked, part frightened.

She stroked Cat and he arched up, rubbing his head against her hand. She felt the spark again and moved her hand away. ‘Why did the ghost in the pavilion get all solid like that? When I touched him?’

‘I’ve been through the journals twice, I swear,’ Gwen said, ‘but there’s nothing.’

‘Is it linked to what happened with Fred?’ Katie forced the words out. ‘I thought I would help the ghost, like I helped Fred, but it doesn’t seem to work that way.’

‘I don’t know. No one in our family has ever been able to heal someone with a touch.’

Katie tried not to hear the accusatory tone in Gwen’s voice. It had almost been better when she’d been powerless and a disappointment. ‘That’s because it’s impossible,’ she said. ‘There’s always balance. You told me that.’

Gwen sipped her tea and then said, ‘That’s exactly what worries me.’

Chapter 21

Katie was wandering through the hotel, looking for Violet, when Patrick opened the door to the library and gestured to her.

‘I need you.’

Katie’s first thought was that Henry had discovered a way to move things and was floating books or something equally unhelpful, so she wasn’t ready for a real-live person to be in the room, rising from her chair and holding out a hand.

‘Come in, come in.’ Patrick ushered Katie forwards. ‘This is Gillian Lewis from the
Chronicle
.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Gillian held out a hand. Katie ignored it and spoke to Patrick. ‘I’m not speaking to a journalist.’

Violet popped up in front of her. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said. ‘Make him stop.’

Katie gritted her teeth to stop herself from answering Violet. The last thing she wanted was to encourage Patrick.

‘This building has a fascinating history,’ Patrick said. ‘And a tragic one.’

Katie and Violet both looked at him.

‘The Beaufort family built this house in 1698. You can imagine the births and deaths, love and laughter, that these walls have seen.’ Patrick paused to look around at the walls. ‘Guests have reported hearing music playing quietly in the back corridor, a table was seen to move without anybody touching it, and Housekeeping reports seeing indentations in the bed in The Plum Suite where nobody has slept.’

The journalist was scribbling furiously in a notebook. She looked up. ‘Anything else?’

‘Well, there was a ghostly woman in a white dress seen in the library. She is sitting with a book on her lap and some people have reported seeing a kitten playing by her feet.’

‘And you think that is Violet Beaufort?’

Katie couldn’t stop herself from looking at Violet. A mixture of disgust and interest was fighting it out on her face.

‘Well, having looked into the history of the house, Violet Beaufort fits the description and she did mysteriously disappear in 1937.’

‘Disappear?’ Gillian cocked her head. ‘Not die?’

‘Presumed dead, after a few years, I believe,’ Patrick said. ‘As I said. Mysterious.’

The journalist nodded. ‘Okay. That’s good.’ She tapped her notebook. ‘Perhaps we could get the police to reopen the case. That would make it current affairs, too.’

‘There was a suggestion of scandal at the time. A love triangle gone wrong—’

‘No,’ Violet said. ‘I don’t like this.’ She turned to Katie. ‘Make them stop. I don’t want to know.’ Then she did her disappearing trick.

The journalist was looking at Katie expectantly. She had a neat brown bob and a kind face. Katie wasn’t fooled. ‘This is the first I’m hearing about this,’ she said. She forced a little laugh. ‘It all sounds rather far-fetched.’

‘Katie saw the table flying and has been looking into the occurrences. She belongs to a family known for its sensitivity to—’

‘Mr Allen,’ Katie broke in loudly. ‘The Pink Room has a blocked sink in the en suite. Can I have the plumber’s number?’

‘In a moment,’ Patrick said.

‘Fine.’ Katie turned on her heel and left the room. She wasn’t playing a part in Patrick’s little charade.

He caught up with her in the hall, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Go back inside.’

‘No,’ Katie said, shrugging away. ‘I’m not talking to a journalist. I want no part in this. Whatever you’re doing.’

‘You think I like this?’ Patrick said, his face red. ‘My wife is furious and the town council is going to have a fit. But this hotel is a disaster. It wasn’t profitable enough before and now I’ve got too many loans. My hands are tied.’

‘This is not the right way to go,’ Katie said.

‘It’s too late,’ Patrick said. ‘Word is spreading that The Grange is haunted. Either I jump on board and make it a feature, or it’ll bury me. Barton’s doing another show and he’s happy to talk about the spiritual presences he’s sensed at the hotel.’

‘I’ll bet he is,’ Katie said.

‘He says that ghost tours are big business. If we can get listed as a haunted hotel, we might even get picked up by the television people.’

‘You don’t want The Grange to be known for this,’ Katie said, appealing to his vanity. ‘It’s not very upmarket, is it?’

‘There’s a programme called
The Real Ghostbusters
. With enough publicity, Barton says he can convince them to film an episode here and that’ll really put The Grange on the map.’

‘What kind of map?’ Katie said. ‘Surely ghosts are bad for business. They’re throwing stuff around — people could get hurt.’

‘Ah.’ Patrick wagged a finger and Katie stamped on the urge to smack him. ‘Haven’t you heard of the phrase “if you can’t beat them, join them”?’

‘Haven’t you heard the phrase “don’t poke a sleeping lion”?’

Patrick tried an avuncular chuckle. ‘I hardly think a spirit is as dangerous as a lion. Besides, maybe Barton will be able to get him to move on. I mean, it’s not like you’ve had any luck in that department.’

‘No.’

‘Not that I don’t appreciate your effort.’ He all but patted her on the head.

Greg Barton walked down the main staircase, shooting the cuffs on his suit jacket. ‘It’s Katie, isn’t it? Be a dear and run up to my room—’

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m milking it, darling, and if you had an ounce of sense you’d do the same.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You’re quite attractive, really. You’ve got a good face for television.’

‘I’m not talking to any journalists and I’m definitely not going on television,’ Katie said automatically.

‘Suit yourself.’ Greg shrugged theatrically. ‘I was just trying to be kind.’

‘I doubt that,’ Katie said, and Greg smiled with no humour, then opened the door to the library.

Katie moved away so that she wouldn’t have to listen to Barton smarming at Gillian Lewis.

Patrick’s face had gone bright red. ‘Are you really not going to help me?’

Katie crossed her arms, tried to gather some inner strength. ‘It’s not part of my duties, so I’ve no obligation to speak to a journalist. And I am trying to help you, you’re just not listening.’

She fixed her gaze over Patrick’s shoulder, so that she wouldn’t have to watch his expression. She saw a familiar figure in a burgundy housekeeping tabard come through the staff door and cross the hall.

‘Ah, finally,’ Patrick said, and moved to usher Zofia into the library.

Katie reached out for her first. ‘What are you doing?’

Zofia looked at the ground. ‘Mr Allen says that I need to speak with the lady from the news.’

‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

‘Please,’ Zofia said, pulling her arm away. ‘I need this job.’

‘Patrick,’ Katie said. ‘Tell Zofia she doesn’t have to speak to the press. Or anyone she doesn’t want to speak to. Ever.’

Patrick gaped at her. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Katie looked him in the eye. ‘Don’t make me tell you again. Unless you want me to call Gwen up here.’

After a moment, Patrick said tightly, ‘You don’t have to go in there.’

Zofia looked fearfully at Katie and hurried away.

‘If you keep bullying your staff, it’ll come back to haunt you.’

‘What?’ Patrick started, looking genuinely alarmed.

‘Sorry,’ Katie said, not meaning it. ‘Poor choice of words.’

Katie went up to The Plum Suite to find Violet. She looked angry.

‘The newspaper people are going to start researching it, now. You may as well tell me.’

‘I don’t know. I already told you.’

‘You disappeared, Violet. Your body was never found.’

Violet took another swipe at the ghostly doll’s house. ‘So?’

‘What if it’s the reason you’re here? What if we’re supposed to find out? Supposed to make it public or something? Bring the person responsible to justice?’

Violet pinched her fingers together, her face a picture of concentration. She was trying to pick up a tiny dog that was just in front of the main entrance. Her fingers slipped through it and she growled under her breath.

‘Violet?’

‘I told you, I don’t like to think about it.’

‘Please. What if it’s connected to the stuff that’s happening, now? What if it’s the key to your being here?’

‘You want to get rid of me?’ Violet stopped trying to pick up the dog and turned large wet eyes onto Katie. ‘You want me to go?’ Fat tears began coursing down her face and her mouth opened in an ugly shape. ‘Why do you want me to go? This is my house. You should be the one to leave. Not me. It’s not fair.’

‘Violet, I’m not trying to get rid of you. I promise.’

Violet turned back to the house, swiping her hand wildly at the figure of the dog. It connected, the dog spinning away across the polished hardwood floor. ‘I thought you were my friend,’ she said, her voice rising into a wail.

‘You touched the dog. Did you see?’

Violet wrenched open the front of the doll’s house and began picking things up and throwing them. It wasn’t exactly as if she was throwing them at Katie, but many were certainly in her direction. Katie felt the strangest sensation, like a whole body shiver when a small chest of drawers flew at her chest, rebounded and fell to the floor. The doll’s house was getting more solid with every second.

‘Vi—’ Katie began, fear gripping her.

‘No!’ Violet snapped. ‘You don’t talk now.’ She turned back to grab another missile and Katie fled.

*

On their next day off, Katie and Anna moved into their new flat. Katie took the smaller room. She was still smarting from Anna’s casual insistence that she was rich and privileged. She was, but really. Of course, she thought, as she unpacked her sewing machine onto its little side table and tucked a basket underneath, if Anna had wanted her to take the smaller bedroom without any fuss then giving her a sense of guilt first would’ve been a very smart move. Max would no doubt have a field day; he’d probably make a little Post-it note with the word ‘mug’ on it and stick it on her forehead.

Katie made the bed with her new bedding, her moving-in present to herself, and piled cushions at the headboard. The room was the perfect blank canvas and Katie decided not to put up her old prints and knick-knacks, shoving them underneath the bed. She was going to live with the blank walls for a while and then decide what she really wanted to look at every day.

She put her books onto the bookshelf, along with the red journal Gwen had given her years before. She hadn’t read it for a long time. Losing any ability to cast spells or read cards had been so soul-destroying, she realised now that she’d been going through the motions during Tuesday night training. She’d been saying she was trying her hardest, but she hadn’t really. Now she felt different. She was frightened a lot of the time, but there was a kind of fizzing energy that hadn’t been there before.

Katie sat on her bed and flicked through the journal. Spells and cures and advice from Gwen and Iris were jumbled alongside snippets of family history, anecdotes and quotes. She began reading in earnest, turning back to the beginning and settling back against her pillows, the shadows lengthening down the blank wall opposite.

A few hours later, Katie emerged from her bedroom, a plan forming in her mind. It was full moon, which was perfect timing, something Katie decided to take as a sign.

The living room was already looking more lived in, with fairy lights around the minimalist fireplace with its non-functional fake-fire, and a big glass bowl filled with coloured glass pebbles and more fairy lights.

‘Do you think we might have too many fairy lights?’ Katie said, squinting at the room.

‘You can never have too many fairy lights,’ Anna said. She opened a bottle of Diet Coke and handed Katie a glassful. ‘Cheers.’

‘Here’s to us.’ Katie clinked her glass against Anna’s.

‘Are we going to have rules?’

‘Housemate agreement?’ Katie said. ‘Is this where you reveal I’m moving in with Sheldon Cooper?’

‘No. I just don’t want to be another Shari. I want us to stay friends.’

‘I’m still friends with Shari,’ Katie said, shocked. ‘Shari’s brilliant.’

Anna shook her head. ‘But you complained about her all the time. I don’t want you to be at work, bitching about how I don’t clean out the grill pan.’

Katie sat on the sofa next to Anna. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I’d been such a moany cow.’