The Secrets of Ghosts (28 page)

‘And you fell in love with him?’

‘Worse.’ Violet pulled a face. ‘His apprentice. I may as well have gone googly-eyed over a footman.’

‘Oh,’ Katie said. ‘I keep on forgetting how weird everyone used to be about class.’

‘Used to be?’ Violet laughed. ‘How many lower-class people are welcomed into this hotel?’

‘That’s not about class, it’s money.’

‘My darling girl,’ Violet said, suddenly sounding a lot older than twenty, ‘it’s always been about money.’

‘But everyone has the same opportunities, now,’ Katie said, realising as she spoke that this was utter nonsense. She felt embarrassed, suddenly, by the twenty-first century. She ought to have something better to tell Violet. Something superior to compare with the dark ages of the nineteen thirties.

‘I was the daughter of a lord, and there were certain expectations. I was expected to play the piano or sing, I was expected to show compassion to animals and the lower orders but to remain above reproach as regards my behaviour, and I was expected to make a good match. Lord Talbot had spoken to Daddy and was going to propose on my birthday. I was going to say “yes” and then I would be parcelled up and moved from this estate to my husband’s in Cornwall.’

‘Cornwall’s nice,’ Katie said weakly. The thought of being that powerless made her feel faint.

Violet gave her a withering look. ‘I was a fool. I thought Daddy would change his mind. I thought he would meet Henry and see how much in love we were and relent. I thought it would be like
Top Hat
.’

‘You loved Henry?’ Katie went very still.

‘Yes.’ Violet stared out at the garden. ‘I died loving Henry so I still love Henry. I will always love Henry.’

Katie tried to contain her smile. This was it. Her purpose. To reunite the lost lovers. It was romantic; it was beautiful; it was perfect. She was going to give Violet her happy ever after. Well, as close to that as she could get, considering the circumstances.

Chapter 23

Katie went to find Max. She wanted to tell him about her success and to have a closer look at the stored junk in the basement. She’d been wondering why Henry was haunting the building when he hadn’t died here, and Gwen had said something about spirits being attached to objects. Perhaps if she found the thing that was keeping Henry here it would help her to connect him to Violet.

‘I was looking for you,’ he said, before she could say anything.

‘Want to help me play detective?’ Katie said.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Katie pushed him lightly. ‘Behave yourself,’ she said, ignoring the urge to push him again, just to touch him.

Henry appeared as they walked past Lost Property. He looked more translucent again, the shelves of boxes clearly visible through his torso.

‘Is it me or is it cold in here?’ Max said.

Katie rubbed her arms and glared at Henry. ‘Very.’

‘This place is a tip,’ Max said. ‘Has Patrick ever really looked down here?’

There were a couple of new mattresses, still in plastic wrapping, on the floor with several lampshades perched on top. A vacuum cleaner with a broken handle sat next to a pile of cardboard boxes, and there were mysterious lumps underneath white and dusty sheets and a wall filled with broken chairs, side tables, and a chest of drawers, with half its drawers missing.

Henry pulled a face and walked close to Max, as if inspecting him. Max shivered. ‘Is that Violet?’

Katie pushed aside a lampshade and sat on the stack of mattresses. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my periods.’

Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay.’

‘Come and sit down.’ Katie patted the mattress next to her and smiled, trying to look inviting but slightly unhinged. She’d bet anything she’d nailed it.

Max closed the door and sat, the mattress sagging a little. ‘What’s wrong?’

Katie raised her voice, just in case Henry was putting his fingers in his ears. ‘I want to talk about my women’s periods. My monthlies. My flow.’

Max winced. ‘I said all right — you don’t need to shout.’

‘I’ve got problems with my uterus. My ovaries are aching.’

‘What?’ Max looked confused. She didn’t blame him.

‘My Fallopian tubes are twisted,’ Katie said, ‘and my vagina—’

Henry disappeared.

‘—is weird,’ Katie continued, looking around to check Henry wasn’t hiding in a corner or behind them.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Max said. He was leaning away from her, probably unconsciously, but Katie couldn’t help laughing.

‘It’s okay,’ she whispered. ‘My tubes are fine.’

‘Is this some kind of test?’

‘I just wanted to get rid of Henry and I figured he’d be squeamish. He’s got that old-school reserve thing going on. My clothes disgust him, let alone talking about my secret lady parts.’

Max swallowed. ‘Right. He was here, then.’

‘Yep,’ Katie said, cheerfully. She stood up and pulled at one of the sheets, raising a massive cloud of dust. Once she’d finished coughing she said, ‘That’s why it was cold. Can’t you feel the difference now he’s gone?’

‘Yes,’ Max said thoughtfully. ‘He really exists. Ghosts really exist.’

‘Welcome to my world,’ Katie said.

‘But your vagina isn’t weird,’ Max said. ‘Just to clarify.’

Katie gave him what she hoped was a withering look and didn’t reply. She began investigating the boxes.

‘What are we looking for?’

‘That collection of odd stuff that Michelle mentioned. I thought it might still be in the hotel. It’s not in the library or any of the public rooms, so I thought I’d try here. Next stop is the attic.’

‘Why did you want rid of Henry?’

‘Because I don’t know how he’ll react to our looking through his stuff and…’ Katie hesitated ‘…partly because you’re right. I know I shouldn’t trust him.’

Max looked pleased. ‘While you’re listening to me, I’ve got news.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and began scrolling through photographs. He held up the screen and there was a fuzzy picture of a paper. ‘Love letters. To Violet Beaufort.’

‘Are you serious?’ Katie leaned in to look. The handwriting was slanted and dark, cramped together as if written by a very energetic but controlled hand. She didn’t think she’d be able to read it even if she were looking at the real thing rather than a grainy photo on a screen. ‘How—?’

‘I went to the folk museum in town.’

‘I didn’t know Pendleford had a museum.’

‘It’s tiny. A few black and white pictures of the high street and the names of the town mayors, that kind of thing. It’s practically run out of the owner’s front room.’

Katie felt mortified that she hadn’t known about it. She was really going to have to work on the wise-woman act.

‘Anyway, the woman there was about three hundred years old and she was happy to talk about The Grange. She had a problem with some of the renovation work that Patrick has done, but, once I got her off the conservatory, she told me that there was a big scandal here. When Violet Beaufort went missing.’

Katie went still. ‘Did she know anything else?’

‘Apparently our Violet was very popular. She was being pursued by two men.’

‘I know,’ Katie said. ‘That’s what I was going to tell you. Lord Somerset and Henry.’

Max shook his head. ‘Alexander James and Henry Keele. They were excavating Windmill Hill, apparently, and they got to know the Beauforts. These letters are from Alexander. He was in love with her.’

‘Maybe he’s just being polite. It was a different time, different ways of speaking—’

‘He talks of her beauty, of what a good mother she will make for his children and he signs them “for eternity”.’

‘Thank you,’ Katie said. He had taken time to go and research ghosts. Ghosts he probably didn’t really believe in. For her. She went on tiptoe and kissed Max on the cheek.

Max caught her around the waist, his hands on the bare skin between her skirt and vest top. ‘You’re welcome.’ And he bent to kiss her full on the mouth.

Katie reached up to meet him, giving herself up to the kiss. Everyone deserved a second chance. Even a con man.

After a moment, she broke away. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate this, but I really think we should look for that collection. While we have the chance.’

Max released her. ‘You should be more irresponsible, you know. Live a little.’ But he turned and began moving the broken chairs to get at a pile of boxes behind.

‘I tried irresponsible once,’ Katie said. ‘It did not end well. I’m now all about education.’

‘Didn’t you drop out of uni?’

‘I didn’t go in the first place,’ Katie said. ‘University wasn’t going to teach me what I need to know. Knowledge is power, but it’s got to be the right kind.’

‘You sound like my dad. I wanted to study maths but he thought I was crazy. He said I already knew its practical applications so what was the point.’

Katie tried to imagine a younger Max, thinking about studying rather than grifting. It was hard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Card counting, mainly.’ Max took a penknife out of his pocket and ripped open the tape on the first box. ‘Old flyers,’ he said, putting the box on the floor.

‘However, autodidactism is all well and good but what about having fun? That doesn’t have to be dangerous. That can just be fun. I mean, we’re young, we’re healthy, why shouldn’t we have fun together?’

‘You make it sound like playing tennis.’ Katie tried not to get turned on by him saying ‘didactism’. Honestly, the man looked like a wise guy, spoke like a professor. It was confusing. And very hot.

‘It’s not far off. Gets your heart rate up, very good cardio—’ Max broke off as he reached into the box. ‘Hello. I think we have a winner.’ He held up a bit of twisted brown metal. It had a faded cardboard luggage tag tied to it. Max tilted it to the light. ‘Bronze brooch, c.1000 BC. Avebury, 1935.’

‘Well, that should definitely be in a museum.’

‘I wonder what it’s worth,’ Max said. Then, ‘What? I’m just curious.’

Katie plucked the brooch from Max and put it on the seat of the upmost stacked chair. ‘What else?’

Max began unwrapping newspaper from something the size of a tennis ball. Katie reached in and pulled out a box with a faded picture of a toothy smile on the lid. There were random bits of sticking plaster with some sketchy blue marks that might have, once upon a time, been writing. She opened the box and found the tiny, perfect skull of a bird. The image of a magpie flashed through her mind. She closed the box and put it with the brooch.

After three bits of pointy rock that might have been flint arrow heads, a box full of geodes and agates packed in cotton wool, and many free-floating paper labels that had become unattached from their objects, Katie found a burgundy leather photo album with half the pages empty. Some had yellowed squares and empty photo corners where pictures had once been, and some had clearly never been filled. Katie flipped through until she found a picture of a man in funny tweed trousers standing by a mound of earth and holding a pipe in one hand and an object in the other. Maybe a rock? Katie held the album closer but it didn’t help.

She turned a page and there was a photo of two men standing in a formal garden. The man from the previous page and a familiar face. Henry. There was nothing written underneath so Katie slipped the picture from its crumbling corners and checked the back. Alexander James and Henry Keele June, 1936. She held it out to Max who whistled between his teeth. ‘There’s lover boy.’

‘Lover boys. Henry and Violet were an item. But her father didn’t approve.’

‘How do you know?’ Max said. ‘Research?’

Katie nodded. She’d explain some other time. Maybe.

‘Look at this.’ Max was unwinding cloth from a spherical object that Katie assumed was a glass fishing float. Once the cloth was removed it looked more like an oversized Christmas bauble. Max read the label. ‘Witch’s ball, circa 1890. You could give this to your aunt.’

Katie held out her hands and took the ball. It was a burnished coppery gold and felt warm in her hands. She didn’t want to give it away. She wanted it. It was hers in a way that seemed completely natural and inevitable. She held with her arms outstretched, turning it slowly to admire it.. A reflection of the room was held in the curved side of the ball, a perfect tiny reproduction of their world, complete with a tiny Katie and tiny Max. ‘This is the best thing I’ve ever had,’ Katie said. ‘Seriously. It’s beautiful.’

Max gave her a funny look. ‘Don’t you consider it stealing?’

‘I don’t think Patrick Allen is going to miss it,’ Katie said, hugging it to her body.

Max held his hands up. ‘You don’t need to convince me. I don’t care.’

‘Good,’ Katie said. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt that it was hers.
Finders keepers. Hers
. She felt an alarming violence rising up inside her at the thought of anybody trying to take it away from her.

Chapter 24

Gwen looked at the doctor, willing her to say something more useful.

‘I’m very sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing else we can do. Unless you want to discuss treatments for infertility such as IVF or—’

‘No, thank you,’ Cam said. They’d discussed all of the options at great length. For months. Gwen thought she had resigned herself to this diagnosis; they’d been warned often enough that sometimes that was the outcome. The medical profession’s clinical way of saying ‘life can be cruel’.. It didn’t tell you why your body was betraying you in this awful, unforgivable way and it didn’t tell you why it was happening to you. Why she couldn’t get pregnant when they’d passed three teenage girls on the way through town, pushing babies, dragging toddlers, practically tapping fag ash onto their unwanted, accidental newborns.

Gwen felt the bile in the back of her throat. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t this mean, this judgemental. But she was just so fucking angry. Why couldn’t they have a baby when so many people seemed to manage it with such painful ease? Why?

‘Ms Harper? Would you like a glass of water?’ The doctor was looking at her with professional concern. Suddenly, Gwen had to get out of that office. That building. She needed fresh air and somewhere private to scream.

She leaned on Cam as they walked out of the building, feeling as if her legs might give way at any moment.