Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 4-6. Frances Evesham
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wants to know if this house is haunted.’
Max snorted. ‘Don’t listen to him, Mandy. Reg sees ghosts everywhere. It’s his hobby.’
Mandy and Libby spoke in unison, breathless. ‘Really?’
Max sighed. ‘It’s one of his ploys to attract women. Successful, of course.’
‘That’s very sexist,’ Mandy objected.
‘Maybe, but true. Anyway, Reg, it looks like you’ve already hooked these two.’ Max rescued a wine glass from Mandy’s grasp as she drained the other. ‘You’d better explain. What makes you think I have a ghost? I can’t say I’ve seen anyone cross the hall with his head beneath his arm.’
Reg pointed to Bear. ‘You can scoff, but that dog senses something. There are parts of this house that bother him. He followed me down the hall just now, stopped at the third door and wouldn’t go in.’
Libby admitted, ‘I’ve noticed it, too. It’s the drawing room that bothers him. Sometimes he won't pass the door at all. He just pokes his nose in and backs right away to the kitchen.’
Max led them into his comfortable, scruffy study. Reg stretched out in an armchair, his legs reaching halfway across the room. ‘I had no idea you had a drawing room, Max. I thought it was something only your British royalty would own.’
‘It comes with the house. I’ll admit I hardly go in. It’s far too formal. I just use it when I want to impress someone like the Lord Lieutenant on official business.’
Reg scratched his head. ‘You Brits and your aristocracy; I’m not even going to ask what a Lord Lieutenant is. But I'd love to have a peek in the drawing room. Come on now, back me up, Mandy.’
‘I’ve never been somewhere as posh as a drawing room,’ Mandy giggled. ‘We just had a front room, where I grew up. Should I call you Lord Ramshore?’
Libby joined in. ‘Come on, Max. Haven't you ever wondered about ghosts? This is such an old house.’
Max grinned. ‘Are you sure you want to start ghost hunting? You’ll give yourself nightmares. You were scared enough that time you were lost on Glastonbury Tor.’
‘Don’t try and get out of it that way. Come on, spill the beans.’
‘Okay, then, here's the story. I’ll start it properly. Once upon a time…’
Mandy chortled. Max winked at her and continued. ‘Once upon a time I sat in there, reading. It was soon after I moved into the house, half a dozen years ago. I was reading Dickens. Great Expectations, I think. Seemed appropriate in an old pile like this. Anyway, it was midsummer, on one of the three hot days we had that year. We call that a heat wave, Reg, by the way.’
Reg laughed, but Mandy complained, ‘Get back to the story.’
‘Sorry. I realised my feet were freezing cold. It felt as though they had ice packed round them. The rest of me was fine, even a bit too warm. I got up to walk around, warm the toes up a bit, and,’ his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘I felt something cold land on my shoulder.’
Mandy gasped. ‘Like a hand?’
He nodded; his face solemn. ‘It was heavy, like a dead weight. I looked round, but there was nothing to be seen. I told myself I was imagining things and tried to go on reading, but my feet just got colder. I told myself, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a draught.” These old buildings have plenty of spots where the wind gets through, even with half decent central heating. I moved across and sat in another chair, but…’
Mandy put in, ‘The cold spot followed you?’ She licked her lips, eyes shining.
Libby leaned forward, caught up in the story. ‘What happened next?’
‘Nothing. In the end, I went back into my study to get warm.’
Mandy groaned. ‘That can’t be the end. Was Bear with you then?’
‘No, it was before I inherited him. You’re right, though, Libby. He’s never gone into that room. This old house has plenty of other places he prefers.’
Mandy’s eyes glowed. ‘Did it happen again?’
‘Every time I sit in there, to tell the truth.’
Libby grinned at Mandy. ‘Come on. We have to investigate this, even though I don’t believe a word of it. There's nothing to beat a good ghost story. Let’s go into the drawing room, right now, and see what happens.’
Max led the way down the corridor. Bear padded beside Libby, as far as the door. Max pushed on the wood. Slowly, it creaked open and Mandy gasped. Bear stopped; his legs rigid. Mandy whispered, ‘He doesn't like it here, does he?’
The dog barked, once. His tail drooped and the ruff of fur round his neck stood on end. He managed to look miserable and offended at the same time. Max strode into the middle of the room and held out a dog treat. ‘Come on, Bear.’ The dog took a step forward, hesitated, looked from Libby to Max, barked again, turned and padded back along the corridor.
‘Does that count as proof?’ Libby asked, an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Max took her hand. ‘Come on, Reg, you're the expert. Is there a ghost in here?’
Reg paced round the room, stopping at intervals, his face serious. ‘There's a strange atmosphere,’ he concluded. ‘There are cold spots, just as you described. Are there any records of odd happenings? Witches in the area?’
‘Nothing I’ve been able to track down. I’ve looked at various histories of the house and the surrounding area, but I haven't managed to turn up anything interesting apart from the Battle of Sedgemoor.’
Reg beamed from ear to ear. ‘While I’m here, maybe I can do a little research into your local history. Tell me about this battle.’
Max wrinkled his brow. ‘The Duke of Monmouth was a pretender to the throne of England, back in the eighteenth century. He landed in the West Country, fought the king’s army and was defeated. Most of his followers died, and the rest ran away.’
‘Maybe some got this far…’
‘Before they died…’ Reg and Mandy were talking over each other, Mandy’s face pink with happiness.
Libby, Mandy and Reg stayed at Max’s house that night. They sat up, drinking coffee, until late into the night. Max looked out of the window. ‘It’s freezing cold out there and I doubt you could see your hand in front of your face. Just the weather to give Bear his final walk. Coming, Libby?’
Bear appeared, miraculously, at the door. He’d been out of sight, most likely curled up in the room Max grandly called the gun room. Libby had never seen a gun in the house. Did Max own one? He’d never told her. Just one more thing she’d find out one day. She stood up, slightly tipsy. ‘Wellington boots and hats needed, I think.’
No one else would leave the warmth of the blazing fire for the cutting blast of winter’s east winds. Libby and Max trudged, arm in arm, down the lane, the wind in their faces, using a flashlight to avoid the worst of the puddles. ‘I know you trust Reg, but do you think we should have talked about the murder so much?’
‘Why, because Joe thinks he’s a suspect?’ Max scoffed. ‘Joe’s not a fool, even if his chief is. He interviewed Reg this afternoon and the alibi checks out. He was travelling all that day, with train tickets to back him up, and the woman behind the bar remembers him being there all evening. He’s very distinctive, as you’ve seen. She almost melted while talking about him. He’s been eliminated from the enquiry.’
‘That’s just as well. Did you see Mandy’s face? I think she’s in love.’ She told Max about Mandy’s quarrel with Steve. ‘She’s got this enormous inferiority complex, and it’s making her miserable