‘Oh, my dear Mrs Caleigh, I’m so sorry.’ His sympathy sounded perfectly genuine. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
She shook her head dispiritedly. ‘No. Thank you. It’s my little boy. I told you yesterday that he’d been missing for a long time and today we learned that – that he’s gone for ever. He’s dead.’
‘Dear God. That’s dreadful.’ One of Pyke’s big hands reached out and rested on Eve’s shoulder for a moment, its pressure light. ‘Would you like to talk to me about your son?’
He wondered why her eyes were not puffy from crying. She seemed to be taking her loss surprisingly well. But then her tone of voice suggested that her mind was in another place. It was not that unusual for the shock of sudden tragedy or bereavement to numb a person’s feelings, dull their senses, so that they appear detached and withdrawn rather than mortified.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she replied solemnly, ‘but no, I’ve spent most of the evening talking to my daughters about Cam – that’s my son’s name – and now they, we, need time to grieve.’
‘How are your daughters taking it?’ Pyke oozed concern.
‘Loren’s terribly upset – that’s the older one you helped yesterday.’
He nodded.
‘And Cally,’ Eve continued. ‘Well, she cried a bit, but she’s too young to understand . . .’ Her voice trailed away again.
‘How old is Loren? She’s twelve, I think you told me.’
‘Yes, just twelve. She’s with Cally in their bedroom now, trying to deal with it. She’s putting on a brave face for me, I think.’
‘Is your husband not at home?’ Pyke already knew Mr Caleigh wasn’t, but there was no harm in checking.
‘Gabe’s still in London. He had to identify the body. I hope he’s all right.’
Excellent, thought Pyke. ‘You know, yesterday he was very keen for me to carry out an investigation into the unaccountable disturbances in this house. Despite your mutual grief, I’m sure he would have wanted me to carry on. If I’m successful – which I know I shall be – in providing proof to you that Crickley Hall is not haunted by ghosts, it will be one less thing for you to concern yourself with.’
Eve thought of telling Pyke about last night, how she had nearly drowned in the bath, strong hands seeming to push her down, submerge her in the water whose surface had turned to ice, but did not have the energy to explain the inexplicable. Pyke was on a fool’s errand – she, herself, had witnessed too many weird things in this house for there to be rational explanations – but she was too weary, too played out, to try and convince him.
He was still babbling on, but she barely took in a word he was saying. She didn’t even consider him insensitive, so sincere did he appear to be.
‘I promise you’ll hardly know I’m here. I’d start at the top of the house, the attic room from where you said you heard running feet, then I’d be interested in examining the cellar, which may be the root cause of some extraneous noises you’ve been hearing. The well, the underground river, damaged or worn foundations and all that. Do you have decent architect’s plans of Crickley Hall, by the way? No? They might have helped me, but never mind.’
Eve’s will had been wearied by grief. She cast her eyes downwards as if deliberating, while in truth all she was thinking about was her dead son. Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice from the stairway.
‘What does the man want, Mummy?’
Cally had a frown on her podgy face as she stood hand in hand with Loren on the square landing at the turn of the stairs. She was in her pink pyjamas, while her big sister was wearing a light-blue nightie that hung down to her bare ankles.
‘This is Mr Pyke,’ Eve told her patiently; she had hoped Cally would be fast asleep by now. ‘He’s come to see about all those strange noises we’ve been hearing. He wants to make it all right.’
‘Good,’ proclaimed Cally. ‘I hate the noises because there’s no one there. I like the lights though.’
Pyke didn’t know what lights the little girl was referring to. But his attention was on Loren. His smile contained both delight and sympathy, his kindly eyes the secret of the trick.
‘Hello, Mr Pyke.’ Loren managed to raise a smile. Her face was blotchy from dried tears and her eyelids were red-rimmed. Her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, another outward sign of her anguish. She looked very vulnerable.
Eve quietly called across the hall to her youngest daughter. ‘Cally, you need to be in bed sleeping.’
‘I’m too sad to sleep, Mummy. Is the man going to make the noises go away?’ She rubbed an eye with a knuckle.
Eve turned back to Pyke. ‘I’m not sure—’ Again she was interrupted.
‘Mrs Caleigh. Eve. Your husband was quite definite.’
‘But not right now, not tonight.’
‘I’m afraid I’m going away in a few days,’ he lied. ‘Tonight is the only time I’ll be available. I promise I’ll have answers for you by tomorrow morning. I won’t even have to stay here overnight if you don’t want me to, although that would be preferable. I only have to arrange my paraphernalia, a camera here, a sound-recorder there, a length of cotton across a doorway somewhere else. All I require is a couple of hours or so. You can go up to your bed without worrying about me – I can let myself out and come back early in the morning if you’d rather I didn’t stay.’ Yes, it would make everything easier if they were sleeping; that was the original plan anyway.
‘Normally,’ he went on without giving Eve a chance to speak, ‘I would sit in a chair somewhere in the house, the hall itself or perhaps the attic room, so I could keep an eye on things, check my equipment every now and again. I just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t do something to help you and your family at such as a time.’
His compassionate smile broadened, but not quite into a grin.
‘Besides, I’ve driven a long way this evening and through the worst weather I’ve ever known.’ (Which wasn’t exactly true because he and Magda had braved a similar storm all those years ago.) ‘It would be a shame if it were a wasted effort.’
Eve felt her will sink, and it was already at a low ebb. Pyke was persuasive, he had a sincere manner; but it wasn’t his entreaties that were wearing her down, it was because nothing else mattered to her right now. She could tell that Loren was taken with Gordon Pyke despite her obvious emotional pain over Cam. Perhaps she saw him as the granddad she had never had? Perhaps if Loren accompanied the ghost-hunter as he set out his tools of the trade and explained each one’s purpose she might be diverted from her sorrow for a short while. For the first time ever, Eve abdicated from parental responsibility to pass it on to her eldest daughter.
‘What do you think, Loren? Should we let Mr Pyke go ahead and flush out bats in the roof or mice in the cupboards?’ She chose not to mention ghosts. ‘You were there yesterday when we spoke about it.’
Loren had led Cally down to the bottom of the stairs. The nice, tall Mr Pyke was smiling encouragingly and she could almost feel him willing her to say yes.
‘Dad wants Mr Pyke to do it, doesn’t he?’ she said to her mother.
‘Circumstances have changed,’ Eve replied, struggling to keep bitterness from her voice.
Loren’s face clouded over for a moment and her thoughts skitted elsewhere; she was still shocked by her brother’s death even though she had been expecting the worst for months.
‘You told Cally and me we have to try and carry on as before – before Cam got lost.’ There was something like anger in her tone, but it wasn’t directed at her mother.
Eve gave in. She looked up into the investigator’s gentle eyes and spoke resignedly. ‘Very well, Mr Pyke. Put your equipment wherever you think it might be useful. Loren will show you the cupboard on the landing where most of the noises have come from, while I get Cally back to bed. Then she’ll take you up to the dormitory – sorry, it’s now just an attic as you called it.’
‘I’m anxious to examine the cellar where the well is.’
/> ‘Yes, of course. I’ll take you down there myself when you’ve finished upstairs. You might want to put some kind of contraption on the cellar door – as I told you, it just won’t stay shut.’
‘Certainly. I’ll use a spring balance and measure the amount of force it takes to open it. It’s probably due to strong draughts. And you won’t enter the rooms I’ve sealed?’
‘As long as we know which ones they are.’
‘I’ll site my movement-triggered cameras and tape recorders, but won’t set them ’til you’re all out of the way in your beds.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t stay the night.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll leave late and return first thing tomorrow morning. As long as you keep clear of my little, er, traps, there’ll be no problem.’
‘I hate to turn you out on a night like this . . .’
‘Perhaps the storm will have broken by the time I’m done here.’ Besides, now he didn’t have to wait until the husband was asleep. I’m sure I’ll be all right.’
He lifted his suitcase and looked towards Loren again. ‘So lead on, young lady; I’m entirely in your hands.’ How true, he thought, oh so very true.
Loren produced a wan but polite smile. Cally only scowled at the man when her big sister dropped her hand.
67: INTO THE STORM
Lili drove cautiously, slowly, her nose only inches away from the windscreen. The Citroën’s wiper blades did their best, but the rain seemed to be hurling itself at the glass, making visibility extremely poor. Several times she had almost resolved to turn back and go home, for some of the minor roads were flooded with pond-like puddles and each time she went through one she worried that the car might stall and leave her stranded. Yet she kept going, driving steadily, determined to reach Crickley Hall that night. That crucial night. She could still hear echoes of the children’s calls in the deeper caverns of her mind, too distant to catch their words, but knowing – sensing – her help was needed.
She ducked her head instinctively every time there was a lightning flash followed by a thunderclap. Lili had never realized that thunder and lightning could continue for such a longtime; the thunderclouds had remained localized and that puzzled her, for surely the high winds should have moved them on?
Another car was ahead of her and its brakelights were constantly winking on and off as if the driver were being even more cautious than Lili. Maybe it was a good thing. She needed to keep her speed down and, anyway, following another vehicle made things easier for her. Let them make the mistakes.
The car in front, however, soon turned off onto aside road, leaving Lili to fend for herself. Suddenly blinded by blazing headlights coming at her from the opposite direction, she pulled up sharply, thankful there was nothing behind. Three cars went by, all of them on full beam, the second one dazzling the first’s rearview mirror, the third dazzling the second’s, a dangerous way to be driving, especially on such a treacherous night.
More lightning, more thunder. A good night for hauntings, she half joked to herself. If anything, she discovered, it was more hazardous travelling along main roads than down country lanes, for the high hedges of the latter offered some protection from the battering wind, even though the branches of some trees bowed perilously close to the Citroën’s windscreen and roof.
Coming to a crossroads, she could just make out the signpost, one of its four arms pointing directly ahead to Hollow Bay. She checked left to right, and left to right again, squinting into the storm for headlights approaching in either direction. The road was eerily empty of traffic now; but then, what kind of fool would be out on a night like this? She gunned the engine and shot towards the relative safety of the opposite lane, a mighty burst of wind rocking the small car halfway across. Her hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, keeping the car on course, and then she was in the narrow lane, this section of it at least protected by tall, grassy banks. Hollow Bay was now no more than a couple of miles away, she reassured herself. Not far. Just difficult with all this wind and rain. No going back now, Lili told herself. Despite the heavy dread she felt. Besides, it was that dread that was drawing her to Crickley Hall. She was needed. By the children. She was sure.
After another nightmarish mile, Lili reached the turn-off for the harbour village and was mercifully aware that it wasn’t too far to the house from this point. Wind whistled round the vehicle and rain pummelled it ceaselessly. Thinner trees waved and bushes shook wildly. Lili anxiously rubbed the steam of her breath from the glass in front of her with the sleeve of her coat; she had to keep leaning over the steering wheel to get even closer to the windscreen just to see the roadway ahead as shooting rain pounded the road’s surface like exploding bullets. The psychic bit into her lower lip and her knuckles were white on the wheel.
Then it happened.
Lightning forked its jagged way down from the turbulent skies to strike an elm tree on Lili’s left. Sparks flew out from it and a small fire flared. With a sharp grinding sound the trunk began to split. Her scream was muted by the thunder that quickly followed as the tree started to fall towards her, and it might have been fright or reflex that made her stamp on the accelerator. Branches that were still in leaf scraped against the car’s rear window as the tree toppled with a mighty, juddering crash and Lily only stopped the Citroën when she knew it was well clear.
The psychic twisted round to look back and all she could see through the rain was a thick mass of branches and leaves completely covering the road. She let out as huddering breath as she turned and rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel.
Oh God, that was close, she thought. Oh dear God, that was very close. Her whole body was trembling, especially her neck and shoulders which, paradoxically, also felt taut.
She took a few moments to calm herself before starting the car again. Trembling still, she drove onwards to Crickley Hall.
There was a vehicle parked in the short bay area, but it wasn’t Gabe Caleigh’s. Lili knew he drove a Range Rover and this was another make entirely, a Ford of some kind. The rain was beating down so hard and the night was so dark – except when lightning strobed; then everything became a dramatic silvery-grey – she couldn’t even tell its colour. The Range Rover was not to be seen and she briefly wondered if the Caleigh family had left the house. But then she saw the dull glow of alighted window across the river. She parked close behind the Ford and her headlights revealed it to be a Mondeo, dark red in colour. A shallow spray haloed its roof as rain bounced off the metal.
As soon as Lili got out of her car she was drenched, her blonde hair darkened and flattened to her scalp. She wished she had brought an umbrella along – her mind had been too preoccupied when she had dashed from the flat – but then dismissed the idea: it would easily have blown away in this gale. Leaning forward, shoulders hunched almost to her ears and holding her coat closed with one hand, she made her way to the bridge.
Pausing before stepping on to it, Lili looked over at Crickley Hall. There were lights on in most of the windows, she now saw, upstairs and down; she thought she even saw a glow coming from the small attic windows. Holding onto the handrail, the psychic put one tentative ankle-booted foot onto the bridge and stopped. She could feel the wooden structure shaking beneath her.
Dark though the night was, she could see the white spume of the hurtling, swollen river. The wild waters were only inches below the foot planks of the bridge, and spray misted over the boards so that they were dangerously slippery. She gripped the handrail more tightly.
Lightning zigzagged from the sky and in its argent illumination the river looked terrifying, as if about to burst its banks. Broken tree branches, twigs and loose shrubbery cluttered against the rail on the other side, and the rail she held onto quivered in her grip.
With great trepidation, she placed her other foot on the bridge. It seemed even more shaky now that she had both feet on the walkway, even more unstable. Sliding her hand along the soaked rail, Lili warily moved further on, the wind whipping r
ain against her exposed face, her boots slipping on the bridge’s slick surface. Halfway across she felt the whole structure shift, as if the raging water underneath might carry it away. The bridge only moved an inch or so, but nevertheless it was enough to make her panic.
The psychic ran the rest of the way, her feet skidding on the boards, only her hand on the rail saving her from falling. Just before she reached the end, the bridge lurched again as if to break free of its supports, and the movement, slight though it was, sent Lili staggering forwards so that she crashed to her knees onto the pathway.
She hurt her hands taking her weight, and her knees would have been grazed had she not been wearing a coat and skirt that covered them. Picking herself up and grimacing at the sharp sting in both hands, Lili hurried towards the house, crouching against the rain. Something caught her shoulder, a hard knock as if someone had punched her, and she wheeled round, expecting to be attacked. She saw movement in the darkness of the night, something small and rectangular falling away from her. The swing was lit up by another flash of lightning and it was coming back towards her at speed. But this time she was able to step backwards off the path so that it missed her. She sensed its heaviness as the wooden seat reached its highest point a foot or so above her head.
Although the psychic knew its motion was caused by the gale-force wind, she could not help but feel that the swing had hit her deliberately, conspiring somehow with the lightning-felled tree and the unstable bridge to keep her away from Crickley Hall.
Chiding herself for being melodramatic and almost letting her imagination run away with her, Lili continued her difficult journey to the house.
She got to the big front door and pressed hard on the bell button by its side. The storm was too loud for her to hear anything from inside and she pushed the bell once again, then banged on the wood with the heel of her fist.