The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4) Page 2

  Mina hesitated. The winter wind moaned softly down the chimney making the firelight flicker, the slivers of flame waving like warning fingers.

  ‘It is an easy journey,’ said Nellie soothingly. ‘We will go to the railway station by carriage and take the train to Hassocks Gate. It isn’t far at all. Mr Honeyacre will send his carriage to take us from there to Ditchling Hollow. And I have an excellent maid who will attend to you.’

  ‘I fear that Dr Hamid will rule against it,’ said Mina. ‘Not that I always obey him.’

  ‘Oh, I have thought of that,’ said Nellie with a laugh. ‘I will ask Dr Hamid to accompany us. If the Honeyacres’ maids are in a state of terror his services will be needed and he will be able to reassure himself that you are well cared for.’

  ‘When will you go?’ asked Mina.

  ‘I thought we could depart next Friday and return on Monday. We can’t stay too long as there is so much to be done to prepare for next month’s costume ball. I am to be Madame de Pompadour and Kitty is considering a gypsy girl, although I have thought of a better idea. You must come, Mina.’

  ‘I am not so sure that would be wise,’ said Mina. ‘Large assemblies of people in winter always bring the danger of catching cold. The winter costume ball is a boon for sellers of medicine and if I take a chill on my lungs I am more likely to trouble the undertaker.’

  Nellie smiled away the objection. ‘Oh, I have thought of how to prevent any risk and have the very thing for you. You will be a Spanish lady with a beautiful fan. You may use it to cover your face and so protect yourself against bad air and coughs and chills. We will ask Dr Hamid to add a little sachet of his wonderful herbs.’

  ‘I have never attended a costume ball,’ Mina reflected, realising that since her mother and Enid would still be in London there was nothing to prevent her. ‘Are there any tickets remaining?’

  ‘Leave it all to me!’ said Nellie. ‘And the costume, too, I know exactly what is needed. Only come to Hollow House with me and we will have a very amusing visit.’

  ‘I imagine that preparations for the ball are keeping Mr Jordan extremely busy in Brighton,’ said Mina.

  ‘Yes, the provision of costumes is a new venture for the business and occupies his every thought and all his energy,’ said Nellie cheerfully.

  ‘Well,’ said Mina, who had decided to agree to the scheme at its very first mention, ‘if you can persuade Dr Hamid to accompany us, I will go, and with great pleasure. I hope Mrs Honeyacre is not too distressed by the situation.’

  Nellie allowed a trace of concern to cloud her face. ‘From what she has written — and in some part what she has chosen not to write — she is principally disturbed by her husband’s attitude. Since he wishes to study supernatural phenomena he is plunging ever deeper into the world of the psychic. It is not the marriage nor the home she had hoped for. But we will mend that, my dear, we will.’

  Chapter Two

  Mina’s greatest dilemma as she instructed Rose on packing for the excursion was whether or not to inform her mother that she would be absent from home for the better part of four days. If she did, she knew that she would receive an urgent telegram ordering her not to leave the house and refusing her permission to undertake such a perilous winter journey. The fact that Mina was a twenty-five-year-old woman of independent means did not make any difference to her mother’s perception of her as a difficult child who required constant instruction. Mina knew that if she disobeyed that order, or hurried away before the inevitable telegram arrived, a torrent of maternal outrage and recrimination would fall upon her head. She had survived many such storms before, but preferred not to invite them unnecessarily. It was tempting, therefore, to say nothing and hope that her mother would remain ignorant of the visit, in which case, all would be well. There was, however, the possibility that a family matter would arise during her absence, which her mother, as she so often did, would insist required Mina’s immediate attention. If she was found inexplicably not to be at home the consequences were something she did not wish to contemplate.

  At length, Mina decided to write to her older brother Edward, sensible, serious, diligent Edward who managed the Scarletti family publishing business in London; and inform him of her intentions, reassuring him that she would be accompanied by a respectable lady friend, a maid and a medical attendant. Edward was in a constant state of annoyance with their mother and therefore well aware of what it was advisable to conceal from her for a quiet existence.

  Early on the Friday morning, Nellie, in an exuberant mood, dashed up to Mina’s front door in a hired cab. The smart little equipage that was her usual mode of transport around Brighton was, of course, quite insufficient to carry the volume of luggage necessary for such a long stay.

  The cab driver descended and assisted Mina into the vehicle, then loaded her modest luggage, one carpetbag handed to him by Rose. Nellie’s maid, Zillah, was sitting composedly in a corner of the cab. Quickly, deftly and unfussily, she provided Mina with a foot-warmer and a fur wrap. She had, thought Mina, been very carefully chosen; youthful and good-looking enough to be an ornament to her mistress, but not sufficiently so as to outshine her. Zillah’s manner gave Mina some confidence that at least one of the servants would be unflappable in the face of spectral visitations.

  Dr Hamid, carrying a gentleman’s overnight bag and a medical bag, was waiting for them at the station. He assisted the ladies down from the cab, although in Mina’s case he took care to give her only as much help as she needed, allowing her the independence of doing as much as she could for herself without risk. In Mina’s experience, this was a subtlety that few gentlemen were able to appreciate.

  Dr Hamid was the only doctor Mina had ever fully trusted and, along with his sister Anna, he had made a special study of scoliosis, since his older sister, Eliza, whom Mina had befriended, had been dreadfully afflicted with that condition. The losses of both his wife and Eliza in the last year were blows that had crushed all joy from Dr Hamid’s life and he had turned to his work for solace, devoting himself to the good of others. Mina’s scoliosis was less advanced than that of Eliza’s and she often thought he saw in her a special focus for his care, a hope that she could be saved from worsening, even perhaps achieve some improvement. His dedication to his profession meant that he was oblivious to the fact that a well set up widower in his forties with a profitable business was an object of keen interest to the single ladies of Brighton. Many had cast an eye in his direction, but to no avail. Mina had often wondered if she ought to draw his attention to the situation, but realising that the knowledge would cause him the most painful embarrassment had decided to remain silent. Having been warned many years ago that her deformity precluded any possibility of marriage and children, Mina was content to regard the doctor as a valued friend.

  As the little party approached the station, Dr Hamid cast a watchful eye over Mina’s ungainly limping gait. No one better than he could see the incipient signs of a dangerous deterioration. Thus far, he appeared satisfied. ‘So I am obliged once again to protect you from yet another madcap scheme,’ he said, but he was smiling as he spoke.

  ‘Four days in the country,’ said Mina, dryly. ‘Is there no end to my folly? Who knows what I will attempt next?’

  ‘Mrs Honeyacre has assured us that every possible comfort will be provided,’ said Nellie.

  ‘Fresh air, warm fires, ghosts,’ said Dr Hamid.

  ‘I have a feeling that the ghosts will vanish as soon as we arrive,’ said Nellie with a laugh. ‘From what Kitty says, the maids have been frightening each other with fantastic tales, so they see spectres in every shadow. You will need to dose them well with something to quell their imagination. And Mina’s sound advice will soon show them that there is nothing to fear. Then we can amuse ourselves by seeing the countryside, which is very pretty thereabouts, and Mr Honeyacre does keep an extremely good table.’

  Dr Hamid, who was an enthusiastic trencherman, brightened up at that last prospect.

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��You must admit that the weather is very mild,’ said Mina. ‘No snow or frosty air.’

  They glanced up at the sky, which was darkening ominously.

  ‘Yes, the rain is uncommonly warm for the time of year,’ agreed Dr Hamid, as the first drops began to fall.

  Nellie had secured tickets for the best class of carriage and they soon made themselves comfortable. It had been more than two years since Mina had travelled by railway. She and her family had then been removing to Brighton from London for the sake of her ailing father’s health. The consumption that eventually claimed his life had not yet taken away his voice during that previous trip and once her mother had fallen into a doze he had regaled Mina, whom he knew had a taste for dramatic tales, with a vivid account of the terrible railway accident that had taken place on that very same line in 1861. The tragedy, caused by the collision of two trains in Clayton Tunnel, had inspired Mr Charles Dickens to write his story, The Signal-Man, in which a ghost gives warnings of disasters. Mina thought that the actual incident was quite horrible enough without the addition of a ghost, but she supposed that that was what the public liked to read.

  ‘A gloomy place,’ said Dr Hamid as their train entered the tunnel where so many lives had been lost. Mina wondered if the line had a reputation, an atmosphere even, that encouraged further tragedy. Only three months previously, a young Brighton man, despondent through ill-health, had chosen to end his life there by throwing himself from a second-class carriage. Dr Hamid’s expression made her think that the youth might have been one of his patients. She decided not to enquire, but once they had emerged into the light she took out a pencil and the little notebook she carried with her to record ideas for stories and quickly jotted some thoughts.

  Before long they were at Hassocks Gate railway station, where they alighted. The rain was coming down harder now, in large misty grey drops, and they hurried into the ticket hall where a middle-aged man in a coachman’s uniform holding a large black umbrella was waiting for them. ‘Mrs Jordan and party?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah, you must be Malling,’ said Nellie. ‘Yes, please assist my maid with the luggage.’

  Dr Hamid took the umbrella and conducted Nellie and Mina to the carriage that awaited them outside the station. He then returned to ensure that Zillah was not soaked as her mistress’s boxes were brought to the carriage. It was a small kindness, but Mina wondered how many gentlemen would even have thought to protect a maidservant from a wetting.

  ‘Malling is a man of many parts,’ said Nellie as they took their seats. ‘He is coachman, gardener and general handyman. Mrs Malling is the housekeeper. They have lived on the estate and cared for it ever since Mr Honeyacre purchased it, so I think they will have some interesting stories to tell.’

  Mina glanced at Mr Malling as he finished stowing the luggage and climbed back onto his perch. He had a face like granite, immovable, expressionless. If he did have any stories to tell, Mina doubted that he would be telling them.

  Hassocks was a small farmstead only a mile north of Clayton Hill. The carriage soon left the few cottages behind and travelled down a narrow road flanked by hedgerows and trees. Thin bare branches straggled to the sky, but others had been savagely cut back, their blunt ends making them look like the clawed fingers of skeletal hands driving up out of the earth. Mina found the appearance interesting and made some more notes in her little book.

  The road passed the railway line and they were briefly able to see the extravagantly ornate north entrance to the fatal tunnel, which looked like a crenellated gothic castle in miniature, before turning onto an even narrower road, the surface of which was already dissolving into mud. Rain was cascading from clouds the colour of iron and there were distant rumbles of thunder.

  ‘Why did Mr Honeyacre choose to purchase a home in Ditchling Hollow?’ asked Mina, as she felt her hopes of comfortable accommodation fading into the distance.

  ‘He encountered it while touring Sussex looking for antiquities,’ said Nellie. ‘It was perfect for his needs and even allowing for the fact that it required substantial renovation, it came at a very good price. It had lain empty for so long that the owners accepted his first offer at once.’

  Mina said nothing but she thought that such eagerness to sell was not a good sign. She hoped that Mr Honeyacre would not discover an unsuspected fault in the building that would cost him dear in the long run. She jotted another story idea in her notebook. This one was about a man who bought a beautiful house very cheaply, which he found was plagued with strange noises and then, one day, the foundations collapsed and the whole edifice crumbled away, crushing the owner and all his property. She wondered if she ought to put a ghost in it.

  The carriage turned right again. At the junction between the roads was a small signpost, its legend so worn by time and neglect that it was impossible to read it. This time the way was narrower still. Two vehicles would have been unable to pass each other without one of them veering off the road into one of the small entranceways that led to a farm gate.

  The carriage lurched over deep ruts and splashed through rain-filled pools. The road was dipping down a slope and for a while Mina was afraid that they would slip into a watercourse or lake at the bottom, but then to her relief, it levelled out. She peered out of the window and saw ahead a small stone bridge over a brook, its waters plunging and rushing with great energy. There were hills encircling them and far away through the curtain of glittering rain she caught a glimpse of what looked like two windmills.

  ‘I think we are almost there,’ said Nellie. ‘From Kitty’s description this is Ditchling Hollow.’

  The carriage juddered over the bridge and passed along a single street flanked on one side by a row of labourers’ cottages and on the other by larger properties that Mina assumed were farmhouses. As they continued a curtain was pulled back from the window of a farmhouse and a face peered out, the head turning to follow the progress of the carriage down the road. The expression, as far as Mina could see, was not welcoming. An upper window then opened slightly. Mina was unable to see who was within, but one fitful ray of light from the clouded sun was briefly reflected from something like a mirror or a glass. Even allowing for the weather there was something dreary and dejected about the place, a sense of joyless existence in its grim façade. There was a single provision store, a smithy and the inevitable beer shop, which had some pretensions to being a public house since there was a faded signboard on which she could just read the words ‘Goat and Hammers’.

  Mina said nothing but glanced anxiously at Dr Hamid, who seemed similarly perturbed.

  They neared a low wall built from large blocks of dressed stone enclosing a graveyard, behind which stood a small and very ancient church. There were no more cottages; in fact, they seemed to have seen all that Ditchling Hollow had to offer. The wall continued to their left and to their right there was an expanse of wet pasture with a few animal sheds. As the church retreated into the distance they finally saw their destination. Within the same perimeter wall that enclosed the church and the graveyard was a fine large house of unusual design.

  ‘Is that Hollow House?’ asked Mina.

  ‘I believe it is. Kitty told me it was like three houses put together,’ said Nellie.

  ‘I am no expert,’ said Dr Hamid, ‘but it does look like the central part was constructed first and the two wings added later.’

  As the carriage brought them closer, they saw that the main part of the house, almost certainly the oldest portion, was a three storey edifice, built of large, irregular slabs of stone with vertical windows on the two lower floors and small square casements above. The projecting two storey porch was undoubtedly a later decoration, built of smaller, flatter stones, its high doorway gaping like a large toothless mouth and a bay window above with supporting stonework carved into sharp pointed traceries. The decorative bosses in the form of carved heads did not, thought Mina, add to its charm.

  To the right, as they faced the house, there was a newer wing of the same he
ight and of the same material as the porch. The opposite wing was quite different: a wall of dull brick with an arch leading into a stable yard and plain windows of the rooms above.

  ‘I expect Mr Honeyacre originally saw it in better weather,’ said Mina.

  ‘I understand it was much neglected when he purchased it and did not look as well as it does now,’ said Nellie. ‘The grounds were a veritable wilderness and what we see today is the result of the Mallings’ hard work.’

  The carriage paused before an ornamental gateway, which Mr Malling briefly descended to open, then it continued along a curve of driveway, a sinuous path with a double turn like Mina’s spine. The grass on either side had been clipped. There was a border of rounded stones and behind those were broad beds planted with evergreen shrubs. The drive ended in a semi-circular area in front of the porch, which was flanked with urns containing small ornamental trees and some comfortable looking benches. A round stonework construction, not yet completed, looked as though it would eventually become a piece of statuary or even a fountain.

  As they alighted from the carriage, Mr Malling wielded his umbrella with a dexterity that spoke of long practice. Two maidservants came from the house to meet them and attend to the luggage, together with Mr Honeyacre’s manservant, Gillespie, who indicated without the necessity of saying a word that he would wait upon Dr Hamid. A robust lady in housekeeper’s gown with a chain of keys, presumably Mrs Malling, was there to direct the maids in an authoritative yet not unkind manner.

  Mr and Mrs Honeyacre soon appeared in the porch-way to greet the visitors. The last time Mina had seen Mr Honeyacre was at the wedding, when he had been blandly yet cheerfully mystified by everything that was going on around him. Kitty had been her usual vivacious self, laughing and twirling about to show off her gown with apparently unlimited energy. That morning, Mr Honeyacre was doing his best to put on a cheerful welcoming face, but he kept casting concerned glances at his wife and Kitty, despite her smiles, was quiet, still and strained. She was hugging what appeared at first glance to be a bundled shawl, but then the fabric appeared to move of its own accord and a small brown face peeped out with large dark eyes and pointed furry ears. It was the smallest dog Mina had ever seen and Kitty held it as a child would hold a doll.