Deadlight Hall (Nell West/Michael Flint #5)(81)

‘You are?’

‘I scraped and scrimped to buy this ugly old pile,’ he said, staring up at it. ‘I was sentimental about it, see. There’s some connection to an ancestor of mine – bit of a wild boy from all the family stories. They vary a bit, those tales – some say he owned the place, some say he only lived in it, or that he used it for his bastards. Some versions even say he was part of some sort of murder scandal, about a century and a half ago. I don’t know the truth and it’s all a long time ago anyway, but I always felt an attachment to the place, and we’re an acquisitive lot, us Hursts. Buying it became a bit of an ambition for me. I worked and saved, and worked some more, until I managed it. I got it for a song, and I thought I could make money out of turning it into posh apartments. Bad idea and very bad decision. It’s an unlucky house – and it’s not often you hear a builder say that. But there’ve been a few bad incidents there over the years – probably all hearsay again, but people have long memories.’

‘What will you do with it?’ asked Michael.

‘Demolish it,’ said Jack Hurst at once. ‘Raze it to the ground and crunch it all up beneath the diggers and the bulldozers.’

‘And then?’

‘Develop the land,’ he said, with a sudden grin. ‘Standing here, I’ve been thinking. I reckon I’d get half a dozen luxury bungalows on this site, each with a third of an acre of ground. And very nice too. You might like to take a look when they’re done.’

‘We might indeed,’ said Michael.

As they walked over to their cars, Nell suddenly said, ‘Michael – I think there’s someone over there – in that bit of garden on the left.’

Michael looked to where she indicated. ‘I can’t see anything. Probably the firefighters are still around.’

‘It isn’t the firefighters,’ said Nell. ‘They’re all round the vehicle, packing up their equipment. Whatever I saw was blurred, like one of those photographs when someone’s moved as the shutters clicked, so I can’t be sure I saw anything at all. It might only have been the trees moving in the wind.’

‘Let’s walk to the side of the house and see. We’ll have to wait for the fire engine to move anyway before we can get the cars out.’


The house cast dense shadows on this side, but there was still an overspill from the fire engine’s lights, and it was possible to see that tall weeds grew up between the cracks of what might once have been a terrace. There was the outline of what had been a large lawn on two levels, with moss-covered steps between the two, and a cracked sundial, covered with lichen. On a bright summer’s afternoon, with cheerful voices, this could have been a lively, happy place. A family place, where children would have run free and enjoyed playing.

Children.

The two figures were indistinct – so much so that they could have been scribbled on the darkness by a child’s pencil. It was not entirely certain if they were even there.

‘It looks like two small girls,’ said Nell, almost in a whisper. ‘I can see their long hair.’

The girls could have been anywhere between six and ten years old, and they were moving away from the house, hand in hand, not exactly running, but not walking slowly. One of them looked back over her shoulder, and put up a hand. The gesture was so indistinct it could have been anything. But it could have been a gesture of farewell. Michael drew in a sharp breath, then sketched a similar gesture.

Behind them, the fire engine revved, its lights swung round, and the figures vanished.

‘We did see that, didn’t we?’ said Nell, sounding slightly shaken.

‘Yes.’

‘They weren’t … real children, were they?’

‘No.’

‘Who were they?’

‘I could make a guess, but it’ll be easier to tell you after you’ve read Maria’s journal,’ said Michael.

The fire engine was trundling down the drive, towards the main road, and as they went over to their cars, he said, ‘Nell – about that journal I found. How would you feel about having the professor in on it? He started all this, so I think he’d like to know what we’ve found.’

‘I’d like that. D’you think he’d be free to come to supper?’ said Nell. ‘But it’s half-past eight already, so it’ll have to be takeaway.’

‘Bless you,’ said Michael, smiling. ‘I’ll phone him now.’

Leo, listening to Michael’s brief explanation, expressed himself as horrified to hear about the fire. Invited to Quire Court, he said he had not dined yet – he had been working on his Radcliffe lecture, and he had not noticed the time.

‘But after what’s happened tonight I don’t want to cause Nell any trouble—’

‘She’d like you to come. And,’ said Michael, ‘we’re picking up supper on the way home so it won’t be any trouble at all. Can you meet us at Quire Court in about an hour?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘And can you eat Chinese food?’

‘I can indeed,’ said Leo.





TWENTY-FOUR


They opted for Cantonese food in the end, and reached Quire Court laden with foil cartons. Leo arrived ten minutes later, bearing two bottles of wine – a Chablis and a good claret. There was also a bottle of some bright pink concoction which the professor had spotted in the wine shop and which he thought Beth might like.