Property of a Lady(62)

‘No, but I haven’t checked my emails since lunchtime. Hold on, I’ll do it now.’

The laptop had gone into its sleep mode; Michael activated it, and opened the email programme.

‘There is an email from Jack,’ he said. ‘That’s something at any rate, except—’

‘What? Michael, what is it?’

Michael said, ‘I’ll forward the email to you in a minute, but listen.’

Michael—


I got your email and voicemail message, and I know you said the house is pretty much derelict, but we think we’ll still come over. Liz is really keen to see the place as soon as possible, particularly since— Well, since the most astonishing thing!

We got to New Jersey two days ago, at least I think it was two days ago, because time has got a bit skewed for us with everything that’s been happening. But we were greeted with some very sad news indeed. Liz’s doughty old godmother died two days earlier. She was in her late eighties, the grand old girl, and she’s been living with the cousins for about four years. Apparently, she just sat down after supper, said, ‘I feel a bit peculiar,’ closed her eyes and died. Way to go, as they say, but think of the shock to everyone. Liz cried, because she was really fond of her, and so was I, despite all the things I used to say about her. (I didn’t cry, of course.)

Godmamma was English – can’t remember if you knew that – and one of that wonderful tough breed that went through World War II and came out the other side. She never married, but she was engaged to one of Liz’s cousins – the previous generation of cousins, or maybe even the one before that. He was in the army, and he went out to Hiroshima and was there when they dropped the atom bomb in ’45. Alice always kept in touch with his family.

Michael broke off as Nell gasped.

‘Alice,’ she said. ‘It’s our Alice, isn’t it? That’s the link. She contrived to get the Charect House investigation because it had been in her fiancé’s family.’

‘That’s what it sounds like.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.’

Michael resumed reading.

We got there in time for the funeral – Ellie stayed behind at the house for that, and one of the cousins’ teenage daughter stayed with her – but Liz and I went. Afterwards, we were able to help with sorting out the dear old love’s things. Liz gets a few of the pieces – some glassware and really beautiful porcelain. God knows how we’ll get it to England without it smashing, but we’re going to try. Ellie gets a little legacy that’s to be put into a savings fund to mature when she’s eighteen. “So she can opt to study or go round the world or squander it on lush living, whatever she wants,” Alice had specified. My guess is it’ll be round the world, and I think Alice would have approved of that.

Locked away in a kind of travelling desk that she must have had for fifty years, were all her papers – birth certificate, life insurance, passport. Photographs of the guy who was burned to a crisp in Japan. Michael, I didn’t weep at the funeral, but I did then, seeing those photos, although I pretended to Liz I had something in my eye.

(She said, “Oh yes? And is that Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto I can hear drifting down the rail track?” She’s such a cynic, that Liz.)

So there were these photos – good-looking guy he was, warm smile, absolute tragedy he died like that. And books. A lot of books. I should think they’re worth a bit – we might send Nell West an inventory to see if she’d know of a market for them. Terrific old tales of legends and ancient British folklore, and even some on magic. Plus a really battered book called The Ingoldsby Legends. (What, or where, is an Ingoldsby?) I did glance at a couple of pages of that one, and trust me, it’s a chiller in places, although I think a fair amount might be what you lot call black humor. The humor we aren’t supposed to get.

We all sat on the porch after the funeral, remembering her, telling anecdotes about her, as you do when somebody’s died. I haven’t pieced her life together completely, because everyone had a different memory, so it’s like putting a jigsaw together. I dare say there are a lot of pieces still missing.

But as far as I can make out, she worked with various societies for psychic research in England – I know it sounds off-the-wall, but she was that kind of lady. She’d have taken huge delight in debunking fraudsters and scams, but secretly she’d have loved it if she came across anything that smacked of the real thing. Not that I think there is a real thing. No ghosts, no pack drill.

Here’s the amazing thing. She went to Charect House. She actually went there, sometime in the sixties. I don’t know why or how, or if it was a psychic investigation, or what it was. Because around that time she got ill – no one here knows the details, but some kind of nervous exhaustion from overwork is the popular view. That’s when she came to live in New Jersey, to be near Joel’s people. She looked on them as family, and they looked on her as the daughter-in-law or sister-in-law she should have been. She was an adopted aunt to half a dozen of the kids, as well as godmother to Liz and one or two more.

But this is the explanation for Ellie’s nightmares. Ellie used to stay with these cousins for weekends, and she was there this summer for almost a month. Alice was there as well, and Ellie took to her. You know how it is with kids and old people – they often have a remarkable affinity.