The Whispering: A Haunted House Mystery(35)

He had not really expected to find anything, particularly since he had no idea of Boots’s real name, but near the bottom of the box was a brittle, faded newspaper cutting with a smudgy photograph of a wedding group. There was no date but Michael thought the clothes looked right for around 1930.

The cutting seemed to be from a local paper, and it informed its readers of a wedding that had been celebrated in the Church of St Augustine.

The groom was Mr Booth Gilmore, and readers will remember that Mr Gilmore inherited Fosse House some five years ago after a presumption of death was declared on his second cousin, Mr Stephen Gilmore. Mr Booth Gilmore has since lived quietly at the house, pursuing various academic interests.

The bride was Miss Margaret Chiffley, the cousin of an old school-friend of Mr Gilmore – see here for full details of Miss Chiffley’s gown and the gowns of the bridesmaids. A wedding breakfast was held after the ceremony at Fosse House.

This newspaper offers its congratulations to Mr Gilmore and his new wife.

So, thought Michael, ‘Boots’ was Booth Gilmore, and Chuffy finally succeeded in dragging his old school-friend from his ivory tower for long enough to meet and marry a suitable lady – whom Chuffy, obliging as ever, had even provided, from his own family. Chuffy was the sobriquet for Chiffley, of course. He smiled because it was a typical fashioning of a schoolboy nickname for that era. It was an unusual surname as well; it might even be possible to trace Chuffy or his descendants.

It was a shame that the faces in the newspaper photograph were too blurred to make out any details, and even more of a shame that the paper had not listed the names of everyone. He would have liked to identify Chuffy in particular. But everyone seemed to be smiling, and Michael found himself hoping Booth and his lady had been happy.

It seemed that on one level, at least, they had. Just beneath the wedding notice was a smaller clipping that announced the birth of a daughter in 1936: ‘To Booth and Margaret Gilmore (née Chiffley), a daughter, Luisa Margaret. Thanks to all concerned.’

Michael was not really surprised. The dates had already been looking about right for Booth to be Luisa’s father.

Luisa had referred to her parents being away, saying she had been on her own a good deal. Presumably Booth – perhaps with his wife – had travelled outside England in his search for the truth about his mysterious cousin, Stephen, leaving his small daughter in the care of a nursemaid or nanny. He certainly seemed to have visited Liège. Did that mean he had found a link between Stephen and the Palestrina Choir, or had it simply been Leonora who had interested him because of the family connection?

Michael was just deciding he would have to postpone further searches until after dinner, when he heard Luisa tapping her way across the hall, and then the sound of a door being unlocked. Did that mean she was going down to the underground room? To pray? To write in the leather-bound book again? But again the question formed as to why she should go down there to do either of those things. Because she’s mad, said his mind in instant response. She might only be mad nor’ nor’ west, like Hamlet, but if the compass has swung round to the nor’nor’ west point tonight …

He was just managing to convince himself that he could ignore the sounds and that Luisa would emerge in time for dinner, perfectly normal and lucid, when there was a muffled cry and a series of slithering bumps. She’s fallen, thought Michael, horrified – she’s tripped on those wretched stone steps and fallen down them.

He ran out to the hall and across to the door set in the panelling. It was closed, but of course Luisa would have closed it after her. For a moment Michael thought she had locked it as well, and that he would have to break it down, but when he tried the small catch, the door swung smoothly inwards. He took a deep breath and stepped through.





Twelve


The curve of the steps hid the underground room from view, and a faint, flickering light came from below, as if the oil lamp or the candles had been lit. From the top of the steps Michael could not see Luisa, and he hesitated, still concerned, but not wanting to intrude. He had better make sure she was all right, though.

Had it only been twenty-four hours since he had stolen down these steps? In the flickering light his shadow fell blackly and eerily on the stone walls, and Michael glanced at it uneasily. Were there two shapes on the wall, as if two separate people were tiptoeing stealthily down the steps, the second one just behind him …? He whipped round and for a fleeting moment had the impression of someone pressing back in the dark corners.

‘Stephen?’ said Michael, very softly, and it seemed as if the darkness picked up the word and spun it into soft echoes.

Stephen, Stephen, STEPHEN… .

Then, incredibly, like dead breath struggling to form sounds, a faint response seemed to form within the echoes.

‘Here I am … You let me in, remember …? I can never get in by myself – I can never open a door or a window … But I was the shadow you saw inside the rain, and I was the one who printed the footmarks on the floor …’

Michael pushed the whispers away and went down the remaining steps. There was the altar-like table he remembered and the candles. They were unlit, but the oil lamp was glowing in its corner. There was the small desk with the book and pen. Then he saw that the chair by the desk had overturned, and that Luisa was lying near it in an untidy huddle on the ground. Michael went over to kneel by her. She was not moving and her eyes were closed. Was she dead? In films and books people always seemed to know straightaway if a person was dead, even without medical knowledge. But then he saw with relief that Luisa was breathing, although she was certainly unconscious. There was a bluish tinge to her lips – did that mean heart? Michael was not very used to dealing with illness, but there were certain basic things you did when someone collapsed. The first was to summon help, the second was to keep the person warm. He sped back up to the stairs, snatched up the phone in the hall, which was quicker than rummaging for his mobile, and dialled 999. It was a massive relief to hear a calm, clearly knowledgeable voice taking the details, and saying paramedics would be there as quickly as possible, and please to wait with the patient.