The Whispering: A Haunted House Mystery(70)

Mother says she does not know what we will do for the fees of the nursing home, but Uncle Charles says we are not to worry about that; he will see everything is taken care of. Dear Uncle Charles.

When we get home from the visit, I think I might go down to the stone room again. I feel close to Stephen there – I feel Leonora would like prayers to be said for him. I can do that. Leonora grew up knowing about prayer, and I know about it as well.

The more I think about it, the more I think I shall go down there from time to time.

Michael turned the page. There were a few more entries – brief notes about ordinary day-to-day life at Fosse House. Luisa, having recorded the traumas and tragedies of those years, seemed to have lost interest in keeping the journal.

But there was one entry right at the end, and although Michael thought it was in Luisa’s hand, it was no longer the writing of a fifteen-year-old girl. This was something she had written very recently.

I had not thought I would want – or need – to write in this private book again. But once, all those years ago, Leonora said I might one day meet someone I would feel I could trust with the contents of these pages. I never thought so myself, but I was wrong …

Because yesterday I believe I met that person, the one I can trust with the truth—

The final word trailed off, and Michael, staring at it, thought: that’s when she had the heart attack. His mind presented him with a picture of Luisa writing that entry, then feeling the heart pain, and falling. But at least I heard her, he thought. At least I could summon help. He reread the last sentence. Yesterday I believe I met that person, the one I can trust …

He closed the diary and put it into his jacket pocket. He was scarcely aware of the modern surroundings – the buzz of conversation from the drinkers at the bar, preparations at the far end for what looked as if it might be a pub quiz.

Nell’s train had probably reached the local station now. He would try phoning her to find out. He felt in his jacket pocket for his phone, then realized with annoyance that he had left it up in the bedroom. He was just getting up to fetch it, when the barman called out to ask if he would be having dinner there that evening.

‘Because if so, I’ll reserve you a table, Dr Flint. It’s a quiz night, and we get fairly busy.’

‘Yes, please,’ said Michael. ‘There’ll be two of us. At least, if the trains run to time there will be.’

At this a man who had just come in and was helping with the tables for the quiz, looked sharply round.

‘Dr Flint?’

‘Yes.’

‘The same one as booked a taxi at the station earlier?’

‘Yes. You were going to pick up my partner and bring her here. Was the train delayed or something?’

‘As a matter of fact, it was early,’ said the man. ‘Which is a miracle these days. But your lady wanted to be driven past Fosse House, and we saw lights on, and we thought you were in there, so— You were in there,’ he said, half accusingly, half puzzled. ‘We both saw you. So your girlfriend said she’d go in and drive out here with you.’ He was starting to look more than puzzled. ‘I saw her go up to the door,’ he said. ‘I waited and saw her knock on the door.’

Michael said, ‘I’ve been here since about half-past four. I locked up the house and switched off all the lights.’

‘Then,’ said the man, ‘who was it I saw at the window?’





Twenty-Two


Nell thought Michael was taking a long time to come to the door and let her in. She had seen him cross the room on the right-hand side of the front door, and she had heard him walk across what was presumably the hall. Then nothing.

She tried the knocker again and heard it reverberate in the house. Surely no one could have missed hearing that? She pressed her ear against the door, to listen, and for a dreadful moment had the feeling that someone was standing on the other side, listening to her. This was absurd. Probably the house and the darkness was affecting her. She delved into her bag for her phone to ring Michael’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Clearly, Michael had switched it off for some reason and forgotten to switch it back or he had let the battery run down. Either of these would be like him. Nell left a message on the off-chance he would pick it up, then walked to the lighted window and tapped on it.

‘Michael? Are you in there? It’s me – Nell. For heaven’s sake let me in, it’s freezing out here.’

Still nothing. She stood close up to the window, trying to see inside, but the curtains were drawn tightly and there was no chink. She thought the room was empty – the silhouette she had seen earlier was no longer there, that was for sure.

A tiny beat of apprehension began to tap against her mind. She was not going to recognize, even for a second, any thoughts about spooky goings-on. What she was going to think was that Michael had not, after all, heard her knock. He could have had a radio on – headphones plugged in, maybe. He might, by pure coincidence, have walked across the hall just at that minute. She would walk round the side of the house; there was bound to be another door at the back. Tradesmen’s entrance. And very suitable too, thought Nell.

The lighted window cast a faint radiance over the house’s front, but when she came to the corner, deep shadows lay everywhere. She glanced back at the driveway and for the first time realized she had not seen Michael’s car anywhere. It might be parked on the other side, of course, but it would be reassuring to see it.