The Whispering: A Haunted House Mystery(75)

‘Yes.’

Nell studied it intently. ‘Yes, I see,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t see anything strange unless you looked at the sketch at the same time. He’s just a man in the background. But there’s the impression that he isn’t quite in the photograph – that he’s not entirely one of the group.’

‘I wonder if any of those men saw him,’ said Michael. ‘Although it looks as if he’s in uniform, so they might have accepted him as another patient.’

Nell repeated the gesture of tracing the shadowy figure in the photo, then stepped back. With an air of closing one subject and preparing for the next, she said, ‘What now? There’s a good hour before the solicitor will get here. The underground room?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think you’d better come with me. Will you stay up here?’

‘No,’ said Nell firmly. ‘I’m coming with you. I want to know what happened to Stephen as much as you. And since we’re quoting anything that comes to hand on this trip, isn’t there a line about, “Follow thee my lord throughout the world”?’

‘There is, but I’m a bit old for Romeo.’

‘I don’t care if you’re the ghost of Hamlet’s father, I’m not staying up here while you chase shadows in the cellars.’

‘I’ll leave the main door open, I think,’ said Michael. ‘Because if Pargeter turns up early, we mightn’t hear his knock while we’re down there.’ He propped the door open with a small chair, then produced the key Luisa had given him.

Even seen halfway through the morning, the underground room was daunting. Nell shivered and thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket as Michael shone the torch around the walls.

‘It’s like a shrine,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But a shrine for who?’

‘Stephen, I should think. Luisa certainly seems to have had a bit of a romantic feeling for him.’ The torchlight came to rest on the oak chest, and Nell gave a sharp gasp.

‘So that’s it.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s much bigger than I was imagining,’ she said. ‘And much deeper. It’s almost waist-high, isn’t it? It looks like a dower chest. Young ladies often brought them to their new homes when they were married – they were intended to hold bedlinen, mostly. They can be quite valuable. Can I have the torch a moment? Thanks.’ She knelt down, shining the torch directly on to the chest. ‘It’s oak,’ she said, ‘and it’s probably English. Oh, and there’s ebony inlay – can you see? Here and here. Some of it’s chipped, which is a pity. Those dreadful chains probably did that. But the carving is lovely, isn’t it? I should think it’s early eighteenth-century, which would make it very sellable. It’s a pity about the scratches and the chipped ebony, though, because that will devalue it, and—’

‘What is it?’ said Michael as Nell broke off abruptly.

She was sitting back on her knees, staring at the chest. ‘Listen,’ she said, very quietly.

‘I can’t hear anything. If it’s footsteps, it’s probably Mr Pargeter arriving early—’ Michael stopped, his eyes on the chest.

‘Can you hear it?’ said Nell in a half-whisper.

‘Yes. It’s something scratching. It might be mice,’ said Michael, looking about him. ‘They might be at the back of the chest, or—’

Nell said, ‘It’s not coming from the back of the chest.’ She turned to look at him, her face pale. ‘It’s coming from inside it.’


They stared at one another. ‘It can’t be,’ said Michael at last. ‘It simply can’t. Nothing could have got in there. Or if something did – if something gnawed its way through the wood, it would be able to get out the same way. At worst, it’s mice.’

‘How strong do you think that padlock is?’ said Nell. ‘It’s very rusty. I should think it would snap off pretty easily.’

Michael stared at her. ‘You want to open it?’

‘It’s the last thing I want to do. But there’s something in there, Michael. And whatever it is, it’s alive. Can you really walk away and pretend you didn’t hear it?’

‘It probably is a mouse.’ Michael was looking round the stone room. In a very quiet voice, he said, ‘Nell, I think we have to walk away anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s someone in here with us.’

Nell stood up slowly, automatically brushing the dust from her skirt. She looked about her, and her eyes came to rest on the corner behind Luisa Gilmore’s writing table.

In a very gentle voice, she said, ‘Stephen?’

The shadows moved slightly, like smoke uncoiling. Nell reached for Michael’s hand. Neither of them moved.

There was a sound like a faint sobbing – the faraway, long-ago resonance of something sad and somehow pleading, and then he was there, indistinct and blurred, like a photograph or an early ciné film not quite in focus. But recognizable. The young man with the leaf-blown scar and the nightmare-filled eyes.

Half to himself, Michael said, ‘Of course he’d come in. We left the main door open.’

‘I’ll never believe you didn’t leave it open deliberately,’ said Nell, her eyes on the figure. ‘Does he see us, do you think?’