‘You make it sound like a train,’ replied Dr Mortimer.
‘The website mentioned a séance?’ Gloria, who hadn’t touched her food yet, was speaking to Rendell.
‘Yes,’ he replied. He had switched from the wine to drinking whisky. ‘As soon as we’ve all finished eating, we’ll move into the drawing room and see if the spirits want to talk to us.’
The clink of Rendell’s glass as he swirled the liquid around against the ice cubes tickled a memory for Midge of him as a younger policeman, standing in the station bar. She shifted in herchair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the rainbow sequins digging into her skin.
‘How exciting,’ breathed Rona, who had made a quick return to her previous good humour.
‘And then, finally, perhaps you will see this nonsense for what it is,’ said the doctor to his wife.
‘Over ninety per cent of attendees on haunted excursions, who claimed to be non-believers when they attended, recorded a complete belief in the paranormal afterwards,’ announced Noah.
‘Because they are already susceptible,’ said the doctor, leaning back in his chair and smiling.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rona.
‘Well, what I’m saying is that youallare a little bit, even when you think you aren’t. Because you’re here, aren’t you? It’s like those people who say, “I don’t believe in hypnotism, but I’ll get up on stage and give it a go.” They are just the susceptible kind of idiots that make it work.’
‘You’re here,’ pointed out Harold.
‘Only to support my wife,’ said the doctor, which was a peculiar thing to say.
‘Perhaps we can have a look at the attic rooms that the servants lived in?’ Noah turned to Rendell. ‘Later on, after the séance. I like to build up some historical and architectural context for my podcasts.’
Rendell shifted in his seat. ‘I’m afraid the current owners had the side access boarded up some time ago,’ he said, instantly wiping off Noah’s smile. ‘And I wasn’t provided with a key for the internal stairs.’
‘Poor things,’ said Gloria. ‘Imagine being sent away from home at fourteen.’
It took Midge a second or so to realize that she was talking about the servants.
‘Not everyone is sad to leave home,’ muttered Noah, which made Midge recall the label on his luggage: ‘C/O THE CAMBERS’.
‘I could fill you in on a few bits if you want to interview me tonight for your podcast,’ said Rendell.
While the others continued to make small talk, Midge steadfastly worked her way through a chilli which she found very acceptable albeit bothersome to eat in company. The others left much of the food untouched. Although Gloria had given the appearance of eating, she had, in fact, merely pushed items around her plate. Rendell had nursed his whisky, choosing instead to suck and crunch on the ice cubes rather than eat. The only one who had joined her with any enthusiasm was Harold, who had devoured his chilli with as much gusto as he had attacked the service station curry. So much so that Midge was beginning to wonder how much food he had been getting at home.
When they finally moved into the other room for the séance, the grandfather clock on the hallway landing was chiming 9 p.m., a time that Midge, who was firmly of the opinion that nothing good happened during the hours after eight, considered recklessly late. Despite the hour, the guns from the range could still be heard. It sounded like artillery now.
According to Noah’s narration, the drawing room was ‘a perfect example of Jacobean oak panelling and architecture, encapsulating the mystery and skulduggery of the era...’
This was far too many unnecessary words, but Midge, who thought it smelled of nursing homes, had never been to a séance before and so concluded she was not best placed to judge. Besides, she was feeling very sleepy; all the travelling and forced communication of the day had taken its toll on her.
Despite its age and size, the room was warm due to a roaring fire, the flames throwing shadows on to portraits of Atherton ancestry. Rendell extinguished all but two of the oil lamps asthey arranged themselves around the large teak card table in the middle of the floor.
‘So exciting!’ Rona’s nerves added a shrillness to her voice.
Dr Mortimer had taken a seat next to his wife, who was anxiously fiddling with her earrings.
‘With the aid of this antique spirit catcher, I will channel the ghosts of the house,’ announced Rendell grandly, pointing to a crystal glass upended on top of a wooden board. It was identical to the one by the washbasin in Midge’s shower room.
‘Are we hoping to talk to the White Lady of the Moor tonight?’ asked Rona.
‘It very much depends on the will of the spirits.’ Rendell twirled the stem. ‘If she wants to talk then she will, but if there is anyone else there with a message, we may hear them.’
Midge heard a sharp intake of breath from Gloria, next to her. Her husband had also noticed and frowned as he leaned across to whisper something in her ear.
There were eight chairs, two on each side of the table, all made from the same mottled teak. Taking a seat, Midge realized that the mottling was, in fact, tiny woodworm holes. She rested her cane beside her feet on the flagstones.
