‘It’s faux fox,’ muttered Noah. ‘And it’s for LARP, I told you.’
Midge helped herself to a spoonful of sugar, stirring it into her tea thoughtfully. And then she helped herself to another, because Bridie wasn’t there. And then guilt and worry surged through her – Bridie’s chemo session would be finished now. How had it gone? How was she feeling?I’ll know soon enough, Midge resolved. Worry was a futile waste of effort.
‘Perhaps you could try looking for the name “Beth Hallow” in the diary when you get the chance,’ she suggested, shyly. ‘It was on the stone in the cemetery, and it seems William fixated on the name in his delirium. Her death date also implies she was a contemporary of Charles and his sons.’
Noah’s head shot up. ‘So, you think this Beth might be our ghost?’
‘There is no “our” ghost,’ clarified Midge, in case anyone else thought she had taken leave of her senses. ‘I’m merely interested in the circumstance of the gravestone.’
‘Hellllooooo... shouldn’t we be focusing on the real-life murderer?’ said Rona.
‘Yes, exactly,’ replied Midge, finishing off her tea and frowning at the bottom of the cup. The bag had split and the grounds had congregated in the shape of a face.
‘We can’t stay here... I can’t, we’re sitting ducks,’ cried Rona, chewing her nail. Her face suddenly flushed with colour.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Harold. ‘We’ll protect you, won’t we, Noah?’
Noah seemed to shrink further into his cloak and looked as uncertain about this announcement as Midge felt.
‘Read the room, Harold!’ snapped Rona. ‘The murderer is one of us, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Or—’ began Noah.
‘So help me, Noah,’ cried Rona, tearfully. ‘If you say “Lady of the Moor” one more time I’m going to take that revolting old cloak and shove it right up your arse.’ Something which Midge couldn’t help thinking wouldn’t make the garment look any more unpleasant.
‘I’m going back to my room,’ the pop star continued, her voice wobbling. ‘There’s no chocolate left after Noah’s baking, and bloody Gloria’s drunk all the wine.’
‘You’re in recovery anyway,’ pointed out Noah.
‘I can still eat a sodding KitKat!’ she cried.
They all watched Rona leave, silent for a moment before Harold leaned back in his chair. ‘My money’s on the unhinged pop star next.’ He winked, and shoved the last of the biscuits into his mouth. ‘Or Gandalf here.’
Chapter40
Intending to retire to her room and catch up on some stitching, Midge didn’t get much further than the hallway before the house erupted into loud banging and clanging that rattled the giant windows.
Rona, her hair wrapped up inside an elaborate hairnet, suddenly appeared at the bottom of the staircase, screaming in fright. ‘What is it? What’s that noise?’
Booming thuds shook the enormous oak door, forcing the hefty iron knocker to clatter against the wood.
Suddenly, the hallway burst into light with a flash of illumination from outside.
‘It’s the artillery,’ said Harold, appearing from the kitchen. ‘They’re letting off shells.’
His face flickered in and out of view with the strobing lights through the window. ‘There you go, see. No drama...’ He trailed off, unable to continue as his eyes locked in frozen horror on the wall behind them. Midge and Rona turned as one, to follow his gaze.
Just above their heads was the large portrait of William Atherton, reclining in an armchair.
Someone had ripped the painting in half from top to bottom.
‘What the...?’ Harold was now staring below the vandalized picture at where the rifle display cabinet hung on the wall.
There was an empty space in the middle of the guns.
Rona started to scream.
Midge was insistent that there had only ever been six rifles from the start, which Harold said was ridiculous. ‘How do you account for the ruddy great rifle-shaped gap in the middle, then? Either way, that painting was definitely whole before.’
