Dial a Ghost

Chapter Fourteen

When the Wilkinsons had been with Oliver for a week, they called up the ghost of the farmer from the lake.

Oliver had been worried about this, but it turned out to be a very good thing to do. They called him up the way they called Trixie, telling him he was wanted and needed and that he should not wander alone in the Land of the Shades, and gradually there was a sort of heaving on the lake, and then a kind of juddering, and slowly the spirit of Benjamin Jenkins, who had run the Home Farm at Helton a hundred years ago, floated up and out of the water.

He couldn’t have been nicer. He was simply dressed, in breeches and a checked shirt, and carried a gun over his shoulder because he had meant to shoot himself if the drowning didn’t work, and the first thing he did in his pleasant country voice was to thank them for calling him up.

‘I was getting a bit bogged down in there,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t make up my mind about coming out.’

Eric and Mr Jenkins took to each other at once, and in no time at all they were telling each other how badly they had been treated by the women they loved.

‘Her name was Fredrica Snodde-Brittle,’ said the farmer. ‘She used to ride through my fields every morning on a huge horse and I was always there, holding open the gate for her. I was so sure she’d come to care for me.’

‘That’s what I thought about Cynthia Harbottle. I used to carry her satchel all the way to the bus stop.’

The farmer sighed. ‘She was so haughty. She said no Snodde-Brittle could marry a common farmer.’

Eric nodded understandingly. ‘Cynthia was haughty too. She used to blow bubble gum in my face.’

Fredrica hadn’t done that because bubble gum wasn’t invented in those days and anyway the Snodde-Brittles were too haughty to chew, but she had done other things, and soon Eric and Mr Jenkins took to wandering away into the woods, feeling very much comforted to know that they were not alone.

With Eric so much more cheerful, his parents could settle down to enjoy themselves. Uncle Henry went fishing, borrowing a rod from the lumber room and sitting peacefully by the river for hours on end. He didn’t catch any fish — he didn’t want to — he just liked to sit and be quiet and forget all those years when people had opened their mouths and showed him their teeth even on a Monday morning. And if anyone came and saw a rod stretched by itself over the water, they probably thought it was the branch of a tree.

Aunt Maud, meanwhile, took up her dancing again, hitching up her long tweed skirt and twirling and swirling on the rim of the fountain, and Grandma did housework. Miss Match never came upstairs, so that no one noticed a hoover snaking along the floor by itself or a feather duster shaking itself out. Even the budgie became a useful bird, helping the swallows build their nests and hardly saying anything silly at all.

There was only one thing which puzzled the ghosts. Why had Miss Pringle not told them that they were going to Helton instead of the nuns? And who was it that had offered to have the ghosts at Helton in the first place? Who had gone to the agency and offered them a home?

‘It must have been Fulton,’ said Oliver. ‘He kept telling me ghost stories, but I didn’t understand. I feel awful now, not liking him, when he was doing this marvellous thing for me.’

The Wilkinsons looked at each other. They weren’t so sure about Fulton Snodde-Brittle. Why had he left Oliver alone for days on end — and what had happened to the letters Oliver had given him to post? Because his friends in the Home had not forgotten him. There’d been an absolute spate of letters answering the one he’d sent from Troughton. They meant to keep a sharp eye on Fulton Snodde-Brittle when he came — and he came, as it happened, on the following day.

‘I’m afraid you’ll find the poor little boy in a dreadful state,’ said Fulton as he drove the car towards Helton Hall.

‘Barmy,’ agreed Frieda. ‘Completely raving.’

Dr O’Hara said he was sorry to hear that. He was a young doctor with dark hair and a friendly smile, and not the doctor whom Fulton had hoped to bring to Helton. It was old Dr Gridlestone whom the Snodde-Brittles had chosen to put Oliver away, but he was ill. Dr O’Hara was new to the district and it was his day off, but when Fulton had told him that there was a child who might become a danger to himself and others he had agreed to come.

‘Is there any mental illness in the family?’ Dr O’Hara asked. ‘Any madness?’

‘Is there not!’ lied Fulton. ‘His mother thought she was a chicken and his aunt jumped off a cliff and his little sister had fits. Not the Snodde-Brittles of course — the Snodde-Brittles are perfect — but the family on his mother’s side.’

‘So you see how worried we are for Oliver,’ said Frieda. ‘He must be shut away somewhere and protected from the strain of running Helton Hall.’

Dr O’Hara was silent, wishing he hadn’t come. The idea of picking up a struggling boy and carrying him off was not pleasant at all.

They turned into the drive and found Miss Match waiting for them.

‘Well, how is the dear boy?’ asked Fulton. ‘We’ve been so anxious about him, but Dr O’Hara has come to examine him and we can get an ambulance in no time and take him away.’

‘Best thing you can do,’ said Miss Match grumpily. ‘He gets sillier and sillier.’

‘Is he in bed?’

‘Not him. Rampaging round in the garden talking to himself. Won’t come in for meals. Leaves bananas on the sundial.’

Fulton and Frieda exchanged glances. ‘Bananas on the sundial, eh? That sounds serious, wouldn’t you say, Dr O’Hara?’

‘It is certainly unusual,’ the doctor admitted.

‘You’ll find him by the lake,’ said Miss Match, and stumped back into the house.

So the Snodde-Brittles, followed by Dr O’Hara, crossed the lawn and made their way down the gravel path towards the water.

Even from a distance they could see that Oliver was behaving very strangely. He was running round and round, beckoning and calling, and suddenly he burst out laughing.

‘I think I’ll just go back and see about the ambulance,’ said Frieda. She had remembered Fulton’s description of the Shriekers and even in broad daylight she didn’t fancy meeting them.

But at that moment, Oliver looked up and saw them.

Fulton expected anything except what happened next. Oliver gave a shout of welcome and ran towards his cousin with his arms stretched out.

‘Oh thank you, thank you,’ he said, hugging him round the waist. ‘Thank you so much — so terribly much! I was so lonely and miserable and now everything’s lovely!’ He turned to Frieda, standing with her mouth open. ‘And Cousin Frieda too! It’s the best thing that’s ever happened, you sending me the ghosts.’

Fulton loosened Oliver’s hands and took a step backwards. He had left a pale, thin child whose eyes were too big for his face. Now he saw a boy with rosy cheeks and the glow that happiness brings. Was it a feverish flush? Yes, it had to be.

‘What… ghosts?’ he stammered. ‘I never sent any.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Oliver was puzzled. ‘That’s strange. They said—’

‘They? Who are they?’ asked the doctor.

‘Come and meet them. Please. They vanished when they heard the car because they thought they might be in the way.’ He took Fulton’s hand and reluctantly the others followed. ‘Adopta’s very excited because Mr Jenkins has dredged up a phantom prawn for her and she thinks it might cheer up the fish in her sponge bag, but we’re not sure because it’s quite a big prawn.’

Dr O’Hara sighed. This was madness all right — and he’d really liked the little boy.

They had reached the lake.

‘It’s all right, everybody — please appear again,’ Oliver called. ‘It’s Cousin Fulton and Cousin Frieda and—’ he turned to the doctor. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

‘I’m Dr O’Hara.’

‘Oh, a doctor! Uncle Henry will like that. He was a dentist and he’s a very scientific person. Good — there they are!’ One by one the ghosts appeared and Oliver introduced them. ‘This is Aunt Maud… well, Mrs Wilkinson really, and this is Mr Wilkinson and this is Grandma…’

What followed kept Fulton and Frieda rooted to the ground. Dr O’Hara stepped forward and shook hands with — nothing. With air.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Wilkinson,’ he said. ‘And you too, sir.’ He took another step and this time he raised his hand to his forehead in a salute. ‘I was a Scout too,’ he said in his friendly way. ‘Though I never made it to patrol leader.’

‘Who are you talking to?’ shrieked Frieda. ‘What are you doing?’

Dr O’Hara turned to them, very surprised. ‘But surely you can see them?’ he said. ‘This gentleman here in the army helmet and the old lady with the umbrella and—’

‘No, we can’t,’ said Fulton, white-faced. ‘You’re making it up. You’re playing a joke.’

‘No, he isn’t, Cousin Fulton,’ said Oliver. ‘Those are the Wilkinsons. They’re my family. Look, there’s Adopta now — you must be able to see her. She’s my special friend.’

‘Yes, you must surely see the little girl?’ said Dr O’Hara. ‘Her nightdress is quite dazzling.’

‘You’re lying!’ Fulton was shaking with anger and fear. He had brought in a doctor who was as crazy as the child.

Oliver was very upset. ‘Oh how unfair, Cousin Fulton! That’s really rotten, you not being able to see the ghosts when it was you that gave them a home.’

But Addie didn’t at all want to be seen by the Snodde-Brittles. She thought they looked horrible with their long yellow faces and bulging eyes, and she was more certain than ever that Fulton was up to no good. Dr O’Hara was another matter — and now the Snodde-Brittles saw the doctor bend down and cup his hands as though something was being lowered into them.

‘Ah yes — how interesting! I’ve never seen a phantom prawn before. I think you’d be quite safe putting her in with your fish. It’s a female and they only attack when they’re laying eggs.’ He straightened himself and put his arm round Oliver. ‘You’ve certainly got a most delightful family,’ he said. ‘I haven’t met such pleasant ghosts since I was a little boy in Ireland. Our house was haunted by such an interesting couple — a schoolteacher and his wife who drowned in a bog. They were the most wonderful storytellers.’ He walked over to Fulton and Frieda. ‘I can’t see the slightest sign of mental illness in the boy; he seems as fit as a flea, and for someone who’s going to run a place like this, an open mind about unusual things is most important. You must be so relieved to know that you have nothing at all to worry about.’

But Fulton and Frieda had had enough. The last thing they saw as they hurried back to the car was a fishing rod lift itself into the air and drop into the doctor’s hand.

‘How very kind,’ they heard Dr O’Hara say. ‘I must say an hour’s fishing would be most pleasant. It so happens that it’s my day off.’

‘It’s your fault, you idiot,’ said Frieda when they were alone again. ‘You said you’d get ghosts that were going to frighten him into fits and look what you’ve done! Unless Dr O’Hara’s mad. Grandmothers. Boy Scouts. Little girls in nightgowns. It’s ridiculous!’

‘It’s not my fault — it’s the fault of that stupid woman in the agency. She swore she had a pair of spooks that would frighten the living daylights out of people. There must have been a mix-up and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I tell you, Frieda, I’m not finished yet. I’m going to Set My Foot Upon My—’

‘All right, all right,’ said Frieda grumpily.

She wasn’t really in the mood for feet.