The Frozen Shroud

CHAPTER NINE

If Marc had ranted and raved, if his volcanic jealousy had erupted as so often before, Hannah could have eased her humiliation by flaying him with her tongue. He had no rights over her, he’d come to stand for everything wrong in her life. If not for him, she’d have put her career first; by now, she might be vying for promotion to ACC. However much he cared for her, it had never been enough.

Just as well it was left unsaid. No need to twist the knife. His aching silence only lasted seconds, but said far more than any protestations about lessons learnt, or promises to mend his ways. Pain and loss crumpled his face. The message was as vivid as a neon sign: I needed you more than you ever knew.

The slam of the front door was a thunderclap. Through the window, she heard the frantic roar of his car engine. He was revving like a drunken boy racer. Desperate to get away.

Greg shifted his weight off her stomach, but — thank God — knew better than to utter a word. Heaving herself upright on the sofa, she glared at the watercolour of Wasdale. Had Marc meant to collect his favourite picture, along with all his other stuff? Shit, why had she let him keep his key? His shock was genuine; of course, he’d never really believed she would be unfaithful to him.

As the shock wave subsided, she felt drenched with dismay, as much at her own stupidity as at Marc. Whatever his preconceptions about her, consciously or otherwise, she’d played up to them. Striving to be all things to all people. At home, the main breadwinner, at work, the single-minded career woman. When she’d had a miscarriage, she’d kept it quiet; hardly anyone knew what had happened. She was mistress of her emotions, blotting out the person she knew herself, deep down, to be. Even Marc, who knew her better than anyone alive, had been deceived.

He’d never dreamt she might succumb to a smooth-talking womaniser, or have a one-night stand with someone like Detective Sergeant Greg Wharf. Except that Greg was more than merely a smooth-talking womaniser, and this didn’t feel like a one-night stand. But what else could it be? Not therapy, for God’s sake?

‘Sorry.’ Embarrassment choked her voice. God, she sounded wretched; she daren’t imagine what she looked like.

Greg swallowed. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’

Scooping up her jersey, she pulled it on in a swift, decisive movement. ‘I didn’t mean any of this to happen. Not …’

When in a hole, rule one is to stop digging. She let her voice trail away. Anything she said now would only make things worse.

‘You’re not going after him?’

She winced, said nothing. Chase after Marc? As if.

Greg coughed. ‘I’d better make myself scarce. Unless — you want some company? To be with someone, I mean. Nothing more than that, no hidden agenda. Honest.’

She shook her head. ‘Like I said, I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.’

He started buttoning his shirt, with a rueful glance at the lacy black pants visible beneath her unzipped jeans. ‘Well, some of it is.’

Following his gaze, she zipped up. ‘We’re both grown up.’

‘Yeah.’

She mustered a bleak smile. ‘Joint enterprise, then?’

‘That’s right. Joint enterprise.’

Should she add: but not to be repeated? This evening had turned into a disaster. She’d never believed in mixing work with pleasure, perhaps that was why she’d never slept with Ben Kind, though subconsciously at least she’d recognised his yearning. Greg needed to know where he stood. But if she started laying down the law at this precise moment, it would seem false and pathetic. She clamped her mouth shut.

‘You left my jacket in the hall cupboard, didn’t you? Stay where you are, I can get it myself.’

‘Uh-huh.’

If she was in the mood to argue, she might have said: Don’t treat me like an invalid. Five minutes ago, you were about to shag me. But all the fight had drained out of her. All she wanted was to close her eyes and sink into a long and dreamless sleep.

‘Can I use your phone to call a taxi? Once I’ve rung, I’ll walk down the lane, they can pick me up on the main road. No point in hanging around, I’d only be in your way. Besides, I need a breath of night air to clear my head.’

He dropped a kiss on her cheek. Very chaste; he might have been the brother she’d once longed for, and never had.

‘Listen to me, Hannah. One thing I promise. Nobody at work will hear about this, okay?’ A strained grin. ‘What happens in Undercrag, stays in Undercrag.’

‘Thanks.’ Her voice was scratchy.

He strode out of the room, still the big, confident man she’d shown in here less than an hour before. But Hannah wasn’t sure she was the same woman.

‘Wonderful to see you both!’ Oz Knight was a brash and breezy Lucifer, resplendent in red robe and bronze mask. Resting his trident against a lacquered table weighed down by bottles of Bollinger, he embraced Louise, and pumped Daniel’s hand. ‘Welcome to Ravenbank Hall!’

‘Amazing home you have,’ Louise said.

Darkness hadn’t disguised the impressive proportions of the Knights’ mansion, or the uniqueness of its site, on the crest of a gentle slope above the inky depths of Ullswater. If the setting reflected an Edwardian grandeur of vision, its interior was a no-expense-spared triumph of sleek decor and state-of-the-art technology, while dry ice filled it with more mist than you’d find on Blencathra in the depths of winter. Black-and-white movies starring Bela Lugosi as Dracula and Boris Karloff as Frankenstein flickered on vast screens in the main reception rooms, ‘Toccata and Fugue’ and ‘Carmina Burana’ played through concealed speakers, and laser light shows conjured spooky images ranging from diabolic pumpkins and scary skulls to garish reproductions of Munch’s The Scream.

‘Have some bubbly.’ He handed them each a glass. ‘Here’s to the spirits of Hallowe’en!’

‘This was your dream house, Melody told us.’

‘Too right. Dear old Francis Palladino never realised its potential. He wanted to keep it just as Charlie Hodgkinson intended, but where’s the fun in the status quo? You can’t go back in time. Throughout the time we lived in Fell View, I was itching to get my hands on the Hall. Make it into somewhere special.’

Daniel savoured the champagne. ‘You weren’t superstitious?’

A sceptical grunt. ‘I never bought the notion this was an unhappy house. Even though poor Letty Hodgkinson is buried in our grounds. Shit happens, that’s the top and bottom of it.’

‘Melody seems fascinated by the old legend.’

‘The Frozen Shroud makes a great backdrop for a party, tonight of all nights. Even if you don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Has she convinced you that Letty Hodgkinson didn’t murder Gertrude Smith?’

‘The woman was off her head, wasn’t she?’ Oz was loud and boisterous, sounding as though he’d enjoyed plenty of bubbly. ‘Killed her husband’s mistress in a jealous rage, and then took an overdose because she couldn’t handle the guilt.’

‘Melody tells me she’d like to write about the case.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He glanced over to his wife, an exotic devil woman in red PVC and velvet with matching wings and horns, making conversation with a couple of paunchy werewolves. ‘Melody gets these enthusiasms, but they never last. I worry that someday she’ll become bored with me too.’

He guffawed at the unlikely prospect. Daniel decided to venture onto dangerous ground.

‘What about Shenagh Moss?’

‘What about her?’ The bonhomie faded, and Daniel felt Louise tug his sleeve in warning. If only he could see their host’s expression; impossible to read anything through the eye slits of his mask.

‘Do you believe Craig Meek killed her?’

‘Obviously. He was a sicko who couldn’t take rejection.’

‘Shenagh installed herself here as Francis Palladino’s partner. Did she antagonise anyone else, besides Meek?’

‘Why would she?’

‘Surely a woman like Shenagh raised hackles in a place as tiny as Ravenbank?’

‘A woman like Shenagh?’ Oz glared. ‘She was a … delightful lady.’

‘And an outsider who stole an old man’s heart. Was it a love match, or was there another reason why a nubile woman teamed up with the man who owned this wonderful house?’

Oz picked up his trident. ‘Who’s been talking about her? Not Melody?’

Daniel felt a kick on his shin. Louise, fretting that he’d tested Oz’s hospitality to the limit. Just as well the trident was made of plastic, otherwise he might end up gored by the prongs.

He said, ‘Melody goes along with the consensus, that Craig Meek was guilty.’

‘Naturally. By all accounts, Meek was a big man with an ego to match, but a conscience the size of a pea. If something didn’t suit him, he used brute force to get his own way. The case was open and shut. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better circulate. Do come and meet some of our friends.’

Oz beckoned over a stringy-haired zombie and a toothy vampire, who proved to be the Knights’ accountant and solicitor, before disappearing into the crowd. The lawyer evidently fancied sinking his fangs into Louise, and his drink-lubricated small talk soon had Daniel’s eyes glazing behind his mask, but regular refills of Bollinger helped deaden the pain. He wanted to talk to Miriam and Robin Park. At last he spotted Jeffrey Burgoyne, a hooded Grim Reaper stuffing canapes into his mouth, and edged in his direction, leaving Louise to fend off her admirer. She was more than capable.

‘Robin has cried off,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Taken poorly today, and confined to bed. But his mother’s here, and so is his partner.’

He waved to two women in the corner of the room and motioned them over. ‘Ladies, a chance for you to meet one of our local celebrities! This is Daniel Kind, the historian. You must have seen his television programmes, he’s one of the country’s leading historians.’

A sturdy witch gave him a brisk nod. Her companion, an extravagantly attired black widow, exclaimed with delight.

‘Miriam Park.’ The witch kept a tight grip on her broomstick as they shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘You don’t recognise me, do you, Daniel?’ the black widow demanded. ‘Is it the wig or the mask that’s my best disguise?’

Or perhaps the daringly cut dress, with jewelled belt, three-quarter length arms flaring out into cobweb lace-effect sleeves, and fishtail silhouette formed by another cobweb? A woman who liked to be noticed, and yes, there was something familiar about her cheerful voice. But she was wearing a full-face mask, and out of context, he couldn’t place her.

‘Sorry,’ he confessed with a grin. ‘You’ll have to give me a clue.’

‘This is my prospective daughter-in-law,’ Miriam Park said.

The black widow whipped off her mask with a theatrical flourish and crowed with laughter at his astonishment.

‘Terri Poynton, Daniel. You remember — Hannah’s friend?’

Hannah lost track of time as she lay curled up on the sofa, staring at the fire through half-closed eyes as the flames flickered and died. Each time she shifted position, she felt as if she was dragging a ball and chain. She was too exhausted to make a drink or switch on a soothing CD. Her brain resembled the mushy peas congealing on the plate in front of her. Disconnected thoughts buzzed around her head, irritating and pointless as mosquitoes.

The Doctor Who theme roared.

Surely this wasn’t Terri? Had Stefan tracked her down to the party and started making a nuisance of himself? Back aching, eyes gummy, she hauled herself off the sofa and picked up the phone.

‘Hannah?’ Greg Wharf, sounding like he’d never sounded before. Despairing. Fearful.

‘What is it?’

‘Something has happened. I need to come back to the house to tell you about it.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘It’s better face to face.’

She wanted to scream. ‘Greg! Don’t do this to me!’

‘I’m sorry, Hannah. It’s Marc.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s … had an accident.’

‘How could I forget?’ Daniel’s head was spinning: the shock of meeting Hannah’s best friend when he least expected to, plus generous quantities of mulled wine and champagne. A funeral knell tolled through the hidden speakers: Symphonie Fantastique, ‘Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath’. ‘Though wasn’t your surname …?’

‘Poynton’s my maiden name. I went back to it only a few weeks ago.’

‘So you’re getting married?’ Somehow he managed to avoid saying again. Hannah had regaled him with tales of Terri’s matrimonial misadventures. ‘Pity Robin isn’t here, I could congratulate him in person.’

‘My fault, I’m so sorry. I jumped the gun.’ The elderly witch bowed her head in apology. ‘Do forgive me, Terri, dear. I’m simply getting carried away. I’ve always dreamt of having a lovely daughter-in-law.’

‘No worries, Miriam,’ Terri said. ‘I’m so lucky that you’re Robin’s mum. When I think of one or two of my mothers-in-law … let’s just say, they wouldn’t have needed to wear a mask for this party. But Robin and I haven’t named the day just yet. It’s a bit soon, even by my standards.’

‘A match made in heaven!’ Jeffrey’s tone implied: I give it six months, tops.

‘We have Oz and Melody to thank, we’d never have got together without them,’ Terri announced. ‘I’ve only worked for the company since August. I went to a jazz concert, where I met Melody, and Robin was one of the performers. The rest, as you might say, is history.’

‘Robin is poorly tonight?’ Daniel asked.

Terri swallowed a mouthful of popcorn smeared with red food colouring and butter to look as though it was covered with blood, and refilled her glass with punch from a hollowed-out pumpkin.

‘He’s got the runs — yuck! Thinks he’s on his deathbed, but he’ll live. A real shame, he was so looking forward to the party, but he insisted we came along anyway. I offered to stay with him and do my Florence Nightingale bit, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I ought to text him, see how he is, but someone has nicked my mobile.’

‘Stolen it?’ Miriam was aghast. ‘Not in Ravenbank, I’m sure. You’ve mislaid it, that’s all. It’ll turn up tomorrow, when you least expect.’

Terri put an arm round the old witch. ‘You always like to think the best of people. “Hear no evil, see no evil” ought to be your motto.’

Miriam shook her head. ‘I’m not soft, Terri. That foreigner you used to know, for instance. He’s rotten, through and through. If I had anything to do with it, he’d be thrown out of the country. Never mind all this human rights malarkey.’

‘He’s also history, thank God.’ Terri turned to Daniel. ‘You remember Stefan, my ex? I’ve made it clear I want nothing more to do with him, but he takes no notice. Even though he knows I’m with Robin now.’

‘Borrow my phone to text him if you like, dear,’ Miriam said. ‘Not that it does half the things yours can. I can’t keep up. One of these fine days, they’ll make a phone that cooks a fried breakfast, mark my words.’

‘Thanks, but not to worry. Robin’s probably fast asleep by now, if he isn’t still squatting on the toilet. I couldn’t do much if I’d stayed back. Besides, I didn’t like to think of you here on your own. I wanted to keep you company.’

Daniel half-closed his eyes, spellbound by Berlioz’s dark masterpiece. No wonder people said the composer, in De Quincey fashion, gorged on opium as he wrote the music. The witches danced, their cauldron bubbled beneath the blasts of wind.

‘I hope Robin gets better soon,’ he murmured. ‘I’d like to meet him.’

‘Oh, you must!’ Terri said. ‘He’s gorgeous. And he plays a mean piano too. I’m so lucky. Without him, I’d never have discovered Ravenbank. Brilliant, isn’t it? Full of history!’

‘I’ve heard about the legend of Gertrude Smith.’

‘Ravenbank’s very own ghost? Yeah, she’s walked the lanes ever since she was murdered, hasn’t she, Miriam?’

Jeffrey turned to Miriam. ‘Melody told Daniel about that conversation you heard here all those years ago, when the Hall was a care home.’

‘A care home? Wow!’ Terri gazed around their glitzy surroundings. ‘You’d never guess, would you?’

Jeffrey ignored her. ‘Was it a confession to murder? Was Roland Jones admitting to Dorothy Hodgkinson that he, and not her mother, killed Gertrude?’

Miriam gave an apologetic cough. ‘Robin should have kept that to himself. It makes me seem like an eavesdropper. I believe in people minding their own business.’

‘Of course you do, you’re the soul of discretion. The polar opposite of me, I’m afraid.’ Jeffrey beamed. ‘An incorrigible chatterbox.’

Miriam wasn’t mollified. ‘Some secrets are best left buried, if you want my opinion.’

‘I doubt any historian would go along with you, my love. Besides, it’s utterly fascinating to think that for all these years, everyone might have been mistaken. Is that why Gertrude’s ghost kept walking?’

‘You believe in the legend?’ Daniel asked.

‘Why not?’ Miriam bristled. ‘People think they are so clever nowadays. But they can’t explain everything.’

Terri said, ‘Go on, Miriam. Spill the beans! What did you hear?’

‘It was a very long time ago, dear.’ Miriam’s resolve was cracking, and Daniel suspected that she didn’t want to disappoint Terri. ‘I’m embarrassed to talk about it, to tell you the truth. It was only a snippet I overheard, and I’m not sure I can recall what …’

‘What exactly did you hear?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘That’s what we’re dying to find out.’

‘There were no private rooms in those days.’ There was a faraway look on Miriam’s leathery face as she lapsed into reminiscence. ‘Just a ward with half a dozen beds. I was making a cup of tea in a cubbyhole next to the ward when they were talking — pretty much where we are standing right now. Of course, they were both getting on in years. Older than I am now. Each of them was as deaf as a post, and they had to raise their voices to make themselves heard. You couldn’t help hearing odds and ends, however hard you tried to respect people’s privacy.’

Chafing with impatience, Jeffrey was about to interrupt, but Daniel got in first. At last they were getting somewhere, and the woman should be allowed to tell the story in her own way.

‘I’m guessing that Roland Jones didn’t confess outright to murdering Gertrude?’

‘Oh goodness me, no.’ Miriam sighed. ‘Really, it was no more than a few words that I caught. Only that Mr Jones said Dorothy’s mother wasn’t a murderer. He sounded very emphatic. And Dorothy agreed with him.’

‘Anything else?’

‘That’s all I can recall. I’m sorry, Mr Kind.’

‘Please call me Daniel.’ He suppressed his disappointment that the great revelation had proved a damp squib. Melody couldn’t conjure a book out of that. ‘So he may just have been trying to be kind to Dorothy?’

‘I suppose so. He was a nice old chap. Always apologising to carers, not that he was ever any bother.’

‘And Dorothy?’

Miriam wrinkled her nose. ‘She did a lot of good, I suppose.’

‘But?’

‘She was a bit … aloof. With Miss Hodgkinson, you always knew your place. Of course, you have to make allowances. She didn’t have the easiest start in life. What with her losing her mother so young. Family is so important, isn’t it?’

She was right, Daniel thought. When Ben Kind had run off with his mistress, it had taken years for the shock waves to subside. Louise had been badly bruised, and the divorce left their mother bitter for the rest of her life.

‘If Letty was innocent — someone else must have been guilty.’

‘I expect you’re right.’ Miriam shuddered. ‘Can’t we talk about something more pleasant?’

‘But remember what day it is!’ Terri raised her voice. The alcohol was talking now. ‘We have had two murders right here on Hallowe’en! You couldn’t blame Melody for feeling nervous.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jeffrey demanded.

‘Look what happened to Gertrude after she fell for the lord of the manor, and to that masseuse who snared the last chap who lived here.’ Terri’s eyes sparkled with glee. ‘Think it over. It really isn’t safe to be a mistress of Ravenbank Hall.’

‘Hush, Terri.’ Miriam clutched her broomstick, as if for reassurance. ‘You’re starting to frighten me.’

But there was no denying Terri the last word. ‘Let’s hope for Melody’s sake,’ she exclaimed, ‘that lightning doesn’t strike three times in the same place.’

Greg rang the bell at Undercrag within five minutes of his call. Hannah hadn’t so much as run a comb through her hair, but who cared? She was numb; she could scarcely feel her own hands or feet. And when she flung open the door, she saw a man who had aged ten years inside an hour.

He flung an arm round her, and kissed the top of her head.

‘I saw his car from the back of the taxi. Of course, I didn’t know it was Marc, I had no idea what he drives. He’d crashed into a tree — you know that sharp left bend, half a mile down the road to Ambleside?’

A wave of nausea washed through her. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

‘The cab driver and I jumped out, to see what we could do. The driver was bent over the steering wheel, he was obviously in a bad way. When I saw the fair hair, I realised it was Marc. I mean, I’d only ever seen him in the flesh for that half of a minute this evening, but it wasn’t an encounter I’m likely to forget in a hurry, know what I mean? We called the emergency services, and did what we could to help.’

He hesitated, and she had a vague sense that he wasn’t telling her something. But she wasn’t focused enough to quiz him about it.

‘He was breathing, that’s the important thing. The paramedics were brilliant, and got him out in no time. They’ll be checking him out in A amp;E right now.’

She detached herself from him. ‘How badly hurt is he?’

‘Too early to tell.’

‘Come on, no need to protect me.’

‘His face has a few nasty gashes, and I’d guess he’s smashed some ribs. Whether it’s worse than that, who knows? You know as well as me, it will depend on whether the internal organs have been damaged. The car’s a write-off. He must have hit that tree at full pelt.’

She covered teary eyes with a hand, swearing in bitter self-reproach.

‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘This isn’t doing Marc any good.’

For all his good intentions, if he’d touched her, she’d have smacked him, but he didn’t make that mistake. Her gorge rose, and she ran to the toilet, retching violently as she locked the door.

By the time she’d washed her face, none of the lager or the chip supper was left inside her. Her stomach hurt, a fierce pain raged in her forehead, her eyes throbbed in their sockets. But she couldn’t hide forever, so she pulled back the bolt and stumbled back into the hall.

‘I know what’s going on in your head,’ he said.

‘You reckon?’ She scarcely recognised her own voice, or the ravaged face she glimpsed in the mirror.

‘“It’s my fault, I should never have come back here.” But you can’t blame yourself for what’s happened to Marc. You will drive yourself crazy if you do.’

Maybe that’s what I deserve.

‘Stop it,’ he said, though she hadn’t uttered a peep. ‘No self-pity, you’re better than that. All that matters is … that he gets through.’

‘I need to go to the hospital,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Not yet.’ He stood in front of the door with his arms folded, legs planted wide apart, blocking her way out. Would he really hold her back if she was determined to go? ‘He’ll be in A amp;E. Maybe they’ll need to operate. Use the time to get some rest, and go and see how he is in the morning. You help him best now by not falling to pieces.’

She hesitated.

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Had to happen one day.’

For once, there was no humour in his grin.

‘I expect you’re wondering why I ditched Stefan?’

Ten to midnight, and the crowd of partygoers was thinning. The Knights had hired minibuses to ferry home most of their guests. ‘Danse Macabre’ whirled and rattled in the background as Daniel was cornered by the Black Widow. On the other side of the room, Quin was regaling Louise and Miriam Park with tales of an actor’s life. Jeffrey was with Melody and Oz, exchanging farewells with friends from the Theatre by the Lake.

‘I guess it didn’t work out.’ Daniel had met Stefan briefly in the summer. ‘But you seem happy, and that’s what matters.’

‘He’s been an absolute scumbag, to be honest. The man can be utterly scary when he’s in a foul mood. He’s been stalking me.’

Terri didn’t strike Daniel as someone who scared easily. ‘Has he threatened you?’

She nodded. ‘No woman is ever allowed to dump him without paying for it. God, what did I ever see in him?’

‘You’ve told Hannah?’

‘Of course, she’s up in arms, wants me to drag in m’learned friends and all that crap. The thing is, she doesn’t know the full story yet. I’m dying to tell her about Robin, but I wanted to get tonight’s announcement out of the way first.’

‘What announcement? That you’re getting married?’

Terri took another gulp of champagne. The Knights hadn’t stinted; Oz and Melody kept topping up everyone’s glasses, but there were still bottles unopened.

‘No, it’s too soon for wedding bells. Miriam would love to see Robin settled once and for all, with three or four grandkids running around, and being sick over her pinafore. But he’s not the sort of feller who likes to feel tied down. I know how he feels, I’ve been tied down too often for my own good.’ She screeched with laughter. ‘No, my poor old dad isn’t well. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, but he’s on his own now, and I need to move closer to him.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Old age, eh? Not a lot of fun. Why can’t we stay young forever? Anyway, looking after Dad will help me forget about Stefan. And it suits Robin, he’s perfectly happy.’ She laughed again, and he realised she’d drunk even more than he had. ‘Mind you, the only travelling he’s done today is back and forth to the loo. So — no big announcement, no fanfare. Never mind, eh?’

‘You’ll tell Hannah now, though?’

‘I almost did already, but then I thought I’d wait till after the party.’ Terri leant closer. ‘I feel a bit guilty, to tell you the truth, but Dad needs all the support he can get. As for Hannah, she ought to get shot of Marc, and that old barn of a house, and make a fresh start. Stop worrying so much about work. Get some fun back into her life.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Hannah’s a survivor.’

‘More than that. She’s a winner. A class act. Believe me, Daniel, she’s one in a million. She just screwed up over Marc. Cheekbones to die for, but a self-centred wimp. She deserves better.’

Uh-oh. Daniel saw the way this conversation was heading. He mumbled something non-committal. But Terri wasn’t letting go.

‘Were your ears burning the other day?’ she demanded. ‘Hannah and I were talking, and your name cropped up.’

Louise’s arrival rescued him. ‘Quin’s insisting that we all go out in search of the Faceless Woman.’

‘Brilliant idea — yeah, let’s see if Gertrude Smith is on the prowl!’ Terri couldn’t contain her delight. ‘Who can resist a ghost hunt?’

In her dream, Hannah was late for a funeral, racing through narrow urban streets towards a strange church with a square tower resembling a campanile. She’d missed the service, and as she reached a gap in the stone wall around the graveyard, she saw that men and women dressed in black from head to toe were following pall-bearers carrying a coffin the colour of blood.

She squeezed through the gap and stumbled down a pathway lined with tombstones, knowing that if she did not reach the graveside before the coffin was lowered into its resting place, something terrible would happen. The mourners blocked her way, ignoring her pleas to be let through. She found herself crawling on hands and knees along the wet earth, muddying her clothes, but not caring about anything except to get there in time.

The priest was chanting something, in a language she couldn’t understand. She struggled to her feet, only to see the six burly men stepping away from the open grave, their job done.

She shoved her way past the mourners, and the priest turned to glare at her. Taking no notice, she peered down into the hole. The coffin lid was open.

Marc stared up at her, his chalk-white face wrinkled by hurt and reproach.

The ghost-hunters staggered out into the night. They were in pairs; Quin and Jeffrey led the way, arm in arm, weaving unsteadily between the buxus tubs outside the porticoed entrance of Ravenbank Hall. Daniel and Louise came next, then Miriam and Terri. Melody and Oz brought up the rear of the party, after locking up and sorting out the alarms.

During the party, there had been a torrential storm. The grass was sodden, and they found themselves splashing through large puddles on the driveway. Lamps spaced at regular intervals illuminated the way as far as the Hall’s iron gates. Beyond, the lane leading to Martindale was unlit, but the moon was high, and the Knights had supplied everyone with torches.

There was something peculiarly British about a ghost hunt, Daniel reflected. In ancient times, had people believed this misty, twilit land was on the very edge of the world? The Roman legionnaires who strode along the road high above Martindale believed the country to be infested with spirits. But apparitions were untouchable, tantalising those who sought them out. However close they seemed, whatever form and shape they took, they remained forever out of reach.

Louise broke into his thoughts. ‘Think of that poor girl Gertrude. What in God’s name was she doing outside, the night she was murdered?’

‘One account suggests Letty lured her out. Sent a message arranging a tryst, pretending it came from Clifford. Caught her unawares, and bashed her face in.’

‘So was Letty strong enough to batter her to death despite her poor health?’

‘Her illness was mental, not physical. What’s more, Gertrude had a withered arm. If Letty took her by surprise, she couldn’t have managed much of a fight to save her life.’

‘The disability must have made it tough, working as a maid.’

‘Depends on her duties, doesn’t it? She had fair hair, blue eyes and a coy smile. All the reports of the case dwell on how pretty she was. I doubt Hodgkinson recruited her just to clean the silver.’

‘And then it all went tits-up when Gertrude got pregnant?’

‘That’s one way of putting it. Question is — who was the father? The assumption seems to have been that it was Clifford, and Letty found out. Suppose the news of the pregnancy drove Roland Jones to fury.’

‘You think he killed Gertrude in a rage?’

‘Or maybe he was the father, and she wanted to get rid of the child … the permutations are endless. But it doesn’t look like Miriam Park will be much help.’

An owl hooted in the trees. It sounded despondent, as though contemplating human folly. Otherwise, everything was quiet. Daniel fixed his torch beam on the ground. He needed to watch his step. It would be easy to trip, and sprain an ankle, or worse.

‘Nothing could ever be proved anyway, not after all this time,’ Louise said.

‘A historian can’t ever afford to think like that.’

‘So are you going to see what you can find out about Roland Jones?’ He nodded. ‘And what about Shenagh Moss?’

‘Everyone here resists any suggestion that Craig Meek wasn’t responsible.’

‘Can you blame them? Raking over the ashes when the people concerned are dead and buried is one thing. Very different when everyone involved is still around. Nobody likes having their lives put under the microscope. All over again, years after the case was officially closed? Nightmare.’

A fresh gust coming in from the lake rippled the branches. ‘I’ll talk to Hannah about Shenagh, and see if she’s interested in looking into the evidence.’

‘Good plan.’ He didn’t need to look at his sister to picture the told-you-so smile.

‘Pity Robin Park was out of action. I wanted to say hello.’

‘What’s your ulterior motive?’

She knew him too well. ‘He may not have met Dorothy Hodgkinson or Roland Jones, but he might tell me more about her than I prised out of his mum.’

Raucous laughter tore through the silence. Terri Poynton’s hilarity was noisy and distinctive as she enjoyed one of her own jokes. Could Terri make a go of her relationship with Robin Park? Hannah, Daniel knew, despaired of her friend’s judgement of men, though after Marc’s betrayal of her, she was in no position to talk.

‘Is this the place?’

Louise clutched at her brother’s sleeve. They’d passed Miriam’s cottage, but Quin and Jeffrey had halted where the road crossed the lane running from one side of the promontory to the other. Hodgkinson planned this as the hub of the development. An empty house stood at one corner, and a shop-cum-post-office was to have been built on another, but all that remained were a few foundations, hidden from view by clumps of stinging nettles and a patch of gorse.

‘Gertrude’s body was lying under the trees, on the other side of the beck,’ Jeffrey panted. ‘No sign of her on the move tonight, alas! Not so much as the flicker of a shroud.’

Louise shone her torch around, as Terri and Miriam joined them. The beck ran roughly in parallel with the road for a short distance, before veering off towards the lake. Two women had died near here. Daniel could hardly bear to picture their final moments. Had they recognised their assailants, had they realised they were about to die at the hands of someone they knew — perhaps someone they had once loved?

And was that someone necessarily the obvious suspect?

‘Woo! Woo!’ Terri was loving the occasion. Her eyes were glassy, her gait unsteady. ‘C’mon, Faceless Woman, let’s be having you! We haven’t got all night!’

Daniel visualised Jeffrey’s sketch map. ‘So Fell View is down there, on the other limb of Water Lane?’

‘Beyond the trees, that’s right,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Although Gertrude’s body was left close to the roadside, this is a pretty safe place to commit a murder. Not overlooked by any of the houses, and at this time of night, no danger of passing traffic.’

The Knights joined them, Melody trudging behind her husband. She looked weary and cold. The rain had swelled the beck and they could hear the rush of water in the distance.

‘Don’t tell me Gertrude is skiving off tonight?’ Oz called. ‘No Faceless Woman? Dear me, how disappointing.’

‘Shockingly remiss of you as a host, old chap,’ Jeffrey said. ‘I expected you to put on a bit of a show for us.’

Oz’s perfect teeth glinted in the torchlight. ‘Absolutely. You all deserved a special treat, and I’ve let you down.’

‘What about Shenagh Moss?’ Daniel asked. ‘Where was her body found?’

‘You seem terribly interested in Shenagh,’ Quin said. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘Both cases fascinate me. Two women, their faces destroyed, then shrouded, on Hallowe’en.’

‘Craig Meek must have lacked imagination,’ Terri scoffed.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ Miriam muttered. ‘This Stefan of yours, he’s no different. Men like that are a menace to decent folk.’

The wind was gathering strength, and in the moonlight Daniel saw branches dancing in the dark. Melody seemed lost in her own thoughts. Her husband waved towards the woodland.

‘A network of paths lead from the road to the shore. Shenagh used to walk their dog all around. Francis found her, two minutes from here. Does that answer your question?’

‘Thanks.’

Miriam stifled a yawn. ‘I’m about done in. Terri, do you mind if I come back with you for a minute to make sure Robin is all right?’

‘Course not. I’ll walk you back home, make sure you aren’t accosted by any old ghost.’ The Black Widow linked arms with the old witch. ‘Goodnight, all! Oz, Melody, thanks a million, it’s been fantastic. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Robin will be gutted he couldn’t make it.’

She’d given the signal for the party to break up. Assorted ghouls kissed and hugged, before Daniel and Louise followed Jeffrey and Quin up the road towards Watendlath.

As they trudged off into the night, they heard Terri’s voice, ripping up the silence.

‘Woo! Woo!’ she cried. ‘Woo! Woo!’

And then she dissolved into helpless, boozy laughter.