The House on Cold Hill

46

‘So what did the vicar say, Ols?’ Caro asked, perching on the edge of the battered leather armchair in which Ollie liked to sit and read. At the moment, like almost every other inch of space in his office, it was covered in files he’d not yet put away into the cabinets, and framed pictures he’d not had the time to hang.

Chris Webb had just left, and the fresh emails to Cholmondley and Bhattacharya, bearing his signature as IT Manager, had been sent. Hopefully, when Ollie followed them up, perhaps later today — or maybe leaving it until tomorrow — they would listen and accept his explanation. It was credible. If he used all his powers of persuasion and charm, they would surely believe him.

They must.

‘The vicar’s spoken with the Minister of Deliverance for Sussex, and they’re both going to come here Monday around six, after you’re back from work, darling,’ he replied.

‘Good,’ she said, and seemed a little relieved. ‘What’s this Minister of Deliverance — exorcist — man going to do? Walk around the house swinging a smoking censer full of incense, muttering incantations?’

Ollie smiled, glad that despite everything she’d not lost her sense of humour. ‘I didn’t get the impression it would be quite that dramatic. He wants to come and have a talk to us so he can get an idea of what’s going on, and how to deal with it. From what the vicar told me, he sounds a bright and very grounded guy. And not in any way a sanctimonious “Holy Joe” type. Apparently he’s highly educated, an Oxbridge double first, with a background in psychology before becoming ordained.’

‘How did the vicar — what’s his name — Rosencrantz?’

‘Fortinbrass. Roland Fortinbrass.’

‘I knew it was something out of Hamlet. How did he sound? Is he confident this minister will be able to deal with everything here?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did Fortinbrass say — I mean, did he have a view himself?’

Ollie did not reply immediately. Fortinbrass had said quite a lot on the phone earlier. Delivering the good news and the bad. The good news was that the Minister of Deliverance had agreed to come. The bad was how much Fortinbrass had found out about this house’s very long history of disturbances. Ollie remembered the former vicar, Bob Manthorpe, mentioning it, but quite dismissively.

‘Yes. I’m afraid the house has had a few tragedies. But don’t be put off. Some of the older folk in the village used to talk a lot of rubbish about the place being cursed or damned. But the reality is any house of that historic age is more than likely to have had its fair share of deaths.’

Had Manthorpe just been trying to reassure him, and hide what he really knew? Fortinbrass had certainly not minced his words earlier, as he related the salient points of his conversation with the Minister of Deliverance to Ollie.

There had been exorcisms carried out here by the church in the distant past, with records from the Bishop of Chichester’s office, under which diocese it fell, going back to the late eighteenth century. Back in Victorian times, it seemed, Cold Hill House was known to locals as the Death House. Many believed it was cursed and many would not go near the place. It was also rumoured that some clergymen during the previous two centuries had refused to go and help when requests for assistance had been made. Of course, the small rural community rumour mill was bound to have exaggerated everything.

But, Ollie knew, rumours always began from some foundation, some grain of truth, however small. And at this moment he didn’t need a rumour mill to tell him things were not right in this house.

Still, there was nothing to be gained from telling Caro what Fortinbrass had said. That would just worry her even more over the weekend. The visit from the two clergymen on Monday evening would, hopefully, be the turning point here. But what disturbed him most was that there had been such a history of past exorcisms. Why? What had happened to set all this off?

He felt a fool for not having found out any of this history before going ahead with the purchase of the house. It had never occurred to him. Yet even if it had, how could he have found out any of this dark past? He’d tried googling Cold Hill House before their first viewing, but nothing significant came up. There were several entries for the house, giving its postcode, the last purchase price paid for it, a listing under Zoopla and one under Rightmove, but nothing of significance about its past. No history of any gruesome events.

‘No,’ Ollie replied, finally. ‘Fortinbrass didn’t have a view. But he said he was confident this man — minister — would sort the house out for us. Whatever that means.’

Caro shrugged. ‘What about contacting a medium? Perhaps a psychic, like my client, Kingsley Parkin, could tell us what’s going on?’

‘I’ve thought about that too, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to — I don’t know — dabble ourselves. Not until we’ve talked to this clergyman.’

‘What’s his name — this Super-Cleric Ghostbuster?’

He grinned. ‘Benedict Cutler.’

‘Benedict. Sounds the perfect name for a man of the cloth,’ she said. ‘I’ll go down and cook the pizza for the girls. I’ve bought a load of Yolande’s yummy cupcakes at Jade’s request to put on a nice display for Ruari tomorrow. Want me to bring anything up?’

‘I’m fine, thanks, I had some tea earlier when Chris Webb was here.’ He pointed at the two empty mugs.

She scooped them up, then kissed him. ‘We’re going to be all right, Ols, aren’t we?’

‘Of course we are.’

He watched her leave the room. Then, ass he closed the door behind her, he heard the ping of an incoming text, and looked at his iPhone. And froze as he stared at the words.