Shadows in the Moonlight

Chapter Three

Olivia had hoped for a quiet Christmas – she didn’t want Bruce to have any stress with her large family descending on them – and had managed to use the dilapidated state of the house as an excuse as to why she couldn’t invite them all to stay. However, her spinster aunt, Antoinette, was a case apart and could not be deterred. Nothing could put her off visiting her favourite niece in her new home and, despite Olivia’s gentle attempts to defer her stay, nothing did.

The day of her arrival it snowed. Fat feathery flakes floated down from a flat white sky, shrouding the house and gardens in a downy silence. Bruce and Zach had erected the fir tree in the hall – they’d chosen the biggest they could find – and Olivia and Tabitha had decorated it with tinsel, shiny baubles and fairy lights. The effect was charming. Tom had filled the baskets with logs, bringing them round to the front in a tractor and trailer, and carrying them through the house without complaint. He had lit fires in the hall and drawing room, as well as in the dining room where they would be having dinner. Nothing seemed too much for him – he managed the farm and the estate with the philosophical temperament of a man who accepted the moment as it was, because he had little control over the land and none at all over the elements, so it was therefore pointless to fret. Every request was met with a nod and a lopsided smile, and he went about his tasks in an easy, unhurried way, but managed to complete everything. Olivia found him a pleasant person to be around and was certain he would be a good influence on her husband. She had aired one of the nicest spare bedrooms that looked over the drive for Antoinette and, with Elsa’s help, had made the bed with brand new sheets from The White Company. Bruce put electric heaters in the main rooms, but, in spite of continuously blowing out hot air, the house still felt cold. It was as if the very bones of it were made of ice.

Olivia was restless. She wanted the house to feel like a home, but nothing in it belonged to her, at least nothing felt like it did. It resembled one of those stately homes that are open to the public, beautiful to look at but vacant. The sofas and chairs might once have been upholstered in the finest damask silks, but they were now faded and threadbare and sagging in the places where the springs had gone. Rugs were moth-eaten, bookcases dusty, and everything smelt of age, like a museum. Ornaments that might have been hundreds of years old were lovely to look at, but they were impersonal and held no value for Olivia. In fact, she was a little afraid to touch them, as if she were in someone else’s home, rifling through their possessions. Any minute she expected the mistress to walk in and question what she was up to. She wandered around, plumping up cushions, tentatively moving objects, even rearranging the furniture, but somehow the place still felt inhospitable. It was partly due to the inherent cold, of course, but it was something else, besides; an uneasiness, as if the house itself was unhappy. No amount of repositioning tables and chairs could impact the fundamental feeling of disquiet that lay within the foundations. Olivia knew her aunt would be impressed – it was impossible not to be – but she wanted her to feel comfortable. If Olivia didn’t feel comfortable, how could she expect anyone else to?

She was in the hall, sitting on the stairs in a thick grey jersey, wondering whether she should have bought poinsettias for the refectory table, when she was alerted to the arrival of her aunt by the rumbling sound of a car making its way slowly over the gravel. Olivia got up and called through the green baize door for Tom to come and help with the bags. A moment later he sauntered out from the kitchen wing, munching on a biscuit.

Antoinette Dixon burst into the hall with typical aplomb, bringing with her a gust of icy air and a holler of good cheer. ‘How lovely to be here, at last. What a magnificent house! Goodness, the tree. Gorgeous! And the fire. Heaven. Darling girl,’ she exclaimed on seeing her niece. ‘How lovely to see you , Liv.’

Tom went outside to bring in her bag. When he opened the boot of her rickety Volvo estate, he was surprised to find a large animal lying in the back. ‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed, putting a hand on his heart. ‘How much does this thing eat?’

Everything about Antoinette was oversized, from her fulsome body to her titanic personality. She wrapped Olivia in a hearty embrace, swallowing her into the folds of her favourite old sheepskin coat and almost overwhelming her with the smell of wet dog and cigarette smoke. Her once lustrous brown hair had been left to the fancy of nature and was now streaked with grey, and, as she never cut it, it was much too long to be let loose. She swivelled the lengthy strands into a knot and secured it onto her head with a pencil. She wore no make-up and washed her face with soap – when she remembered. Her nails were bitten rather than filed and she could not have cared less about her clothes; she wore what was comfortable and inexpensive, and if the colours blended rather than clashed, it was a pleasant coincidence rather than a considered choice. Antoinette was loud, cheerful and immensely charismatic.

She swept her bright green eyes over the hall. ‘This really is magical, Liv,’ she gushed. ‘It’s as if time has stood still. Really, it doesn’t look like anything has been done to it for a hundred years. Splendid.’ She smiled broadly at her niece, revealing crooked teeth. ‘Many would baulk beneath the challenge of such a massive project, but not you, Liv. You rise like David before Goliath. I can’t wait to see what you do to it.’

Olivia laughed. ‘I’m finding it overwhelming, actually,’ she said. Then, aware that she might sound ungrateful, she added quickly, ‘But it’s a fantastic house and slowly we’ll make it into a home.’

‘I have no doubt that you will,’ Antoinette replied, striding into the drawing room. ‘Goodness, what a magnificent room. Magnificent. And yet another beautiful fireplace. Aren’t they lovely. Glorious. I feel as if I’m stepping back in time.’

‘So do I,’ said Olivia. ‘There’s so much work to be done.’

Antoinette looked around eagerly. ‘I bet it’s haunted.’

Olivia winced. ‘Oh, no. I’m sure not.’

‘Oh, yes! A house this old? It would be odd for it not to be haunted. Think of all the people who have died here.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Such fun. I shall lie awake tonight and listen out for strange noises.’

‘Oh, you’ll hear plenty of those.’ Olivia put a hand on her aunt’s sleeve. ‘But let’s not talk about ghosts in front of the children. I don’t want to put them off. It wasn’t easy persuading Zach to leave London, and Tabitha is still young and sensitive. I don’t want to frighten her.’

At that moment, Bruce strode in dressed in a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a brown fleece gilet over a checked shirt. He was already looking like a farmer, Olivia thought. ‘Antoinette,’ he exclaimed, opening his arms to embrace her. ‘You look well.’

‘You need feeding up,’ Antoinette replied, looking him over and allowing him to kiss her plump cheek. ‘Are there any cows on this farm?’

‘Yes, we have a dairy herd. Are you suggesting I eat one?’ Bruce replied with a grin.

‘Might not be a bad idea. You’re much too thin.’

‘I’d rather buy a steak in the supermarket,’ he said.

Antoinette laughed. ‘I think you’re going to enjoy being a farmer. Beats working in an air-conditioned office in the middle of the city, doesn’t it?’

‘It sure does,’ Bruce agreed happily. ‘I’m looking forward to giving it a go. Tom, the manager, is going to learn the meaning of the word patience! What would you like to drink?’

Antoinette was distracted by Zach and Tabitha, who were coming into the room looking none too pleased at having been pulled away from the television by their father. ‘Ah, monkeys! What have you been up to? You look as guilty as sin!’ Antoinette narrowed her eyes and gave Tabitha the once-over. ‘Pretty as a picture but as pale as porridge. My dear, you need fresh air. Get rid of that city pallor at once! Hello, Zachary. How handsome you are! And haven’t you shot up. Yes, you’re a weed!’ She patted his head as if he were a pet. ‘Bruce, I’d love a drink. Make it strong. Whisky, double, straight up. It’s been a long drive.’ She looked at the children in turn. ‘Will one of you let the dog out? She’s in the back of the car.’

‘You’ve brought Daphne?’ Tabitha exclaimed, giving a jump of joy.

‘Of course. I couldn’t very well leave her at home at Christmas, could I? She might eat Santa Claus, mistaking him for a big red cake.’

Tabitha dashed out of the room. Zach flopped onto one of the sofas, sending up a cloud of dust. Bruce handed Antoinette the tumbler of whisky. Olivia perched on the club fender, relishing the feeling of warmth on her back.

Antoinette sat on the sofa opposite Zach. ‘Isn’t it nice to be together, and in this marvellous place,’ she said. She took a generous swig of whisky and smacked her lips. ‘Marvellous place. Can’t wait for a tour.’

They heard the front door slam and then Tabitha flew in with Daphne, an enormous marmalade-and-white St Bernard. ‘Drool alert!’ Antoinette exclaimed. ‘Back to the car, Tabitha, at once, and fetch a towel. They’re on the back seat. Olivia won’t want Daphne dribbling over her sofas. And you might as well bring in her water bowl too.’

Tabitha went out to get the towel and dog bowl. Her shoes made scrunching noises on the snow as she skipped back to the Volvo. Antoinette’s car looked like it could do with a good wash, and much else besides. It was a boxy old thing with patches of rust and splatterings of mud. As she was shutting the boot, something made her look up. There, in an upstairs window, she thought she saw a white face, staring down at her. She caught her breath. However, no sooner had she seen it than it vanished. She turned to the sky. The moon was shining brightly behind diaphanous layers of feathery cloud. Could it have been a trick of light? A reflection of a cloud passing over the glass? She remained a moment, gazing hopefully up at the window, but the face did not reappear. Finally, unable to withstand the cold a moment longer, she hurried back into the house.

Olivia had warmed the dining room with two electric heaters as well as a substantial fire, but even though the temperature was toasty, a subliminal chill persisted. Elsa had cooked a cottage pie, and everyone sat down at the long table to eat it. Bruce had taken trouble with the wine, knowing how much Antoinette appreciated it, and had decanted a bottle of Argentine merlot into a crystal decanter he’d found in the pantry.

‘This strange relative left all this to you?’ said Antoinette, lifting her fork and examining the crest engraved into the silver. ‘What is it? I can’t see without my glasses.’

‘A lion and a unicorn,’ Bruce replied. ‘Yes, she left the place as it was. I inherited everything, even this crystal decanter.’

‘How extraordinary,’ Antoinette exclaimed. ‘To leave your home to a perfect stranger.’

Bruce grinned. ‘Lucky me.’

‘Lucky, indeed.’ Antoinette turned to the children. ‘I bet you two are delighted to have such a big house with all those gardens to play in.’

Zach looked unconvinced. He stabbed the peas with his fork. ‘It doesn’t feel like home yet,’ he said.

‘Give it time, Zachary. Homes are created by memories. You have to make them.’

‘We have to make it our own,’ Olivia cut in quickly. ‘Right now, everything feels strange and unfamiliar. But we’ll get used to it. Antoinette’s right. We need to give it time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

Tabitha smiled. ‘I love it here. There’s so much to explore.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Antoinette gushed, swigging her wine. ‘Don’t let it defeat you. Grab it with both hands.’

Tabitha laughed. She loved Antoinette’s enthusiasm. It was infectious. ‘Did you bring your cards, Antoinette?’ she asked.

‘I always bring my cards,’ Antoinette answered.

‘ I’d like to learn how to read tarot,’ said Tabitha.

Zach rolled his eyes then looked to his father for backing. ‘They’re just cards,’ he said. Bruce caught his gaze and smiled in agreement.

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of fun,’ Olivia interjected. She knew how important tarot was to Antoinette.

‘Oh, they’re not fun, Liv,’ Antoinette corrected her seriously. ‘One must never read the tarot for fun. In fact, rule number one with regards to any psychic work – you never enter into it for fun. The law of attraction is very powerful. Like attracts like. If you enter into it for mischief, you will attract mischief and then you’ll be sorry.’

Zach chuckled. ‘Tabitha thinks this house is haunted.’

Olivia put down her fork with a clank. ‘Let’s not talk about ghosts, Zach,’ she said, feeling ever more keenly the underlying chill.

‘There are no such things as ghosts,’ said Bruce. ‘Nor are there leprechauns, goblins or fairies.’

Tabitha was watching Antoinette closely. ‘What do you think, Antoinette?’ she asked.

‘Well, it’s important to distinguish between ghosts and spirits,’ she began, ignoring Olivia’s stiffening jaw and Bruce’s loud sigh, and fixing her keen gaze on Tabitha. ‘Ghosts are empty, two-dimensional energies that are trapped in places where trauma has occurred. They are not dead people, but the memory of dead people, replayed over and over like a roll of black-and-white film. Anne Boleyn stalking the corridors in the Tower of London is a good example of a ghost. That’s not her spirit, but a trapped memory. It will eventually fade, in time. Spirits, on the other hand, are the souls of people who have died. They come back to be close to the places and people they love, but, sometimes, they get stuck between worlds and are unable to move on without our help.’

‘Why do they get stuck?’ Tabitha asked.

‘Do we really need to hear about this, Antoinette?’ Olivia asked. She looked at Bruce, who shrugged good-naturedly.

‘Tabitha isn’t scared, are you, Tabitha?’ said Antoinette.

‘I’m not scared at all,’ the child replied eagerly.

‘Neither am I,’ said Zach. ‘Because there are no such things as ghosts.’

‘So, why do they get stuck?’ Tabitha persisted, ignoring her brother.

Antoinette took a sip of wine and then continued. ‘Sometimes they don’t know they’re dead. If they come out of their bodies too quickly, or if their death is particularly traumatic, they can be left in a state of confusion. They’re bewildered, you see, Tabitha. They need to be shown the way home to Spirit, to what you would call Heaven.’

Bruce laughed and poured himself more wine. ‘Is that what you do, Antoinette? Show them the way home? I’d like to see you do that. “Come on, spirits, chop chop!”’ He imitated her voice and laughed.

‘I wish I could, Bruce. Sadly, I’m not gifted in that way.’ She glanced at Olivia and put down her wine glass in a belated act of compliance. ‘I’m sure this house isn’t haunted. Just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it will harbour spirits.’

‘I hope it is haunted,’ said Tabitha, thinking of the face at the window and the strange sound of crying.

‘I’d like to see you come across a real ghost,’ said Zach. ‘Then you might not be so eager.’

‘I’ll give you a tarot lesson tomorrow, if you like, Tabitha,’ Antoinette offered.

‘I’d love that,’ Tabitha replied, eyes lighting up.

‘Not before I’ve given you a tour of the house,’ said Olivia.

‘And I’ve given you a tour of the farm,’ Bruce added. Husband and wife smiled at each other in collusion.

Tabitha sighed and forked some pie into her mouth. It was cold.

Antoinette considered herself an amateur enthusiast when it came to the paranormal. In her childhood she had seen shadowy beings in her bedroom, but she saw them rarely these days, which was most frustrating for someone who was keen to develop her psychic ability. Meditation would have honed it, but she didn’t have the patience to sit and do nothing. She was good at reading, though, and had devoured a wide variety of books on the subject, which she ordered from Watkins Books in London. She was a most enthusiastic member of the College of Psychic Studies in London, probably the most enthusiastic, where she attended lectures and the odd workshop, and had taken courses in palmistry and scrying as well as in tarot. She had been a professional painter in her day, which had taken her to houses all over the country where she’d had various ghostly encounters. But nothing had prepared her for St Sidwell Manor. She had known as soon as she had laid eyes on the house that it was going to be riddled with spirits, and she was ready to test her sensitivity. But that first night was something else.

She was awoken in the small hours by the sound of someone crying. At first, she thought it was one of the children, most likely Tabitha having a nightmare. She waited for Olivia to go and comfort her, but the crying didn’t stop. Perhaps Olivia was a heavy sleeper, she thought. Or maybe Tabitha’s bedroom was too far away for her mother to hear her. Never one to hold back, Antoinette took it upon herself to find Tabitha’s room and reassure the child herself. It wouldn’t be hard to find. She’d just follow the sound of sobbing.

Antoinette padded softly down the corridor in her pyjamas and bare feet. No need for a dressing gown; Antoinette did not mind the cold. The way was lit by the moon that shone in through the odd window. It cast its silvery light onto the walls, bringing into relief the portraits hanging there so that the eyes of Mrs Delaware’s ancestors seemed to watch her warily. The crying got louder. Antoinette followed the sound until she reached a door just beyond an L-shaped bend. She realised then that it was not the crying of a child, after all, but that of a woman, and one in great distress. She shivered, but not from the cold. That sorrowful sound cut her to the quick.

Spurred on by the urgent need to comfort this person who was so unhappy, Antoinette gently pushed open the door. The crying stopped at once. The icy cold in the room had a particular quality to it, alerting her to the fact that the presence wasn’t a person at all, but a spirit. Antoinette had encountered them before.

She knew not to switch on the light. She would see nothing if she were to do that. Spirits, like stars, could only be seen by amateur enthusiasts like her in the dark, when she was in a certain, somnolent frame of mind. The switching on of lights would shift her out of that mindset, like moving the dial on a radio and losing reception. But even in the darkness, Antoinette saw nothing. What lingered, however, was the sense of someone having occupied the room – an energy, deeply sad and disturbing. Antoinette knew that the spirit hadn’t gone very far, but she knew, too, that she was not equipped to deal with it. However, she was acquainted with someone who was. Someone who understood exactly how to deal with cases like this. She’d tell Olivia first thing in the morning. Whatever happened, this poor, unhappy creature had to be settled.

Olivia did not wake up due to the sound of crying, but to a light knocking on her bedroom door. She opened her eyes with a start and stared at the door in fear. Panicking, suddenly, that it might be a ghost, she shook Bruce’s shoulder. ‘Bruce, there’s someone at the door!’

Bruce awoke with a jolt. He sat up in alarm. ‘What? What door?’ His first thought was that they had an intruder.

‘ This door. There’s someone knocking,’ Olivia hissed.

‘For God’s sake, Olivia. It’s probably one of the children. Come in!’ he shouted.

Olivia felt foolish when Zach’s pale face appeared round the door.

‘Are you all right, Zach?’ Bruce asked.

‘I’m fine. There’s just a strange noise. Sounds like a dying cat.’

‘Really?’ said Bruce. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘It’s probably just the wind,’ Olivia lied. She wasn’t going to let on that she had heard it too. ‘Why don’t you sleep with the light on?’

‘Like that’s going to help!’ Zach sighed despondently. ‘I just find it hard to sleep here.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Bruce, laying his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes. ‘Count sheep.’

‘That’s never worked for anyone,’ Zach returned. ‘Wish I was in London. I never had trouble sleeping there.’

Olivia felt a pang of guilt. ‘It’ll be fine, darling. Give it time. Old houses make strange noises. It’s just the wind and mice beneath the floorboards. You and Tabitha can share a room if you prefer.’

‘Yeah, right. Well, I’ll play some music or something.’

‘Great,’ said Bruce without opening his eyes. ‘See you in the morning.’

Olivia watched her son leave the room and then lay on her back, wide awake and anxious. This wasn’t going the way she had expected. There was something intrinsically wrong with the house. The crying was persistent, and it wasn’t the wind. Someone was haunting the place and it needed to leave. But how could she even begin to deal with a ghost, when she didn’t really believe in them?

The following morning when Antoinette came into the dining room after having taken her dog around the garden and smoked a cigarette, she found Olivia sitting alone at the table, reading the newspaper. ‘Morning, Antoinette,’ she said, putting the paper down. ‘Now, what would you like for breakfast? Elsa can make you anything you want.’

Antoinette sat down beside her niece with a serious expression on her face. ‘We need to talk, my dear,’ she said gravely.

‘About what?’ Olivia felt nervous suddenly. What could be so worrying to induce such an ominous tone of voice.

‘I didn’t sleep much last night.’

Olivia was relieved. ‘Oh? Was the bed uncomfortable? The sheets are brand new but the mattress is old. I didn’t have time to try it out before you arrived. Was it too soft?’

‘I’m not talking about the bed, Liv. I’m talking about the noise.’

‘Mice.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘They make a right old racket beneath the floorboards. And the wind …’

‘It’s not the wind. It’s not the mice. It’s a woman crying.’

Olivia felt a little sick. She rubbed the back of her neck where her skin felt prickly and hot. ‘A woman crying? Really? Are you sure? Might be a cat …?’

Antoinette inhaled through her nostrils and looked squarely at her niece. ‘You have an earthbound spirit, Liv, and you need to settle it.’

Olivia glanced at the door, aware that Bruce could walk in at any moment. ‘How do you know it’s a ghost?’ she asked, lowering her voice. ‘I mean, I don’t really believe in ghosts … but …’

‘It’s not a ghost,’ Antoinette corrected. ‘It’s a spirit,’ she said with emphasis. ‘She’s stuck. The poor thing needs to be shown the way to the light.’

Olivia’s head told her that this was ridiculous, but somewhere in the pit of her belly she felt it to be right. She sighed, wishing she wasn’t being put in this position. ‘Did you see it?’ she asked uncomfortably.

‘No, I didn’t see it. I heard the sound of crying and followed it to a room on the other side of the house.’

Olivia dropped her shoulders. ‘You don’t think it’s a cat?’ she asked hopefully.

‘It’s not a cat,’ Antoinette replied.

‘A mouse?’

‘Mice don’t cry.’

‘No, I suppose they don’t.’

‘It’s a woman, Liv. She might have been here for hundreds of years. Poor thing. She’s very unhappy.’

Olivia inhaled sharply. She really didn’t need anything else on her plate right now. ‘Then we have to get a vicar to exorcise the place,’ she suggested.

Elsa, who had slipped in and was putting a dish of fried eggs on the sideboard, turned around. ‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ she began, wringing her hands. ‘But it won’t do any good. We’ve tried everything already.’

Olivia stared at her. ‘But you said …’

‘I know. I didn’t want to alarm you.’

‘So, the house is haunted?’ Olivia felt a sharp wrench in her stomach.

‘It is. Mrs Delaware never invited people here because of the ghost,’ said Elsa. ‘Word got out and put the fear of God into people. No one wanted to come and stay.’

‘It’s not a ghost,’ Antoinette repeated. ‘It’s an earthbound spirit. They’re not the same thing at all.’

‘It’s true, then, that I can’t find a couple to replace you because no one wants to work here?’ said Olivia, her heart sinking. The situation was hopeless.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Elsa confessed, guiltily dropping her eyes to the floor.

‘So, what do I do? I can’t tell Bruce. He’ll think I’m mad. He doesn’t believe in gh … earthbound spirits.’

Antoinette filled her cup from the teapot. ‘There’s only one thing to do,’ she said in a tone that suggested she had the answer. ‘You need a professional.’

‘We’ve tried,’ repeated Elsa. ‘We’ve even had the house blessed by a priest, and a vicar.’ The housekeeper dropped her shoulders in defeat. ‘If God can’t do it, I don’t know who else to call.’

Olivia chuckled mirthlessly. She was inclined to agree with her.

Antoinette was not to be deterred. ‘When I say professional, I mean the very best. There is only one person who can move your earthbound spirit on to the place where she needs to go.’

‘And who is that?’ Olivia asked.

Antoinette put down the teapot. There was an excited glint in her green eyes. ‘Pixie Tate,’ she said, articulating each syllable with relish.

‘Pixie Tate?’ Oliva repeated. Was she meant to have heard of her?

‘I’ll make the call as soon as we’re done with Christmas. After all, she knows me from the college.’ Antoinette smiled jubilantly and dropped two sugarlumps into her tea. ‘A lovely girl and quite extraordinary.’ She gave her niece a reassuring smile and patted her arm. ‘Fear not, my dear. Everything happens for a reason. The universe brought me to you , and I will bring you Pixie Tate.’

Olivia would have dismissed her aunt’s suggestion as ludicrous had she not been so desperate. Everything rested on this move working. For Bruce, for the children, for her. St Sidwell Manor had to be a success. They had nowhere else to go. ‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘But leave me to square it with Bruce.’