The Whispering: A Haunted House Mystery

Infuriatingly, we missed our quarry by a mere two days, but I was able to discover that Leonora’s last name is Gilmore, and that she had left Amsterdam in Iskander and Stephen Gilmore’s company. The name cannot be coincidence; if Leonora Gilmore is the lady about whom Iskander was thinking that day – that precious private memory I glimpsed in his eyes – it is very believable that he would have befriended a man he believed to be from the same family.

The gentle Dutch couple with whom Leonora had apparently been lodging regretted that they did not know where the trio were bound; Miss Gilmore had boarded with them for about a year, they said. A generous payment for her keep had been made in advance by a very charming foreign gentleman – they did not know his name, but he had been courteous and considerate. (This is Iskander in his more gentlemanly role, of course.)

As for Miss Gilmore, she had been a most charming guest in their house. Polite, ready to help with household tasks. She had attended church every Sunday, and often during the week, and she had joined in some of the church activities – she had sung with their choir as well. She had a truly beautiful voice.

But there had always been what they would call an air of waiting about her, they said. As if she was daily expecting to be collected and taken to another destination – even another country, perhaps.

‘England?’

Ah yes, that was entirely possible.

So now we are heading towards the coast where we hope to find a suitable craft to take us to England ourselves.

Ever your devoted,

Hugbert

Dearest Freide,

So finally and at last we are in England and I send this in the hope of its safe arrival.

The journey was not as bad as we feared, although the crossing of the English Channel was fraught with difficulties, and Hauptfeldwebel Barth was in constant fear that we should be shot at or sunk, for the English, say what you will of them, have a very good navy, and we had all heard stories of the Dover Patrol. I am still not sure how we avoided the miscellany of Royal Navy crafts – the armed cruisers and drifters and paddle minesweepers, not to mention the sub-marines – but somehow we did. Perhaps we were too small and too insignificant a craft to attract attention.

Halfway across, the Hauptfeldwebel stopped worrying about being captured on account of falling victim to violent seasickness which appeared to attack him from both ends, if you take my meaning. He confided to me afterwards that he felt it could not help a senior officer’s authority over his men for them to see him crouching over a pail in a sheltered corner of the deck and retching into a pan at the same time. I was forced to agree, although I feel it was unnecessarily harsh of the two men with us to dub him Chunder Guts [translator’s note: this may not have been Hugbert’s precise word, but is the nearest term that can be found], and it has to be said that the Hauptfeldwebel’s energetic consumption of some of the bratwurst was probably to blame for his condition. As I feared, it had started to go unmistakably off, and the pickled cabbage had turned a very suspicious colour as well.

After alighting from the boat and starting our journey to our destination, we were, and still are, uncomfortably aware of being in enemy territory. Hauptfeldwebel Barth says if we are recognized as Germans we will be shot against a wall at dawn. I suppose this is true, but, for myself, I find the people we meet to be incurious and even cautiously friendly. They are remarkably resilient and much given to their own brand of humour. We visited one tavern where what I recognized as very rude songs were being sung about the Kaiser. Fortunately, I got the others outside before they could try to join in.

We are a cheerful quartet as we go along, usually in the guise of itinerant hop-pickers or something of the kind. We occasionally risk accepting offers from passing draymen or carters, which covers the miles more easily. I am able to talk about bulb-growing in Holland, which reinforces our disguise, and is also unexpectedly pleasant. I remember so much of the stories from my grandparents, and the holidays I spent with them. My health is good, although I have developed corns on both feet from walking, but we have slathered on goose fat from a very accommodating farmer’s wife, which has helped.

Much of the food contains what the English call stodge, which is not good for the digestion, so I am glad of my mother’s peppermint cordial. But I am finding the famous English roast beef excellent, and also dumplings, and there is something described as jugged rabbit. I am uncertain whether the rabbit is actually placed inside a real jug, but it is stewed in cider, which is a local apple-flavoured wine, and very delicious. On the other hand, last night we were offered a dish of tapioca pudding which I would not inflict on anyone.

Your always loving,

Hugbert

Dearest Freide,

Yesterday we arrived in the village of Stephen Gilmore’s home. Earlier this evening I walked along a lane by myself, to make sure of his house’s exact whereabouts. And now comes a curious fact. You will remember I wrote to you of how Gilmore talked of lamps being lit for him within the house, when he or his family returned from any journey. Like seeing a beacon, he said, welcoming the traveller home and guiding him through the twilight.

Freide, tonight I saw those lamps burning for myself. I stood at the gates of Fosse House and I looked down the long drive, with its dark trees lining it all along, and I saw the lamps flaring against the darkness. They are warm and welcoming, and I understand now why Stephen Gilmore clung to this memory above any other. They beckoned to me in a way I cannot explain, even to you. I think Stephen is here – I think he is hiding in that house.

So now comes the difficult part of our mission. Our orders are to execute Stephen – and also Iskander. But I believe he acted under extreme distress – that he was not sane when he fired those shots. If, indeed, he did fire them, for he was so vehement in protesting his innocence.

Even if he is guilty, I have resolved that if I can find a way to sidestep Neimeyer’s command and cheat Hauptfeldwebel Barth’s resolve, I shall do so.

If I fail – if Stephen dies – I believe the memory will be with me all my life.

My dearest love to you,

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