The shadows – yes, there were four of them – were forming a circle around the single figure. This could not be happening, this was her disordered imagination, it was a trick of the light – several tricks. But the shadows were closing in on Stephen, and somewhere inside the sighing wind were faint cries, as if for help, spun on the air with such fragility that it was difficult to be sure that they, too, were not illusions.
Nell began to move, with infinite stealth and extreme slowness, towards the gate. She reached it without mishap and eased the latch up, praying that it would not squeak. It did not, and the gate opened smoothly, but she turned to look back. Were the shadows moving in on their prey? They were like smoke, so that it was impossible to be sure of anything. Oh, Stephen, she said silently, I wish I could help you, but there’s nothing I can do. Whatever happened here happened almost a hundred years ago, and I can only hope you managed to get away, or that Hugbert – dear, nice Hugbert – found a way of saving you.
She made a rather shaky way to the front of the house, taking deep, grateful breaths of the cold night air. She was reaching for her phone again, to find a taxi or to try Michael again, but before she could do either, headlights swept the night and his car came around the drive. He parked untidily, leapt out and ran towards the house.
Nell called out, ‘Michael. Over here.’
Michael stopped in mid-stride, saw Nell, and came straight to her.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ he said, grabbing her and pulling her to him. ‘I thought— I don’t know what I thought. Are you all right? What on earth are you doing out here?’
‘I’m perfectly all right. But the walled garden—’ She broke off and looked back at the narrow side path. ‘Michael, before I explain, could you bear to walk round to the back of the house to the walled garden.’
‘Now? Tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Certainly I will, if it’s what you want, but—’
He glanced uneasily at the house, and Nell said, ‘I’m not suggesting we go inside.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’
‘I don’t think there’s any danger,’ she said. ‘I don’t think there ever was. Well, not in the walled garden anyway.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘I’m not sure. Are you honestly all right to do this?’
‘No,’ said Michael promptly. ‘But we’ll go along to see what beck’ning ghost along the moonlight shade invites our steps.’
‘You do know how to add to an atmosphere. Where did you find that one?’
‘I think it’s Alexander Pope, isn’t it?’
‘One of the many endearing things about you is that you always assume other people are as knowledgeable as you are,’ said Nell as they made a cautious way along the dark path.
The gate to the walled garden was wreathed in shadows, and there was a faint vapour on the air as if something had darted past it and left a barely-visible imprint.
Nell stopped. ‘The gate’s closed and latched.’
‘Did you close it?’
‘No. I left it wide open.’
They walked forward and peered through the iron scrollwork.
‘We’re like two children in a Victorian sketch,’ murmured Nell. ‘Staring in awe through the gates of the big house.’
Michael put his arm round her. ‘Whatever you saw – and I think I could make a fair guess at what that was – I don’t think there’s anything in there now, Nell.’
‘But don’t you have the feeling that we’ve missed something by only a few seconds? That something’s just happened and we were too late – or too early – or we didn’t know the right thing to say?’
‘I’m supposed to be the one who thinks like that. Talk about gamekeeper turned poacher.’ He smiled at her. ‘You appear to be level with me on research, or even ahead of me.’ He looked back into the shadowy garden, then shivered slightly and turned away. ‘Let’s leave the ghosts to their lawful – or unlawful – occasions, and go to the Bell and compare notes over a meal.’
‘Now you mention it, I’m starving,’ said Nell. ‘Wait a minute, I’ll get my bag – I left it on the doorstep while I was chasing the ghosts. Or the ghosts were chasing me, I’m still not sure which it was.’
‘I’ll fetch your bag. You get into the car.’
They rounded the corner of the house together. The wind was still stirring the trees, causing the branches to cast goblin-fingered shadows across the old stonework. Most of Fosse House was in darkness, the windows black and blind. But at one window a soft, flickering light showed, casting the silhouette of someone who was seated at a desk or a table, writing.
‘It’s still there,’ said Nell, stopping. ‘That’s the light I saw earlier. I thought it was you – that’s why I was trying to get into the house. But that light – it’s gas light, isn’t it? Or even an oil lamp. Because—’
‘Because the house didn’t have electricity in Stephen’s time,’ said Michael softly.
‘Do you know what that room is?’ Nell’s eyes were still fixed on the glimmering light and the outline behind the curtain.
‘I think it’s the main drawing room. I glanced in there earlier today. It had the air of hardly being used, but I do remember seeing a writing table by the window.’
‘I suppose there’s no possibility of that being a – a real person?’
‘Who, for instance?’
‘The solicitor you spoke to?’
‘He couldn’t have got in without these keys.’
‘Luisa’s cleaner? She might have a key.’
‘Writing at a desk by gaslight?’
‘Well, no. What do we do?’
Michael looked down at Nell. Her eyes were dark smudges in her face, and she looked pale, although whether with fear or tiredness, he could not tell. He said with decision, ‘What we do is to drive away from this place like bats out of hell, and for the next few hours we pretend there’s nothing and no one in there.’
‘We do?’
‘Yes. But,’ he said, smiling at her, ‘we come back here tomorrow morning, to see what daylight shows up.’
After the eerie shadows of Fosse House, it felt vaguely unreal to be seated in the tiny dining-room, eating the Bell’s very substantial chicken pot pie.