David raised an eyebrow. There was no sign that James Wood was anything but calm. ‘You don’t believe in ghosts, I think you said,’ he commented as they walked shoulder to shoulder across the green.
Wood gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Not when it comes to Belheddon Hall. I don’t think I’ve ever come across such a case of mass hysteria. It’s the house. Old, beautiful, full of history, probably a lack of modern bright lighting which floodlights the whole place at the flick of a switch and a tendency to be especially cold. I’m always being told about cold spots. People forget they are used to modern houses with central heating and double glazing. The slightest draught and they put it down to a malign spirit wafting across the room.’ He laughed quietly. ‘What has happened to Edgar is a dreadful, sad accident, David. You must not be taken in by all this ghost business. I know Edgar was much involved with it when the Duncans lived here. He encouraged them. Poor things, they had a very unhappy life, but in my view he was very very wrong to take all this talk of ghosts seriously.’
‘I thought the church did take it seriously,’ David put in thoughtfully. ‘Edgar told me there was a special department within each diocese to deal with exorcism.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘There are some very out dated aspects in the Church of England still. Not in my view healthy ones.’
‘I see.’ David raised an eyebrow. In front of them the entrance to the drive loomed out of the hedgerow and they turned into it. The shrubs were very black in the darkness, and the frost had set the gravel hard, cutting out the usual welcome crunching from beneath their feet as they made their way silently up to the front door.
‘I’ve the key to the back,’ David whispered as they stood looking up at the house front. In the starlight they could see clearly the angles of the gables and the tall chimneys and the dark uncurtained windows. He shivered, remembering the blazing lights which had shone from every floor when he had driven away only twenty-four hours earlier.
Leading the way round the corner he walked through the archway into the stableyard and paused, looking round. The doors of the coach houses were all locked fast. The courtyard was very silent. Groping in his pocket for the key he walked slowly towards the back door.
The kitchen was still warm as they made their way in and turned on the lights. David glanced round, relieved to see that nothing appeared to have been moved. He gave James Wood a determined grin as the latter switched off his torch and rammed it into his jacket pocket. ‘This way. In the great hall.’
Pushing open the door into the passage he paused, listening. The house was very quiet. Resisting the urge to tiptoe he strode down the passage to the great hall, gratefully aware that Wood was very close behind him. Groping for the switch on the wall he turned on the lights and looked round. The room looked normal. Stepping out onto the flagstones he walked across to the oak refectory table and stared down. A pool of solid blue wax showed where the candles had stood and then been knocked over. Otherwise the table was bare. He turned round slowly. Edgar’s briefcase had sat on a chair by the hearth; the bottles of wine and oil and water had been on the table. One small pot with a silver top, containing the salt for the exorcism had been on the table, near the cross.
‘I don’t understand.’ He walked across to the hearth and poked around in the ash with his foot. ‘It’s all gone.’
‘What’s gone?’ Hands in pockets, James Wood was staring up at the portrait over the fireplace.
‘Edgar’s stuff. The cross. The candles. The sacrament.’ He ran his fingers over the cold wax on the table. ‘Here. See? This is where he was working. His case was here, on the chair.’ He turned round slowly, probing the shadows.
Wood frowned. ‘I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation. Young Jimbo Cotting for instance. Do you think he cleared up after you had left for the hospital?’
David shook his head. ‘It was me who locked the door. He wouldn’t come through here; he won’t come into the house beyond the kitchen. I turned out the lights and locked up while they were loading poor Edgar into the ambulance, then I gave Jimbo the key and followed them in my car. He wouldn’t have come back in, I’m sure of it. He’s terrified of the place.’
Wood pursed his lips. ‘It is possible you tidied up yourself? In the stress of the accident and everything maybe you forgot you’d done it.’
‘No. Believe me, I’d have remembered.’ David could feel a small knot of anger and fear forming somewhere in the base of his stomach. ‘Perhaps we should search the place.’ He walked across to the hallway at the foot of the stairs. He had locked the cellar door, he remembered that clearly, and thrown the keys onto the desk in the study. Pushing open the door he went in and stared down at the desk. The bunch of keys still lay there where he had tossed them on the blotter, next to the neat pile of Joss’s manuscript. Aware that Wood was watching him from the doorway he turned round slowly, scanning the room for the battered black leather briefcase but there was no sign of it.
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ He bit his lip.
Wood nodded. ‘We’d better have a good look round now we’re here and make sure there have been no intruders. It’s been known, you know. People follow ambulances and when the family rush off after them to hospital, often not locking up properly in their panic, they nip into the house and clean it out.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a very sad, cynical world.’
David scowled. ‘But in this case I did lock up.’
‘Of course.’ James Wood turned off the light and closed the door. He turned his attention to the cellar. ‘Should we check in there?’