hotel, early evening.’
‘Which is where?’
‘Cheltenham, ironically. Twenty minutes isn’t much, but I told them we’d be there.’
It was ten-thirty, just gone. Marcus had his tweed hat in one hand, Malcolm’s lead in the other. ‘Thought we could go in your car, Lewis. Leave Maiden the truck.’
Grayle shook her head at him. ‘I don’t see this. I don’t see why you had to hire the damn stall. Why not just go in as a visitor, tomorrow, when it starts? Mingle with the Tarot readers and the palmists and the Kirlian photographers.’
‘Because, Underhill, visitors asking too many questions attract attention, whereas someone who’s invested in the thing has a right to want to know what the fuck’s going on. Anyway, we’ve arranged to go and look this morning, and if we like the pitch we’ll take it. Also thought we might open ourselves to the ambience of the world’s only purpose-built haunted house. See if we can uncover what this bastard was up to.’
He placed in front of Grayle and Bobby a weighty volume from his reference section,
Abblow, Anthony (1846–1928)Controversial spiritualist whose aggressive atheism led to frequent quarrels with his contemporaries. Abblow, a former medical practitioner, insisted that religion was a barrier in the path of worthwhile research into the existence of life after death, in which he remained a firm believer. He was reviled by the Church after publishing a paper in which he argued that the spirit world was a parallel plane in which individual status was principally determined by the force of personality and strength of character developed in this world, rather than humility and purity of heart.In the 1870s Abblow came under the patronage of a wealthy industrialist, Barnaby Crole, who funded his research, accommodating him at his palatial home, Overcross Castle, in Worcestershire. The nature of their experiments remains a mystery as the results were never published. Abblow died in Italy, to where he retired after leaving Overcross.
‘Man of his time, then,’ Bobby said.
‘Jeez.’ Grayle raised disbelieving eyes to the beams. ‘Sounds like he just about stopped short of telling the rich they could take it with them. Surprising he didn’t get rediscovered in the 1980s.’
‘Be interesting …’ Marcus clapped his hands to summon Malcolm, ‘… to see how many of the New Agers at this fiasco realize the kind of man whose memory the event appears to be commemorating. ‘
‘Marcus …’ Cindy looked down, self-consciously removing some fuzz from his jumper. ‘Marcus, I don’t think I can go.’
Marcus looked up so quickly his glasses wobbled. ‘What did you say?’
‘I … don’t want to go. Not today, anyway.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I suddenly feel quite uneasy. I’m sorry, this is most unlike me. Never before felt the weight of fate and circumstance so heavily against me. I’m not ready to go out there. I need more time. Why don’t we go tomorrow? There’ll still be time to set up the stall. What I thought … I thought I would walk up to the Knoll again. Dwell for a while. Consider. Uneasy, I feel. I’m so sorry.’
‘Uneasy?’ Marcus changed colour. ‘It’s me who should be feeling bloody uneasy! Do you think I
‘I’m sorry … perhaps a breath of air.’ Cindy brushed at his skirt. He truly was agitated, Grayle thought. This wasn’t acting.
Marcus expelled breath. ‘Just go and get in the bloody car, Lewis. You’ve got to face the damned public sometime.’
Cindy bit his lip, pulled down his jumper. Made his way down the passage. ‘S’truth,’ Marcus said through his teeth.
‘He’s got big problems, Marcus,’ Grayle admonished. ‘His career just took the final dive.’
‘I know he’s got problems.’
‘He’s also receptive to things.’
‘Don’t start
They walked out to the yard. The wind had changed and the sky over the ruins was heavy with clouds veined and yellowed like mature Stilton. Something had clearly altered since yesterday. Or maybe it was just wrong to use Cindy as a weather-vane.
‘Why do I feel that if Kelvyn Kite was out of his case,’ Grayle said to Bobby, ‘he’d say this was all gonna end in tears?’
XLI
Chatterton Mansions was an impressive mongrel. Georgian origins, maybe a little Regency, a lot of Victorian.
There was a furniture van parked outside on a yellow line, two blokes loading a heavy red fireside chair into the back.
The street was lit by unexpected mid-afternoon sun. All the buildings were three, four storeys, the stone not quite Cotswold but mellow, certainly. Quiet, too, although there was a roundabout and a busy shopping street not two hundred yards away.
Maiden followed Grayle up the steps of Chatterton Mansions. This was her idea; it had meant Marcus making another call to Nancy Rich for the address, which Marcus was not too pleased about, but Grayle thought it would be crazy coming to Cheltenham without taking a look at where this whole thing began.
Inside, the building was less grand than you might have imagined. A central staircase, but fairly narrow, and several big doors with quiet nameplates on them — a solicitor, an architect.
‘Upstairs, I guess, Bobby.’
He was looking around. ‘No doorman. Thought there might’ve been
‘Huh? Oh, I get it. This could get to be an obsession, Bobby.’
Mindful of what Ron Foxworth had said about other hands on Seward’s collar, Maiden had called Gloucester HQ — if they were invading Ron’s playground today it would be wise to tell him. Ron wasn’t around; Maiden left a message.
They were bypassing Gloucester in the truck when Ron had got back to him. Maiden had pulled into a petrol station.
‘You know, Bobby, forgive me … but it seems to me you’re being a mite too nosy for a man just trying to find out who’s been leaning on his girlfriend.’
‘It’s since you mentioned Seward. Hate him to have an interest in her.’
‘And do you think he has, Bobby?’
‘Can I roll another name past you? Kurt Campbell?’
‘Who?’
‘He’s a hypnotist. On the telly. He’s just bought a Victorian castle in the Malvern Hills. They’re holding a festival there this week. The Festival of the Spirit.’
‘And your interest is?’
‘Seffi’s appearing. My information is Seward’s likely to be in the audience.’
‘Well, given Gary’s interests and how fond he is of celebrities, I wouldn’t be inclined to rule that out.’
‘I wondered if you knew of any connection between Seward and Campbell, that’s all. Or if there’d be any kind of police presence at the festival.’
Ron had sounded suddenly amused. ‘Not my problem, son, even if it was on my patch. Festivals are Uniform’s headache. And generally wasteful of manpower and overtime, in my experience, for the handful of thieves and dealers you nick.’
‘It’s not a rock festival.’
‘Be full of weirdos, though, won’t it? That’s not to demean your new friends, Bobby. As a matter of fact, I did hear a mention of this event. In the context of them not actually requiring a police presence. Having arranged their
