The Secret of Crickley Hall

There were two other customers, both at the cash register counter, one of them sifting through her purse to pay for her goods, the second woman waiting patiently behind her holding a wire basket filled with household items and packets of food. Cally made straight for the sweet shelves, Chester trotting beside her, stubby tail wagging, while Eve pretended to be interested in the magazine carousel. She took one out and flicked through the pages but, even though it was a fashion magazine, it failed to gain her interest.

Behind the counter was the same broad-looking woman who had served Eve two days ago—green apron over blue-spotted dress, horn-rimmed spectacles, short greying hair permed rigid, severe expression—and she was just giving change to the first customer. Eve remembered she was supposed to do a proper week's shop today and had intended to catch the bus she knew ran from the village to the nearest town, where hopefully she would find a good supermarket. Well, change of plans. More frozen dinners for the next day or two. Gabe would survive as long as there was quantity, and the girls wouldn't be fussed either way. Besides, shopping here would help underplay her enquiry.

She slipped the Cosmopolitan back in its rack and went to the corner by the door where the wire baskets were stacked, one on top of the other. Taking the first, she moved to the freezer cabinet and loaded the basket without paying too much notice of what she was choosing; really, she was waiting for the second customer to leave so that she could make her enquiry with as little embarrassment as possible.

At last, the bell over the door rang and the customer was gone. Eve quickly closed the freezer lid and went to the counter.

The shopkeeper frowned at her at first, then looked at her quizzically; some of the hardness left her features.

'You were 'ere Saturday'—Sat'day, it was pronounced—'wasn't you? Yer've moved into Crickley Hall for a spell, that's right, isn't it?'

'Yes, we're here for a while,' Eve replied.

'Thought as much. Recognized the pretty little girl.'

The shopkeeper smiled down at Cally, who had joined her mother with a tube of Smarties clutched in one hand and holding Chester's leash in the other.

'Helped yerself, have yer? Well, I'm sure Mummy don't mind.'

Eve placed the full wire basket on the counter and took the Smarties from Cally to lay next to it. The tube started to roll away, but the shopkeeper snatched it up and stood it on its flat end.

'Right then, we'll ring the sweeties first, shall we? Then little missy can start on them right away.'

Eve returned the smile as the shopkeeper registered the purchase and handed the tube back over the counter to Cally, who took them gratefully.

'What's yer name, if yer don't mind me askin?' The shopkeeper took a moment to look directly at Eve.

'Oh. Caleigh. Eve Caleigh, and this is my daughter Cally.'

'An' the other pretty girl with yer on Saturday, the older one…?'

'That was Loren. She's at school today.'

'Charmin' girls,' the shopkeeper remarked. 'An' everything's okay up at Crickley Hall, is it?'

Eve hesitated before answering, wondering why the woman had asked. 'Yes, everything's fine.'

The shopkeeper never took her eyes from the foodstuff she was taking out of the basket and ringing up on the till. 'That's all right, then,' she murmured absently.

Soon, everything was accounted for and Eve, checking the green-lit figures on the machine's cash window, delved into her purse. When she had passed over the money and was waiting for change, she said: 'I was, uh, I was wondering what happened to the cards that were in the display cabinet outside.'

The shopkeeper ignored the question while she counted out the correct change into Eve's outstretched hand.

'Now, then, what's that you was askin'?' she said, leaning her stomach against her side of the counter.

'The, the cards outside. Some seem to be missing.'

'Oh them. Lots of them've been there two years or more. My husband had a good clearout over the weekend. Was there one in particular you was lookin' for?' The woman's eyebrows rose above the top of her glasses.

Eve reddened a little, but decided to come straight out with it. 'Yes, there was. The one advertising a psychic. Psychic readings, I think it said.'

'Ah.' The shopkeeper straightened. 'That one. Yers, that was in the window a couple of years or more. Young lady paid for it to be put in, if I remember right, an' I haven't seen hide nor hair of her since. Should've taken it out a year ago, that card. Long past its rent date.'

'You've thrown it away?' Eve hid her frustration.

'Well, that may not necessarily be so. Bin men don't come 'til Tuesday, so the card yer want will be with the other rubbish out back. Here, let me jus' go an' ask Mr Longmarsh. He'll know what he's done with it.'

The shopkeeper went to the far end of the counter where there was a closed door that probably led to the back storeroom or living quarters. She opened the door and put her perm-hard head through the gap. 'Ted, you got a minute? Customer here's got a query 'bout one of them cards you took out of the window yesterday.'

The woman—Mrs Longmarsh, Eve assumed—came back, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. 'He won't be a minute, dear, he's jus' puttin' his shoes on.' From behind thick lenses, her eyes bored into Eve's. 'So it's a psychic—one of them clairvoyants—you'll be needin', is it?' Her voice had lowered itself with the question as if any reply would be in confidence.

'No, no, nothing like that,' Eve quickly insisted. She could imagine rumours about Crickley Hall and problems with the new folk being passed around the village. 'It's just that I'm a freelance writer, you see. I've been commissioned to do an article on mediums, mind reading, that sort of thing. I thought the person who placed the ad might be willing to be interviewed.'

Mrs Longmarsh squinted at her for a few moments, suspicion now dominant in her narrowed eyes.

A gruff voice came from the other end of the counter and Eve turned her head to see a portly man had emerged from the back room. 'What's that yer sayin', May? What blessed card you on about?'

He was short as well as portly and wore a brown sleeveless cardigan over a plain white shirt. Oddly, his hair was full and crinkly on the top of his head, but straight at the sides over his ears. He had heavy, thread-veined cheeks and jowls, and his eyes were small, deep-set over an equally small podgy nose.

'Ted, this is Mrs Caleigh, moved into Crickley Hall for a while. D'yer know what yer did with them out-of-date cards from the shopfront?'

The West Country burr of his accent matched the woman's perfectly, except his voice had a harsher, no- nonsense ring to it, a brusqueness that made him sound cross, although Eve couldn't think why. Perhaps he was irritated at being disturbed while he toasted his feet by the fire; Mrs Longmarsh had said he was putting his shoes on.

'What card are you lookin' fer exactly, missus?' he growled.

By now Cally had opened the Smarties and was dropping them one at a time into Chester's open and appreciative mouth, feeding herself at the same time.

Eve ignored her for the moment. 'I think it was a yellow card, quite old,' she told Longmarsh.

'Well, that don't tell us much, do it?'

'No, of course. It was for psychic readings; I can't remember the name now.'

'Yers, I know the one. Looked at it myself only yesterday. Don't know if the woman will still be in business after all this time. Peel, her name is. I know 'cause I noticed when I took the card down. Lillian, or just plain Lili, I think it was. Yers, spelt funny L-I-L-I. Remember thinkin' it were a nice name. Lili Peel, that's right.'

He rocked back on his heels and scrutinized Eve in a way that made her uncomfortable.

'As a matter of fact,' he went on after a pause, 'I think yer in luck. I put all the old cards in a plastic bag, then into the wheely-bin with the other rubbish. Luckily, the bag was the last thing in so it's at the top. I could get it fer yer.'

Again he paused, studying her, and Eve wondered if she was supposed to offer him a bribe for the effort.

'Now you go an' fetch it, Ted,' said his wife, 'while I'm puttin' Mrs Caleigh's shopping in the bags.'

Longmarsh frowned at her as if about to argue, but Mrs Longmarsh had already turned away and was bringing out two plastic bags from under the counter. Her husband gave a long-suffering sigh and ambled back to the open door, through which Eve could now see a blazing fire in the hearth, a comfortable-looking armchair in front