The Secret of Crickley Hall

of it. Yes, Eve thought, Ted Longmarsh had obviously been toasting his feet.

•

The long wet hike up the hill was naturally more tiring than the downward trip and Cally was complaining about her 'sleepy' legs well before they reached the short bridge to Crickley Hall; even Chester had his head down and his tongue hanging out as he panted. Eve, carrying the shopping, did not feel much better: the walk back somehow seemed a mile longer. Yet it wasn't so on their first trip to the harbour village and back again, but perhaps that was because they'd broken their return journey visiting the church and chatting to the vicar, Trevellick, and his wife; or perhaps the interrupted nights recently had taken more out of them than she'd realized. Then again, it could be just that they were 'townies', worn down by strenuous exercise.

Eve waited by the bridge for Cally and Chester to catch up. They weren't very far behind—Eve was too wary of passing traffic to leave her daughter out of grasping distance, even though Cally knew her road drill.

'Come on, slowcoaches,' she called out, but now saw that Chester was dragging at his leash, holding Cally back. The dog seemed agitated, almost desperate to get away. Was it because they were close to Crickley Hall? Chester certainly didn't like the house, he made that clear enough. But then, neither did she. That is, not until now for, although she still had reservations about the place, she was drawn to its mystery—and the small hope it had given her.

She heard Cally chastising the dog: 'Chester, you're being a very bad boy.'

Eve put the shopping bags on the bridge and strode back to them, taking the leash from Cally's hand. She wrapped it round her knuckles a few times to shorten its length. 'You behave, Chester,' she warned the dog. 'We're nearly home and we're tired, so let's get inside and then we can all flake out.'

The dog whimpered and tried to pull away from Eve, who tugged impatiently, bringing him to heel. She half dragged him towards the bridge, his haunches inches from the ground, front paws digging in. It took some effort, but she finally got him to the beginning of the bridge. Eve was tired and frustrated, and just a little angry. What was wrong with Chester? She bent down to stroke him, to calm him, because by now he was shivering. His eyes were bulging, staring across the river, and he strained against his leash, front paws hopping off the ground, head pulled to one side as he tried to escape.

'Chester, will you please stop it!' Eve had become really exasperated. She jerked the leash harder, but it only made the dog more desperate.

'Mummy, look!'

Eve, too busy with her struggle to control Chester, ignored her daughter.

But Cally tugged at her mother's free arm and insisted. 'Mummy, look at the children!'

Startled, Eve immediately straightened and swung round towards Cally, who was pointing across the bridge up at Crickley Hall's dormer windows. A smile was on her daughter's upturned face.

Eve's eyes followed the direction of Cally's finger and she saw the pale blurs that could only be faces at three of the rooftop's four small grimy windows.

'The children, Mummy!' Cally repeated and Eve felt her jaw drop.

Chester used this moment of distraction to make his break. The leash in Eve's hand loosened, unwound, and with a final yank the dog was free. He scooted up the hill, the leash dragging along the ground before Eve realized he was gone.

'Chester, no!' she called sharply. 'Stop!'

But the dog took no notice and continued his bid for freedom, racing up the hill as if there was a wind behind him.

Confused, angry, perplexed, Eve turned back to Crickley Hall.

The pale blurs at the rooftop windows were gone.

23: DECISIONS

Eve's hand hovered over the phone—the digital phone that must have been one of the first of its kind: heavy and solid-looking, with big numbered press-keys—but something stopped her from picking it up.

She had been about to ring Gabe at the Ilfracombe office, the number of which he'd written down for her and left beside the phone on the chiffonier, but now realized it would be foolish to do so: what could he do about a missing dog when he was miles away and probably trying to make some kind of impression on his new colleagues?

Chester had vanished somewhere along the winding lane that followed the river and even though Eve and Cally had spent more than an hour searching for him, calling his name over and over, it looked as if this time he was gone for good.

Oddly, Cally, who was in the kitchen finishing her lunch, had not taken it as badly as Eve would have expected. Certainly she'd bawled her eyes out for the first five minutes after Chester had broken free and disappeared into the distance, but then, after the initial excitement of the search, she got tired and hungry (not to mention wet), and complained to Eve about her state of hunger. Eve took her back to Crickley Hall, keeping an eye out for their errant dog along the way.

As she stood by the phone, undecided, the receiver still in her hand, a deep disquieting physical chill crept up her spine and seeped under her hair to cool the flesh at the back of her neck. She shivered and slowly—slowly because she suspected someone was standing behind her and she really did not want to see who it was—turned round.

She exhaled a breath when she saw the partially open cellar door. It was obvious that the draught of cold air had come from there. Because the door was only half open with very little light entering, the shadows within were peculiarly deep, as black as jet, and there was something strangely inviting about them, tantalizing almost. In some way it was like standing on top of a high cliff or building, when the space you're looking down on seems to be inviting you to jump. Eve gave a small shake of her head—it might have been a shudder—and, phone still clutched in one hand, took a bold step towards the door and slammed it shut. Its key fell from the lock to the stone floor with a heavy clink.

The coiled telephone cord was stretched to its limit as Eve bent to pick up the long key. When she replaced it in the lock and turned it she felt relieved. She would have to get Gabe to fix the lock or fit a new one, perhaps even add a bolt high enough to be out of Cally's reach. Eve looked at the receiver in her hand and, decision made, returned it to its cradle. No, she wouldn't worry Gabe about the missing dog, nor anything else for the moment. But now she vacillated over another number she should ring.

For Eve, it was a difficult decision to make. That same morning she had set out determined to contact the psychic whose address and phone number were on the card she'd obtained from the village shop. She remembered the tingle in her hand when she had taken it from Ted Longmarsh, the anticipation she felt when she slipped the faded card into her pocket. Now she was unsure.

What good could a psychic do; what could she tell such a person? That she thought she was living in a haunted house? That her own missing son's psyche had been drawn to the place because there were unknown forces at work in Crickley Hall, things that were supernatural, things that were hard to understand for normal people? What would a psychic make of noises in the night that could not properly be explained, of mysterious footsteps, of Cameron coming to Eve in a dream, filling her with hope? What would Lili Peel think when she was told of the dust ghosts playing ring-a-ring-o'-roses here in the hall, of little pale faces looking down from roof windows? Would she think Eve insane, or a neurotic woman driven mad by grief? Or would the psychic humour Eve, go along with her 'visions' as some charlatans might just to fleece her of money? What was the use? Eve asked herself. But then, what did she have to lose by contacting Lili Peel? At worst it might help Eve just to talk about it to a perfect stranger. Gabe couldn't help her, although he had tried, had tried desperately; his sympathy was limited, worn by time and his own early life. He already thought she was heading for a breakdown; she suspected he expected it. Why else had he brought her to this 'sanctuary' so many miles from their proper home at such a significant time? The new location was to help her forget.

Even though he had himself heard the strange night noises and discovered unexplainable puddles in the hall and on the stairs, and even though he knew how afraid Chester was of the place, he still would not believe Crickley Hall was haunted. His life had no room for such preternatural ideologies. She was not sure he even believed in God; he had always walked away from or changed the subject whenever she brought up the idea of a Supreme Being or religious inclinations. It didn't mean he lacked imagination; it only meant he was averse to such things. No, there