The Secret of Crickley Hall

'Has there been a flood warning?' Eve asked anxiously.

'No, not yet there ain't.'

'But they've taken precautions should it ever happen again, haven't they, Percy? I read about it in a book I got from the village store. A flood could never do the same damage as last time.'

'So they reckons, missus. Sometimes, though, nature has its own ideas.'

Gabe didn't like the subject; there were more immediate things to worry about. 'Percy,' he said more casually than he felt, 'tell us a little about the guy who owns Crickley Hall. You said Temple or something like that was his name.'

'Templeton. Mr Templeton.'

'Okay. You told us he was never happy here…?' It ended as a question.

'No, he never were. S'why they up and left. But I think that were more to do with his wife, Mary, than anythin' else.'

'Yeah?'

'Had no kiddies, there were jus' the two of 'em an' Crickley Hall's too big for jus' a couple on their own. Needs a family, like yours.'

Percy blew into his teacup, then sipped from it, the saucer held below to catch any drips as usual. He looked directly at the American.

'What makes yer ask, Mr Caleigh?'

Somehow Gabe knew it wasn't an idle question. But it was Eve who replied.

'We wondered why the Templetons no longer used Crickley Hall themselves nowadays. Is there a reason?'

Percy placed the cup back into its saucer and then both on the table.

'Mr Templeton's wife became poorly almost as soon as they moved in all them years ago. She never took to the place, an' I think he didn't either 'cause of her.'

'D'you know why she didn't like it here?' asked Gabe, more than interested.

Percy gave it some thought. 'Mr Templeton, he told me his wife felt there was a bad atmosphere 'bout the house an' it made her depressed, like. She'd heard the rumours, y'see, 'bout Crickley Hall bein' haunted an' all, an' mebbe she took it too serious. Anyways, 't'weren't long afore she took to her bed. Small things at first—colds, headaches, backaches, them sort of problems. Then they discovered she had cancer, bad cancer—if there's any of the good kind.'

'What happened?'

'They left. Moved out. Mr Templeton took his wife to London for specialist treatment, but she died anyways, only weeks later, we heard. An' Mr Templeton, well he never came back 'cept fer one day months later. Wouldn't sell the place though.'

'Oh?' said Gabe. 'Why was that?'

'I asked him that very same question the day he returned to sort out things with the estate agent who he wanted to take charge of the prop'ty. After his good lady died, that were.' Percy nodded to himself as if remembering that very day. 'I were workin' in the garden as usual an' Mr Templeton, he came out to see me, mostly to let me know I were bein' kep' on as gardener an' maintenance even though he wouldn't be livin' here no more, but also 'cause he often like to jus' stop an' chat with me awhile. Always had done, said it took his mind off other worries jus' chattin' 'bout the garden an' what needed doin', 'bout the weather or local people, any old thing that weren't important like. When he told me he weren't comin' back to Crickley Hall no more an' that the estate agent feller—a Mr Cardew it were at that time—he had instructions to let the prop'ty whenever there were any interest, I says to him, why don't you sell up an' forget 'bout the place. I knew him an' his wife had never been happy here, y'see, so I were wonderin' why he didn't just get shot of it.'

He looked first at Gabe, and then at Eve, as if to make sure they were paying attention.

'An' he told me,' Percy continued, 'lookin' back at the house as he says it, 'Percy, livin' in Crickley Hall fer too long will destroy a person's mind. The house's got a secret that'll forever haunt it.' That were the word he used, haunt. And he were haunted by it, I could tell. I thought of them poor little mites who had died here years afore, an' I knew he were right. The secret is what really happened to 'em. How could they all've drowned in a buildin' as solid as Crickley Hall? What was the authorities, who came after the flood, what was they hidin' from the local people? An' I, like I told your missus t'other day, think they were terrified if what really happened to them kiddies that night of the flood became known, people in the cities would never allow their children to be evacuated, even though the war were still goin' on. They might figure the children safer at home with their mums and dads.'

Percy gave a sigh, his gaze introspective.

'Mr Templeton told me I still had my job fer as long as I wanted. Much as he didn't like Crickley Hall, he didn't want the place to go to ruin. Cleaners were paid to come in once a month, keep it liveable, like. Mr Templeton didn't like to see anythin' rot away, even if he didn't care for it hisself.'

'Did Mr Templeton ever tell you things had happened here he couldn't explain?' Eve asked quietly.

The gardener turned in his seat to face her. It was a moment or two before he responded.

'Not sure what yer mean, missus.'

'He told you Crickley Hall could destroy a person's mind. He must have had a reason for saying that.'

Percy pondered and Gabe groaned inwardly. Surely she wasn't going to tell the old man about the things that had been happening to them since they'd arrived here? But the doorbell startled them all, so intrusive was its ring.

Eve glanced at Gabe and he rose from the table. 'On it,' he said, glad of the interruption.

He went out into the hall and to the front door, opening it. A woman whose face was vaguely familiar was on the doorstep, an umbrella held low over her head. She was wearing a stern expression and a bright scarf; it was the blue-and-yellow scarf that he remembered.

'Mr Caleigh. We met on Saturday. I was with my husband.' The words were spoken quickly and brusquely.

'Sure,' he said, recognizing the vicar's wife. 'Mrs, uh, Trevellick.'

Her piercing eyes regarded him sharply, her thin unrouged lips set in a straight line across her face.

'Can you tell me the meaning of this?' she snapped at him, slapping the folded newspaper she carried in her free hand against his chest.

Surprised, he took the newspaper from her and unfolded it. The banner told him it was the North Devon Dispatch and the front page headline said in caps: COUNCILLOR RESIGNS OVER EXPENSES.

'Sorry, I—' Gabe began to say, but she snatched the journal back impatiently.

'Page five.' Awkwardly using both hands, umbrella resting on a shoulder, she pulled open the newspaper. Rain spattered its pages as she thrust it back at him.

On page five was a photograph of a surprised-looking Eve standing in the kitchen doorway. It was inset against a larger shot of Crickley Hall itself, which must have been taken from somewhere near the bridge. Gabe quickly read the headline beneath: CHILDREN CLAIM SEEING GHOST IN MANOR.

His jaw dropped. So much had happened when he'd arrived home yesterday that Eve hadn't mentioned any journalist and photographer having been to the house. Surely she hadn't given them an interview.

Before he could read on, the vicar's wife was berating him again. 'Do you realize how irresponsible you're being?'

'Look, I don't know anything about—' he began, but once more she interrupted him.

'Police called to the house, children making up stories about Crickley Hall. A ghost, indeed! And you have to blab it all to the newspapers!'

'Now wait a minute—'

'Do you realize they'll probably track down a poor sick old lady just to dredge up stories that should have been laid to rest years ago! You've started up all the silly rumours again. The whole county will have a field day. There's nothing people like more than a ludicrous haunted-house story. Crackpots will come from miles around just to see the place and take photographs for themselves. Those children the article mentions were drowned in the flood, there's nothing more to it than that!' She was almost spitting at him.

He skimmed through the story: Seraphina, 12, and Quentin Blaney, 14, while visiting—