need to agree on what rooms can be off-limits to you and your family once I've prepared them. I'll have cameras and sound-recorders in them, you see. And instruments for measuring movement and pressure change. Also, don't be surprised if you find talcum powder sprinkled on the floor or furniture. It's for possible footprints and handprints. Quite easy to vacuum up afterwards.'
'I'm sorry, it's not…' Eve was going to say, it's not
'Oh, my dear Mrs Caleigh, I'm so sorry.' His sympathy sounded perfectly genuine. 'Is there anything I can do?'
She shook her head dispiritedly. 'No. Thank you. It's my little boy. I told you yesterday that he'd been missing for a long time and today we learned that—that he's gone for ever. He's dead.'
'Dear God. That's dreadful.' One of Pyke's big hands reached out and rested on Eve's shoulder for a moment, its pressure light. 'Would you like to talk to me about your son?'
He wondered why her eyes were not puffy from crying. She seemed to be taking her loss surprisingly well. But then her tone of voice suggested that her mind was in another place. It was not that unusual for the shock of sudden tragedy or bereavement to numb a person's feelings, dull their senses, so that they appear detached and withdrawn rather than mortified.
'That's very kind of you,' she replied solemnly, 'but no, I've spent most of the evening talking to my daughters about Cam—that's my son's name—and now they, we, need time to grieve.'
'How are your daughters taking it?' Pyke oozed concern.
'Loren's terribly upset—that's the older one you helped yesterday.'
He nodded.
'And Cally,' Eve continued. 'Well, she cried a bit, but she's too young to understand…' Her voice trailed away again.
'How old is Loren? She's twelve, I think you told me.'
'Yes, just twelve. She's with Cally in their bedroom now, trying to deal with it. She's putting on a brave face for me, I think.'
'Is your husband not at home?' Pyke already knew Mr Caleigh wasn't, but there was no harm in checking.
'Gabe's still in London. He had to identify the body. I hope he's all right.'
Eve thought of telling Pyke about last night, how she had nearly drowned in the bath, strong hands seeming to push her down, submerge her in the water whose surface had turned to ice, but did not have the energy to explain the inexplicable. Pyke was on a fool's errand—she, herself, had witnessed too many weird things in this house for there to be rational explanations—but she was too weary, too played out, to try and convince him.
He was still babbling on, but she barely took in a word he was saying. She didn't even consider him insensitive, so sincere did he appear to be.
'I promise you'll hardly know I'm here. I'd start at the top of the house, the attic room from where you said you heard running feet, then I'd be interested in examining the cellar, which may be the root cause of some extraneous noises you've been hearing. The well, the underground river, damaged or worn foundations and all that. Do you have decent architect's plans of Crickley Hall, by the way? No? They might have helped me, but never mind.'
Eve's will had been wearied by grief. She cast her eyes downwards as if deliberating, while in truth all she was thinking about was her dead son. Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice from the stairway.
'What does the man want, Mummy?'
Cally had a frown on her podgy face as she stood hand in hand with Loren on the square landing at the turn of the stairs. She was in her pink pyjamas, while her big sister was wearing a light-blue nightie that hung down to her bare ankles.
'This is Mr Pyke,' Eve told her patiently; she had hoped Cally would be fast asleep by now. 'He's come to see about all those strange noises we've been hearing. He wants to make it all right.'
'Good,' proclaimed Cally. 'I hate the noises because there's no one there. I like the lights though.'
Pyke didn't know what lights the little girl was referring to. But his attention was on Loren. His smile contained both delight and sympathy, his kindly eyes the secret of the trick.
'Hello, Mr Pyke.' Loren managed to raise a smile. Her face was blotchy from dried tears and her eyelids were red-rimmed. Her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, another outward sign of her anguish. She looked very vulnerable.
Eve quietly called across the hall to her youngest daughter. 'Cally, you need to be in bed sleeping.'
'I'm too sad to sleep, Mummy. Is the man going to make the noises go away?' She rubbed an eye with a knuckle.
Eve turned back to Pyke. 'I'm not sure—' Again she was interrupted.
'Mrs Caleigh. Eve. Your husband was quite definite.'
'But not right now, not tonight.'
'I'm afraid I'm going away in a few days,' he lied. 'Tonight is the only time I'll be available. I promise I'll have answers for you by tomorrow morning. I won't even have to stay here overnight if you don't want me to, although that would be preferable. I only have to arrange my paraphernalia, a camera here, a sound-recorder there, a length of cotton across a doorway somewhere else. All I require is a couple of hours or so. You can go up to your bed without worrying about me—I can let myself out and come back early in the morning if you'd rather I didn't stay.' Yes, it would make everything easier if they were sleeping; that was the original plan anyway.
'Normally,' he went on without giving Eve a chance to speak, 'I would sit in a chair somewhere in the house, the hall itself or perhaps the attic room, so I could keep an eye on things, check my equipment every now and again. I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't do something to help you and your family at such a sad time.'
His compassionate smile broadened, but not quite into a grin.
'Besides, I've driven a long way this evening and through the worst weather I've ever known.' (Which wasn't exactly true because he and Magda had braved a similar storm all those years ago.) 'It would be a shame if it were a wasted effort.'
Eve felt her will sink, and it was already at a low ebb. Pyke was persuasive, he had a sincere manner; but it wasn't his entreaties that were wearing her down, it was because nothing else mattered to her right now. She could tell that Loren was taken with Gordon Pyke despite her obvious emotional pain over Cam. Perhaps she saw him as the granddad she had never had? Perhaps if Loren accompanied the ghost-hunter as he set out his tools of the trade and explained each one's purpose she might be diverted from her sorrow for a short while. For the first time ever, Eve abdicated from parental responsibility to pass it on to her eldest daughter.
'What do you think, Loren? Should we let Mr Pyke go ahead and flush out bats in the roof or mice in the cupboards?' She chose not to mention ghosts. 'You were there yesterday when we spoke about it.'
Loren had led Cally down to the bottom of the stairs. The nice, tall Mr Pyke was smiling encouragingly and she could almost feel him willing her to say yes.
'Dad wants Mr Pyke to do it, doesn't he?' she said to her mother.
'Circumstances have changed,' Eve replied, struggling to keep bitterness from her voice.
Loren's face clouded over for a moment and her thoughts skirted elsewhere; she was still shocked by her brother's death even though she had been expecting the worst for months.
'You told Cally and me we have to try and carry on as before—before Cam got lost.' There was something like anger in her tone, but it wasn't directed at her mother.
Eve gave in. She looked up into the investigator's gentle eyes and spoke resignedly. 'Very well, Mr Pyke. Put your equipment wherever you think it might be useful. Loren will show you the cupboard on the landing where most of the noises have come from, while I get Cally back to bed. Then she'll take you up to the dormitory—sorry, it's now just an attic as you called it.'
'I'm anxious to examine the cellar where the well is.'
'Yes, of course. I'll take you down there myself when you've finished upstairs. You might want to put some
