‘Anyway, it went back to before the First World War. One of the daughters of the house was called Agnes — Agnes Wardock, of course. From all accounts she was a very beautiful young woman — I’ve seen a photograph, actually, pure English rose, long blonde hair, quite a stunner — and she was courted by a good few of the local gentry. A good prospect in many ways — the Wardocks were still pretty well heeled at that time. But Agnes was her own woman and didn’t want to take advice from her parents as to whom she should marry. She was, I gather, a romantic, waiting for Mr Right to come along, and confident that she’d recognize him when he did.
‘And I think she enjoyed a happy life in that Edwardian dream world which so many writers have evoked in novels of varying quality. In fact, there was one I published back then. . beautiful, sensitive novel about a young man growing up in a world of shooting parties and regattas and. . it’s on the shelf over there. I’ll be reading it again in a couple of months — can’t wait. Just so exquisitely done.’ He sighed fondly for a moment. ‘Charming author who sadly was taken too young, by breast cancer, before she fulfilled her undoubted promise.’ He shook himself out of his reverie.
‘But sorry, I digress. Agnes Wardock, yes. Not finding Mr Right and, in her parents’ view, getting rather close to being left on the shelf. I mean, she was probably only twenty-four or twenty-five, but back in those days. . the ideal was for a young woman to be engaged by the end of her first season.
‘Anyway, finally, Agnes does meet a young man who. . what’s that expression people use so much these days? “Ticks all the boxes”, that’s right. And. . this’ll amuse you, Tom, Agnes actually met her Mr Right through real tennis.’
‘Excellent.’ The (marginally) younger man smiled. ‘Can’t go wrong with the kind of chap who plays real tennis.’
‘So you keep telling me. I really must get round to learning how to play it one day. . though maybe I have left things a little late.’ Cecil giggled for a moment. ‘Now I don’t know much about Agnes Wardock’s young man, not even his name, but apparently he was a university chum of one of her brothers. They’d both played the game at Oxford, I believe, I don’t know where.’
‘Merton College,’ Tom Ruthven supplied.
‘Ah, knew I could rely on you to have all the facts at your fingertips. Anyway, Agnes’ brother invited his chum down here to have a game, the two young people met and that was it. For Agnes it was undoubtedly love with a capital L. Young man was equally keen. Her parents had hoped for someone with a title perhaps, but they recognized a good thing when they saw it and didn’t make any objections.
‘So the engagement was official, wedding date set for the following May, notice in
‘Small matter of some Austrian archduke being assassinated in Sarajevo. . I don’t need to spell it all out, do I? Well, caught up in jingoistic fervour, Agnes’ fiance joined up at the first opportunity. Never any doubt he would, being an honourable young man — ’ Cecil Wardock winked at Tom Ruthven — ‘not to mention a real tennis player. And since everyone knew that the war would be over by Christmas, no need to change the wedding plans. The fiance would go off and sort out the Boche, return to England probably decorated for conspicuous gallantry and everything’d be tickety-boo for him to walk Agnes up the aisle in May.
‘Except of course that wasn’t what happened. On the fifth of September, 1914 began the Battle of the Marne. . Actually an author of mine wrote a splendid novel on the subject. . rather better than more recent, over-praised works of fiction covering the same period. .’ His eyes strayed towards the bookshelves, before he returned with slight reluctance to his narrative. ‘Battle went on for a week and was actually an Allied victory. Not that that was much comfort for the seventeen hundred-odd British casualties. . amongst whose number was included. . yes, you guessed it, Agnes Wardock’s fiance.’
The old man was silent for a moment. Though he was enjoying having an audience for his story, the effort of telling it was taking it out of him.
‘There were a lot of young women who were bereaved in that way,’ prompted Carole, with surprising gentleness.
‘Oh yes. And a lot of them stiffened their upper lips and got on with life, channelling the love they had lost into good works or whatever. But that didn’t happen with Agnes Wardock. She fell to pieces in a very un-British way. Her parents, her friends tried to comfort her, but nothing could break through her carapace of grief.
‘Within a week of hearing the news of her fiance’s death Agnes Wardock hanged herself. And because it was on the Lockleigh House real tennis court that she had first met the young man, that was where she did the deed. Wearing the wedding dress which she had already had made for the following May.’
After a long silence Tom Ruthven asked, ‘Where did she do it?’ For a moment Jude feared that he was going to ask which chase the girl had died on, but fortunately he was not so crass, and continued, ‘Was it from one of the high walkways up by the windows?’
Cecil Wardock nodded.
‘So,’ asked Jude, ‘it is Agnes Wardock’s ghost who is said to haunt Lockleigh House?’
‘Yes. Or more specifically, she is said to haunt the tennis court adjacent to Lockleigh House.’
‘Presumably there have been sightings of her over the years?’
‘Presumably. Though, as ever with ghost stories it’s hard to get proper evidence. The imaginations of people who regard themselves as psychic are extremely fertile. A rumour very quickly takes on the mantle of fact. One of my authors — ’ he gestured again to the bookshelves — ‘did an excellent study of the ghosts of West Sussex, but although I pointed him in the direction of Agnes Wardock, he didn’t include her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Lack of evidence. He made a rule that for inclusion in the book a ghost had to have had at least two sightings, authenticated either by the individual who had seen the apparition or by some written record. He couldn’t find even one for Agnes Wardock.’
‘But within the family. .’ said Carole. ‘You said it was a cousin of yours who mentioned the idea of the ghost. Had he seen it?’
‘He claimed to have talked to one of the housemaids who’d seen a female figure in a long white dress on the tennis court.’
‘What would a housemaid have been doing on the court?’ asked Tom Ruthven.
‘According to my cousin, she was there after dark to meet one of the boot boys. For an assignation of a carnal nature, I fear.’
Carole and Jude exchanged looks. It seemed the court might have a long history of the kind of rendezvous that Oenone Playfair had worried about her husband arranging.
‘I think it’s quite possible, though,’ Cecil Wardock went on, ‘that the housemaid invented the story of the ghost to divert suspicion from what she was really up to.’
‘And that’s the only sighting you know of?’ asked Carole.
‘Yes. Maybe members of the Wardock family who actually lived here might be able to provide more detail. . if there were any of them around to ask.’
‘And are there?’
‘Sadly, no. I’m afraid the line dies with me. My marriage was blessed in every way possible, except in the matter of children. So no, when I go. . which cannot by the law of averages be too far into the future. . that will be the final pruning of the Wardock family tree.’ Though the thought might be a melancholy one, it was spoken with great cheerfulness. ‘Getting old isn’t as bad as some people say, you know. It has its consolations. In fact, I published a slim volume written by a philosopher friend of mine on that very subject.’ Another gesture towards the bookshelves. ‘Very thoughtful piece of work. It brings me renewed comfort each time I get round to reading it again.’
‘Cecil, we can’t thank you enough for telling us all this,’ said Jude.
‘No hardship for me at all, my dear young lady. I love telling stories. That’s why I went into publishing. And it’s nice for me to have such an attentive audience. I’m afraid back in the days when I used to lord it in the coffee room at the Garrick Club. .’ He gestured to his salmon and cucumber bow. ‘Recognize the tie, do you? Anyway, back then most of the members had heard all my stories before, so it’s a pleasure for me this afternoon to know that I haven’t repeated myself.’
‘There is one thing I’d like to ask,’ said Carole.
‘Ask away. I’m not about to go anywhere.’
