‘I’m going into Norwich, if it’s all the same,’ he said. ‘I can get to Great Yarmouth by bus from there and I know a chap who might be able to fix me up for July and August. I’ve got to get something to do this summer. I’m skint-broke to the wide—on my uppers and in the red.’

  ‘We don’t mind running you as far as the Norwich bus station,’ said da Cunha, ‘do we, Roger?’

  ‘Surely not,’ replied Arcati. Both he and David, although their own free-lance activities had prospered to some extent, knew what it was to live a life of uncertainty and sick hope. ‘Have you money enough for your fare and your lunch?’

  ‘I may have to treat this Yarmouth fellow, so if you could possibly—I mean, I’ll pay you back, of course, as soon as I can.

  ‘Poor devil!’ said Arcati, when they had put Salathiel down at the entrance to the bus station. ‘I hope he lands some kind of a billet to tide him over until he can get a proper shop. These bit-part actors must live pretty close to the breadline.’

  ‘So do I hope he lands a job,’ said David feelingly. ‘That’s the third fiver he’s had from me since he first showed up on this jive-and-jitter-bug scene. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t suggested he should come?’

  ‘I’ve wondered about that. Why did you? You don’t know him so awfully well, do you?’

  ‘Well, no, but I’m a pushover for anybody who’s down on his luck. Pavy called at my studio a few months ago and asked me to take some new pictures of him that he could show to theatre managers. He seemed a nice enough chap, so I agreed, provided he gave me an I.O.U. for them, which he did. After that he took to dropping in at the studio, so one day, thinking he looked pretty thin and all that, I took him back to my flat and gave him a meal. Since then he’s continued to haunt me, more or less, so, when Dee Crieff-Tweedle asked me to act as photographer to her spooks, I thought she might as well support Pavy for a week or two, if only to take the weight off my bank balance, but, so far, it doesn’t seem to be working out that way.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what!’ said Arcati. ‘Pavy thought we could have rather a rag if—’ The two young men went into conference, but, in the end, David shook his head.

  ‘Not worth losing our beauty sleep,’ he said, ‘and the Crieff-Tweedle would spit blood if she thought we were playing practical jokes with her ghosts.’

  Left at the bus station, Salathiel Pavy joined a bus queue, but the bus he caught was not bound for Great Yarmouth. Not so very much later it was crossing Wroxham Bridge. He alighted and set off, past Wroxham railway station, to walk to Belaugh. He found it a delightful village. The road went almost down the river, there was an atmosphere of peace, the gardens were very pretty and one had an ancient well in it with a high brick surround and a gleaming bucket depending from a windlass. There were trees and flowers and birds. There was also St Peter’s church. It stood, with its fifteenth century tower, on a hill overlooking a splendid arc which curved, gleaming, from Wroxham past Belaugh Broad. The church tower had sound-holes and inside the church there was a Norman font and a rood screen with twelve panels, coloured but much defaced, showing the twelve Apostles. However, Pavy did not go inside. In the quiet churchyard a man was waiting for him.

  ‘Good Lord!’ said this man, glaring at the young actor. ‘What in the devil’s name have you been doing? I’ve been waiting for over an hour.’

  ‘Sorry. I expected to come here this morning directly after breakfast, but those muddle-headed asses I room with insisted upon taking me into Norwich.’

  ‘Why on earth did you let them?’

  ‘I thought it might arouse their suspicions if I’d said I wanted to come here. We don’t want anybody to smell a rat, do we?’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Gone north to Cromer to play golf.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all right, I suppose. Well, this is the place and you know what you have to do. Play it right and I might— it’s not a promise, mind!— but I might be able to wangle you a job with Anglia T.V. I’ve got a boat here. I’ll take you back to Wroxham and we can talk as we go.’

  ‘You could take me straight to my bungalow, couldn’t you? It’s only just the other side of the bridge. I could give you lunch and we could make sure the plan is foolproof.’

  ‘No, I can’t stop off. I’ll have to dump you. I’ve got to meet a chap and, thanks to your messing about, I’m late already.’

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Plainsong at Salhouse

  ‘Most musical, most melancholy!

  Oft on a plat of rising ground

  I hear the far-off curfew sound

  Over some wide-water’d shore…’

  John Milton—Il Penseroso

  « ^ »

  It was Eiladh who, with a sixth sense handed down to her from who knows how many generations of Scottish ancestry, decided upon a slight change of plan.

  ‘Tom was quite right,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t need three people to keep all the assignments. How about two of us going ghost-hunting each time and the odd man out getting a night’s rest?’

  ‘I think you’ve got something there,’ said Tom. ‘Well, I opted out today, so you two toss for innings for tonight to see who comes with me.’

  ‘No, it’s Eiladh’s idea,’ said his sister, ‘so she shall be the first to benefit from it.’

  As matters turned out, however, it was Dee Crieff-Tweedle herself who changed the original plan. She descended upon Uplands at nine o’clock in the evening. Her visit was not entirely unexpected, for she had been unusually silent through the dinner which the whole party had attended, as arranged, in Wroxham. She found Eiladh and Tom playing chess and Liz reading.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I am in time. The itinerary has been changed quite drastically. I have brought you a copy of the new arrangements. You will see that there is no need for this bungalow to go out tonight.’

  ‘Praise be,’ said Tom Carpenter. ‘I’m dead to the world. The girls stood in for me and I’ve spent the whole day in Norwich. But what has happened to change your plans?’

  ‘Arcati and David suggested a change, but I should take little notice of them were it not for Father Melrose. He has told me that, with the approach of the longest day, the forces of good and evil are fighting even harder than usual to gain supremacy over one another. Now I am not a superstitious woman—’

  ‘Why, then, did you organise this ghost-hunt?’ asked Tom.

  ‘And why did you attach so much importance to that branch which tapped against the window at the Croftons’ Hallowe’en party?’ asked Eiladh.

  ‘Oh, well, then, perhaps I am a little en rapport with the spirit world,’ admitted Dee complacently. ‘Anyway, Father Melrose has persuaded me to arrive at the conclusion that, although the time I have chosen is particularly auspicious for my project, what he queries is the scale of it.’

  ‘The scale of it?’ asked Eiladh.

  ‘Yes. He thinks I am attempting too much in too short a time. Strangely enough just before dinner Arcati and David came to me with much the same argument and I have considered it carefully and have given in.’

  ‘Big of you,’ murmured Tom. ‘What exactly did Arcati and da Cunha have to say?’

  ‘David thinks, as he thought at the beginning, that flashlight photography of any manifestations is essential if we are to obtain tangible results.’

  ‘I thought he said his flash-bulbs would scare any ghost into a fit.’

  ‘Arcati has persuaded him that this is not so. Anyhow, I have rearranged everything and have brought the amended programme for you to study and keep.’

  ‘So we’ve wasted our time today,’ said Liz good-humouredly.

  ‘Oh, I do not think so. You will see that I have called the three bungalows A, B and C. I am A, you three are B and the young men are C. I don’t hope for much co-operation from the Bylands. Their minds are full of birds and flowers.’

  ‘Quite Chinese,’ murmured Tom.

  ‘Father Melrose is also unpredictable and says he must be a free-lance and come and go as he wishes. I can hardly gainsay him, but I do not find his attitude very helpful. However, it is more than made up for by David, who is willing to accompany all the parties with his camera.’

  ‘So very good of him,’ said Tom, ‘but I propose to take my own photographs, so this is one party he won’t be asked to accompany.’

  ‘But, Mr Carpenter, I wish it.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Crieff-Tweedle,but I don’t. I regard da Cunha as a slightly poisonous little bounder, and myself as being in loco parentis to these innocent young girls.’

  Eiladh giggled. Tom’s sister said, ‘Well upon my word!’ Dee said, ‘Really, Mr Carpenter! Anyhow, here is the change of plan.’

  ‘Fine! Thanks very much,’ said Tom. When she had gone, he added, ‘If those beauties have talked that silly woman into changing her plans, there’s something fishy going on and I want no part of it.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense!’ said Liz. ‘And are you including Father Melrose among your beauties?’

  ‘Yes, I am. He seems to have masterminded this change of plan and now he doesn’t want to muck in with the rest of us. I don’t trust that saintly rascal.’

  The girls were silent until Liz said,

  ‘Well, we might as well take a look at this screed she’s left with us.’ They arranged themselves on the settee, Liz in the middle, and studied the document. ‘Only one night in every three. That’s a welcome change,’ she said. ‘So the itinerary covers nine nights beginning now, and when we get to Friday week we start all over again unless there have been any results, in which case we leave those places out of the second round and, later on, a decision will be taken about a possible third round. I doubt whether I shall stay as long as that. I’m going into partnership with three other doctors and as soon as we’ve got a suitable house I shall have to join them.’

  ‘And I’m hoping to get a new town hall to design,’ said Tom, ‘so as soon as I hear that I’ve clicked I shall be off. That leaves Eiladh.’

  ‘Yes, I’m still employed by Dum Crieff-Tweedle,’ agreed Eiladh, ‘so I suppose I shall have to stay as long as he does.’

  ‘And he’ll have to stay as long as Dee does,’ said Liz. ‘Well, now, what about these assignments? Oh, we’re actually told what to look out for! That’s a nice change!’

  ‘Nothing like putting ideas into credulous heads,’ said Tom. ‘A big mistake, if you ask me.’

  ‘We don’t,’ said his sister. ‘Tuesday: A (that’s Dee’s lot) Salhouse Broad. Open-air Mass. Possibly ghostly monk in Salhouse church. Wednesday: B (that’s us) Burgh Castle. Body (ghost) thrown over wall of Roman fort. How nice! Thursday: (Arcati and Co.) Horning. Re-crowning of Saxon king. Possible ghost of suicide. Woman in white.’

  ‘Shades of Wilkie Collins!’ said Eiladh. ‘So what is our next assignment?’

  ‘You’re so impatient. I’m going to read you the lot. Friday: A to Belaugh churchyard. Ghost of distraught young woman. Saturday: B to Ranworth Broad. Ghost of monk in boat with ghost of dog.’

  ‘What species of dog?’

  ‘All dogs belong to the same species. Breed is not mentioned. Sunday seems to be left out, so we can spend that in bed, and that brings us to Monday. C to Brundall. Abbot’s flotilla. What’s that, I wonder?’

  ‘He blesses the natives,’ said Eiladh. ‘It belongs to the time before the bishop of Norwich was also Lord Abbot of St Benet’s I think. Anyway, I understand he’s a good ghost and banishes the bad ones.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Tuesday: A to St Benet’s Abbey itself—what’s left of it apart from that ugly erection that some insensitive soul put up among the ruins—to see the ghost of the monk who was hanged for betraying the place to the Normans. Charming! Wednesday: B—wait for it! This is ourselves again. We wait outside the entrance to Blickling Hall to see Anne Boleyn’s ghost-coach come through. Headless horses and coachman and Anne with her own head in her lap.’

  ‘Not tucked underneath her arm?’

  ‘No. Don’t be flippant. Thursday: C to Thurne Mouth. Ghost of murdered farmer. And that, dears, brings us round again for a repeat performance beginning with Salhouse and the ghostly Mass.’

  ‘Anything strike you about all this?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Only that everything is connected with the Broads and rivers except our Blickling outing,’ said Eiladh, ‘unless you don’t count Belaugh churchyard.’

  ‘I think you have to count that. It overlooks the Bure. That isn’t what I meant, though. Don’t you think the Crieff-Tweedle party have picked themselves some nice, near-at-hand assignments? We’ve collected Burgh Castle, right down on the Waveney, Ranworth Broad—and that involves a trek from Wroxham through Rackheath, Salhouse and Woodbastwick if I remember the road-map correctly and then bloody Blickling— literally, it seems, with all that headless-ness—and that involves going by way of Coltishall and Aylsham. Children, we’ve been conned.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not all that far. About twelve miles I make it,’ said Liz, who had risen to pick up the motoring map. ‘Stop bellyaching. At least we haven’t got to go to Thurne Mouth to see a murdered farmer. That’s a ghost anybody might think he saw. Headless horses and Anne Boleyn are just a load of codswallop, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what isn’t on the agenda,’ said Eiladh, ‘and that’s Old Shuck.’

  ‘It isn’t necessary to mention him,’ said Tom. ‘That dog runs all over East Anglia and up into Yorkshire, where they call him the Gytrash.’

  ‘It’s not the same dog,’ said Liz. ‘He howls in a different key. Well, if it’s all the same to everybody, as we haven’t got to go out tonight I’m going to bed.’

  ‘What sort of day did you have?’ asked Tom, when his sister had left them.

  ‘A wasted one. We explored the wrong area. Oh, well, perhaps it wasn’t really wasted. We enjoyed it, and that’s the main thing. How did you get on in Norwich?’

  ‘Same answer. I didn’t learn much, but I enjoyed it. Incidentally, Liz stopped short in her reading. What happens on Friday week?’ He picked up the itinerary. ‘Oh, nothing is planned for that, apparently. There’s a question-mark, that’s all. How intriguing—I don’t think! Still, it must have some significance if the omniscient Dee put it there.’

  ‘I expect its significance is that she doesn’t know whether David and the others will stay up here long enough to have another go. I’m not sure she is omnipotent, even if she’s omniscient. I think those young men are cocking a snook at her authority. David can be quite cheeky to her when he likes.’

  ‘Yes, he strikes me as a bit of a cub. Oh, well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in, too.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have a room of your own. The worst of sharing with somebody is that you can’t altogether choose your own bedtime. Liz is an early bird, but I can’t sleep if I get to bed before about one a.m.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go and collect some bedding before she gets to sleep and then kip down on the settee in here?’

  That’s an idea. It only means bringing a couple of pillows and a sleeping-bag into this room.’

  ‘I’ll help you. Liz won’t mind if I barge in while she’s undressing. Brothers don’t count.’

  But, the exchange of beds made, Eiladh did not take advantage of it. She picked up Dee’s list which Liz had left on the table, seated herself and studied it. It offered food for thought and grounds for speculation. Her brother Hamish, half in fun, half seriously had given her a couple of books on the English hauntings and, as well as those she had borrowed from Dame Beatrice’s collection, half-amused and sceptical, half-hoping to be convinced, she had studied them carefully.

  Now, comparing the notes she had made with Dee Crieff-Tweedle’s list of assignments, she began to wonder upon what principle Dee had made her nine selections among a possible couple of dozen or more.

  ‘If we’d been water-borne instead of having the cars, I could have understood it,’ she said to herself, ‘because, except for Blickling, which is the odd man out, all the places are on the Broads.’

  Then she began to wonder why Blickling had been chosen, and, from this, to ask herself whether all the locations had been decided upon by Dee herself, or whether, perhaps, she had been influenced by da Cunha as the official photographer or (far more likely) by Father Melrose, although for what purpose she found herself unable to decide. She did not know the reason for her suspicions of him, but she found herself unable to forget his moonlight boat-trip on the first night of their stay. She told herself how unreasonable she was, since she and Tom had made a similar trip, but the thought stuck obstinately in her mind that Father Melrose was up to no good.

  ‘This drastic cutting down is a bit peculiar,’ she thought, ‘I wonder what’s really behind it? It doesn’t seem like Dee to change her plans. It all began with the cars, when you come to think of it. I’d love to know what they all get up to. Well, here’s the list. Why don’t I damn well find out? Now I’m bedding down in here, I shan’t disturb the other two if I slip out quietly. The car’s in the road. Here goes!’

  Her coat was hanging up in the hall. She slipped it on, let herself out quietly— if Tom heard her go he would think only that she had gone out on to the lawn for a look at the river before she turned in— made certain that she had her key with her and went round to the back of the bungalow and out to the car.

  She turned left when the car reached the end of the approach road to the bungalows and then turned left again when she reached the turning to Salhouse. She had studied the map, but she did not know the district and there seemed to be a confusion of little roads. One led to a hospital, another to a farm. Even the vicarage and the church were not on the same stretch. More by luck than judgment she ended up at the village post office and from there, instinctively (for at that time of night there was nobody from whom she could ask directions), she found a road which ran alongside a half-mile channel which formed the tail, so to speak, of the Broad.

 

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