Page 16 of A Curious Ending

‘Ghosts,’ said the ghost matter-of-factly.‘The thing is, we need to consider whether Gillmore House might be haunted. It is not likely based upon the law of averages, but it is a possibility.’

Lara looked at Abby in confusion. ‘Aren’t you a Haunter?’

‘Oh, my goodness me, no,’ Abigail said. She continued with understandable emphasis, ‘I am the last person to talk ill of the dead, but, Haunters, by which I mean the ghosts who inhabit specific buildings, are a tricky and temperamental bunch.’ She said reflectively, ‘I have always hoped that my Aunt Augusta did not end her days haunting Gantley Castle. She was an austere and unpleasant woman at the best of times, I shudder when I think of the ghost she would have become. We must hope that if Gillmore House has a ghost it is cut from a very different cloth.’ She let her gaze wander over the elegant Georgian building in front of her.

Lara, who could not imagine Abby being disconcerted by anyone asked, ‘Are there any good ghosts?… or Haunters?’ she quickly corrected having spotted the quizzical look on Abby’s face.

‘There was Rafael…’ Abby paused and Lara was astonished to see she was blushing. Abby caught Lara’s eye and hurried on, ‘I think most ghosts are like people. If you are forced to stay in one spot for too long you are bound to get set in your ways. When something changes, like new people moving in, this can upset the order and balance. Which would make anyone bad tempered.’ She reached out as if to ring the doorbell and then let her hand fall. ‘But there are exceptions. Bertie, who had been the night porter at St Pancras station, was very approachable. He helped capture Major Norton, who it turned out was the Margate Strangler. A very unpleasant specimen who had perfected the art of throttling unsuspecting women who were travelling on the railways, using ladies’ hosiery.’ Abigail nodded suggestively towards the doorbell. ‘Which tells us two things,’ she said in conclusion. ‘Firstly, not all Haunters are bad. So we must hope that if Gillmore House does have a ghost that it is a helpful and observant one. And secondly, it teaches us that you should never trust a man in uniform who carries silk stockings in his pocket.’

‘Or who wears them,’ muttered Lara, pushing the doorbell and recalling one of her less successful blind dates.

The door was opened a few seconds later by Mrs M. She was a small woman in her sixties. She had a plump, compact figure and wore her clothes with the air of one who abhorred fuss. Abby immediately approved of her. Her shoes were sensible, low-heeled and highly polished. Her apron was tucked securely around her and the folds at the sides reminded Abby of hospital corners. Everything about Mrs M was comfortable and reassuring. She smiled as she opened the door and led Lara into the hall. Gillmore House was a small Georgian mansion with a spacious central hall and minstrel’s gallery. While it was one of the largest houses in the town, it retained the feel of a family home. The proportions were pleasing and the furnishings had been chosen with comfort in mind rather than grandeur. Abby thought it was a beautiful home. Mrs M opened one of the broad panelled doors at the end of the hall and they stepped into the kitchen. It was a large room decorated in blues and whites with splashes of lime and lemon introduced via the cushions and tiles. There was a cobalt blue coffee pot perking on the hob. ‘I thought you preferred coffee? Did I get that right?’ Mrs M asked, settling Lara in a chair.

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs M. But tell me how are you?’

‘Oh, I can’t complain, Lara. It’s not like it was of course but I don’t mind keeping an eye on things here for a while.’

Lara was finding it harder than she had thought to be back in the kitchen without Lady Porter. She was glad the weather was cold and the doors were shut into the garden. She thought if a summer breeze had rustled the calico curtains, as they used to, she would have put her head on the table and howled. ‘When are Richard and Penny moving in?’ Lara asked.

Mrs M’s mouth pursed in obvious disapproval as she sat down beside Lara, coffee pot in hand. ‘In a few weeks, and then I’ll be off.’

‘You’re not staying on then to look after them?’ Lara asked.

Mrs M looked at Lara as if she thought very little of her intelligence and poured them both a coffee.

‘Where will you go?’ Lara asked, accepting the bone china cup offered her.

‘I have my cottage, but I haven’t quite decided yet.’

‘You were with Lady Porter for a long time, weren’t you, Mrs M?’

‘Yes, from the day she arrived here. That has to be thirty years ago now.’

Lara could bear it no longer and to her embarrassment and shame started to cry. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs M,’ was all she could say between the sobs.

Mrs M pulled her chair closer and passed Lara a beautifully laundered linen handkerchief with lace edging. In between her hiccoughing sobs Lara thought how typical it was of Mrs M to have such a thing to hand.

Mrs M sat beside her, her weathered hand on Lara’s arm, patting it consolingly. ‘Better to cry, dear. She talked about you a lot you know, I’m sure your visits helped keep her young.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs M,’ Lara repeated, ‘you must miss her terribly.’ Lara could barely see Mrs M’s face through her tears but Abby, who was occupying a chair next to the Aga, glimpsed a look of raw misery on her face. For some reason it reminded her of Dr Patil.

Mrs M’s next words appeared to echo this, ‘I think you and Dr Patil were her favourite guests.’

Abby cast Lara a significant look. Lara gave a watery sniff and felt somehow reassured that the doctor and Lady Porter had indeed been friends.

Mrs M stared into her own coffee cup. ‘It’s good that someone misses her,’ there was an edge of bitterness in her voice.

‘Was she close to her son?’ Lara asked, dabbing at her eyes.

‘Him!’ Mrs M said with disdain. ‘I sometimes wondered if he was even her son. Don’t get me started. All he ever came around for was to ask her for more money. And he came for that often enough.’ Mrs M was clearly not sitting on the fence. ‘Not that she didn’t love him, I’m not saying that. She set great store by family. But, well, you knew her. She should have had the love of a good family about her. Not a family only interested in what they could get out of her. Ask Sarah, she could tell you a thing or two.’

Abby visibly stiffened. For some reason the movement reminded Lara of a greyhound spotting a hare. ‘Is that Sarah from the deli?’ Lara asked warily.

‘Yes, nice girl, she kept an eye on her Ladyship. She’ll put you straight on Richard Porter.’

Abby prompted from the side-lines, ‘Ask her about other family.’

Lara hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want Mrs M to think she was being nosy, but then they had been discussing family. ‘Did Lady Porter have other family? Others she was close to?’