Джорджетт Хейер: Footsteps in the Dark

"Look here, Celia," Peter said. "If the ghost of that poor devil really has been haunting the place it's ten to one it'll stop bothering us once we've buried the remains. Don't fuss, Aunt Lilian. Of course we're going to bury the skeleton, and you can fumigate as much as you like. But I do think we oughtn't to throw up the sponge quite so easily."

"Easily!" said Celia. "I don't know what more you're waiting for! I shan't know a quiet moment if I have to stay in this place another day."

Margaret was looking from Charles to her brother. "Go on, Peter. You think we ought to give the place another chance?"

"I do. Hang it all, we shall look a pretty good set of asses if we bunk back to town simply because we've heard a few odd noises, and discovered a skeleton in a priest's hole."

"Shall we?" said Celia, with awful irony. "I suppose we ought to have expected an ordinary little thing like a skeleton?"

"Not the skeleton, but we might have guessed there'd be a priest's hole. Be a sport, Celia! If you actually see a ghost, or if any more skulls fall out of cupboards I'll give in, and take you back to town myself."

Celia looked imploringly at her husband. "I can't, Chas. You know what I am, and I can't help it if I'm stupid about these things, but every time I open my wardrobe I shall be terrified of what may be inside."

"All right, darling," Charles replied. "You shan't be martyred. I suggest you and Margaret and Aunt Lilian clear out to-morrow. I'll run you up to town, and…'

Celia sat bolt upright. "Do you mean you'll stay here?"

"That's rather the idea," he admitted.

"Charles, you can't!" she said, agitated. "I won't let you!"

"I shan't be alone. Peter's staying too."

Celia clasped his arm. "NO, don't, Charles. You don't know what might happen, and how on earth could I go away like that, and leave you here?"

Margaret's clear voice made itself heard. "Why are you so keen to stay?" she asked.

"Pride, my dear," Charles said. "Of course, with me it's natural heroism. Peter's trying to live up to me."

She shook her head. "You've got something up your sleeve. Neither of you would be so silly as to stay on here, mucking up your holiday, just to prove you weren't afraid of ghosts."

"But it's getting worse!" Celia cried. "What have you got up your sleeve? I insist on knowing! Chas! Peter!"

Peter hesitated. "To tell you the truth, Sis, I don't quite know. As far as I can make out, Chas has got an idea someone's at the root of all this ghost business."

With great deliberation Mrs. Bosanquet put down her Patience pack. "I may be stupid," she said, "but I don't understand what you're talking about. Who is at the back of what you call this "ghost business," and why?"

"Dear Aunt," said Charles, "that is precisely the problem we hope to solve by staying here."

"All those noises? The picture falling down?" Margaret said eagerly. "You think someone did it all? Someone real?"

"I don't know, but I think it's possible. I may be wrong, in which case I'll eat my disbelief, and go about henceforward swearing there are such things as ghosts."

"Yes, that's all very well," objected Celia, "but why on earth should anyone want to make ghost-noises and things at us? And who could have done it? Neither of the Bowers would, and how could anyone else get into the house without us knowing?"

"Easily," said Charles. "There's more thann one way in, besides windows."

"That quite decides me," Mrs. Bosanquet announced. "No one is a greater believer in fresh air than I am, but if I am to remain in this house, I shall sleep with my windows securely bolted."

"I still don't quite see it," Margaret said. "I suppose it would be fairly easy to get into the house, but you haven't explained why anyone should want to."

"Don't run away with the idea that I'm wedded to this notion!" Charles warned her. "I admit it sounds farfetched, but it has occurred to me that someone for reasons which I can't explain - may be trying to scare us out of this place."

There was a short silence. Celia broke it. "That's just like you!" she said indignantly. "Sooner than own you've been wrong all these years about ghosts you make up a much more improbable story to account for the manifestations. I never heard such rot in all my life!"

"Thank you, darling, thank you," Charles said gravely.

"Hold on a minute!" interrupted Margaret. "Perhaps Chas is right."

Celia almost snorted. "Don't you pay any attention to him, my dear. He'll tell us next it's the man who wanted to buy the Priory from us trying to get us out of it."

"Well, while we're on the improbable lay, what about that for a theory?" demanded Peter. "Resourceful sort of bloke, what?"

Mrs. Bosanquet resumed her Patience. "Whoever it may be, it's a piece of gross impertinence," she said. "You are quite right, Charles. Iam certainly not going to leave the place because some ill-bred person is trying to frighten me away. The proper course is to inform the police at once."

"From my small experience of local constabulary I don't think that'd be much use," said Charles. "Moreover what with Margaret's sinister pal and the egregious Mr. Titmarsh, we've got quite enough people littered about the grounds without adding a flat-footed bobby to the collection."

"Further," added Peter, "I for one have little or no desire to figure as the laughing-stock of the village. I move that we keep this thing quiet, and do a little sleuthing on our own."

Margaret waved a hand aloft at once. "Rather! I say, this is getting really thrilling. Come on, Celia, don't be snitchy!"

"All right," Celia said reluctantly. "I can't go away and leave you here, so I suppose I've got to give in. But I won't go upstairs alone after dark, and I won't be left for one moment by myself in this house, day or night, and Charles isn't to do anything foolhardy, and if anything awful happens we all of us clear out without any further argument."

"Agreed," Peter said. "What about you, Aunt Lilian?"

"Provided the dead body is decently interred, and a secure bolt fixed to my door, I shall certainly remain," answered Mrs. Bosanquet.

"What could be fairer than that?" said Charles. "If you like you can even superintend the burial."

"No, thank you, my dear," she replied. "I have never yet attended a funeral, and I don't propose to start with this body in which I have not the smallest interest. Not but what I am very sorry that whoever it was died in such unpleasant circumstances, but I do not feel that it has anything to do with me, and I could wish it had happened elsewhere."

"Well, since we're all making stipulations," Margaret put in, "I can't help feeling that I should rather like to have the door between Peter's room and mine open. D'you mind, Peter?"

"I can bear it," he answered. "As for the bones, Chas and I will bury them tomorrow, and we'll say nothing about them, any of us. See?"

"Just as you please, my dear," Mrs. Bosanquet replied. "But I cannot help feeling that the police should be told. However, that is for you to decide. Celia, you had better come up to bed. I am coming too, so there is nothing to be alarmed about."

"I hate the idea of going up those stairs," Celia shuddered.

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Bosanquet, and bore her inexorably away.

The two men's task next morning was sufficiently gruesome to throw a cloud of depression over their spirits. Not even the sight of Mrs. Bosanquet sprinkling Lysol in the priest's hole could lighten the general gloom, and when, after lunch, Charles suggested that he and Peter might go out fishing it was with somewhat forced cheerfulness that Peter agreed.

But an afternoon spent by the trout stream did much to restore their spirits. The fish were rising well, and the weather conditions were ideal.

They worked some way down the stream, and when they at last set out to return to the Priory they found themselves a considerable distance away from it. Charles' bump of locality, however, served them well, and he was able to lead the way home across country, by a route that brought them eventually to the footpath Michael Strange had so unaccountably failed to find.