Andrew Taylor - The Anatomy Of Ghosts

She stared at him, sensing a hint of impertinence in his words. ‘In that case, I wish to warn you of another circumstance, which may help you to discharge your new duties.’

Holdsworth bowed again but did not speak. The man was stiff and proud, she decided suddenly. And plain almost to the point of being ugly. But she wished he were not so tall. It gave him an unfair advantage. Still, there was no help for it: she must use what materials lay to hand.

‘I wish to assist you with some information before you go.’

‘Then I am obliged to you, madam.’

She frowned at him, once again uncertain whether he intended impertinence. ‘It concerns the lady whose ghost Mr Oldershaw is alleged to have seen.’

‘Mrs Whichcote?’

‘Yes. She died suddenly in February.’

Elinor stared out of the window. The glass seemed blurred, as if by rain. The sill was stained with whorls and smudges of soot.

‘How did the lady die?’ Holdsworth asked.

She turned her head towards him. ‘Mrs Whichcote was found drowned in the Long Pond at Jerusalem College.’

‘Drowned?’ For an instant his face crumpled as if an invisible fist had squeezed the features together. ‘ Drowned? Had she fallen in?’

‘It was put about that she must have missed her footing in the darkness.’

‘But you would have me believe otherwise?’

‘No, sir. But there are those who say – well, it don’t signify – there are always those willing to make bad worse.’

‘So they say it was a case of self-murder?’

She nodded.

‘They take the one to confirm the other, I suppose?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘They believe that if Mrs Whichcote’s ghost has been seen, it strengthens the notion of suicide. And vice versa – since she committed suicide, her ghost would be likely to walk abroad. It is one of those circular flights of speculation that defy counter-argument.’

‘Mrs Whichcote’s name means little or nothing to most people,’ Elinor said in a low voice. ‘I do not wish it to attract further notoriety.’

He seized upon a detail. ‘You say it was dark – at what hour did the accident happen?’

‘At night. We do not know the precise hour. She was found by the night-soil man early in the morning.’

‘But what was she doing in a college at that time? Surely it is not usual for ladies to wander in college gardens, alone and unprotected, in the dead of night?’

Elinor felt her colour rising. ‘It appears that Mrs Whichcote suffered on occasion from noctambulism. She often visited me at the Master’s Lodge by day, and she had her own key to the Master’s Garden. It was convenient for both of us that she should be able to come and go as she pleased without passing through the college itself.’

‘So you believe she was sleepwalking? That in her sleeping mind she intended to pay you a visit?’

‘It seems the most likely explanation. It was the one that satisfied the coroner.’

After a pause, Holdsworth said, ‘Her ladyship’s mind is much fixed upon her son.’

‘Now she is widowed, he is very dear to her. He is her only child yet living.’

‘Then why does she not go to his aid herself?’

‘Her health does not permit her to travel,’ Elinor said. ‘She had a fall – she has to be carried everywhere like a baby now. She is exhausted this morning because of the effort she made yesterday.’

‘I am surprised she does not rely wholly on you to act for her in this matter. She clearly values your opinion. You are in Cambridge already. You know her son.’

‘You forget, sir. I am a mere woman. Lady Anne holds firm views on the respective duties of the sexes.’

‘But in that case her ladyship could put the matter in the hands of Dr Carbury, could she not? Or there must be several other gentlemen almost equally well qualified for such a delicate commission, including Mr Frank’s tutor.’

‘She has decided that they would not answer – she prefers to send you.’

‘Because she can hire me?’

Elinor stared at him for a moment without speaking. She said, ‘And because you know something about the subject of ghosts. Now may I put a question to you?’

He bowed.

‘I do not wish to pry into your private circumstances. And you may not wish to answer. It shall be just as you choose. But pray believe I do not ask from idle curiosity – I have a purpose. Mr Cross tells me that you have recently suffered the loss of your wife, and that it is widely believed that she was the anonymous lady whose case you describe so feelingly in your book – the lady whose innocent credulity had been imposed upon with such terrible results.’

He nodded but said nothing.

‘I wish with all my heart that it had not been so. And so the ghost -?’

‘Was said to be that of our son.’ He stared at her. ‘However, this is not to the point. I am here to help Mr Frank Oldershaw.’ He glanced around the room. ‘And to look at books.’

‘But it is to the point, sir. Ghosts, whether real or alleged, usually have an identity, and that is, in itself, of significance.’

‘I do not catch your drift.’

‘I hope it will not wound you if I speak plainly. Just as your ghost was important to you, so this one is to me. I do not wish Mrs Whichcote’s reputation to be dragged even further in the mire.’

‘The sentiment does you honour, madam. I assure you I will pursue my researches as discreetly as possible.’

‘The death of an obscure woman in an obscure accident does not in itself arouse the world’s curiosity. Unless -’ She broke off, and a sigh escaped her. ‘You understand me, I think. We have been fortunate that this rumour of suicide has not reached the public press in Cambridge, let alone London. Dr Carbury has exercised all his influence, and so has the Vice-Chancellor. This foolish ghost story has not had much currency, either. But if it gets abroad…’

‘Suicide and a ghost? A lady abroad in a Cambridge college at the dead of night? And of course Mr Frank Oldershaw.’ As he spoke, he held out his right hand, counting off the elements of the matter with his fingers, one by one. ‘Yes, you’re right. The combination would send tongues wagging all over the country. Within a week, they would be selling penny ballads in every alehouse.’

‘Mrs Whichcote has suffered enough. Pray oblige me in this. I ask your goodwill, sir, nothing more – your assistance in preserving a lady’s reputation.’

‘Madam,’ Holdsworth said, his voice suddenly harsh. ‘Her ladyship has retained my services. A man may not work for two masters.’

She waved her hand to dismiss the notion. She would have liked to use the same hand to slap his face. ‘I do not ask you to betray the trust of an employer. I do not wish you to work for me.’

‘May I ask why this lady’s reputation is so near to your heart?’

‘Because Mrs Whichcote was my friend.’ She hardened her voice because otherwise it would have trembled. ‘I do not lightly ignore the ties of friendship. Why should we permit death to sever them?’

A little after one o’clock, the footman entered the library with a tray holding a light nuncheon of bread, cheese and small beer. He also brought the compliments of Mr Cross, who hoped that Mr Holdsworth would do him the honour of dining with him later that afternoon. At four o’clock, the servant reappeared and conducted Holdsworth to a small, dark room furnished as an office.

Mr Cross was standing at his desk, casting up columns of figures. His neck was still swathed in a scarf but he looked happier than before. He removed his spectacles and greeted Holdsworth briskly, saying they would not delay dinner. While they ate, Mr Cross worked his way methodically through the arrangements for Holdsworth’s journey and for his stay in Cambridge.