The Silence of Ghosts Read online

  We both laughed.

  ‘As a matter of fact, we are,’ I said, ‘but there’s time enough for that yet.’

  With Rose’s help, I told him about my plan for an exorcism. He’d thought the message had been meant ironically. Once he realized I was serious, he lost his good humour and sat opposite me very like a parish priest from the past, regardless of his youth and demeanour. However light-hearted our conversation had been to begin with, in a matter of minutes it took on the darkest overtones. Slowly, it dawned on him that we were telling the truth, or, at least, that we believed what might otherwise have seemed a fantastic tale made up for the Christmas season. He had met Hilary Mathewman and held her in some esteem, and said he would talk to her on the following day.

  ‘But as far as carrying out an exorcism,’ he said, ‘I’m really not sure how to proceed. The Anglican Church doesn’t really do many exorcisms these days. It’s seen as rather a medieval affair. Of course, the practice still goes on, and there are those who advocate its return. I can’t say that I have an opinion either way. In practice, I would have to get permission from my bishop, and he’d likely send me to Giles Nicholson, who’s considered an expert in such matters. Unfortunately, Nicholson’s an old man, in his nineties I believe, so this could take some time, and I can see you’re eager to get it over and done with soon.’

  I had doubted if he would take our story seriously. He’s a young man, quite inexperienced in the ways of the world, but I suspect he is something of a modernizer and that this leaves his mind open even to the most bizarre suggestions.

  ‘We’ll have to be getting back,’ said Rose, ‘or Mother will be wondering what’s become of us.’

  ‘And I want to speak to Mrs Mathewman, get her opinion about all this,’ said the vicar. ‘At the same time, I think it would be better if you didn’t say a word to anyone else about this matter. The locals are quite superstitious, and that means they can be frightened into anger.’

  At the door we shook hands, but just as he was about to turn the key in the lock, he turned to us.

  ‘It has just struck me that there may be another way to do this, certainly a faster one. I’ll have to give it some more thought. If you don’t mind I’ll call at Mrs Sansom’s tomorrow about lunchtime. Don’t tell your mother, she’ll only make a fuss and offer me food. They’re very kind, the folk round here, despite their superstitious ways.’

  He went on his way. But turning round a few moments later I saw he had stopped yards away, and I saw snow fall on his head and shoulders. All around him, snow drifted down. I could not understand why he was standing still. Then he turned slightly, to face away from Pooley Bridge and along the lake and down to Howtown and so to Hallinhag Wood. And I realized he was praying silently. Despite the cold and the lateness of the hour and the steady washing of the waters of the lake, he stood for minute upon minute, for I do not know how long. In the end he sighed deeply and started to walk to his next port of call.

  26 December – Boxing Day

  When we got up this morning, Rose asked me outside for a private chat.

  ‘I’m worried that Mother will fuss, seeing the vicar at her door two days in a row. She will think things. With the two of us being together so often and the Reverend Braithwaite on the doorstep, her evil mind will think the worst and decide that we’re to be wed, and perhaps the sooner the better.’

  I grinned.

  ‘Surely she wouldn’t think that.’

  ‘Oh, yes she would, believe you me. So what do we tell her?’

  ‘Tell her the truth.’

  ‘That we’ve asked for an exorcism?’

  ‘Of course not. Just say we’ve asked him to call the banns in this parish next Sunday and two Sundays after that. That should be long enough for you to make your mind up.’

  She put her hand to her mouth, and I thought she would run off.

  ‘Won’t that be pushing things a bit?’ she asked.

  ‘How long do you need?’

  ‘For what?’

  I took her hand.

  ‘To tell me you love me. To agree to marry me. Or to tell me to go back to London.’

  ‘I will marry you,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing I want more. But until this business with the house is done with, I don’t see what we can do. Even if the exorcism works, I don’t want us to move in there as a couple, to start our married life in a house with such associations. You may have to move back to London and live with your parents. I have to stay here to keep my job. With the war on, we might have to stay apart again for years.’

  ‘You’re forgetting one thing. Neither of us will be called up for war service. I may not have made it clear, but my family is quite rich. Things are tighter because of the war, but our money in this country is substantial and well managed. Once we’re married, we’ll move back to London and rent a small apartment. And we’ll find you a nursing job down there, if you think you’ll need one. Now, what is it? Banns or exorcism?’

  For some moments, I thought she would storm off, but to my utter surprise she stepped up close to me and put her arms round me.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do with Mother,’ she said, ‘but she’ll find a way; she always does. What about Octavia? Will she go back to your parents?’

  ‘You’re sure about this? You’ll be my wife? I mean, we hardly know one another.’

  She smiled.

  ‘We know one another well enough. I feel as if I’ve always known you.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly how I feel.’

  ‘Well, then, we don’t have any choice. When I was younger, I had lots of boys. It was kissing and holding hands, but it was childish enough, it meant nothing. In the end, I might have married one of them, but I knew I didn’t want to. This thing I feel for you is an adult thing. When I kiss you, it won’t be a peck on the cheek. I want to be naked with you, I want to make love to you, I want to be part of you, and if I have to marry you to get all that, I’ll walk down any aisle in the kingdom. But first we have other matters to discuss with the minister.’

  We had just finished lunch when Reverend Braithwaite knocked at the door. Rose’s mother made a fuss. He had come through something not far short of a blizzard on foot, and was covered in snow from top to bottom, even though he hadn’t come very far. We put him in front of the fire and Octavia took his hat and scarf. He looked intensely at her, remembering no doubt what we had told him of her involvement in the hauntings. Moments later she returned with a plate of Christmas cake, while my future mother-in-law (though she didn’t know it yet) brought a pot of piping hot tea for us all. Grace, a twelve-year-old cousin, brought the cups and saucers, giggled and went beetroot, then dashed back through the door. Heaven knows what Jeanie was filling their heads with in the next room.

  When all was settled, we squeezed together, Rose and I, on the hard wooden settle and the Reverend Braithwaite on a rocking chair on which he moved backwards and forwards gently while he talked.

  ‘I have been giving your problem a lot of thought. I also spoke to Mrs Mathewman, who corroborated your story and also impressed on me the need for urgency . . . And I may have the answer to your predicament,’ he said. ‘In many ways, it suits me better than having to seek permission from my bishop, something I don’t think he’ll give, especially not to someone as young as myself.’

  I sipped my tea, hot but without sugar or milk.

  ‘If you’re old enough to be a vicar, surely . . .’

  He shook his head. I noticed he was wearing a pullover over his dog collar. I wondered if he had a wife and whether the vicarage he lived in was decent. Some parishes are quite poor.

  ‘And what is your answer?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Ah, the answer. Well, I can only surmise, but it may work. I am a good friend of Declan Carbery. He’s an Irishman and the Catholic priest at Ambleside. I’ve consulted him on various matters in the past. Catholics have a better understanding of exorcism and related matters. I think he may be able to advise us or even
do something directly. Would you approve of that?’

  We looked at one another. Rose nodded, and I followed suit.

  ‘Good, that’s settled. I’ll get in touch with him later today. He’s a good man, you won’t have anything to worry about.’

  Just as he was about to go back out into the snow, I stopped him.

  ‘Reverend Braithwaite. I have another favour to ask of you. Would you . . . would you read the banns for Rose and myself in church this Sunday? I don’t know if I have to pay anything, but . . .’

  ‘Well,’ he beamed, ‘I got it right first time, didn’t I? I can always spot a couple in love. Congratulations. The banns have to be read three times, a month apart. But you’d be surprised how many couples are getting hitched with this war on.’

  Once he was gone, we invited Jeanie into the little parlour in order to tell her our news. She almost leapt out of her seat, then sat there, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘You’ve been dark horses, both of you. You won’t know this, sir, but ever since she first set eyes on you, it’s been Mr Lancaster this and Mr Lancaster that, then Dominic this and Dominic that, and I shouldn’t wonder if it’s Darling this and Dearest that by now.’

  Rose blushed, having done her level best to keep her feelings from me for as long as possible.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, and I thought it very quaint that she used such a term of endearment, for I did not doubt that my mother would never have allowed me to take a similar liberty with her. But my mother is a cold woman and a fit help-meet for my father, who is a cold and ungenerous man, above all to his family. They would be told of the forthcoming nuptials at the last moment. Why should they complain when there’s a war on and everybody now gets married à la mode?

  Friday, 27 December

  We saw some evacuees today, a bunch of little boys and girls who came out to the Lakes about a month ago from Liverpool. Their homes have been badly hit, and it’s likely some of them will have nowhere to go back to when the war is finally at an end. We spoke to their teachers, who had brought them in from various farmhouses to see Dr Raverat. Rose had spent the morning with them, doing basic check-ups, while the others were taken in to see the doctor. They’re all from the slums, and Raverat reckons they’ll go back to Liverpool plumper and healthier than when they left. The free milk ration alone, he thinks, will build better bones and teeth.

  ‘Why don’t we take them all for a sail on the lake?’ Rose asked.

  ‘There’s an awful lot of them,’ I said. ‘The Firefly will only hold one passenger at a time. I’d need a bigger boat.’

  ‘What about one of the steamers?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Not a bad start. I doubt if any of the children have been on the water in any form. Though there’s a ferry at Liverpool, isn’t there?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Well, we could do a trip on the steamers, I suppose,’ she said. ‘But having been out on the Firefly . . .’

  I agreed.

  ‘There are some larger yachts for hire. And the club has a selection of life jackets, including some for children. How many children are there?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘That makes eight with Octavia. Let’s look into it.’

  There was just time to get down to the club. Raverat was happy to lend us his car, once he knew what we planned.

  ‘You should come too,’ I said.

  He shook his head and smiled uneasily.

  ‘Never could stand water,’ he said. ‘Not like you types.’

  ‘You mean us one-legged misfits?’

  He snorted.

  ‘I mean nothing of the sort. I mean you daredevil types, out there shooting, driving sports cars, and yachting from here to San Francisco. I’m an ordinary man. I can’t stand sports, the thought of flying scares me witless, and I can neither swim nor go on the water in any way.’

  ‘So you won’t be coming with us?’

  ‘I’ll wave you off at the dock or whatever you call it. And I’ll see if I can rustle up some grub for your little wards.’

  ‘Shall we say tomorrow?’ I asked.

  He thought for a moment.

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  Rose had a list of all the families with whom the evacuees lived, and we drove round to tell them of the arrangements for tomorrow, causing much excitement. We hoped the weather would turn out all right. It would be cold, and there might be a stiff breeze, but that would give the boat speed, which the children might enjoy. The next port of call was Bluebell Cottage, where Adrian Humphreys lives. Adrian is the Secretary of the yacht club and an old friend of my family. I used to see a lot of him in the days I came here as a youngster. He helped teach me to sail, in fact I reckon I learned more from him than anyone. He had never been a professional sailor or served in the Navy, but he’d sailed a lot at sea, in the Irish Sea and out in the Mediterranean.

  I explained our plan for the evacuees and he listened in sympathy. At first he didn’t like the idea of kids from the city clambering over one of our yachts, pulling on the sheets, chucking the compass overboard, and cutting the anchor loose. I talked him down from that. Rose and I would be in charge, and any high jinks would bring an end to the outing. That would mean the kids would police themselves.

  He said we could use the Kingfisher, a thirty-two-foot yacht with a cabin where the children could sit round a long table to eat.

  ‘She’s really a bit long for the lake,’ he said, ‘so we’re thinking of towing her to the coast, if it’s safe to do so. I won’t ask for a hiring fee. I’m sure those children could do with a day out on the lake.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ve had a day out of any description.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’m very sad to hear it. All the more reason, then. Yes, indeed, all the more reason. I’ll crew for you too if you like. Now, do tell me how your parents are . . .’

  Later

  The Reverend Braithwaite turned up late this evening, accompanied by a much older man, whom he introduced as the same Father Declan Carbery he’d mentioned earlier. Carbery is the Catholic priest from Mater Amabilis in Ambleside. He’s Irish, but has been here for over twenty years, a priest in an area that has very few Catholics.

  We made him welcome and Rose’s long-suffering mother helped her daughter bring tea and biscuits she had baked earlier that day. She was surprised to see Father Carbery, for she had never set eyes on a Catholic priest in her life before, and had never imagined she’d be inviting one in for tea. There’s a certain amount of prejudice about Catholics in these parts, something that has its roots in the large numbers of Irish men and women who came to the region in the last century. There were Catholics and Protestants among them, and they brought their old prejudices with them on the boats that brought them from Ulster.

  I quickly came to like Father Carbery. He must be in his seventies, but he’s as bright as a button and untroubled – so far as I can see – by physical infirmities. In his clerical garb, he looked as though he had been a priest from childhood. I can imagine him having been born with a dog collar, dressed in a black suit. His face is wrinkled and his eyes have a depth and sadness no young man could have. But his smile is curative. I think his parishioners must love him, and I am sure those who receive the last rites from him must go more easily on their long journey.

  After the Reverend Braithwaite made the introductions, we sat down and talked. To be more precise, Father Carbery talked.

  ‘I had a visit from Oliver Braithwaite yesterday. He told me all you had told him about events at your house. Hallinhag House, is that correct?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Very good. Now, I would like one of you to repeat to me what you remember, what you have seen, what you have heard.’

  I told him what I could, and Rose corrected me a couple of times. He listened impassively and said nothing until I had come to a finish.

  ‘Thank you, Dominic. That is all very helpful. Your account tallies almost exactly with that of the good reverend here. No
w, he has told me that you asked him if he could perform an exorcism in your house. Is that correct?’

  We both nodded.

  ‘And he has, I am sure, explained to you the difficulties he faces in doing this from within his church. He does not rule it out, but he foresees difficulties in bringing in their nearest expert in this field, a field in which the Reverend Braithwaite has no experience at all. Now, it was his conclusion that he might instruct me to perform the exorcism for you in his place. I take it you would have been agreeable to this proposal? That you harbour no negative feelings about Catholics? I would ask you to be honest about such feelings, if you do have them.’

  I had no idea what Rose felt on the subject, but what she said summed up for us both.

  ‘Father,’ she said, ‘if what you do get rid of the things in the house, then I don’t care if you’re a witch doctor from the depths of Africa.’

  ‘Very good. I can see you’re both in agreement on that score. But here is what I have to say. Thinking this through, I cannot see my way to performing an exorcism, nor will I approach my bishop, nor will I recommend that the Reverend Braithwaite go to his. An exorcism is not appropriate to this situation, and I think it could make things worse.’

  ‘But surely,’ I said, ‘the house is possessed in some way. Surely there is something there that has to be exorcised.’

  ‘Mr Lancaster, you must let me be the judge of that. I do not believe there is anything in the nature of demonic possession. There appear to be some children who haunt the building. Four of them have been seen outside the house, and one was standing next to your sister, Octavia.’

  ‘She seemed very real at the time. The little girl, I mean. Her name was Clare.’

  The priest nodded.

  ‘Yes, ghosts can often seem as real as the living. Not for very long, of course, but for a while. Let me tell you what I propose. I will go with you to the house tonight. I will go inside alone, and I will try to speak to the children and persuade them to go.’

  ‘What about the other thing?’ Rose asked. ‘The thing we heard coming down the stairs?’