‘David? Is that David? Mrs Tilly, your son is with us!’

Mr and Mrs Tilly looked at her eagerly but stayed silent. Joe felt a tingle in his arms and hands and stirred his elbows and shoulders discreetly to keep the circulation flowing.

A voice, shockingly deep to the inexperienced Joe, came from Mrs Freemantle’s throat. A young man’s voice full of life and humour and excitement.

‘Mother! Father! I’ve found them! Both of them! Bill and Henry are with me and quite safe now. If you can believe it they were both still in their bunker on the Somme. Didn’t know which way to turn. Didn’t want to desert their post even though they were supposed to have passed over! They say thank you for the last parcel you sent. Bill had the blue socks and Henry had the green ones. They send their love and we’ll all be waiting for you when you come through.’

The voice faded and Joe was quite certain that he could hear chatter and laughter in the background. Mr and Mrs Tilly sat rigidly still, tears pouring down their faces but beaming with happiness.

‘God, she’s good!’ Joe thought. ‘She’s bloody good! I wonder who we’ll have next? And how on earth will she manage to do Snowdrop?’

Silence fell on the group once more and again Joe found himself hypnotized by the candle flame in front of his eyes. He was startled from his trance by a voice which boomed from Minerva Freemantle.

‘Joe! Joe Sandilands, you old so-and-so! Ladies present so I’ll watch my language. Well, there you are, old boy, and here I am! Now do you believe me?’

A soldier’s clipped, jocular tones.

‘Seb? Sebastian?’ Joe managed to gasp. He was conscious of Alice Sharpe squeezing his hand tightly to help him through his astonishment.

‘Of course it’s Sebastian! We have unfinished business! I’d have won our last game, you know, if that shell hadn’t wiped it off the board and me with it. I was going to move my bishop to KB3. Checkmate in three moves. Take care, old man! And watch your left flank!’

Joe couldn’t speak. His throat seemed to be choked, his tongue paralysed. This wasn’t in the script. His mind raced back to the summer of 1915, to the shell burst that robbed him of his dearest friend, tore open his own face and stopped a game of chess he had just realized he could not possibly win. He looked desperately at Minerva. She read his thoughts and shook her head sadly. She could not call Sebastian back again.

Excited and congratulatory looks were being directed at him from those around the table. With a final squeeze of encouragement, Alice Sharpe’s hand relaxed its grip once more and Joe wondered if she thought it at all unfair that he should have made a contact on his first visit when she had tried often to communicate with her mother. He also thought about Seb’s last crisp warning. ‘Watch your left flank!’ He looked briefly to his left flank and encountered Alice’s smiling blue eyes.

‘It’s all right, Seb!’ he said silently to himself like a prayer. ‘Your message received!’

The candles guttered as a chill rush of air swept through the room. A log fell and the glow of the fire dimmed. The grandfather clock behind Mrs Freemantle abruptly stopped ticking. Somewhere in the corridor outside a cat screeched in terror and was abruptly silenced. Mrs Freemantle began hurriedly to mutter a prayer. Joe caught the words, ‘… keep us from evil… let no bodeful presence come nigh…’

Tension spread around the group. Feet shuffled, throats were cleared but the circle of hands remained intact and firm. Ears straining for the slightest sound heard it at the same moment. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. The sound of a stick in the corridor outside. It paused then tapped again. Exploring. Searching out the way. Soft footsteps shuffled after the stick. They grew louder, more confident, and came to a halt by the small door behind Minerva.

In her own voice from which she could not totally eradicate a tremble of fear, she said, ‘Friends, this is very exceptional. We must not be afraid. Stay firm. We are being visited by a very strong spirit – a spirit so strong it has the power to materialize before our eyes. It wants to show itself to us. It insists on showing itself! But beware! It takes its power from negative emotions – from resentment, from hatred and desire for revenge!’

A barely audible whimper came from the throat of Miss Trollope and she squeezed Joe’s hand tightly.

‘This spirit is searching for someone who is close at hand. For one of us.’

The door creaked open.

‘Someone whose initials are…’ She frowned, concentrating on an inner voice. ‘… are… I. N. Is there anyone here who is aware of an I.N. in their life?’

Alice’s hand had become icy cold and she was unconsciously moving her whole body closer to his.

No one spoke.

‘There is no one here with those initials,’ said Minerva. The relief was evident in her voice. ‘Will you not admit your error, spirit, and leave us in peace? She whom you seek is not among us.’

‘You lie! She is here!’

The voice burst from the doorway and a dimly perceived figure took on hideous shape before their eyes.

Darkly clad, the only parts of the apparition which revealed a human identity were the pale hands and the pale face. A face of such horror that Miss Trollope gurgled, released Joe’s hand and slumped under the table. The deathly white features glowed with the marble colouring of a fresh corpse. A trail of blood trickled down from the forehead to the chin and as they watched in frozen fascination, dripped on to his front. Where the eyes should have been there was a black and gaping void. The apparition moved its head from side to side, slowly sweeping the table with its blind gaze. Searching. It raised a white stick threateningly.

‘She’s here! Isobel, you are here! Isobel Newton! You could have saved me! Why did you leave me dying?’

Alice Conyers-Sharpe made a sound half-way between a scream and a gasp, jumped to her feet and hurled herself towards the door and to the head of the stairs. Leaving a shattered audience behind him, Joe set off in pursuit. He saw her face upturned in terror as she heard him coming after her and then she lost her footing on the narrow stairs and fell with a scream.

Chapter Sixteen

«^»

Scrambling to her feet, she blundered on and fled with a bewildered cry into the street. She started to run at speed through the crowds, dodging neatly between the strolling couples, never looking back. To Joe’s surprise she seemed to be making her way past the Ridge, past Christ Church and on south towards the wooded hills in which lay Sir George’s Residence but at the last she turned aside and ran, still at speed, sandalled feet pattering, down a narrow lane between the backs of two rows of houses. Joe followed her into the lane and saw her disappear at last through a small arched gateway.

He went in pursuit and found himself in a walled courtyard. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom he became aware that a narrow flight of steps led upward from this to a higher level, a higher level from which flowering creepers and trailing roses cascaded down across the face of a pale wall. Tentatively he set his foot on the steps and began to mount.

The silence was broken by a sharp click.

Someone above him had slipped the safety catch from a pistol.

‘Not a step nearer! Whoever you are, you stay right there or I fire!’

The voice was breathless and quavering with terror.

She was leaning on a parapet wall and Joe caught a glint of moonlight on the barrel of a revolver. She repeated, ‘Not a step nearer!’

‘This is a bit unfriendly, Alice! It’s me – Joe Sandilands. I wish you no harm.’

There was a pause. ‘Joe? Oh, Joe! Thank God! Are you alone?’ And then, ‘That creature… it hasn’t followed you?’