Harstairs House Read online

The house was square, with its front wall being almost as high as it was long. Windows dotted it at irregular intervals, and they were all of different sizes. The door seemed askew, as though it had been blown that way by a particularly fierce wind.

  "But it is well built," reflected Mr. Sinders. "The stone is thick, and the windows facing the ocean are small, to protect the rooms from storms. There is a central courtyard which provides some relief from the prevailing wind, and although it is at present overgrown, I'm sure it could be made very pleasant. You might care to walk there if the rain stops."

  The drive turned again and the house was lost from view, until it finally reappeared in front of them and the coach rolled to a halt.

  "Here I must leave you. I am allowed to go no further," said Mr. Sinders. "You will find the house has been well supplied. Mr. Harstairs's valet has made sure you have everything you need, including food and drink. Fresh supplies of eggs, milk and so forth will be left outside the kitchen door each morning. If you wish to send letters you may do so. The boy who brings the supplies will collect them, and I have made arrangements to have them delivered for you."

  "You seem to have thought of everything. I'm sure we'll be very comfortable," she said.

  "Is there anything further you wish to ask?" he enquired. "I am not allowed to see you until you emerge from the house, when I will be waiting for you, with a coach to take you to London. If there is anything pressing in the meantime you may write to me and I am allowed to reply; but it would be easier for me to answer any questions you might have now."

  Susannah considered. "No, I don't think so," she said.

  "Then it remains only for me to give you this," he said, taking a large iron key out of his pocket and handing it to her. "It is for the front door. There is also a key for the kitchen door, which you will find hanging on a hook by the dresser."

  Susannah took the key.

  "I wish you luck, and now I must bid you goodnight," he said.

  The coachman opened the door and let down the step. Susannah climbed out of the coach, followed by Constance, and the two ladies collected their portmanteaux, then set off up the drive. Behind her, Susannah heard the coach turning and then leaving, the clop of the horses' hooves growing fainter and fainter as the coach rolled away.

  "It's very big," said Constance faintly, looking at the huge house that sprawled in front of them like a misshapen giant.

  "And very dark," said Susannah with a shiver.

  "There will be candles inside?" asked Constance hesitantly.

  "I'm sure there will be," said Susannah bracingly. "Mr. Sinders said the house had been equipped with everything we will need."

  Now that she had arrived at the house, however, she was not feeling so confident. It was one thing to laugh at ghosts in the daylight when the haunted house was miles away, but it was quite another to laugh at them when the night was dark and wet, and the house in front of her was unknown and forbidding. However, she told herself not to be so lily-livered, and reminding herself that she had Constance for company, she approached the house. In the dim starlight she could see that the door had been painted, but the paint was peeling off. Nevertheless, the porch around it offered some shelter from the elements, and the two ladies stood beneath the canopy as Susannah put the key in the lock. It turned with a hollow click and the door swung open.

  It was dark inside. There appeared to be a hall stretching out in front of them, and doors leading off to either side. Susannah went in. She stood still for a few minutes, to let her eyes adjust to the dark. It was so quiet she could hear Constance breathing behind her. Gradually, she began to make out shapes in the hall. There was a table in front of her, and there might be a candlestick on it. She moved forward, and tripped over something. A clattering noise reverberated round the hall, making her jump.

  Behind her, Constance said, "Oh!"

  Susannah picked herself up and felt all round her, knowing she had kicked over a stool. She found it, righted it, whispered to Constance to be careful, and went cautiously towards the table. To her relief, she made out the dim outline of a candlestick, complete with candle. Fumbling on the table, her hand closed round a tinder box. She lit the candle, noticing with surprise that her hand trembled slightly as she did so, and then looked about her. The flickering flame revealed a little of the hall. It was about twenty feet square, and had two doors leading off from either side of her. Ahead of her, there were two more doors, with two corridors flanking them and running away from her, into the dark reaches of the house.

  The candle flickered fitfully. There were draughts blowing from every direction, threatening to extinguish the flame. Seeing a branched candelabra set on a table pushed against the wall, Susannah went over to it and lit its candles, being reassured by the five flames. She handed the single candlestick to Constance and said, "Follow me."

  Gripping her portmanteau, she headed towards one of the doors directly opposite her. As she reached the other side of the hall, however, she started, for a faint light came from the direction of the left-hand corridor, and with a disquieting feeling she thought it came from a candle. But that was nonsense. It must be the moon, shining in through one of the windows. She almost reassured herself, but knowing that she would not be easy until she had made certain, she proceeded down the corridor. If there was a vagrant in the house, she would rather find him now than have him find her when she was asleep.

  The further she went, the stronger the light became. It was creeping under the door at the end of the corridor. Moreover, she thought she could hear voices. She started to feel uneasy. Suppose the house was really haunted?

  Nonsense, she told herself again. Even so, she turned round, beckoning Constance to come and walk beside her… and realized that Constance was not there.

  Her heart began to thud. Where was Constance? She wanted to call out for the spinster, but she felt suddenly wary. What if unfriendly ears were listening? She turned back towards the door. She would have no peace until she knew what lay behind it, either moonlight or ghosts, and forcing herself forward she went on. If she looked through the keyhole, she would know for sure, without having to reveal her presence to unfriendly eyes.

  She had almost reached the door when she heard someone behind her. Turning round, she held the candlestick aloft… to see a swarthy face, a lithe body, and hands that caught her wrists and refused to let go.

  "Well, well, well, so this is the rat," came a mocking voice.

  "Rat?" she demanded, so startled that she stopped trying to squirm out of his grip.

  Passing her wrists into one of his large hands, he opened the door with the other and pushed her unceremoniously into the middle of the room. Fleetingly, she took in her surroundings, and saw herself to be in a library lined with book shelves. A large table was littered with paper, and in the middle of it was a cut-glass decanter. Placed around it were three glasses, two of which were half full. There were six chairs, three of which appeared to have been thrust back in a hurry. Candles on the mantelpiece lit the room almost as brightly as day.

  "It seems I was wrong. It wasn't a rat making the noise."

  "I will thank you not to speak of me like that," said Susannah, eyeing him nervously.

  "No? Then how should I speak of you?" he enquired softly. "Burglar, vagrant—or spy?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  Susannah summoned the memory of years of dealing with tradesmen to her aid. Before she had been ground down by Mrs. Russell, she had been able to hold her own against butchers and bakers who had thought to cheat her because of her youth. "Look them up and down, state your case clearly, and brook no dissent," her Great Aunt Caroline had said, and it was advice that had stood her in good stead.

  Looking the unknown gentleman up and down, however, was far more unnerving than casting an eye over a portly butcher. He was some eight inches taller than she was, making him over six feet tall, and his shoulders seemed to fill the room. The state of his dress was even more alarming — or undress, as it could more
truthfully be called. He was wearing nothing but a ruffled shirt, unbuttoned down to his navel, a pair of leather breeches, and top boots that were dull and stained with hard use. Added to this was his uncompromising visage, with sharp cheekbones, a chin that looked as though it had been quarried and a dark mouth that cut an uncompromising line across his face. His eyes, by contrast, were like jewels, glittering hard and blue from underneath his dark brows, and long dark hair spilled in untidy waves over his shoulders. Nevertheless, she had to speak.

  "What have you done with Constance?" she said.

  His eyes narrowed.

  "So there are two of you."

  "Constance is my companion," said Susannah. "I want to know what you have done with her—in fact, I want you to return her to me, now."

  "I don't have time for games," he said, ignoring her demands. "I want to know what you are doing here."

  "Return Constance to me and I might tell you," said Susannah firmly.

  She was outwardly brave, but she was inwardly alarmed. The three glasses on the table told their own tale, and she was afraid that the other two gentlemen would soon return. And then another thought hit her. What if the other two gentlemen were at that very minute tying up Constance in some dark corner of the house?

  "If you don't return my companion to me at once, I will…"

  "You will what?" he asked.

  "… I will report you to the authorities," she said defiantly.

  "I am the authority in this house," he returned.

  "You? You're nothing but an interloper. I am the one who will inherit the house. What's more, my lawyer knows I am here, so if you think you can murder me without anyone knowing, then you're mistaken."

  She sidled towards the door as she spoke, hoping to step out into the corridor. She thought he hadn't spotted her casual movement, and continued to move slowly across the room, until a casual movement of his own put him in her path.

  "I will ask you again, what are you doing here?" he demanded.

  As she could see no other way of leaving the room, she decided unwillingly that she must explain. Once he knew the circumstances, he would surely let her go.

  "I am here to claim my inheritance," she said. "I have to spend a month in the house, and as long as I do so, it is mine."

  "An unlikely tale," he said, with a twist of his mouth. "Perhaps you would like to tell me yours, then I can tell you how unlikely that is," she said scathingly.

  "Very well. I have rented the house until the end of the month. I am its tenant."

  "Oh." She let out a sigh of relief. "That explains it! Mr. Sinders must have brought me to the wrong house. I beg your pardon. I am seeking Harstairs House. Perhaps you could give me directions?"

  "You don't need any. This is Harstairs House."

  "Then you cannot be the tenant! Mr. Sinders made no mention of it, and I am sure he would have told me if I was to share the house with anyone. I warn you, if any harm comes to me, your crime will be discovered. Mr. Sinders is going to call at the house each day, to see if there is anything I need, and if I am not here he will raise the alarm," she said, with more imagination than truth.

  He said nothing, but there was a slight change in his expression and she thought he was cursing inwardly. She felt heartened. For the first time in the encounter she felt she had the upper hand.

  "Now," she said. "Where is Constance?"

  His stance seemed to relax a little. His shoulders lost the look of cliffs and settled into the softer look of hills instead.

  "I have no idea," he said.

  "She was right behind me," said Susannah firmly.

  "I saw no one but you."

  "Then I had better go and look for her."

  "First of all, we need to come to some arrangement," he said. "We cannot both occupy the house—"

  "I'm glad you've seen sense."

  "-but as I have only one month left on my lease, you may occupy it once I have left. I will escort you to the village and you can return in a month's time."

  "No. I have to stay now. If I don't, I will inherit nothing."

  "I have only your word for it that you are really the heiress of this extraordinary will," he remarked.

  "And I have only your word for it that you are really the tenant," she returned, "but if you really refuse to leave, I suggest we share the house. It is big enough. Constance and I can have one wing, and you can have another."

  He looked at her long and hard and then said, "No. That will not do."

  "Then I suggest you find another solution. I have had a long journey, I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm worried about my companion, and I have already made one perfectly sensible suggestion. If you don't like it, then you must think of another."

  So saying she moved past him and walked over to the door, and to her relief, he let her go.

  "Make sure you don't leave the house," he said threateningly.

  "I wouldn't dream of it," she retorted. "If I do, I lose everything."

  Then she left the room, relieved to be away from him, and went in search of Constance.

  Once her footsteps had died away down the corridor, the gentleman went over to one of the bookcases. It had seven shelves of varying heights ranging from floor to ceiling. The top and bottom three shelves were full of books, but the middle one displayed a large marble bust. It was of a man with a noble brow and classical profile, and around his head was a wreath of laurel. The gentleman turned the bust. There was a click, and a section of bookcase sprang back to reveal a hidden passage.

  "You can come out now," he said.

  Two gentlemen, one about thirty years of age and the other of about sixty years, emerged. They, too, were partially dressed, with ruffled shirts over leather breeches.

  "Well done, Oliver," said the older of the two men.

  He was some six inches shorter than Oliver, but sturdily built, with grizzled hair swept back into a queue. His brown eyes were intelligent, and his jaw was determined.

  "Did you manage to hear everything?" asked Oliver. "Edward?"

  "Yes," said the older man.

  "And you, James?"

  "Yes," he agreed.

  He was almost as tall as Oliver, but had a slight build, with narrow shoulders and long, lean legs. His shoulder-length fair hair was secured at the nape of his neck, and his eyes were green.

  "What do you think?"

  James spoke. "She could be Harstairs's heir, but I'm not convinced she's telling the truth."

  "You think Duchamp might have sent her, and that he's tracked us down?" asked Oliver.

  "I think it's possible. We've been here nearly six months now."

  "We've kept to ourselves," Oliver pointed out.

  "I know. But Kelsey has been seen in the village, getting supplies, and we ourselves go there from time to time. We might have put it about that you have leased the house whilst you look round for an estate you want to buy, but it doesn't mean we've been believed. And even if we have, Duchamp would be bound to send someone to investigate if he heard of strangers moving into a remote house on the coast."

  They fell silent, thinking.

  At last Oliver spoke.

  "I'm inclined to believe her. If Duchamp had sent someone to spy on us, he'd have sent a beauty, someone to seduce us and learn our sailing times when we lowered our defences. But she was plain," he said, recalling her nondescript brown hair and unremarkable face, with neither brilliant eyes nor luscious lips to recommend it. "There was nothing seductive or coquettish about her. What's more, she was frightened. When I grasped her wrist, I felt her tremble. Any woman sent by Duchamp would be used to dangerous situations, and wouldn't have turned a hair."

  "Hm," said Edward. "You might be right. Even so, I'd be happier if we could send her away. The last thing we need is a couple of strangers in the house right now."

  He took his place at the table and leant back on his chair, so that only two of its legs remained in contact with the floor.

  "I don't think we're going to be able to
do that," said James. He sat at the end of the table and picked up his glass. "At least, not if she is who she says she is. And even if we could send her away, I think we'd be wise not to. If she spoke about the incident to any of the locals then it would draw attention to our presence here, and that is exactly what we are trying to avoid."

  "Agreed," said Edward. "Besides, if she's a spy, I'd rather keep her here where we can see her, instead of letting her go so that she can report on what she's seen."

  "As to that, what has she seen?" asked James. "Nothing of any importance."

  "I don't agree. She's seen a table set with three wine glasses in a room containing only one man," said Edward, pursing his lips. "It might start her thinking."

  "That was sloppy," agreed James, chagrined. "We should have taken them with us. But we can't change it now."

  "Do we let her stay?" Edward asked him.

  "Yes," said James.

  "I think so, too," said Oliver. "It's the safest option-as long as we keep a close watch on her, and stay alert. What do you think to her idea of sharing the house?"

  "It's the best we're likely to come up with. If she has the west wing, we will never see her and, more importantly, she will never see us."

  "And if she does by any chance find out what we're doing here?"

  "We'll deal with that problem when we come to it" Edward shrugged. "For now, I suggest you tell her you agree to share the house."

  Oliver nodded. "And whilst I'm about it, I'll tell her I have friends staying with me. She must have noticed the glasses, and I don't want to make a mystery out of them. She probably thinks you were searching the house, looking for the cause of the noise."

  "Agreed. But you'd better fasten your shirt before you go," said Edward. "The companion won't think much of letting you occupy the same house as her young mistress if she sees you looking like that."

  Oliver buttoned his shirt and threw a tailcoat over it, then asked with a wolfish smile, "Do I look respectable?"

  "Never that," said Edward wryly. "But at least you should avoid giving the companion palpitations."