‘I suppose you think it sounds ridiculous?’ said Connie, on the defensive.
‘Oh, I don’t see why the hotel shouldn’t be haunted. It has had a long and troubled history. Have you discovered the priest’s hole yet? Perhaps you have seen it on a previous visit? I know you have stayed here before,’ said Mrs Bradley, taking no notice of the protest.
‘Not that long linen-cupboard place down two or three steps at the top of the main staircase?’
‘I understand so. There is a story that a Jesuit was in hiding there when the mistress of the house was taken before the Council to be questioned. He wanted to give himself up, but the servants would not let him. They said that the honour of the house was involved, which, one must admit, was true.’
‘My ghost was a nun,’ said Connie. ‘Nothing happened exactly, but I don’t think I want to sleep in my bedroom any more. Do you think they would change it if I asked them? I don’t want to be laughed at by that sneering Crete Tidson, though. I wish I could make a change without her knowing. Better still, I wish I could start my job a bit sooner, and leave the hotel altogether!’
‘You had better change with me if you feel like that,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘and we will say nothing to any of them. Now come along, and we’ll see how many miles we can walk.’
‘Oh, dear! I suppose I’ve got to come with you,’ said Connie, very ungratefully. Miss Carmody had gone into Alresford, Crete had decided to lie down, and Mr Tidson was off on his own affairs as usual.
The route they followed led them past the Cathedral and across its Close, down College Street and along College Walk, and then, by the river footpath, to the path across the water-meadows. This brought them to the main stream of the Itchen, for this walk was one way – and by far the most delightful – to reach St Catherine’s Hill.
There was a choice of paths, for a bridge spanned the river and led to the towing-path; on the right bank, which Connie chose, was a narrow path alongside the water. They passed forget-me-not and meadow rue, and, on a pool beside the stream, the yellow water-lily. There was water-cress in abundance on all the streams, and the ragged-robin stood two feet high in the water-meadows.
Mrs Bradley and Connie walked for the most part in single file and in silence. At last they crossed the by-pass and began to climb the hill.
They mounted some chalk-cut steps to the first of the pre-Roman earthworks which crowned the top of the hill. From a kind of circular plateau covered with short springy grass a fine view could be had of the river, the city, and the water-meadows. There was an open prospect across the river to the hills around Oliver’s Battery, and away to the south-west were the barrows on Compton Down.
‘Well, now,’ said Mrs Bradley, when she and Connie had seated themselves on the turf and were gazing across to the hills on the opposite side, ‘go ahead, and please don’t leave out anything.’
‘The ghost?’
‘The ghost, child.’
‘And would you really change rooms with me? Really?’
‘Certainly. I confess I should like to see a ghost. One reads so much and experiences so little of these things. This hotel – who knows? – may be a place of first-rate psychic interest and importance.’ She cackled, but Connie remained serious.
‘Well, if you really wouldn’t mind, I’d be terribly glad. It’s a nun, you know. I told you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes? A nun?’
‘In a white habit. She’s fairly small and she – and she squeaks.’
‘Squeaks?’
‘Yes. I don’t know how else to describe it. She frightened me horribly. I hid my face under the bedclothes, and prayed for her to go away, and when I peeped next time she was gone.’
‘Whereabouts in the room did she appear?’
‘Close by the dressing-table, I think. But I couldn’t say for certain. It seemed between there and the fireplace.’
‘Have you any idea of the time when she appeared?’
‘Yes, but it isn’t exact. I heard a clock strike three very soon after she had gone.’
‘You know it was striking the hour?’
‘Oh, yes. It had done all its chimes, and then it struck three clear notes. I expect you’ve heard the clock I mean. I think it’s somewhere near, but in the town, not in the hotel.’
‘Well, child, we shall see what luck I have. If you are ready, let us climb to the grove of trees.’
‘You go,’ said Connie. ‘I’d sooner look at the view.’
Mrs Bradley got up, and climbed, by a broad turf path closely worn to the chalk of the hill, to a grove of trees on the summit. Here she poked inquisitively about among the tree-trunks and discovered what looked like a tramp’s lair in a hole in the ground where, at some time, possibly, a tree had been uprooted. There were the remains of a fire, a couple of rusty tins which had not been opened but were dented all over as though they had been flung against the trees, two great hunks of badly mildewed bread, and a heap of dead leaves which might have been used as a bed.
Although an ancient British track was believed to have run up and over the hill, it was not very likely, Mrs Bradley thought, that a modern tramp would have troubled to take the same route when roads went in every direction around the base of the hill. She was interested in these evidences of human occupation, therefore, particularly as they did not look like the remains of a picnic.
She poked into the hole with her foot, and turned up an old leather sandal. She was sufficiently interested in this to continue poking. She felt that Connie was watching her, so she thoughtfully pushed the heap of leaves over the sandal and strolled towards the bushes as Connie came into view.
‘Thought I’d come up after all!’ said Connie, panting. ‘Anything to see up here?’
There was a miz-maze cut in the turf nearby. Mrs Bradley referred to this fact, and they left the trees and came out into the open. There were legends to account for the miz-maze. Mrs Bradley detailed these, and the time passed pleasantly.
‘You’ll remember not to mention the exchange of rooms,’ said Mrs Bradley, as they descended by a path on the other side of the hill. They came out upon Twyford Down and crossed the golf course.
‘I shan’t say anything! They’d all think I was crazy,’ Connie replied. ‘I suppose we’d better let the chambermaid know, but she isn’t likely to mention it, and, if she did, it would only be to Aunt Prissie, and I don’t much mind her knowing. It’s the other two, especially Uncle Edris. I am really afraid of that man.’
‘I wouldn’t let anyone know, and I’m sure we can square the chambermaid. Let’s keep the whole thing to ourselves,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But why should you fear Mr Tidson?’ She neither expected nor received an answer to this question.
‘I don’t know,’ said Connie, ‘but I do.’
They followed a footpath across the golf course, and came out on to the by-pass road, which they crossed. Then they took the towing-path, beside what was part of the old canal, on the other side of the railway, Connie leading the way. Suddenly, as they came in sight of the weir, she turned and said:
‘You said you wanted exercise! Do let’s run!’ And, on the words, she fled like Atlanta, but what she was running away from Mrs Bradley could not determine.
Mrs Bradley was intrigued by Connie’s story of the ghost. Not altogether to her surprise, the next news of the visitant came from Crete Tidson, who said at tea, when the party were all assembled at a table in the garden:
‘I hear that this house is haunted. I do not think I should come here any more.’
‘Why ever not?’ enquired Miss Carmody abruptly. ‘A ghost never harmed anyone yet. Personally, I should rather like to see one. What do you say, Connie?’