He kicked his mind back into focus and began a systematic search of the bedrooms. They all had shrouded furniture, bare walls and oblong patches on the walls where pictures or mirrors had hung. There was no one hiding anywhere, although Theo was still glad he had brought the poker with him.
The only room he had still to check was Charmery’s, and he was within two strides of the door when the creakings seemed to shift gear. He paused to listen, not exactly frightened, but puzzled. Perhaps the roof timbers were contracting in the night air, or perhaps the open window was rattling. The sounds were curiously rhythmic, but they were not loud enough for footsteps. He pushed open the door of Charmery’s room and it was then that another sound came – a sound that sent his heartbeat skittering wildly.
The old clock – the clock that Charmery claimed was Fenn’s heart, the clock that had not been wound since she died – had just chimed the half hour. The rhythmic sounds that had puzzled Theo a few minutes earlier had been the clock’s measured ticking.
Someone had wound it up.
Theo came out of his frozen terror and half fell through the door into Charmery’s room, with absolutely no idea what would be waiting for him. But there was nothing. Nothing moved and the room was exactly as it had been on his arrival, apart from the ticking clock. He stood in front of it, hearing the measured tick that had comforted Charmery every night, seeing that the minute hand was moving, slowly but perceptibly. He reached for the small gilt clasp that held the door in place and released it. The door opened with a small soft creak, revealing the brass mechanism. The pendulum with its circular copper striker, swung back and forth, regular and steady, like the good piece of Victorian machinery it was. Theo watched it for several minutes, then looked round the room. There was nowhere anyone could possibly hide in here – even the wardrobe was a small one, with a narrow hanging space and shelves taking up half its interior. He checked it anyway, then drew the heavy curtains back from the deep bay window. Nothing.
It was beyond all logic that an intruder would creep into the house for the sole purpose of starting up an old clock, but it was what seemed to have happened. He went back onto the landing and examined the window with the pale curtains. Was it possible that the faint gust of wind through that open window had somehow disturbed the clock’s mechanism? Along eight feet of corridor and through a closed door? How about mice? Could a mouse have got inside the clock and nudged the pendulum?
Theo found a linen handkerchief in one of the tallboys, and tied it round the copper disc in order to muffle the chimes. He could cope – just about – with ghosts and intruders, but whether the ticking clock was due to an act of God or an errant wind, he did not think he could cope with it chiming the half hour through the entire night.
CHAPTER FOUR
Theo had expected to lie awake, listening for sounds and rustlings. He had even considered whether he should take one of the mild sedatives prescribed to help him sleep after Charmery’s death. ‘Very low dose indeed,’ his GP had said. But Theo preferred to be in charge of his own sleep and had hardly ever taken them. He thought he had better not risk being zonked by pills tonight in case there really was a prowler.
In the event, once in bed he fell asleep almost at once, not waking until half past seven the next morning. Sunlight came in through the curtains and if anything else had tapped on the windows or tinkered with clocks he had not heard it. Last night’s bizarre happenings retreated to the vague, unreal status of a dream.
He was pouring a second cup of coffee and planning how he would unravel more of the intriguing world of Matthew and his Snow Queen, when the doorbell rang. As he unbolted the front door he remembered that hardly anyone knew he was here and experienced a jab of apprehension.
Standing outside was a small figure dressed in the modern version of nuns’ robes: a plain navy coat, flat-heeled shoes, and a small veil like an old-fashioned district nurse. After the eerie incidents of last night, Theo was so relieved to find this unthreatening figure on the doorstep, that he held out his hand and said, ‘Good morning! Do come in.’
She smiled a bit warily and said, ‘Thank you very much. Just for a moment though – I don’t want to intrude. You’re Mr Theo Kendal, I think. I’m Sister Catherine from St Luke’s.’ As she stepped into the harlequin patches of sunlight inside the hall Theo saw she was younger than he had first thought – perhaps late twenties – and that she had clear grey eyes, fringed with black.
‘I’ve mostly called to say welcome to Melbray,’ she said as he opened the door to the dining room. ‘You’re the first member of the family to come down here since Miss Kendal’s death, so I’m a kind of emissary to convey our belated condolences at what happened. We’re all truly sorry and very shocked.’
‘Thank you very much. Would you like some coffee? I made a large pot shortly after breakfast and it’s still hot.’
He was surprised when she said, ‘I’d love some if it’s no trouble. Good coffee is one of the things I miss in the convent.’
Theo set the cups on a tray, and carried everything into the dining room. Catherine was standing at the French windows, looking into the gardens. ‘It’s a lovely old house, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’ve often looked across at it from our grounds. I remember there used to be the most beautiful rose garden here – it was just visible.’
‘It’s still there, but only just.’ Theo handed her the coffee. ‘The gardens are a tanglewood and the house needs a lot of work; I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to deal with that.’
‘Your cousin intended to update it, I think,’ said Catherine, and Theo, who had been adding milk to his own coffee, looked up.
‘Did you know my cousin?’
‘I met her briefly a couple of times. You look surprised.’
‘I don’t really know what was going on in her life over the last few years. I didn’t see much of her,’ said Theo.
‘But you spent holidays here with her? When you were both children?’
‘Yes, we came here almost every summer and for the odd week here and there. Christmas, too, some years. You can’t possibly remember those holidays, though. You’re much too young. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t say something like that to a nun.’
‘Of course you can say it. And it’s true I’ve only been at St Luke’s for about nine years. I’m the baby of the convent.’ She smiled, and Theo smiled back. ‘But I know a bit about your family from the older nuns. Next-door neighbours, you know. I expect you’ve got good memories of this place. Childhood memories are so precious, aren’t they?’ Theo thought there was a faintly wistful note in her voice, but almost without pausing she said, ‘I remember the Bursar saying your family have owned this house for years.’
‘Nearly twenty,’ said Theo. ‘My uncle and aunt bought it as a kind of holiday retreat in the early 1990s, but they began to spend so much time here – and they liked holding open house for the family – that they extended it. They seemed to add a room each year – I think they virtually doubled the size of the original house in the end. Aunt Helen used to say it made it a nightmare to clean and heat.’
‘Some of the older nuns met one or two of your family,’ said Catherine. ‘Mr Frederick Kendal, and also your mother, I think.’