Pyke placed the cup and saucer on the occasional table next to the armchair. 'As a librarian, I found I had lots of time to indulge myself in outside interests. Study of the preternatural became more than just a hobby with me and I soon realized that to become a psychic investigator was not difficult if one had the, uh, aptitude for such work. I found that I had.
'I began to devote my weekends to visiting alleged haunted sites and more often than not I was able to prove that most disturbances were caused by physical aberrations and not by spirits of the dead. I could do this using only the minimum tools of the ghost-hunting trade, if I may call it a trade. Early successes led to more consultation requests, which kept me very busy, so I was pleased to reach retirement age and devote all my time to researches and practical experiences.'
Pyke was retired, thought Gabe, at least sixty-five, obviously older if he left his job some time ago. He looked in fine shape.
'Is this how you find your work?' There was no hostility in Eve's question, but Gabe detected some cynicism. 'You read a wild newspaper story and then just turn up on the subject's doorstep?'
'Well, sometimes, yes,' Pyke admitted. 'I even use a cuttings agency to send me any snippets about hauntings or such. Usually I would find a phone number and ring the prospective client first. If they're not interested, fine; but more often than not, they're only too anxious to get to the bottom of the problem. I also place small ads in the local papers. You'd be surprised how many people believe their houses are haunted.'
'Eight times out of ten,' said Eve. 'Earlier you said two out of ten hauntings are unaccountable.'
'Yes, yes, I take your point, Mrs Caleigh, and you're absolutely right to make it. But in certain cases all the factors cannot be known and sometimes the psychological state of the person or persons involved is not immediately evident. So yes, of course, not all the mysteries can be solved. But that doesn't necessarily mean unnatural elements are at play.'
'But you can't be sure.'
'No, I can't be sure every time. Some mysteries will always remain so, despite our best efforts to understand them. Sometimes, perhaps, a glimmer is all we're allowed.'
There was a silence between them for a moment or two, then abruptly Eve said: 'Mr Pyke, thank you for your kindness to Loren, but I'm afraid we aren't in need of your services.'
'Wait a minute, hon,' blurted Gabe. 'Having Mr Pyke look into things can't do any harm.' Truthfully, Gabe hoped Pyke would bring a little sanity into the house.
'I can assure you, my investigation will not be disruptive. My equipment would be minimal to begin with—a couple of cameras, one with infrared capability, a tape recorder, thermometers, talcum powder and synthetic thread. We can move on to other appliances—sound scanners, magnetometers, thermal heat scanners, and other pieces—only if necessary for a more sophisticated type of investigation. From what you've already told me, I'm fairly sure that won't be the case.'
Eve was shaking her head, but Gabe pressed on.
'And you're certain you can come up with answers?'
'I'll do my best for you, that's all I can promise. I could make a start tomorrow evening.'
'Gabe—' Eve started to say, but Gabe cut her off.
'How much is your fee, Mr Pyke?'
'Oh, I don't charge anything. Any expenses, obviously, but they won't amount to much. You see, I don't do this for financial gain. With my pension and what's left from a modest property inheritance when I was much younger, I'm moderately comfortable financially and have never had the need to charge for my services. The only thing I'd require from you is permission to write a paper on my findings, which I might submit to the London Society for Psychical Research at some later date. They're always interested in the fieldwork of independent investigators like myself. And I would ask you to stay in one part of the house once I've set up my equipment. As that will be at night-time, you'll probably be in your bedrooms anyway.'
'You want to do this at night?'
'Fewer natural disturbances then. People walking about, children playing, visitors—all the usual daytime matters. Besides, that's when most of the incidents have occurred, haven't they?'
'Gabe, I don't want this,' Eve said earnestly.
But Gabe was undaunted. 'Eve, either we let Mr Pyke do his stuff, or we move out of this place at the weekend. Maybe if we find the causes of these things happening here we can fix 'em.'
Eve was about to object again, but she saw the resolution on her husband's face. Once Gabe was set on something, there was no changing his mind. Besides, the investigator might find that Crickley Hall was haunted.
And in her heart, that was what she hoped.
48: ICE
The bath was long enough for Eve to stretch full length, her legs straight, only her head and neck above the waterline. It was almost relaxing lying there cocooned and snug in the warm water, her face wet with light perspiration; only her troubled thoughts kept her from dozing.
Tomorrow evening Gordon Pyke would come to the house and set up his equipment, then would keep a lonely vigil through the night while she and her family slept. She wondered if anything more would happen when the place was under observation, something mystical that would prove his investigation pointless. Would the hours pass by peacefully, the spirits choosing not to reveal themselves, not by sound, nor by apparition? Would Pyke's apparatus show that the disturbances had perfectly natural causes? Perhaps the man was right—she had imagined the dancing children because her mind was susceptible to images prompted by a simple kiddies' toy, the colourful spinning top. She was aware of how emotionally vulnerable she'd become, worn down by grief and fading hope, but surely she had truly seen them, and surely she had not imagined that dark, evil presence last Sunday, and again yesterday when Lili Peel had also sensed it?
She closed her eyes against the starkness of the bathroom with its black and white tiles and plain bowled light overhead. Rain pittered on the frosted window and curls of steam rose from the water in which she tried to relax. The warmth felt good against her skin and her thoughts wandered.
Eve was tired—she always felt tired nowadays, but this week had been particularly stressful. Good idea, Gabe, getting us all away from London so that we wouldn't be at home with its memories on the anniversary of Cam's disappearance. She gave a bitter smile. As if it would make any difference, as if it would hurt any less. But Gabe meant well.
She wiped the flannel across her face, water mixing with the perspiration. It was good not to be cold for a change, the house was always so chilly. Full of draughts, Pyke had said—or air currents, as he would have it. He was a tall, big-boned man, but he seemed trustworthy. A gentle not-quite giant, with a good-natured countenance and a comforting smile. Eve hoped she hadn't been too rude to him, but she knew Lili Peel would be of more help to her. Eve was sure the psychic would reach Cam eventually; it would just take a little time and the right conditions. Hadn't she herself felt him close by?
Keeping her eyes closed, she sank lower into the bath, water covering her chin, almost reaching her bottom lip. So warm, so comfortable. Eve began to drift…
Mustn't fall asleep. So tired, though, so wearied by events. And by sorrow. Briefly, she wondered if they would ever find Chester again. Lost dog, lost son. The girls were still upset. Over Cam. Over Chester. One loss too many. Sleepy. Very sleepy…
Because her eyes were closed and she was half asleep, Eve didn't at first notice the light above flicker, then dim, then burn out.