Page 42 of Murder Most Haunted

‘An actual teleportation, right in front of me.’ Despite the reddening bump on his head, Noah looked ecstatic. ‘Can you believe it?’

‘No,’ answered Midge, simply.

‘But you felt it, right?’ he said to Midge. ‘You felt the force of it too . . . I mean, it was just a pure raw energy.’

Midge had undoubtedly felt something, but wouldn’t go so far as to describe it as raw energy.

‘Perhaps we should check the other rooms,’ she said to Harold, who had come upstairs and was now blocking the doorway.

‘It can’t have just disappeared. If none of you passed whoever was in here, then they must be in one of the rooms.’

‘Let me check on Gloria,’ said Dr Mortimer.

He hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing along the corridor.

‘What the hell is that?’ Noah shouted, suddenly pointing out of the window into the darkness. Midge turned to look, her eyes widening in surprise.

That was a figure walking along the East lawn, dressed completely head to toe in white.

‘It’s her!’ breathed Noah, standing on Midge’s toes in his haste to get a better look. ‘The White Lady of the Moor!’

He was off already, sprinting out into the corridor with his long limbs a blur beneath his cloak, putting Midge in mind of an animated pipe cleaner.

She hurried along behind him, ignoring the painful protestations of her knee as she went.

The two of them were outside, their feet crunching loudly in the snow, within a couple of minutes. But the figure had disappeared.

‘The terrace!’ shouted Noah, pointing to the bricked gateway that led through to it.

Slowing down, Midge panted as she trailed Noah, who darted through the arches towards the central laurel bush in the courtyard.

The echo of artillery reverberated off the walls above them, amplifying the noise to almost deafening proportions.

Noah came to an abrupt halt at the bush, spinning around like a top, desperately searching for a sign.

‘She’s gone,’ he finally said, his voice filled with disappointment.

‘What’s that in your hand?’ asked Midge, rubbing vigorously at the goosebumps on her forearms and wishing she had thought to bring a coat out with her. For some unexplained reason, Noah was holding a small Tupperware pot in one hand and a wooden spatula in the other.

‘For the ectoplasm,’ he said. ‘I always carry one with me. Do you want to borrow my cloak? It’s double lined.’

‘No,’ replied Midge, firmly.

A glance upwards at Noah’s window showed the light from his bedroom lamp was still on. Taking the glass as the line of visibility, Midge worked backwards and trudged across the courtyard and back out to the lawn near the west wing entrance, Noah following along behind.

‘I can still feel her chill,’ he said.

‘It’s one degree and snowing,’ said Midge, pacing across the lawn, never taking her eyes from the ground. ‘Noah?’ she said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Isn’t this where Dr Mortimer said he saw the ghost?’

Noah pulled a face as he thought. ‘Yeah, think so. You were there, though, weren’t you? It was the middle of the night.’

Midge frowned.

He was right: on the first occasion she had heard the grandfather clock chiming midnight. Something caught her eye on the snow.

‘I can’t believe it,’ sighed Noah. ‘Finally, a proper sighting! A real bona fide ghost.’

Midge was bending down, leaning heavily on her cane.

A ghost that had left footprints, it would appear. Midge straightened up and started to follow the inky trail backwards.

‘Where are you going?’ called Noah.

‘Here,’ said Midge. ‘Do you see? These footprints go all the way to the . . .’ She stopped suddenly, her blood running cold.

‘What’s going on?’ called Noah.

‘There’s someone there,’ whispered Midge, pointing. She hadn’t been mistaken. Just around the corner, a shadowy shape was moving away from them.

‘Is it her?’ cried Noah, dropping his Tupperware in his excitement. ‘OMG, is it the ghost?’

Midge frowned into the darkness. There was something familiar about the shape.

‘That’s not a ghost, Noah. That’s Gloria!’

Dressed only in her nightdress, bare feet sinking into the snow, Gloria Mortimer was marching alongside the distant border hedge, seemingly oblivious to the cold of the winter evening.

‘Go and get the doctor,’ Midge instructed Noah as she made her way after Gloria, slowing down for the stone steps of the levelled lawns and taking care not to slip on the ice.

The doctor’s wife was still some way ahead of Midge when Harold caught up with her.

They followed in silence as she moved past the croquet lawn and through a gap in the hedge towards the south wing, her nightie billowing out behind her in the cold air.

‘Gloria!’ called Harold. But she didn’t turn.

Midge and Harold continued after her, their feet sinking into the snow as they went. ‘She’s got no shoes on,’ said Harold. ‘She’ll catch her death. Gloria!’ he shouted again.

Something about her gait was familiar to Midge.

It jogged a memory of the time immediately after Bridie’s diagnosis.

For several nights, Midge had woken up to find her walking backwards and forwards across the landing, uncommunicative and withdrawn.

Midge suddenly put out a hand towards Harold’s arm, reluctant to touch but needing to stop him.

‘I think she’s sleepwalking. We need to be careful. ’

They slowed their pace and crept closer, watching as Gloria opened a tiny metal gate into a small walled area that Midge had previously not noticed. She disappeared inside, leaving the gate open.

They passed through behind her. The walls were lined with yew trees, spreading a blanket of darkness over them, but the smattering of moonlight reflecting off the snow was enough to show up pale stones sticking out of the ground.

‘It’s a cemetery!’ breathed Harold, confirming Midge’s opinion that he had a talent for the obvious.

To their left, Gloria stood in front of one of the graves. As they watched, she sank down on to her knees and moved her arms as if arranging flowers. She spoke quietly to herself and when Midge stepped closer, she thought she could see tears running down her cheeks.

‘She must think it’s her son’s,’ whispered Midge.

They stood in silence watching over Gloria until Dr Mortimer and Noah appeared next to them, breathing heavily from running through the snow.

The doctor had a blanket in his arms. ‘Ms McGowan.’ He nodded at her, his eyes only on his wife.

He moved forward slowly and spoke to her in a low voice, placing the blanket very gently over her shoulders as Midge and Harold watched.

Without a word to either of them, he put his arm around her and walked her past them and out of the gate, leaving the others standing alone amongst the graves.

‘He said she’s done it quite a bit since . . . well, since, you know,’ said Noah.

Midge nodded, turning to go back to the house. As she did, she noticed a tiny headstone right in the corner of the cemetery, against the wall, separated from the others.

‘Come on, Midge, I’m freezing,’ complained Harold.

Midge ignored him and walked over to the grave, her feet crunching in the snow. The stone was overgrown and eroded but she could just make out what was left of the engraving:

ELIZABETH ‘BETH’ HALLOW DIED 12TH JUNE 1868

She bent down, the snow soaking through on to her knee. Her hand ran across the date. ‘Does anything strike you as odd about this stone?’

‘Odd?’ said Harold. ‘You’re a bit of an oddball yourself, aren’t you?’

Midge stiffened. ‘I have been told so before.’

‘Beth?’ said Harold, his face wrinkling as he looked at the stone. ‘Wasn’t that the name of the ghost who spoke to us in the séance?’

‘Yes,’ replied Midge, not for the first time wondering what it all meant.