Page 25 of Murder Most Haunted
And what a room it is! It is like time itself has stood still here in this magnificent space. If we listen hard enough, we may even hear the crackle of the fire beneath the marble mantel and the crystal clink of Lord Charles Atherton’s sherry glass.
It is from the mouth of a frequent visitor that we will learn more about the mysteries of the past. I am, of course, talking about the chilling diary of Dr Theodore Rawlings, family doctor to the Athertons. A first hand account, found here on the shelves of this remarkable library.
‘The twenty-third day of December, 1869. At two o’clock of the morning I was awoken by a banging on my front door. Myhousemaid answered to the coachman from Atherton Hall, requesting my urgent attendance. I of course quickly dressed and collected my medical bag.
‘Martha Cook, housekeeper of Atherton Hall, met me on arrival and escorted me through the servants’ entrance, avoiding the main corridors. The hands of the grandmother clock read between half past three and a quarter to four as I stood in the doorway of Lord Atherton’s room, the interior of which was like a furnace despite no fire being lit.
‘A pair of coal-black eyes stared back at me from the bed, holding me rigid at the door. I was shocked at the sight of the master of the estate. Restraints had been placed on his arms for his own protection, and his face was covered in bloodied scratch marks. He did not recognize me at first, and called only “Dear God, tell her to leave me. She won’t go. She’s coming for me.”
‘I turned to see who Lord Atherton was pointing at. There was no one there. The rest of the room fell oddly silent as I asked who he was referring to.
‘“The Lady of the Moor,” he replied. “She wants me dead.”
‘The housekeeper begged me for something to help him sleep, informing me that for some nights past he had lain awake, talking of a lady dressed all in white who walked the moors outside.
‘On physical examination, the Lord had the look of a fever but was not hot to the touch, and his pulse was as expected.
‘“She looks for her baby,” he cried, begging me to help him be rid of her.
‘I treated the physical as best I could by administering a relaxant to help him sleep and a tonic for the malaise. But I could do nothing for the illness of the mind.’
And then the next entry reads:
‘The twenty-fourth day of December, 1869. This evening, I was called again to Atherton Hall, and have only now returned home, a heavy weight upon my shoulders. On this occasion, Iwas taken straight to the bathing room, where the body of Lord Atherton lay floating in a pool of blood.
‘At 9.10 p.m., on this Christmas Eve of 1869, I held his cold hand in mine and pronounced Lord Charles Edward Atherton deceased.’
[Music swells, then fades out]
Chapter14
The sound of a baby crying woke Midge from her sleep. She lay there, disorientated for a moment, back again in that hospital all those years ago, the wailing of newborns overwhelming her.
The noise got louder, forcing her heart to race along with it, until the shriek came to an abrupt halt.It must have been a fox, Midge told herself. Foxes, she had often been informed, made a sound like screaming while mating. She could not verify this herself, being as unfamiliar with foxes as she was with noisy lovemaking.
Her stomach rumbled as she stretched out across the large bed. A tiny, unspeakable part of her found some joy in the movement. Although Bridie had never actually said anything, Midge always felt that because of her size she was taking up more than her fair share of the bed and had, therefore, adapted to sleeping curled up so as not to bother anyone. Another thought occurred to her. Without Bridie here, she could wander down to the kitchen to get a snack. At home, Bridie would have sighed at her for getting crumbs on the sheets and that would very much have been that.
But here, there was no one to notice.
The ticking of the great grandfather clock on the landing abruptly gave way to the chimes of midnight as she stepped out into the corridor, which was unexpectedly cold and draughty. So much so, in fact, that, having no slippers, she returned to her room and pulled on her police boots before making her way back down the hall. She had only got halfway along, due to herefforts to muffle the strikes of her cane on the floor, when a shout from the south wing made her blood run cold.
Walking as fast as her knee would allow, Midge made her way along the passage, turning into the south wing at exactly the same time that Harold appeared from the east passage, dressed in a pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers. ‘Blimey!’ he panted. ‘What the hell is that racket?’
The racket was Dr Mortimer standing by one of the hall windows, his face a mask of fear. Thankfully, he had stopped shouting, but was instead holding his finger to the glass, pointing down at the garden below. ‘Look... look... tell me you can see that?’ he whispered.
Harold pushed him gently to the side and looked out into the night.
‘What?’ he said after several seconds, as the doctor breathed in large, harsh gasps beside them. ‘I can’t see anything.’
Dr Mortimer shoved him away and pushed his own face to the glass. ‘It was a bloody ghost!’ he said, his hand shaking as he tried to wipe the condensation from one of the panes. He turned to Midge, grabbing at her arm. ‘You saw that, right? I mean, that thing... that was definitely there, wasn’t it?’
Reluctantly, she peered out over his shoulder. The barren moorland’s pervasive presence sent a shiver through Midge, with the moonlight only amplifying Atherton Hall’s isolation. The south lawn glowed with fresh snowfall, but beyond the fountain and the old woodshed to the side, she couldn’t see anything else. ‘No,’ she replied.
‘Exactly like Rendell described it!’ exclaimed the doctor.
‘His words were “something white”, which is very broad for a description,’ said Midge, her cheeks beginning to chill pressed against the frosty pane. ‘Particularly in a snowstorm.’
‘Noah’s going to be peeved that he missed it,’ said Harold.
