Page 77 of Murder Most Haunted
The answer is just a page further on in the journal.
‘Rupert Atherton – died As.’
So, there we have it, an incomplete entry. Was the doctor too scared to accurately record the full details? What else could have caused him to abandon the journal so abruptly?
And Dr Theodore Rawlings’ journal holds an even greater mystery, on a page marked by a single canary feather shoved deep into the spine. The entry, from 1868, refers explicitly to the name ‘Beth Hallow’, and is one of the most chilling historical records that we have unearthed onThey Do It With Strings– a harrowing account of a secret birth in the house, one that had fatal complications for both Beth Hallow and her newborn. Rawlings ends his brief account thus:
‘And then the housekeeper asked for my assistance in the most terrible of deeds, one that will haunt my nightmares for eternity. With my help, the maid’s baby was disposed of, in secret, and denied a Christian burial. May God have mercy on their souls and on mine.’
Chapter49
‘How long have you known you were a detective?’ Rona asked Midge.
‘Ever since I got sworn in, thirty years ago,’ she sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out her embroidery.
‘I mean, why didn’t you tell us?’ Rona threw her hands up in the air.
Sticking to the bare facts as she stitched, Midge replied, ‘I’m retired. And usually when people know what I do, they want to talk to me about parking tickets.’ She lifted her head to stare at Harold. ‘How did you know?’
He shrugged. ‘Obvious, isn’t it? I can smell coppers a mile off.’
‘That’s usually something that criminals say,’ observed Midge, quietly.
‘But that’s perfect!’ cried Rona, clapping her hands together. ‘Midge can solve the deaths for us. A real live detective on the case.’
‘I’m not!’ Midge’s voice rang out against the kitchen walls.
‘But you said...’ Noah was frowning.
‘I mean, I’ve never handled a large investigation like this... well, any investigation really.’ She pushed a needle into the cloth, drawing the cotton through.
‘See?’ snorted Harold. ‘Can’t rely on any of them.’
‘You can do it, Midge,’ said Rona. ‘I know you can.’
‘No.’ Midge kept her face down, avoiding the disappointment in Rona’s eyes. ‘Harold is right. This needs people with years of training. Specialists. My theories are just that... theories.’
‘Right, so it’s OK for you to have theories but not me?’ said Noah, sulkily. ‘Seems a bit unfair.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Midge.
‘Oh, I dunno... How about there is no murderer but, in fact, it’s the White Lady of Atherton Moor wreaking her revenge? Just like I’ve been saying all along.’
‘Mate, the only one reeking here is Rona and her bloody garlic,’ said Harold.
‘First it’s the ghost, then it’s one of us, now it’s a ghost again!’ wailed Rona, grabbing at her hair. ‘I can’t cope!’ Her eyes were darkly smudged and her cheeks flushed.
‘The journal,’ said Noah, excitedly. ‘It’s all in there. One of the Athertons must have got Beth Hallow pregnant then got rid of the baby’s body when they died.’
Midge shivered as if someone had walked over her grave, a sudden chill overwhelming her. ‘Where is your evidence?’ she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.
‘There’s no mention of the baby on the headstone.’
‘Perhaps they couldn’t afford to carve it?’ said Midge.
‘The tin magnates of south-west England? Come off it. And the diary says “denied a Christian burial”,’ persisted Noah, waving his arms in excitement. ‘What else could it be? Anyway, I can prove it.’
‘How?’ asked Rona, folding her arms.
