Since the appearance of the dead girl in the kitchen, Aysgarth House had been a very different place to live. Gone was the air of levity. In its place, an unpleasant tension lingered. Obsessed with moving house, Mrs Tiltman had grown increasingly frustrated with her husband’s attempts to pretend that everything was fine.
‘Whatever happened to that article you were writing about that man Fallowfield, Clara?’ asked Mr Tiltman, from behind his newspaper.
‘I’m still working on it,’ replied Clara.
‘Well, you’d better get a move on. It looks as if the old fraud’s about to go public.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mrs Tiltman coldly.
‘This advertisement says there’s to be a public exorcism at Drury Lane Theatre. It mentions Fallowfield’s name,’ he said. ‘It says the place has been haunted for years.’
‘The Man in Grey,’ said Clara, remembering what the doorman had said.
‘I’m impressed,’ said her father. ‘You have been researching the subject.’
‘So he’s putting on a show?’ asked Clara.
‘Fallowfield is inviting sceptics to come and debunk his show. The gall of the man. He’s throwing down the gauntlet. You know how much I like a good gauntlet-throwing. Let’s go.’ Mr Tiltman’s eyes sparkled with childlike excitement.
‘No. I forbid it,’ said Mrs Tiltman.
‘Forbid?’ replied Mr Tiltman, catching Clara’s eye.
‘You think the two of you can go down and poke fun at the whole thing, but no, I won’t allow you to take Clara, not at night. No,’ stated Mrs Tiltman, folding her arms defiantly.
‘She’ll be with me,’ said her husband. ‘London is no less safe than it ever was.’
‘No less safe?’ exclaimed Mrs Tiltman. ‘How can you say that with this killer roaming the streets?’
‘Darling, please keep your voice down.’ Mr Tiltman spoke sternly. ‘Mrs Preston will hear.’
‘Mrs Preston?’ pronounced Mrs Tiltman. ‘What about me? I can barely stand to leave the house these days. I can’t sleep. I’m scared to step outside. I’m scared to stay in. I will not have you taking Clara out at night while this monster is out there.’
Mr Tiltman sighed. ‘It was an unfortunate incident and that is all.’
‘A burst pipe or the stubbing of a toe is an unfortunate incident,’ countered Mrs Tiltman. ‘This is something else. How long must you keep us here, living in abject fear?’
‘If you are worried, take a holiday. Take Clara to visit your aunt. The country air will do you good.’
‘No, we need to move, George. All of us. We need to get out of the city.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ said Clara.
‘The decision is not yours,’ snapped her mother.
‘He doesn’t want to leave either,’ replied Clara.
‘You will not speak to me that way,’ said Mrs Tiltman.
‘I don’t think we should be hasty in reacting to this. It was a terrible shock for us all,’ said Mr Tiltman.
‘Yes it was,’ shrieked Mrs Tiltman. ‘Finding that poor murdered girl in a pool of blood. It was a shock.’
With her back to the kitchen door, Mrs Tiltman couldn’t see Hopkins standing in the doorway, holding a tray. Behind him in the kitchen Mrs Preston burst into tears.
‘Are you happy now?’ asked Mr Tiltman.
‘Happy?’ replied Mrs Tiltman, who was also crying. ‘No, I’m very far from happy.’
‘That poor woman has been through enough,’ said Mr Tiltman.
‘Can’t you see? It’s not just about her. The body was found in our house. Ours. We have been invaded by this horror. Can’t you see that? Our house is stained with that girl’s blood.’ Mrs Tiltman stood up, knocking over her chair, and fled the room.
‘Darling,’ pleaded her husband, following her out.
Hopkins said, ‘I had better see to Mrs Preston, Miss.’
‘Yes,’ replied Clara.
Eventually everyone calmed down and dinner was brought and consumed in a frosty, reserved atmosphere. Afterwards Clara went to her room.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ she said, unsure where to look. ‘It’s your ghost. You’re the girl that was dragged in here, aren’t you? You made my theatre move. Do it again, show me you’re here.’
Nothing happened.
‘Please. I want to help.’
Still nothing.
Clara wasn’t to know that Emily’s ghost was downstairs in the kitchen, standing next to Hopkins, trying her best to comfort Mrs Preston.