Emily stood there, looking terrible and breathless, close to hysterics, her chef’s cap about to fall off.
‘Jason!’ Her voice was close to a scream.
‘What?’
‘There was someone standing behind me in the kitchen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A woman.’ She nodded at him, as if he should know who it was.
‘A woman? What do you mean? Who?’
She started shaking. So much so that for some seconds she struggled to speak, then finally she blurted, ‘Angry. She looked so angry. Hideous. Oh God, so horrible.’
‘What woman do you mean?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘How? Did you open the door to the garage or something? Paul from Go Pest told us under no circumstances should it be opened until he advised us. Don’t you remember?’
‘I. Did. Not. Open. The door,’ she said adamantly.
Her tone was enough to snap him out of denial for a moment.
‘She was standing behind me. She was there and then she wasn’t. I saw her. Then she vanished.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘She was horrible. So horrible. She had on a sort of long, blue dress, like really old-fashioned, with yellow shoes and a really wrinkled – wizened – old-lady face. She spoke to me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘God, her voice was kind of croaky, and vile – really nasty. Evil.’
‘What did she say Em?’
‘She said, No one ever leaves here. Then something like, You’ll be joining me, soon. You and your husband. Everyone here always does. Don’t bother buying him any birthday presents. He won’t need them here.’
He wrapped his arms around her, aware of the surgical gloves on his hands. She was shaking uncontrollably.
‘Babes, we’re going to sort this out.’
‘I saw her. I saw her. She touched me. I heard her speak. And, oh yes, she said something else. She said to tell you her name is Matilda.’
‘Matilda? Why does that ring a bell?’
‘Why? I’ll tell you why it rings a bell. That history book you brought home from the library, remember?’
It was on his desk. ‘Yes. The one we googled.’
‘I read the bit out to you last week.’ She marched over, picked the book up and thumbed through it. Then read aloud.
‘Cold Hill House was built to the order of Sir Brangwyn De Glossope, on the site of monastic ruins, during the 1750s. His first wife, Matilda, daughter and heiress from the rich Sussex landowning family, the Warre-Spences, disappeared, childless, a year after they moved into the property. It was her money that had funded the building of the house – De Glossope being near penniless at the time of their marriage. It was rumoured that De Glossope murdered her and disposed of her body, to free him to travel abroad with his mistress, Evelyne Tyler.’
‘Matilda De Glossope is the woman you saw in the garage?’
‘You tell me.’
There was a loud bang above them.
The room was plunged into darkness.