ChaPter One
No One Goes TheRe
All old country taverns have one thing in common: they don’t give a damn what outsiders think about them. Inns that have served generations of local people happily embrace traditions that go back centuries, even if some of them are frowned upon in these more civilised times. They still cling to the old ways, that have sustained them through any number of modern fads and fancies.
All old country taverns have their roots in the past, and so do the people who drink in them.
Penny Belcourt’s latest acquisition, a vintage car possessed of more style than comfort, carried us deep into the ancient green dream of the English countryside. Trees and fields flew past in a pleasant blur, as we followed the long winding roads and the polite but firm instructions from the sat nav. Eventually we arrived at a quiet little drinking hole, The Smugglers Retreat, on the outskirts of a town called, for reasons best known to itself, Under Farthing.
The tavern actually stood some distance outside the town, perhaps so its patrons could relax and be themselves, and not who their families and relations thought they should be. The small sturdy building was half hidden in a copse of tall leafy trees, and I only spotted the stone-walled car park at the last moment. I stabbed a finger at the narrow opening, and Penny spun the steering wheel with hearty bravado, sending the car flying through the gateway with barely an inch to spare on either side. We screeched to a halt in a spray of gravel, and Penny shut down the engine with a flourish. It was suddenly very quiet, and very peaceful, and I unclenched my hands from the seatbelt as though I hadn’t been worried at all.
The Smugglers Retreat was a slumping stone-walled structure with tiny windows and a grey-slate roof, the kind of tavern that has been around for centuries and has no intention of going anywhere. No obvious frills or fancies, just a home away from home where local people could go to get some serious drinking done, and complain about the kind of things local people have always complained about. The hanging sign over the front door showed a stylised skeleton with glowing eyes, astride a rearing black horse.
“Not exactly a welcoming image,” said Penny. “Nothing to say Here is rest and comfort to the passing traveller.”
I considered the image carefully. “A skeleton on a black horse could represent all kinds of perfectly innocent rustic interests.”
Penny looked at me. “Name three.”
“Could be a famous local haunting,” I said. “A well-loved folk song...Or a call to all those interested in a little quiet devil worship.”
“You’ve been reading Dennis Wheatley again,” said Penny.
“You can learn a lot from the classics,” I said.
“Even so,” said Penny. “All the images they could have chosen, and they went with that one?”
“It must mean something to the locals,” I said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Penny.
We looked around the car park, taking our time. A dozen assorted vehicles stood scattered across the open space, sprayed with mud and other suspiciously organic country substances. They all looked shabby, well used, and very much the poor relation compared to the gleaming vintage car that had arrived among them like a cuckoo in the nest. I have spent most of my life carefully not standing out or doing anything to make an impression, but I knew better than to say anything. Penny was a deeply practical person, except when it came to her beloved cars. I gave the tavern my full attention, and the tiny windows stared back at me like so many suspicious eyes.
“Smugglers Retreat,” I said thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t that have an apostrophe?”
“You ask them,” said Penny. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Maybe they couldn’t afford one,” I said.
“I could use a drink,” Penny said firmly. “In fact, I could use several drinks and a large drink chaser. Every time we get called in to investigate a mystery in the countryside, I just know things are going to take a turn for the worst. Because the evils in this part of the world have had so much more time to sink in and marinate.”
I had to smile. “I thought I was the paranoid one.”
Penny sniffed loudly. “If I see anything that even looks like a wicker man, I am throwing you to the locals and accelerating for the horizon.”
“Let’s check out the inn,” I said. “And see if we can work out what it is we’re here for.”
We weaved our way between the parked cars, our feet crunching loudly on the gravel. Birds sang cheerfully in the surrounding trees, and there was a low hum from insects too lazy to bother us. It all seemed very calm and peaceful. The sky was a deep and vivid blue, untroubled by clouds, and the sun smiled warmly on the late afternoon. Penny pushed back her broad-brimmed black hat so she could look up.
“How can men do evil under such a beautiful sky?”
Penny Belcourt had sharp striking features under a mass of piled-up night-dark hair, a trim figure, and enough nervous energy to run a small factory. She was wearing one of her favourite outfits: a dress of black and white squares, with knee-high white leather boots. Penny always liked to maintain a glamourous presence, because it helped to distract people from the fact that she had a first-class mind.
I have always preferred anonymous clothes that allow me to pass as just another face in the crowd. I can’t afford to stand out and be noticed. I have walked the Earth long enough to know how people treat things that aren’t people. I have no intention of ending up locked in a cage or strapped to a dissection table.
The moment Penny and I walked into the gloomy interior of The Smugglers Retreat all conversation broke off abruptly, as the regulars stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at us. And yet there was none of the usual distrust of strangers, no signs of anger at being disturbed. Instead, they looked more like actors in a play surprised to discover that unfamiliar faces have joined them on stage. It felt as though we had interrupted something that the locals had no intention of discussing in front of strangers.
Penny smiled around the room, and I nodded easily, just to make it clear we weren’t in any way intimidated. I could feel the weight of the patrons’ massed gaze as I led the way through the crowded tables to the long wooden bar at the rear of the inn, with its impressive choice of real ales. All of which I was determined not to try. There’s usually a good reason why ales with names like Lucifer’s Old Peculiar and Rutting Weasel Delight don’t travel.
The barman was the size of a bear, in an outfit so determinedly rustic you could have hired it at a costume shop. He had a round red face, and deceptively sleepy eyes that I just knew didn’t miss a thing. He put down the pint glass he’d been polishing, flipped the cloth over his shoulder with a practiced snap, and treated Penny and me to his best professional smile.
“Welcome to The Smugglers Retreat, sir and madam! Always good to see new faces.”
“Are you sure about that?” I said, nodding at the regulars sitting stiff and silent in their chairs.
“Oh, you mustn’t mind them, sir,” said the barman. “It’s just their way. Now, what can I get you?”
I ordered a brandy, and a g&t for Penny, and the barman quickly went to work. A low murmur of conversation started up again, as the regulars got used to the idea that we were staying. But they all made a point of keeping their heads down, and not looking in our direction. I was half expecting the barman to point out some garlic hanging next to a wall of crucifixes and warn us not to go anywhere near Count Dracula’s castle. He set our drinks down before us, and I handed him the exact change.
I never use plastic. It leaves a trail.
“The sign outside made a bit of an impression,” I said. “Why does a place called The Smugglers Retreat have a painting of Death riding a dark horse?”
“No great mystery there, sir,” said the barman. “This used to be prime smuggling territory, back in the day, and the local gangs would dress up as spooks and skeletons to scare people away. So they wouldn’t see things they weren’t supposed to. Might I enquire what brings you all the way out here?”
“We’re just passing through,” said Penny.
The barman raised an eyebrow. “Not often we get to hear that. It’s not like we’re on the way to anywhere. Bit off the beaten track, in fact. And most people around here prefer it that way.”
Penny hit him with her most charming smile, and the barman visibly relaxed as he basked in the glow. Penny has always been more of a people person than me, but then, it comes more naturally to her.
“Is there a reason why visitors aren’t welcome here?” said Penny.
“These days, the only reason people stop off here is because they’re on their way to visit the old manor house,” said the barman. “Glenbury Hall. No one local ever goes there if they know what’s good for them. That house is dangerous.”
“Really?” said Penny, smiling determinedly. “What makes Glenbury Hall so dangerous?”
The barman glanced at his customers, and then leaned over the bar. His voice became carefully low and measured, as though everything he was telling us was confidential.
“People have been known to disappear, in and around the Hall. We’re talking about stories that go back centuries, of men and women who went out there and were never seen again. And as if that wasn’t enough, the dead walk Glenbury Hall, along with the living.” He paused to check our reactions and must have been reassured at what he saw in our faces, because he continued in an even lower voice. “The old Hall is famous for its ghosts. Not the traditional headless monks or walled-up nuns, no Ladies In White or phantom pipers. Just...presences, in the night. Things that come and go, intent on business beyond our understanding. There are all kinds of stories about the ghosts of Glenbury Hall, but none of them the kind you’d tell for a pleasant scare on a winter’s night. They’re warnings, for those with the sense to heed them. Some say there’s lost souls that dance with the statues in the Hall’s grounds, doors that won’t stay shut and rooms that aren’t always there, and something that prowls the house in the early hours, endlessly searching—”
“What kind of something?” I said.
The barman looked at me steadily. “They say: It crawls...”
And for a few moments, the hairs stood up on my arms. Penny and I glanced at each other. Down the years, we had gone up against all manner of monsters and out-of-this-world weirdness, but I had always been very firm that there were no such things as ghosts. Until we had reason to visit the House on Widows Hill. After that, I wasn’t so sure.
“And it’s not just the spooks and the spirits,” said the barman, warming to his task of putting the wind up us. “There’s the family that’s owned the Hall for generations. The Glenburys. Everyone around here knows better than to have anything to do with them.”
I kept my face calm, and my voice carefully even. “What’s so bad about the Glenburys?”
“Bad blood in that family,” said the barman. “Always has been. The Glenburys have made evil their religion, and they worship it in their hearts.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stirred, at the calm certainty in his voice.
“Hasn’t there ever been a good Glenbury?” said Penny. “Someone who tried to reach out to the town?”
“We know better than to let any of them get close to us,” said the barman. “You can’t ever trust a Glenbury. They’re raised to be what they are.”
“And what is that?” I said politely.
“Devils,” said the barman.
“So which is the most dangerous?” said Penny. “The Hall or the family?”
“They belong to each other,” said the barman.
Penny and I waited, but he’d said all he had to say. He turned away, to polish a glass that didn’t need polishing, apparently feeling he’d done all that was necessary in the way of polite conversation. I nodded to Penny and we took our drinks to an empty table at the rear of the inn. I chose a chair that allowed me to set my back against the wall, and Penny sighed quietly.
“Do you have to be so obviously on your guard, darling?”
“Relentless paranoia is your friend,” I said calmly. “I have learned the hard way not to trust anyone. Except you, of course.”
Penny smiled at me sweetly. “Nice save.”
“Well,” I said. “I think it’s obvious why we’ve been called down here, and what our mission is going to be.”
“To sort out a spooky old house that eats people?” said Penny.
I shrugged. “The Colonel will give us the real details. When he gets here.”
I looked around the inn. Golden light streamed in through the diamond-paned windows but did little to disperse the general gloom. There was no music, no television, and the locals sat hunched over their cards and dominos, voices pitched carefully low to keep their conversations to themselves.
The general layout looked like it hadn’t changed in centuries; just an open space with a working fireplace, chunky tables and chairs, sawdust on the floor and a low half-timbered ceiling. In old taverns like this, it’s often said that the walls have ears, but in this place, they had eyes. Everywhere I looked, dozens of stuffed and mounted animal heads stared back at me. Everything from foxes with snarling mouths, to stags with spreading antlers. If you could pursue and shoot something in the name of sport, its head was there. And every single face showed the same slightly surprised expression.
I had to wonder: if I was ever finally brought to ground, would my head end up as a trophy on someone’s wall? With the same surprised expression on my face...
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Penny said quietly, “but apart from the amateur taxidermy, there’s nothing else in the way of decoration. No old maps or photographs, no horse brasses or interesting antiques. None of the usual conversation pieces. Either the locals don’t care about their past, or they don’t care to be reminded of it. Did the Colonel have anything to say about why we’re meeting him here?”
“The Colonel was his usual tight-lipped self on the phone,” I said. “Apparently someone has gone missing around here, under less than usual circumstances, and the Colonel wants him found.”
Penny considered her drink thoughtfully. “That’s a bit lightweight, for us. I mean...no monsters, no murders, just a few local ghost stories and someone who’s gone absent without leave?”
I shrugged. “At least we got to drive out into this lovely countryside in your latest toy.”
Penny fixed me with a stern stare. “A nineteen twenty-six Bentley, in its original night-black livery, is not a toy! It is a collector’s dream, and still one hell of a smooth ride!”
“Then why didn’t I get a chance to drive?”
She looked down her nose at me. “You know very well you are not allowed behind the wheel of any of my vintage cars.”
“I have excellent reflexes.”
“The way you drive, you need them.”
Perhaps fortunately, the Colonel chose that moment to make his entrance. He strode into the pub as though he owned the place and was thinking of knocking it down. Once again silence fell across the room as the regulars turned their collective attention on the latest intruder. The Colonel stared coldly back, and the locals averted their eyes rather than meet his gaze.
A tall, elegant presence in his early forties, the Colonel was dressed in the finest three-piece suit that Savile Row had to offer. Ex-military in his bearing, right down to the expertly trimmed moustache, the Colonel might be an incognito authority figure, but he still wanted everyone to know it. Not that he was in any way the boss of me. The Colonel was simply the middleman, the go-between, my only point of contact with the Organisation, and both of us preferred it that way.
He passed between the crowded tables without so much as glancing at anyone, and when he finally joined Penny and me the regulars went back to minding their own business with a certain amount of relief. The Colonel removed a handkerchief from his top pocket, flicked some invisible dust from the remaining chair, and sat down opposite us, his back as straight and unyielding as ever. He replaced the handkerchief, took a moment to adjust his Old School Tie, and then nodded approvingly at the stuffed and mounted animal heads.
“What excellent trophies.”
Penny’s elegant eyebrows descended into a frown that would have placed a chill in the heart of anyone else.
“You hunt animals for sport?”
“I used to ride with the local hunt, when I was a young buck,” said the Colonel. “All part of a country upbringing. These days, I hunt other things. Just like you.”
“Why are we here, Colonel?” I said quickly, before Penny could take the conversation down a path I just knew none of us would find helpful.
The Colonel settled himself comfortably and addressed us in his usual I am now lowering myself to lecture the subordinates tone. I let my eyelids droop, as though I was about to drowse off. So far, honours even. Penny looked like she wanted to slap both of us.
“One of the Organisation’s people, a minor functionary called Lucas Carr, was supposed to be attending an historical conference at a manor house some distance outside the town,” said the Colonel. “Glenbury Hall had been left empty and abandoned for ages, but it was recently reopened as a centre for business meetings, conferences, and the like.
“Today was supposed to be their grand opening, and Carr was the first member of the historical society to arrive, at around ten o’clock this morning. He booked in at reception, collected his key, and went upstairs to his room. But he never got there. Somewhere between the lobby and his room, Carr just vanished. And no one has seen or heard anything of him since.”
“Are we blaming this on enemy action?” I said carefully. “Or general weirdness?”
“Carr was one of us,” said the Colonel. “So we have an obligation to assume the worst.”
“You think he might have been kidnapped?” said Penny.
“It’s a possibility,” said the Colonel. “Though I wouldn’t have thought someone on Carr’s level would have known anything important enough to make him worth taking.”
I gave him my best hard look. “If Carr isn’t anyone important, what makes this case so urgent that Penny and I had to come racing all the way out here?”
The Colonel stared calmly back at me. “We really don’t like it when one of our own goes missing. There’s always the chance it could be the opening gambit in an attack on the entire Organisation.”
“So you don’t care about Lucas himself?” said Penny.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” said the Colonel. “And so are you. The very fact that I chose my best field agents to look into the situation should tell you how seriously the Organisation is taking this.”
“We’re your best agents?” I said. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Can we get a raise?” said Penny.
I smiled at her. “You always were the practical one.”
“One of us has to be,” said Penny, her gaze still fixed on the Colonel. “So there’s nothing special about this Lucas Carr?”
“As far as I know, he’s never done anything to stand out,” said the Colonel. “Disappearing was the first interesting thing he ever did.”
“What’s our cover story?” I said. “Who are we this time?”
“As far as the Glenbury family are concerned, you are security experts,” said the Colonel. “Brought in by Carr’s employers to find out what’s happened, because there are confidential aspects to his work. Which you, of course, are not free to discuss. The family have agreed to cooperate because they want this mess sorted out as quickly as possible, so they can get their business up and running again.”
I sat back in my chair and looked at him thoughtfully. “But why choose us, for a missing person case? We usually only get the strange ones.”
The Colonel shifted unhappily on his chair. “Glenbury Hall does have a long-established reputation as a bad place. And not just for people going missing.”
“You’re talking about the ghosts, aren’t you?” said Penny. “The barman said there were all kinds of stories...”
“Which may or may not turn out to be at all relevant,” said the Colonel.
I nodded. “What can you tell us about Lucas Carr? What sort of man was he?”
“A hard-working office drone,” said the Colonel.
“What about wife, family, friends?” said Penny.
“There doesn’t appear to have been anyone else in Carr’s life,” said the Colonel. “His only interest outside his job was this historical society.”
“He sounds rather a lonely sort,” said Penny.
The Colonel nodded. “I think we can rule out affairs of the heart.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “It’s always the quietest waters that run deepest.”
“You should know,” said the Colonel.
“What can you tell us about the historical group?” said Penny.
“The Ravensbrook Historical Society,” said the Colonel. “Some sixty or so members, who usually only meet online. Today’s conference was supposed to be their first chance for a small number of them to meet in person.”
“What were they planning to do, at this conference?” I said.
The Colonel shrugged. “Present scholarly papers on their favourite subject, and then argue over the details. Their involvement does add an extra level of complication, in that there is an unsolved mystery at the heart of their special interest...”
Penny looked at me. “Didn’t you just know he was going to say that?”
“I knew there had to be something weird and uncanny about this case, to justify bringing us in,” I said. “And given the sheer number of ghosts involved, maybe we should mention our special exorcist’s rate.”
Penny beamed at me. “You see? You can be practical when you put your mind to it.”
The Colonel gave us a look that indicated he was going to rise above us, and pressed on.
“Back in sixteen eighty-five, Lord Ravensbrook turned up at Glenbury Hall, to discuss putting together an armed uprising against King James II. But though he was seen to go into the Hall, no one inside ever saw him, and he never came out again. He simply vanished; without Ravensbrook to lead it, the rebellion never happened. He was widely assumed to have been assassinated by agents of the king, but there was never any proof, and never any trace of the body.”
“So the Hall has an extremely long history, when it comes to people going missing,” I said.
“Which may or may not have anything to do with what has happened to Carr,” said the Colonel.
“How long can you give us, before you have to bring in the local authorities?” I said.
“Twenty-four hours,” said the Colonel.
“Why the rush?” said Penny. “If there’s no family or friends to raise a fuss?”
“Because after that the trail will go cold,” said the Colonel. “And if this should turn out to be nothing to do with the Organisation, we have a responsibility not to muddy the waters for a more traditional approach.”
I nodded. “Where is this Glenbury Hall?”
“Not far from here,” said the Colonel. “Just follow the road away from town and it will lead you to an old manor house standing on its own; that’s the Hall.”
I suddenly became aware that everyone else in the pub was staring at us. I drew the Colonel’s attention to our silent audience, and he made a point of turning unhurriedly around in his chair. Penny and I looked interestedly round the room, but not one of the regulars lowered their gaze, even when the Colonel hit them with his best This is none of your business stare. The barman cleared his throat in a significant sort of way and raised his voice so it carried clearly across the silent room.
“You’re not really thinking about going to Glenbury Hall, are you? After everything I warned you about?”
“We have business there,” I said. “And it will take more than a bunch of scary stories to put us off.”
“The Hall is a dangerous place,” said the barman. “No one goes there.”
“Why not?” said Penny.
The barman took his time before answering, weighing his words as he considered just how specific he was prepared to be.
“No one in the town will go anywhere near the Hall. Every family around here has lost someone to that awful place. Disappearance after disappearance, going back centuries. It was left empty for decades, and everyone was happy for it to stay that way. When we heard the Glenburys were coming back, we knew nothing good would come of it. And when we heard that someone had gone missing out there this morning, none of us were surprised. That house should never have been opened up to visitors.”
“Why not?” I said.
“The Hall is only safe when it’s sleeping,” said the barman. “It has an appetite. It takes people, because it can. We respect the old stories, and the old warnings, and stay safe.”
“What warnings?” said Penny, favouring him her best winning smile. “And what stories, exactly?”
“You must have heard about the most famous one,” said the barman. “Back in the nineteen fifties, two women arrived at Glenbury Hall to visit the family. They were surprised to find the grounds packed full of people in old-fashioned clothes. The two women thought it must be some kind of historical reenactment. They moved among the strangely clothed people, and listened to them talking in antiquated ways. There were stalls selling strange produce, outbreaks of laughter with a disquieting edge, and displays of swordsmanship that ended in real bloodshed. Somewhat confused, the women made their way to the front door and went into the Hall, to meet their friends.
“And that’s when they found out there was no gathering or reenactment in the grounds. Nobody should have been there. When they all went outside, there was no one to be seen. You really haven’t heard that story? There’s been several books written about it, and a television documentary. Though none of us got paid for being in it.”
“What do you think was going on in the grounds?” said Penny.
“Time isn’t as nailed down as it should be, at Glenbury Hall,” said the barman. “The past can appear out of nowhere to haunt the present, because that house’s history has teeth, patience, and an endless reach.”
“So...it’s not just the Hall that eats people?” I said.
“Best not to talk about it,” said the barman.
“Why?” I said.
“Because talking only makes things worse.”
“How?” said Penny.
“It encourages the Hall,” said the barman. “It likes the attention.”
I looked at him steadily. “You talk about the house as though it’s alive.”
“There’s a reason why the old Hall was built so far outside of town,” said the barman. “It was because no one wanted the Glenburys anywhere near them. They did things, back in the day....Terrible things, that poisoned the wood and stone of Glenbury Hall forever. It all comes down to the well, you see.”
“What well?” said Penny.
“You don’t know anything, do you?” said the barman. “It’s in the grounds, right in front of the Hall. Legend has it the well used to be a pagan shrine, long and long ago, when people were sacrificed to something so old we don’t even have a name for it anymore. The earth around the well was soaked with blood, and packed full of bones. The Glenburys ordered their house built there because they liked that.”
I looked around as one of the regular drinkers suddenly stood up. He was wide and stocky, craggy-faced and grey-haired, with the air of a man beaten down by life, and other things.
“That’s enough, Thomas! This is our business, not something to be shared with outsiders. They’ll never understand.”
“They have to be told, Nathan,” said the barman. “They have to know what they’re getting into.”
“It won’t help,” said Nathan. “If the house wants them, it’ll take them. You know that.” He made himself look at Penny and me, and the Colonel. “You don’t want to go there. It’s not a healthy place.”
I didn’t get any sense of threat from the man, or from any of the locals watching us. They all seemed genuinely concerned, desperate to warn us away from a very real threat.
“We do have some experience, when it comes to the weird stuff,” I said carefully. “We know how to protect ourselves.”
Nathan just shook his head and sat down again. He wouldn’t look at us anymore, because in his mind we were already dead.
I turned back to the barman. “Before today, when was the last time someone from around here actually vanished out at the Hall?”
“We haven’t lost anyone in decades,” said the barman. “Because we still make it a point to tell each new generation the old cautionary tales. The last time...would be back in the seventies. Those Glenburys were great ones for parties. Wild affairs, by all accounts, attracting like-minded souls from all over the county. Some people from town went out to the Hall, to work in the kitchens, or act as staff. They should have known better, but the money was just too tempting...”
“And they never came back?” said Penny.
“Oh, they came back all right.” The barman smiled briefly. “From the stories they had to tell, about things they’d seen, I’d say they earned their pay. Most of them wouldn’t go back, but a few did. For the money, or because what went on at those parties spoke to something in them. And they never did come back.”
“Didn’t anyone go to the police?” I said.
“They didn’t want to know,” said the barman. “They knew they wouldn’t be able to prove anything. The Glenburys have always been a law to themselves.”
“Couldn’t you do something?” I said. “I mean, if all the townspeople got together...”
“It’s not just the Glenburys,” said the barman. “It’s the Hall. Bad places call to bad people. The Glenburys have been monsters for generations; it’s steeped in the blood and the bone. Now that they’re back, it’s all started happening again.”
“We have to go there,” said Penny. “It’s our job.”
The barman shook his head and started to turn away, but there was still one more thing I wanted to know.
“If everyone around here is so scared of the Hall, and you’re all convinced it’s so dangerous...why do you stay? Why go on living here when you could move to somewhere safer?”
“Because this is our place,” said the barman. “And we will not be driven out of it—by the Hall or the Glenburys. And because someone has to be here to warn fools like you.”
He turned his back on us and moved to the other end of the bar. He’d said all he was going to say. I looked at the Colonel.
“How much of that did you already know?”
“Find Lucas Carr,” said the Colonel. “And don’t contact me until you know something.”
He didn’t need to tell us we were on our own. We always were. The Colonel rose to his feet with unruffled elegance and strode calmly out of the inn. None of the locals so much as turned their head to watch him go. Penny and I looked at each other.
“Well, that explains why we were chosen for this mission,” said Penny. “A family tree with its roots in Hell, and a house that devours people.”
“If that is what’s happened, we’ll just have to make it cough Lucas Carr back up again,” I said.
“And the family?”
“They’re just people,” I said. “We can deal with people.”
Penny and I took our time finishing our drinks, to make it clear we weren’t going to be hurried. When we finally got up to leave, I slammed the empty glasses down on the bar with some force, so the barman couldn’t ignore me.
“Why are there so many stuffed animal heads on the walls?”
He met my gaze unflinchingly. “This has always been good hunting country. Everyone around here knows how to use a gun.”
“Is that allowed, these days?” said Penny.
“If anything should come out here from the Hall,” said the barman, “it’ll find us ready.”
“You think guns will protect you against ghosts?” I said.
“It’s not just the dead you have to worry about, at Glenbury Hall,” said the barman. “The house is bad, but the family has always been worse.”
Penny and I headed for the door, and the locals watched us leave like they didn’t expect to be seeing us again.