Reggie Upton had learned very little from his visit to Neville Moore, which was particularly irritating, as learning something had been the entire purpose of it.
He and Tenzin had called at Neville’s home at Ghastly Green earlier that afternoon, on the pretext of seeing how he was getting on following his recent illness. This fooled nobody, least of all Neville.
“You’ve come about Annabel,” he said, as soon as Reggie had accepted a cup of tea.
Reggie looked wounded.
“My dear fellow, we’re merely here to see how you’re keeping.”
“I’m keeping very well, thank you.”
“Splendid.”
There was a short silence.
“So how is Annabel?” asked Reggie, nonchalantly.
Neville sighed.
From the back of a chair, Lenore gave a small croak which sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“She’s here, if that’s what you’re after,” said Neville.
“Here here?” asked Tenzin.
Neville looked at him.
“Where else would she be?”
Tenzin glanced around the room.
“Can she hear us?” he asked, tentatively.
“Yes,” replied Neville. “And before you ask, she can see us as well.”
Reggie carefully put down his cup, and watched as Neville rose, and added another log to the fire.
The room was warm and comfortable, but outside the windows the afternoon had already begun to disappear. Fog had come down from the Gydynaps and was gathering around the house. Beyond the garden wall there was nothing but grey.
Neville returned to his chair. Ever since his previous visit something had been troubling Reggie. He and Philomena had both seen the woman – or, at least, they thought they glimpsed a pale figure that had been sufficiently substantial to be mistaken for the living and yet quite certainly not of their company. Reggie had since discovered very little about her, except that she had been one of Neville’s past loves and that her name was Annabel Lee. Neville became remarkably vague whenever she was mentioned.
“How long has she been here?” Reggie asked.
Neville looked at him.
“You mean Annabel?”
“Unless you’ve acquired another ghost.” said Reggie.
“Oh, a long time.”
“How long?”
“I don’t honestly know.”
“But you’ve never thought to mention her?” pressed Reggie.
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
Neville took a sip of tea.
“She didn’t want me to.”
Neville looked towards the empty chair beside the fireplace. For the briefest moment his expression changed. Reggie could not quite identify what he had seen there. Affection, perhaps. Or embarrassment.
“You must appreciate,” said Neville, “she doesn’t like people talking about her.”
Tenzin also looked at the empty chair.
“Sorry, Annabel,” he said.
Reggie decided that further interrogation was unlikely to achieve anything.
By the time they left, the fog had swallowed the garden gate. Neville stood in the doorway while Reggie put on his hat.
“You’ll be all right?” he asked.
“Of course.” said Neville.
“And Annabel?”
Neville gave him a look.
“Goodnight, Reggie.”
“Quite. Goodnight old chap.”
Tenzin had already started down the path when Neville called after him.
“Tenzin. Annabel says thank you.”
Tenzin looked puzzled.
“Really? What for?”
“Apologising.” said Neville, closing the door.
Tenzin waited until they had reached the lane.
“He’s in love with her,” he said.
Reggie nearly walked into the hedge.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed.
“He is.”
“Tenzin, Annabel Lee is a ghost, and Neville isn’t.”
“I noticed,” replied the young monk.
“Then you will appreciate that there are certain practical difficulties.” said Reggie.
Tenzin shrugged.
“They seem to be managing.”
Reggie walked on. After several yards he said,
“And on what evidence have you reached this remarkable conclusion?”
“Although I’m certainly not a man of the world, as you are,” said Tenzin, “even I could see that the way he looked at the chair is the way you look at someone you’re in love with.”
Reggie considered this.
“And how, precisely, do I look at someone I’m in love with?”
“I didn’t mean you. I meant people generally.”
“Ah.”
They walked on in silence.
The fog had thickened until the lane existed only for a few yards in either direction. The hedges rose as dark shapes beside them and the trees beyond had lost their trunks, their upper branches suspended in the mist.
Reggie found himself thinking about Neville’s face when he had looked towards the empty chair. It had, he was forced to admit, been a particular sort of look.
“Even if you’re right…” he began.
“I am,” said Tenzin.
“Even if you’re right, it is none of our business. And I don’t want you mentioning it to anybody.”
“I won’t.”
“Especially Rhys.”
“I said I won’t.”
“Or Drury.”
“Reggie!”
“Or Philomena.”
Tenzin stopped.
“You’re not even going to tell Philomena?” he said in surprise.
“It’s about the need to know,” said Reggie, firmly. “And, at the moment, no one does.”
They continued walking.
A few minutes later the fog began to brighten.
At first Reggie thought they were approaching one of the many houses scattered around the island, but the light was too diffuse. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
He looked up.
Something enormous and yellow was pushing its way through the mist.
The full moon emerged slowly above the trees, its light turning the fog to silver and laying a faint sheen upon the wet hedgerows.
“It’s the Harvest moon,” said Reggie.
Tenzin looked up.
“Very nice.”
“Is that all you have to say?” asked Reggie.
“I’ve seen it before,” said Tenzin.
Reggie was about to explain that familiarity was no excuse for failing to appreciate beauty when a sound came out of the fog.
He stopped.
Tenzin took another two steps before noticing.
“What?”
“Listen.”
They stood quite still.
Somewhere ahead of them a horn sounded.
It was distant and faint, a single melancholy note which seemed to hang in the mist long after it should have faded.
Tenzin moved a little closer to Reggie.
“What was that?”
“It might have been a horn of some sort.”
The horn sounded again, and this time another sound followed it.
Hooves.
Reggie stared into the fog.
At first they were barely audible, but gradually they resolved themselves into the steady rhythm of approaching animals.
Clip-clop.
Clip-clop.
Clip-clop.
Tenzin frowned.
“Horses? Is it Astrid, and the Valkyries?” he asked, hopefully.
“I don’t think so.” said Reggie.
The horn sounded for a third time.
Then came the barking of dogs. Several dogs, by the sounds of it.
Reggie felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.
“Good Lord.”
“What?” Tenzin had never seen Reggie quite so shaken.
“I think we’d better get off the road.”
“Why?”
Reggie took Tenzin by the arm and drew him towards the hedge.
“Because I have a very unpleasant suspicion that we may be standing in the path of the Wild Hunt.”
The barking grew louder.
So did the hooves.
Clip-clop.
Clip-clop.
Clip-clop.
Something moved in the fog. Reggie held his breath.
A small, somewhat luminous shape burst from the mist and skidded to a halt in the middle of the lane.
It was a spectral spaniel, shimmering and ghostly. It stared at Reggie, and Reggie stared back.
The phantom spaniel wagged its tail, From somewhere beyond it, there came a tremendous and prolonged eruption of unmistakably equine flatulence.
This was immediately answered by another.
And then another. The spaniel looked over its shoulder.
Reggie slowly removed his hat.
“Oh,” he said, with a smile.
Puzzled by this sudden change, Tenzin looked at him.
“What?”
Another thunderous report rolled through the fog.
“It’s not the Wild Hunt,” he said with a chuckle.
The horn sounded again, and something began to emerge through the moonlit mist…
To be continued.