The Ghosts of Kings

By Amy Flint

There’s never a dull moment for paranormal investigator Porter Biggleswade. Newlyweds Bernard and Jill don’t think wedded life is so blissful after their honeymoon. Two weeks in Egypt, and now Bernard is being haunted. The case takes her to the Valley of the Kings, where the past catches up with her. But can she really right an ancient wrong?
The Ghosts of Kings is the third book in Amy Flint’s Porter Biggleswade series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244174002

Book preview

The Ghosts of Kings

The Ghosts of Kings

By

Amy Flint

The Ghosts of Kings

Amy Flint was born in Yorkshire. After a long stint in balmy London she moved to the not so balmy York. Her degrees are in Archaeology and Forensic Archaeological Sciences, and she has worked in Pompeii and at The British Museum. Amy’s interest in ghosts started at an early age. With her background in archaeology she’s well suited to exploring past lives.

Also by Amy Flint

Porter Biggleswade Series:

Shadows in the Mist

The Haunting of Delavere Hall

Copyright

Copyright © 2019 by Amy Flint. All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-244-17400-2

Amy Flint has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

For Wally, Willy and Mallory

My gorgeous rays of light

Characters

Paranormal Investigation Unit (PIU):

Dr Porter Biggleswade – a paranormal investigator with a lot on her plate

Dr Mike Rodick – Porter’s toughest critic

Dr Fergus McDonnell – Director; a man on the rise

Dr Sue Wainwright – Deputy Director; a woman allergic to discord

Beryl Bonelli – Administrator and purveyor of gossip

Clarice Jones – Porter’s intern and general know-it-all

John Hindley – Mike’s put-upon intern

PIU Donor – More shadowy than the shadows

Other Characters:

Ettie Beaton – A shrewd business woman

Laurie Machell – An archaeologist in need of a day-off

Paul Mortimer – A journalist addicted to war zones

Patty Biggleswade – Porter’s mother; in need of a change

Richard Biggleswade – Porter’s father, keen to pack Patty’s bags

Irene Patterson – Patty’s life guru and proud owner of new hips

Neil Dalton – President of Perfectly Paranormal; Porter’s biggest fan

Professor George Dawley-Ellington – Seeker of the Palette of Isis

Ruth Dawley-Ellington – A cold fish

Dr Lindsey Marsden – A paisley revivalist

Dr Danny Drakeson – Director of Anomaly; opportunist

Helen Jordan – Dr Drakeson’s far too loyal assistant

Professor Foxton – Director of the Institute of Parapsychology; determined to net Porter

Gladys Jones – Clarice’s grandmother; a woman with a sharp tongue and even sweeter tooth

Dr Lucien King – Curator of Italian antiquities

Professor Keith Lovegrove – A man with a grievance

Jonathan Rogers –All Saints Dean; powerful, and knows it

Dr Edward Tedry – A man who makes women swoon

Walter – Resident of a local bus shelter

Lord Julian Whittard – An aged peer, suspicious of all

Jill and Bernard Atley – A couple wishing they’d honeymooned in Kent

Dr Anthony Stone – Curator; loves a good mystery

Anne Dwyer – A developer with staffing issues

Maddy Leech – Actively avoiding her family

Jesse – Maddy’s shadowy friend

Dr Gino Jules – A man in search of tombs

Luke Pettifer – A geologist in demand

Prologue

It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good

The loner sighed.

It had been a long day, and the heat had done little to lessen his cares. As water stroked his ankles the man’s gaze spanned the river towards the now retiring sun. Dusk couldn’t come soon enough.

He was tired. Tired of responsibility, tired of expectation, tired of wanting to escape the life mapped out for him.

Laughter caught on the breeze. Scantily clad girls were returning to the palace, burdened with baskets and little else. He envied them that.

The man watched them become specks in the desert before turning back to the Nile. A weary face stared back.

His reflection repulsed him; he closed his eyes. If only he could dismiss his concerns so easily.

A nudge startled him.

‘Steady!’ Taten grabbed his friend’s arm. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been? Not the baths, judging by the stench. You smell worse than Barum’s ox!’

The man shrugged.

‘What’s wrong? Is it your ascension? Are you worried you’re not ready?’ A look showed Taten was right. ‘You know I’ll help you. You can count on me.’

‘Father also wants me to marry.’

Taten didn’t blame his friend for laying low.

‘I could run away.’

‘Your father will find you, he always does. Anyway, you can’t leave me. Come on,’ Taten started to strip.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Going for a swim. Come on, you’re screaming for a wash. They won’t let you in the palace in that state.’

Throwing off his sandals, Taten dived into the river. He resurfaced in the middle and nearly capsized a boat. The fisherman swore loudly.

Laughing, Taten pretended to be chased by a crocodile all-the-while keeping an eye on his friend. It took a little time, but the man eventually undressed.

Taten stopped his antics and waited for his friend to join him, their cares briefly forgotten.

Chapter One

A good beginning makes a good ending

Porter was glad to be back at her desk.

She had just sat through another departmental meeting, a weekly fixture she could do without. It was ridiculous to feel hostile, it was only a meeting after all, but sit through one and then judge.

They were barely into the New Year, twelfth night to be exact, but Christmas was already a distant memory. The lately formed Paranormal Investigation Unit, or PIU for short, had a growing case list. As word spread about the unit so did the number of hauntings, apparently. York’s ghosts were becoming bolder by the day.

‘The meetings aren’t that bad,’ insisted Clarice, who liked to keep tabs on her colleagues.

The intern was awarded a withering look. Porter didn’t care what her colleagues got up to so long as it didn’t involve her. Tipping Skittles on her desk, she self-medicated.

Clarice bristled at the chaos of colour while the row of egg cups stood empty.

Porter toyed with her intern a moment longer before going for coffee. Order was quickly restored.

She spent what was left of her morning writing up her findings from Delavere Hall. Porter’s friend believed ghosts were rife at the aged property and had recently asked her to investigate.

It turned out her friend wasn’t a fantasist after all. Clarice was still documenting spectral shenanigans at the hall, keen to capture further evidence for her dissertation.

Mike skulked in for a file and left. Porter’s colleague would be gone for the rest of the day with any luck.

There was no love lost between Porter and Mike. Mike thought her a fraud while she knew he was inept. The only thing they shared apart from an office was loathing.

‘He’ll be having a meeting in the library,’ Clarice scoffed, having recently caught him snoozing in the philosophy section.

‘Let’s hope no one wakes him then, he can’t do any damage while he’s asleep.’

Mike allowed his scepticism to bias his work, which weakened him as an investigator. It also blinded him to his own shadowy stalker who tracked his every move. Porter pitied the ghost.

PIU was crammed into the basement of Bishop’s Hall. The director and his deputy had claimed two of the three offices, leaving their staff to fight over what little space was left.

Porter coveted the broom cupboard. Tiny, windowless, and perfumed with bleach, it still offered the high prize of privacy. All she really needed was her laptop and chair.

‘I forgot to tell you I found a bag of dirty clothes in the common room this morning,’ Clarice gossiped. ‘It was stuffed behind the sofa. I think it belongs to Mike. Do you suppose he’s squatting?’

Porter didn’t suppose, she knew. The memory of walking in on him getting dressed still made her cringe.

‘I heard he’s getting divorced. I can’t believe he’s even married,’ continued Clarice. ‘His ex must have been drunk, or on drugs, or both. Perhaps he bribed her.’

‘Perhaps we can get back to work,’ suggested Porter.

‘Sorry. Do you have the Delavere file? I need to add last night’s readings.’

Porter rummaged in her drawer. ‘Here. Anything to report?’

‘Only a cold spot in one of the attic bedrooms. I’ll ask Mrs Murdoch to check if she left a window open.’

Porter didn’t anticipate much change in the paranormal activity at Delavere Hall, most of the phenomena were entrenched in routine.

‘Did you read Sue’s email about All Saints fundraiser?’ asked Clarice.

Porter had deleted it unopened. ‘When is it?’

‘26th January. It starts at six.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘No, you’re not,’ stated Clarice, the self-appointed keeper of Porter’s diary. ‘Sue won’t be happy if you don’t go.’

‘She’ll get over it.’

‘There’ll be booze and nibbles. I’ll put it in your diary in case you change your mind.’

‘I won’t,’ said Porter, firmly. She had no intention of spending an evening being paraded by Sue.

Sue Wainwright had left a good job in their neighbouring Parapsychology department to become deputy director of PIU. Pride was driving her to make a success of the unit, along with a mortgage, three children, and a husband with expensive tastes.

‘I guess the parapsychology lot might boycott it too.’ Clarice knew their neighbours were still peeved about losing their basement to PIU. ‘All we got were a few lousy rooms, I don’t get why they’re so mad. They weren’t even using them.’

Porter supposed it was the principle. She found people odd that way.

‘Well I’m going even if you’re not.’ Clarice was glad of any opportunity to network. Good grades and internships could only get her so far. She caught Porter frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Have you been tidying my desk again?’ Porter noticed Paul Mortimer’s business card was missing.

‘Like I’d dare!’

Worrying the paperwork, Porter wondered if Mike had taken it. She already suspected him of spying for the Parapsychology department, so theft seemed the natural next step.

Beryl walked in on Porter’s search. ‘Business card? No, I ave not touched it, I ave not. Mrs Dawley-Ellington, she pick at your desk when she were ere. Maybe she take it, no?’

Porter paused. ‘What was Ruth doing here?’

Ruth was the wife of Professor George Dawley-Ellington, an Egyptologist based at Bishop’s Hall. While Porter had taken a liking to the professor, that fondness didn’t stretch to his wife. There was something about Ruth Porter just didn’t trust.

‘She want to speak to Sue. She just turn up. She think she too good to make an appointment; she just drop in,’ Beryl was still annoyed. ‘Well, I tell er Sue, she is busy, she cannot see er. I tell er to call next time. The flea, it was biting er ear when she left.’

‘But why would she take Paul’s card?’

‘She is spiteful, no? She throw it in the bin when she don’t get what she want. I don’t know what er usband see in er. The professor, e is a lovely man. E can do better, no?’

‘We all know what the professor sees in her,’ said Clarice darkly.

‘Even the clever men, they are dim around beauty. It a pity. You think e know better. All that sun, it as gone to is ead, no? E should work in an office, not the desert. It is not good for im. Who is that?’ Beryl barked at the phone before answering.

The office grew crowded when Mike’s intern showed up. A lanky youth on the cusp of twenty, John was still to find confidence in his own skin. His acne wasn’t doing him any favours.

‘You said you were only going for a quick smoke. We’re supposed to be revising, what took you so long?’ Clarice nagged.

John blamed his stomach. ‘I nipped to the café. I can’t concentrate when it’s screaming at me.’

They continued to bicker while Porter sifted through the stills of ghostly forms captured at Delavere Hall. She was impressed, Clarice was amassing quite a collection.

‘I go see Jill and Bernard later,’ Beryl interrupted her. ‘You say you will speak to Bernard about is little problem, but when do you go? You ave not called him yet. Jill say so. You are busy, but Bernard, e is getting worse. Jill, she worry. It is not good for er. She is a sack of stress.’

Jill had recently married Bernard Atley, a mechanic and ancient Egyptian buff. Life had been blissful until they honeymooned in Egypt when their honey had inexplicably soured. The Atleys returned home miserable and confused.

‘Bernard, e get quieter by the day,’ continued Beryl. ‘Jill, she say she make a mistake in marrying again. Worry is chewing er. She don’t understand what is wrong with Bernard. She want im to be appy like e was before their oneymoon. She curse the Pharaohs and their ruins. She wish they ad never gone. No, they should not ave gone.

I tell Jill, you go to Italy! Bernard, e will not be disappointed. We ave emperors and ruins, too. And the water, it is clean, the food safe, the air cooler. But Jill, she will not listen. Oh no, she think she know better. People go see pyramids instead of the Pantheon. It make no sense.’

Porter listened while Beryl rubbished four thousand years of history.

‘But Bernard, e now suffer! You must find out why e is aving nightmares and seeing people Jill cannot see. E is mopey all the time. It is not good.’

Porter wondered if he had been bitten by something exotic. ‘Has he seen a doctor?’

‘Jill, she try make im go, but e drag is shoes.’

Porter’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t have time to waste on people who won’t help themselves.’

‘Bernard is scared the doctor will say e is mad. That e shouldn’t see people who are not there. E might be taken away, no?’

‘They don’t section people for being haunted,’ said Clarice.

‘At least not in this country,’ added Porter, wryly.

‘Jill, she tell Bernard not to worry, is doctor will put it on stress. Bernard, e is a ard worker, but e not sleep. I tell im we all see things when we are tired.’

‘I don’t,’ Clarice objected, ‘and I bet you don’t, do you, John?’

John glanced up from his notes. ‘Don’t what?’

‘Hallucinate?’

‘Will that be in the test?’ John asked, anxiously.

‘We’re not talking about the test!’ snapped Clarice.

‘Has Jill seen or felt anything?’ asked Porter.

‘No, Jill, she see nothing. She say Bernard talk when e is asleep, like e is in a possession. She can’t understand im. E is not well. Jill will ave to leave im if e keep acting this way. You ave to see im, Porter, and get to the foot of the problem.’

‘I’m not a miracle worker. Clarice can set up a meeting.’

‘Jill, she will want me there. I go with you, yes?’

‘No.’ Porter was firm.

‘But Jill is my friend!’

‘This is work. I go alone, or not at all.’

Beryl didn’t push. She could always change Porter’s mind later.

*

Porter was slipping out for a late lunch when her mother texted. Patty was planning her own birthday party and wanted her daughter’s help. Porter groaned. The event would spiral into a drunken lament about Penelope. It always did.

She hated being reminded of her twin. Porter didn’t need to sit through Patty’s version of the accident, nor hear how she didn’t blame her for Penny’s untimely demise. They both know what her mother really thought.

Porter needed a reason to avoid the torment. Her parents were drifting towards divorce; it was making Patty clingier than ever.

The Biggleswades had been quarrelling long before Penny’s death. Patty liked to drink, but Porter’s father had known that when he proposed. Porter was amazed he had stuck around for so long.

But if Porter didn’t go to the party her mother would make her life hell. She was still getting over Patty turning up unannounced just before Christmas. She didn’t want to risk a repeat performance.

Perhaps she could sugar the pill and combine it with a trip to see Paul. Well, providing he was in London and not some far-flung country, reporting on yet another conflict.

It turned out to be the day for invitations. Dr Marsden emailed her when she got back from lunch, inviting her on a trip to Egypt. She was going at the end of the month.

Dr Marsden was a good friend of Professor Dawley-Ellington. They had been working together for years at Andra Temple, excavating the archaeological site east of Luxor.

Professor Dawley-Ellington had started digging up Andra over quarter of a century ago. His colleagues didn’t think it would amount to much, but twenty-five years later and he was still proving them wrong.

Porter last saw Dr Marsden at the Dawley-Ellingtons New Year’s Eve party. The woman had mentioned her pending travels and suggested Porter tag along. Of course, Porter hadn’t taken her seriously; it was a party, and Dr Marsden was drunk on champagne and bonhomie. She was amazed the woman even recalled their exchange.

Now the offer was being repeated sober. Dr Marsden thought Porter of the prescient persuasion whose ability would expose Andra’s secrets far quicker than any trowel ever could. Porter wasn’t about to disabuse her of the fact, she was desperate for a holiday.

Christmas had come and gone to the soundtrack of her parents squabbling and, having worked tirelessly for months, a jaunt to warmer climes was just what she needed.

‘Sun? With your skin?’ Clarice was appalled.

But Porter was willing to risk it for a few days’ peace. She would have to ask Sue for time off, but she didn’t think it would be a problem. Porter was the jewel in PIU’s crown; Sue would agree to anything to keep her on side.

‘Our donor might even pay for your trip, if you work while you’re there,’ suggested Clarice. ‘Tell Sue you’re turning PIU into an international brand, she’ll love that.’

PIU’s donor may prefer anonymity, but at least the individual was generous.

Sue peered around the door. ‘Time for a quick catch up, Porter?’

Clarice offered to take notes.

‘I’ve got it covered,’ Porter grabbed files.

‘I should come if you’re discussing Delavere.’

‘No, you need to revise. I won’t be long.’

Porter left Clarice scowling at John who was sniggering behind his book. She gave the broom cupboard a longing look on her way to Sue’s office.

‘We’ll find you more space,’ Sue promised, ushering her inside.

She didn’t wait for Porter to sit before asking about Delavere. Porter’s findings from the crumbling estate were dynamite. ‘We should put out a press release. PIU will become a household name overnight.’

But Porter’s enthusiasm didn’t match Sue’s. Her investigation had uncovered a surprising royal connection, but it was one she couldn’t verify. And years of dealing with an overly critical audience had taught her to be cautious. Her findings would be exposed to scrutiny - rigorous, unrelenting scrutiny. She wasn’t about to risk her professional reputation just to satisfy Sue.

‘I really don’t see what the problem is, Porter. You said the Debretts are happy for us to publish your findings.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want PIU to become a laughing stock because we don’t have the evidence to back up our claim. Think what Lovegrove would say.’

Sue stalled at the mention of her former boss. Professor Lovegrove was desperate to cause trouble for PIU, she didn’t want to give him ammunition.

‘I’m sure our donor would agree with me,’ Porter eyed her craftily.

Anxious to keep their donor on side Sue buckled.

‘Someone from the Amy Johnson Museum called last night,’ she changed the subject. ‘They’d like PIU to put in application to investigate phenomena there. The staff and volunteers are growing increasingly uneasy.’

‘Why didn’t you mention it at the departmental meeting?’

‘Because I wanted to run it past you first,’ Sue adopted a breezy tone.

‘What about Mike?’

‘You have more experience of doing applications.’

‘Then give it to Mike, he needs the practice,’ Porter enjoyed making Sue squirm.

‘We’ll get some good exposure if we win the contract, Porter.’

‘You don’t think Mike is capable of doing that?’

Sue was suddenly tight-lipped.

‘Remind me again why Mike works here. And I use ‘work’ loosely.’

Frown lines appeared. Mike wasn’t Sue’s choice, she was about to hire someone else when PIU’s director had pulled rank, for reasons only known to him.

‘I’m not going to badmouth Mike,’ Sue finally responded.

‘You should. It’s cathartic.’

‘His methods are different to yours, Porter, but he’s still a good investigator.’

‘Saying it doesn’t make it true.’

Sue sighed, this was one argument she couldn’t win. ‘Do the application as a favour to me. We have a good chance of getting the job.’

Porter’s look darkened. ‘That’s what we thought about the Frome Museum contract and Lovegrove is still gloating. Is anyone else being invited to apply?’

‘I didn’t ask, but I would imagine it’s the usual suspects. Don’t let Lovegrove get to you, Porter, our time will come. Can you check if Anomaly has been asked?’

‘And risk letting Danny know there’s a job up for grabs?’

Danny Drakeson, Porter’s former boss, was brazen enough to bid for jobs without invitation. She had worked for him for five years, and when she came to hand in her notice Danny refused to accept it. He had chipped away at her until she agreed to work for him in her spare time just to shut him up.

Sue wasn’t thrilled about their arrangement, but she was powerless to stop it. Porter could work for whomever she pleased, providing there was no conflict of interest.

‘I’ll send you the application form. There’s no harm in us submitting it early,’ pressed Sue.

Porter agreed to look at it over the weekend.

‘Thanks. Oh, I have one more thing for you before you go,’ Sue handed Porter a mobile number. ‘Anne Dwyer’s renovating a redundant farm in Clifton. Some of her builders working on the stable block are having problems. I know, I know, not another developer,’ Sue noted Porter’s expression, ‘but I promise you she’s nothing like Robbie.’

Porter took Sue’s assurance with a ladle of salt. One of her first cases for PIU had taken her to Mire Hall Business Park. Property developer Robert Tate, who was a good friend of Sue’s, had requested help in dealing with tenants terrified by ghostly feuding.

The investigation had turned out to be straightforward enough, but Robbie was anything but. He was used to barking orders and getting his own way. And then he met Porter.

‘Anne won’t interfere, she sounded pretty fraught,’ claimed Sue. ‘The builders started working on the stables a couple of weeks ago and have had problems since day one.’

‘Like what?’

Sue consulted her notes. ‘Tools being moved; equipment and lights being turned on; people running up and down the stairs when the builders are all accounted for. Oh, and the sound of children laughing and messing about on the first floor.’

‘That’s quite a list,’ agreed Porter.

‘The builders thought a colleague was playing tricks until he was signed off sick and the phenomena continued. Some are now refusing to work on the building, which is causing Anne sleepless nights. She has buyers waiting to move in; she can’t miss the deadline, or she’ll be fined. She wants PIU to find the source of the activity so the builders will get back to work.’

‘What if I can’t find the source?’ asked Porter. Alpha males spooked as easily as schoolgirls, and even those sceptical weren’t immune to fear. She couldn’t guarantee the builders would pick up their tools again as a result of her findings or lack of.

Sue recognised the demands clients put on investigators. ‘Do an initial assessment and make your presence felt. The builders might settle down when they see Anne is taking their concerns seriously. You can always hand the case over to Mike if you think we should investigate.’

The thought of Mike winding up a team of burly builders was tempting.

‘Talking of stables, can you recommend a local riding school?’ Porter’s work at Delavere Hall had reintroduced her to a childhood pastime.

‘You, on a horse? But you’re scared of animals!’ Footage of Porter’s encounter with alleged spectral sheep still tickled Sue.

‘Not the intelligent ones.’

Sue promised to ask around. ‘Was there something else?’ she asked, when Porter lingered.

‘I’d like to take some leave at the end of January.’

Sue’s smile slipped. ‘Are you planning on going away?’

Porter told her about Dr Marsden’s invitation. ‘I’ve never been to Egypt, and I could do with thawing out. There’s only so much northern drizzle I can take.’

The smile returned. Sue didn’t think anyone would poach her lead investigator while abroad. ‘Send me the dates and I’ll run it past Fergus.’

Clarice and John were still revising when Porter returned to the office. Beryl was tidying her desk.

‘I go see Jill. I tell er you will phone Bernard.’

‘Clarice will call,’ repeated Porter.

Beryl didn’t care if the monkey made the arrangements providing the organ grinder turned up.

Chapter Two

A volunteer is worth twenty pressed men

Porter lived above a crystal shop on York’s infamous Shambles.

She shared the flat with its owner Ettie Beaton who had an enviable journey to work. On dark, damp mornings Porter wished hers only involved a flight of stairs.

She was a reluctant early riser. Sleep could be slippery, especially when the Pink taunted her dreams and prompted her from her bed.

Her wraithlike form emerging from the gloom made Porter something of a curio on her walk to work. Some early-birds were brave enough to give her a nod, while the rest fixed their gaze firmly on the ground.

Porter emerged this morning to find dawn as reluctant as her. Still in the throes of winter, she could hardly reproach it. A solitary figure was manning Reception when she reached Bishop’s Hall. He smiled on recognition.

It was barely eight o’clock. Porter eased into her day in the university’s café. Her colleagues preferred to start work at a more civilised hour.

‘Sit wherever you can find a seat, I’ll bring your order over,’ the barista joked shyly. Having noticed Porter a few weeks ago he now offered to work the breakfast shift.

If Porter was conscious of stirring such emotion, she didn’t show it. Providing her coffee was strong and her pastry fresh the man could harbour any feelings he desired.

The barista set down her order. ‘Here you go. I’ve added an extra shot, free of charge.’ He looked pleased with his unsolicited generosity.

‘Why?’

The question threw him. ‘You ordered an extra shot yesterday. I thought that was your thing.’

‘My thing?’ black eyes never blinked.

It didn’t matter, the barista blinked enough for them both. ‘Sorry. I’ll get you another.’

‘Leave it.’

The man kicked himself back to the counter.

Porter had nearly finished when a clipped tone strayed her way. Her mood darkened on seeing Ruth Dawley-Ellington deliberating baked goods. Her flirtation was pointless, for none would ever pass those ruby