Jessica Bannister and the Family Secrets

By Janet Farell and ttl

There aren't many things more important to Jessica Bannister than chasing down her next scoop to splash across the front page of the newspaper she works for, but family is definitely one of them. After the death of her parents at the age of twelve, she has been extremely protective of her only living relative, Aunt Bell, who is as much her best friend and confidante as she is the woman who raised her, so when a run-in with a malevolent shadow being leaves her great-aunt feeling very weak, the ambitious young journalist is at pains to do everything she can for her. Luckily, this aligns with her editor-in-chief's plans, though she soon finds out that not all families are as open and honest with each other as her own, and dark secrets from the past can end up shredding the bonds between ancestors and descendants, fathers and sons, and partners and future in-laws. But when old friends and new acquaintances bring danger to her door, can her supernatural gifts keep her and her family safe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J-Novel Pulp
• Release date: Jan 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781718323568

Book preview

The Ghosts’ Duel

By Janet Farell

‘I expect you in my office immediately, Jessica,’ Martin T. Stone’s voice barked down the telephone line. ‘And when I say immediately, I mean just that!’

‘Yes, Mr Stone. I’m already on my way.’ I quickly hung up and pushed my chair away from my desk with a sigh. The editor-in-chief of the London City Observer seemed to be having yet another bad day and he’d chosen me as his latest victim.

I was just straightening my midnight-blue cashmere skirt when a voice behind me said: ‘So the boss called you in too, huh?’

Jim Brodie casually perched on the edge of my desk.

‘Called is an understatement,’ I said. ‘It sounded more like a threat.’

‘Well, why should you be treated any better than me?’ Jim shrugged. ‘At any rate, I felt the urgent need to pour ice-cold water into my burning ear after my little phone call with our dear leader.’

‘You poor thing.’ I stroked Jim’s blond hair in mock sympathy. I had to admit, I was fond of the young photographer and his laid-back attitude. ‘Think Stone has another assignment for us?’

‘Looks like it,’ Jim said, grinning at me. ‘After all, we’re his dream team, you and me.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re getting delusions of grandeur just because you’ve managed to snap a few half-decent pictures, Mr Brodie. It is, after all, your job,’ I said, doing my best impression of our editor-in-chief.

‘And you shouldn’t go thinking that any of your articles have been an unqualified success,’ Jim said, taking over the role of Martin T. Stone in our little theatrical display. He tried to grimace but could only manage a half-smile. ‘Beginner’s luck, all of it. You have to hone your craft over time, and only then will your true abilities become clear for all to see.’ He waggled his index finger admonishingly. We couldn’t help laughing out loud at this back-and-forth, causing several of our colleagues in the open-plan office to look round at us in confusion.

‘Say, do you really think you’re appropriately dressed for an audience with the big boss?’ I said, looking Jim up and down: his jeans had grass stains on the knees and his cotton shirt was faded, looking as if it had been through countless washes.

‘What do you mean?’ He looked down at his clothes in mild surprise. ‘What’s wrong with them?’

‘Forget I said anything. They’re fine,’ I sighed. The young photographer was a dear friend and good at his job, but when it came to his choice of clothing, it was like he was blind. He belonged to that subset of people who rock up to the opera in ripped jeans, then wonder why everyone’s staring at them. Practicality was the main measure for Jim’s clothing decisions.

‘We really should be getting a move on,’ Jim said, shoving the topic of clothing to one side and glancing at his watch. ‘Otherwise, heads will roll and they’ll likely be ours.’

‘Better not to risk that.’

We set off for the editor-in-chief’s office together.

***

Martin T. Stone made a show of looking at his watch when we entered his office before grumpily raising his eyebrows and pointing to the two empty chairs in front of his desk, which we hurriedly sat down on. Martin T. Stone rummaged through the papers piled high on his desk without looking up at us before finally pushing his notes aside and leaning back in his leather office chair, wordlessly looking us up and down. Jim was the first to break the silence.

‘Have I suddenly gone deaf or are we communicating telepathically?’

Martin T. Stone looked at him disapprovingly before saying: ‘Why so impatient, Mr Brodie? After all, you were the one who strolled over here as if any day would do.’

‘That was my fault,’ I jumped in. From experience, I knew a ‘discussion’ between the two of them could quickly turn into a pissing contest if I didn’t damp down the embers at the outset. ‘I asked Jim to help me with something.’

‘Fine,’ growled Stone. ‘Then, let’s not waste any more time, shall we, Jessica? How are you with antiques?’

‘I basically grew up surrounded by them,’ I replied, thinking about the Victorian villa I shared with my great-aunt, Beverly, which was practically overflowing with bizarre centuries-old objects. Her husband, Francis ‘Frank’ Gormic, had been a world-renowned archaeologist before going missing — presumed dead — a number of years ago, and he was the one who had brought back these artefacts from his countless expeditions and archaeological digs. ‘Though I wouldn’t call myself an expert,’ I admitted.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ the editor-in-chief said curtly. ‘There’ll be enough people there who are.’

‘Enough people where?’ Jim asked impatiently.

‘The auction,’ Martin T. Stone said, seemingly enjoying drip-feeding us information and watching us dangle in suspense.

‘And is this auction taking place here in London?’ I asked, predicting Jim’s next question.

‘No,’ Stone said with a shake of the head. ‘Cambridgeshire. Or to be more exact, Lord Albert Melanson’s house.’

‘Not too shabby,’ Jim said, letting out an awed whistle. ‘I’ve heard his lordship’s collection is rather valuable. Why’s he selling it?’

‘Rumours abound that Lord Albert Melanson is deep in the red,’ Stone said. ‘He’s been forced to auction most of his collection so that he doesn’t have to sell off the family mansion.’

‘If that’s the case, why haven’t we heard any whispers about this auction?’ I asked, somewhat surprised. ‘An auction like this would usually cause something of a stir among collectors. How did you manage to find out about it?’

‘I’ve made it a habit of mine to call up auction houses regularly to get the lowdown on what’s going on in the antiques world,’ Martin T. Stone explained, reverting back to his usual paternalistic tone, which was his go-to whenever he was drawing on his many years of experience as a journalist to give us some tips of the trade. ‘I’ve often got the jump on the competition by doing that.’

‘When’s this auction taking place?’ asked Jim.

‘This weekend,’ Stone said. ‘I want the two of you to go to Melanson’s place and report on the preparations being made for the event as well as the auction itself.’

‘Are there any details you’re particularly interested in?’ I asked.

‘I’m relying on your nose for a story, Jessica,’ he said with a smile. ‘And from you, Mr Brodie, I expect to see plenty of photos of the most impressive items in the collection as well as any celebrities who attend the auction.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ Jim said, giving his boss a mock salute.

‘I should hope so.’ Even though I was sure he wasn’t best pleased about the photographer’s lack of respect towards him, Martin T. Stone couldn’t prevent a grin spreading across his face. ‘After all, you get paid well enough for what you do.’

‘Absolutely!’ Jim said, leaping up from his chair. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go add a coat of polish to my five Porsches, and catch up with the interior designer waiting for me at home who I’ve hired to build an extra indoor swimming pool in my thirty-room mansion.’

Jim’s cheeky reply drew a sharp intake of breath from Martin T. Stone. I got up and quickly followed Jim to the door, as I realised bursting out laughing at my boss’s expense right in front of him would lead to an awkward situation, to say the least.

‘Cheerio,’ I said. ‘We’ll phone from the auction when we get there.’

Mr Stone nodded silently, and I could almost hear the cogs whirring in his head, but just as we were halfway out the door, he suddenly found his voice again.

‘Oh, and Mr Brodie...’ he called after us.

‘Yes, sir?’ answered Jim.

‘I just wanted to make you aware that I’ll be paying particularly close attention to your expenses form on this assignment.’ A triumphant grin spread across the editor-in-chief’s face.

‘Suit yourself.’ Jim smiled at him sourly. ‘That is, if you think you can find time in your busy schedule to do that...’ He closed the door behind him. ‘Talk about a penny-pincher,’ he muttered when he was sure he was out of earshot of Martin T. Stone.

‘Now, now. Don’t let him ruin your mood,’ I said, trying to cheer Jim up. ‘After all, we’ve been given an assignment that doesn’t sound half bad.’

‘Yeah, it sounds interesting all right, and on the face of it, it doesn’t seem like a dangerous assignment for once,’ Jim said. ‘I still break out in a sweat whenever I think about that time we butted heads with that mysterious Ashley Brown character — all that soul transmigration and magic... Yup, my appetite for excitement is well and truly satiated for the time being. Which is probably a good thing, because auctions aren’t exactly known for being the most action-packed of events...’

If only he’d had the slightest inkling of what was about to happen over the coming days, he might not have sounded so chipper...

***

‘Wowzers, this place is huge,’ Jim marvelled, standing in the driveway leading to the Melansons’ mansion and craning his head to take it all in. ‘I can’t even imagine what the upkeep on a place like this would cost.’

‘Lord Albert Melanson will have to raise a fairly hefty sum from this auction if he’s going to have enough to keep the family home.’

I was also overwhelmed by the sheer size of the mansion, its numerous turrets and bay windows reminding me of a castle. Each generation of the Melansons seemed to have tacked on another wing to the building until it was as big as a mountain, looming over us in the middle of its aesthetically pleasing grounds.

‘Any idea why the old man can no longer afford all of this?’ Jim asked, shooting me a quizzical look.

‘No clue,’ I answered. ‘There’s talk of him getting into financial strife rather suddenly, but that’s all I know.’

‘Maybe he bet it all on the gee-gees,’ Jim said, grinning. ‘It would at least be a fitting way for a man of his standing to lose his fortune, his horse not coming in. Or maybe he’s been blackmailed by a vindictive housemaid who found out some secret about him that he didn’t want getting out...’

‘Jim Brodie, behave,’ I warned him. ‘I don’t think his lordship will be in the mood for your silly little jokes.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ Jim said, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’ll treat it like it’s an egg-and-spoon race and his lordship is the egg.’

‘I’ll remind you that you said that,’ I said markedly. I turned my attention away from Jim and back to the enormous building. On closer inspection, I could see parts that were in serious need of attention: the rusting gutter was crooked, plaster was crumbling from the façade, and many of the balconies looked unsafe to the point where I wouldn’t have dared to step onto them for fear of crashing down to the ground as they inevitably worked themselves free of the stonework. There was something else that sent chills up my spine, however, and it wasn’t to do with the state of the building itself, but the dark secret that I could sense surrounding the house like fog and sucking the warmth out of my body. My heart suddenly started pounding hard in my chest, but the noise of the front door opening dragged me out of my thoughts.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’ A young woman was standing in the open doorway, looking over at us.

‘Hello,’ I replied. ‘I’m Jessica Bannister. I work for the London City Observer. And this here is my colleague, Jim Brodie.’

‘Pleasure to meet you.’ To my relief, Jim was treating her to his most charming smile. The woman nodded and returned our smiles with a friendly one of her own. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her dark brown eyes were fixated on us.

‘We heard you were holding an auction here,’ I continued. ‘I think the sale of such a valuable collection would be of great interest to our readers and we’d like to do an article about the auction.’ Under the woman’s intense gaze, I began to feel less sure of myself. ‘I mean, if that’s all right, of course.’

‘My father’s the best person to ask about that,’ the woman said, inviting us into the house. ‘I don’t think he’ll mind, though. A little publicity will be good for the auction. Oh, I should introduce myself. I’m Deborah Melanson.’ We both shook her hand, then followed her into the house.

The warm sunlight cascaded down through the stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns across the walls of the entrance hall. The bright marble floors and beige wallpaper made the interior feel much friendlier than the exterior façade had suggested. I noticed faded rectangles on the wallpaper, as if things that had hung there for a long, long time — presumably paintings — had been removed recently.

Deborah Melanson seemed to read my mind. ‘We’re still setting up for the auction,’ she explained. ‘As you can see, with heavy hearts, we have had to part with portraits of our ancestors.’ She pointed to a faded area on the wall. ‘Believe me, it hurts immeasurably to suddenly be forced to sell off family heirlooms that you’ve become accustomed to seeing day in, day out.’

Lost in her own thoughts, she gently ran her fingers over an antique-looking shelf. Scratch marks indicated that something heavy had made its home there and had been sitting on it for a long time until recently.

‘Are you sure selling the collection is the right thing to do? For you, I mean,’ I said. ‘I only ask because you’re obviously finding it quite difficult to part with these heirlooms.’

‘Unfortunately, we have no choice,’ the young woman said. ‘Certain... circumstances have forced us down this path.’ She bit her lip, seemingly struggling to keep her emotions in check. ‘I’ve learnt to accept the reality of our situation. I’m more worried about my father. The upcoming auction is putting a huge emotional strain on him, even if he is trying to put a brave face on it.’

‘Who are you talking to, Deborah?’ The double doors leading to one of the adjoining rooms suddenly opened and a man in his mid-thirties walked through them into the entrance hall. He ran his hand through his perfectly parted hair in a controlled movement as he looked the pair of us up and down, his pale grey eyes flitting from one to the next. ‘Visitors?’

‘This is Miss Jessica Bannister and Mr Brodie from the London City Observer,’ Deborah Melanson told him. ‘They want to do an article on the auction for their newspaper.’

‘Oh, is that so?’ The man seemed mildly astonished. ‘How on earth did you find out about us?’

‘We have our sources,’ I answered. ‘I hope we’re not disturbing you.’

‘Oh, perish the thought!’

If our arrival was in the slightest bit uncomfortable for him, he didn’t show it. The man walked over to me and took my hand.

‘Enchanté, mademoiselle. Eugene Hornsby, at your service.’ His handshake was oddly weak and trembling. ‘I am Lady Deborah’s fiancé.’ He shook Jim’s hand, and I could tell from the young photographer’s face that he was being treated to exactly the same handshake. ‘I assume your time is limited and you’re only here to get a quick impression of what’s going on, yes?’

‘You can relax,’ Jim said, grinning at him. ‘We’ve set aside plenty of time to do a full report on the auction.’ Jim seemed to revel in the disappointed look this comment brought to Eugene Hornsby’s face.

‘We’re very interested in the sale of such a valuable collection,’ I said, wanting to make sure the two of them didn’t get the impression we were just here after gossip. ‘That’s why we’d like to see all the preparatory work and stay until the last item is packed up to go to its new home — reporting on it all from a front row seat, so to speak.’

‘I think that sounds very reasonable.’ Deborah Melanson nodded. ‘Or what do you think, Eugene?’

‘Yes, my sentiments exactly,’ Mr Hornsby said, though his facial expression made me doubt that he believed what was coming out of his mouth.

‘Then, first things first, I’ll introduce you to my father,’ the young Lady Deborah continued without paying any more attention to her fiancé. ‘After all, he’s the one who set all of this up.’

She led us through a stylishly decorated living room which also had telltale gaps where items had no doubt been plundered for the auction, before entering a parlour where an older gentleman was busy taking down a number of old swords from the wall and carefully placing them on a nearby table.

‘Father?’ Deborah Melanson said and cleared her throat. ‘Might we disturb you for one moment?’

‘You know that you can always interrupt me from whatever I’m doing, my dear.’ The man turned around slowly, and I saw that he had silvery-grey hair and a bushy moustache. The piercing blue eyes that sized us up could just as easily have belonged to a twenty-year-old. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘This lady and gentleman are from the press,’ his daughter explained. ‘They would like to write an article or two on the auction.’

‘If that’s okay with you,’ I added.

‘And why shouldn’t it be?’ Lord Albert replied with a tentative smile. ‘In better times, I was always flattered when the press wrote about us, so it would be exceedingly rude of me to turn the press away now just because we’ve hit a bump in the road, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well, I guess you could view it that way,’ I said with a slight nod. ‘Though I imagine there aren’t too many people who’d think like that in your position.’ I had to admit, this old man had made quite a good first impression.

‘Then, this is the first place you should take a look around in,’ Lord Albert said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘I’ve bunged most of the items that we’ll be auctioning off this weekend in here. The ones that aren’t in here were either too big or too heavy to carry them here by myself.’ He shrugged somewhat apologetically.

‘Oh, Father!’ his daughter chastised him. ‘I told you to yell for me when you needed help.’

‘There are some things I’d just rather do by myself,’ Lord Albert said, smiling good-naturedly at Deborah, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. It was clear he was having a very difficult time parting with so many cherished family heirlooms, and his eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment, before clearing again when he looked back at us.

‘Please excuse an old man’s sentimentality,’ he said, smiling sheepishly.

‘I imagine it must be really difficult for you,’ I said, truly sympathising with the old man. ‘After all, every single piece in your collection has its own story, I’m sure. At least, that’s how it was for my great-uncle.’

‘Your great-uncle was a collector of antiques?’ Lord Albert asked, his ears pricking up.

‘More or less,’ I laughed. ‘He was an archaeologist. My great-aunt’s house is still full of artefacts he brought back from his many, many expeditions, and my great-aunt could spend whole evenings just talking about them and their history.’

‘I know that feeling all too well,’ Lady Melanson said with a smile. ‘Once my father starts talking about his antiques, he loses all sense of time and becomes oblivious to everything that’s going on around him.’ She tenderly put her arm around the elderly gentleman’s shoulders. While we were chatting, Eugene Hornsby had gone over to the items put aside for auction, and was looking over them intently.

‘Where’s the Victorian silverware?’ he asked suddenly.

‘You know that it’s our family tradition to only use that silverware on very special occasions,’ Lord Albert explained. ‘The last time it was used was on my wedding day, and I promised Margaret — God rest her soul — that it would be used on my daughter’s wedding day. So I’ve decided not to sell the silverware.’

‘Oh, Father,’ Deborah exclaimed, kissing Lord Albert softly on the cheek.

‘Well, if you think you can afford to be sentimental in your financial situation, that’s your business,’ Eugene said coldly, ‘but I really don’t think this is the time for soppy nonsense like that.’

‘Eugene!’ Lady Deborah rebuked her fiancé. ‘How can you talk to Father in that tone?’

‘It’s all right, my dear,’ Lord Albert said, waving away her complaint. ‘Maybe he’s right. We really do need every penny we can get. I’ll have a think about the silverware.’

I felt uncomfortable witnessing a family disagreement, and I could tell Jim felt the same, as he’d taken a few discreet steps sideways and was currently pretending to take a closer look at Lord Albert’s collection of weapons.

‘Please excuse our impoliteness,’ Lord Albert said, shaking his head as if his faux pas had surprised even himself. ‘We’ve left you standing around here without tending to your needs.’

‘No need to apologise,’ Jim said. ‘There’s so much to see here, a person could spend hours perusing it all.’

‘You’re very welcome to do just that,’ Lord Albert beamed, seeming pleased at receiving the praise. ‘Where are you staying for the duration of the auction?’

‘We’re planning to get a couple of rooms in a hotel nearby,’ I said. ‘That way, we’ll be close to the action at all times.’

‘In that case, I would like to make a suggestion,’ Lord Albert said. ‘I’d like to invite you both to stay in our home for the next few days as our guests. That way, you will have the opportunity to report on each phase of the auction.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but we don’t wish to impose,’ I protested. ‘I’m sure you have enough on your plate without having to deal with house guests as well.’

‘With all the chaos and activity going on around here, two guests won’t make a lot of difference,’ Lady Deborah laughed. ‘I’d be very glad to have you here with us.’

‘But I must warn you,’ Lord Albert interjected. ‘As I’m sure you’ve already noticed, this building isn’t in the best condition. There are a few things around the house that no longer work the way they should, but if the occasional power outage isn’t enough to scare you off, we’ll be more than happy to prepare two guest rooms for you.’

I cast an uncertain look in Jim’s direction, but he nodded to suggest we should accept the offer.

‘If it won’t be too much bother for you, then we happily accept your offer.’ I was pleased that we were getting this unique opportunity to see behind the curtain of the auction, so to speak.

‘Wonderful,’ Lord Albert said, his face lighting up. ‘Debbie will show you to your rooms, and then I’ll give you a guided tour of my collection personally.’ He winked at me. ‘Though, don’t go thinking I’m doing it for purely selfless reasons. No, this might be my last opportunity to show off my collection...’

***

‘I hope the rooms are to your liking,’ Lord Albert said after we’d unloaded our luggage, freshened up, and returned to the parlour. ‘Unfortunately, it’s been a while since we’ve had guests in this house.’

‘There’s no need to keep apologising,’ I answered with a smile. ‘You can’t begin to imagine the kinds of rooms we’ve had to stay in. But that’s the life of a journalist for you. The rooms here are great.’

‘Having shared a sleeping bag in the great outdoors with at least ten thousand ants, I don’t think I’ll ever complain about lodgings for the rest of my life,’ Jim added.

‘I imagine you must go through quite a lot as journalists,’ Lord Albert said. ‘And no doubt you must find yourself in some very challenging situations indeed.’

‘Challenging, yes, but usually pretty interesting too. Especially when your curiosity is as healthy as mine,’ I laughed. ‘And it’s my curiosity that’s urging me to take a closer look at your collection.’

‘It would be an honour to answer any questions you might have,’ Lord Albert said, stepping to one side and gesturing towards the exhibits. He seemed genuinely happy to be giving us a guided tour of his collection. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of the hoard piled up in front of us. Lord Albert hadn’t specialised in any particular area when putting together his collection, but it was obvious that he had exquisite taste when it came to objets d’art. There were paintings and fine porcelain on one end of the spectrum, and heavy pieces of furniture and every type of weapon imaginable on the other.

‘This represents a long family tradition,’ Lord Albert remarked, beaming with pride after noticing my astonishment at the treasure trove. ‘The Melanson lineage stretches all the way back to the fourteenth century, and even though each generation only contributed a few items, over time, it’s turned into a sizeable collection, as you can see.’

‘Are you saying that every object here has been passed down through the family?’ Jim asked in disbelief.

‘Yes, precisely,’ Lord Albert said, nodding. ‘For example, take a look at this vase.’ He picked up a small, fragile-looking porcelain vase and held it aloft to show us the string of painted flowers snaking around its bulbous body. ‘All done by hand, right down to these intricate calyxes on every flower, which required a super-fine brush to paint. This vase was an engagement present Lady Josephine Melanson received from the Countess of Dorchester in 1866, and only Lady Josephine’s favourite types of flower are depicted on it.’

‘A beautiful piece,’ I said, fascinated by it. ‘Practically priceless, in fact.’

‘In a sense, it is, yes,’ Lord Albert replied. ‘But whether that is reflected in the price it goes for is yet to be seen. Another good example is this candlestick holder—’

‘What’s in that box over there?’ Jim said, interrupting him. He was pointing at a box made of dark wood with elaborate patterns carved into it.

‘Two antique pistols,’ Lord Albert said matter-of-factly.

‘May I see them?’

‘Of course,’ replied Lord Albert. ‘The box isn’t locked.’

Jim carefully opened the wooden box to reveal the two antique pistols inside, their rounded grips adorned with silver and both sporting massive firing pins. They looked as good as new despite their age.

‘They’re very heavy,’ remarked Jim as he carefully weighed one in his hand.

‘You can’t compare them with today’s modern weapons, which are often so small and light they can fit into a lady’s handbag,’ Lord Albert said. ‘These pistols had to be reloaded each time you wanted to fire a shot, and the firing pins had to be pulled back by hand rather than mechanically. Back then, shooting someone was rather a long-winded affair.’

‘Have these pistols been in your family long?’ Jim asked. ‘Is there any particular story surrounding them?’

Lord Albert regarded Jim in silence for a moment. ‘Yes, but it is a very sad one,’ he said finally. ‘Gerald and Edward Melanson were killed by these guns.’

‘They were murdered?’

‘The exact circumstances of their deaths have never been fully determined,’ Lord Albert said, and it was clear he didn’t really enjoy talking about the subject. ‘However, there are a few pieces in my collection that might be of interest to you.’

‘But...’ Jim started, intent on pursuing the matter, but a swift, inconspicuous elbow in the ribs from me made it clear to him that he should pipe down. After all, I didn’t want to risk ruining the friendly reception we’d received by sticking our noses in where they weren’t wanted.

‘Maybe you could show me these interesting objects you’re referring to,’ I suggested. ‘And Jim can find a few items to photograph in the meantime.’

‘What a jolly good idea,’ Lord Albert agreed.

‘No arguments here,’ Jim said with a nod. I’d noticed he’d been getting increasingly fidgety during our tour. He obviously wasn’t much of a listener, so he was more than happy to finally have something to do.

‘I’ll just go grab my equipment quickly,’ he said, before practically sprinting out of the room. ‘Be right back.’

‘Your colleague seems rather energetic,’ Lord Albert said to me after he’d left.

‘You can say that again,’ I said, laughing. ‘You’ll have to be patient with him when it comes to the photographs. Jim’s a master of his craft, which also means he’s a perfectionist, so it might take him a little while to get shots he’s satisfied with...’

***

‘Now I’d like you all to stand next to the table that’s littered with weapons, please.’

Jim directed Lord Albert, his daughter, and her fiancé where to stand from across the room, trying to get them all in the perfect position for his photos.

‘Who would have guessed I would become a model at my age?’ Lord Albert said, somewhat amused by the whole thing. He seemed to be enjoying working with Jim, and I couldn’t help thinking it was probably distracting him from his own gloomy thoughts.

‘Oh, but Papa, you know what they say: true beauty is eternal.’ Even the more youthful Lady Deborah seemed to like working with Jim. As it turned out, she was a passionate amateur photographer herself, and was using this opportunity to ask Jim lots of questions about equipment, exposure times, and all the minutiae that went into getting the perfect shot. Jim was flattered to be asked and gladly answered all of her questions. Only Eugene Hornsby stood around silently with a sullen expression on his face.

‘If you could all stand behind the table, that’d be lovely,’ Jim said. ‘And please don’t look directly into the camera. Act like you’re all mid-conversation — that’s how we get it looking natural. Mr Hornsby, could you scooch to the right a little. Just one step will do. And try to look a little friendlier if you can. I promise we’re nearly done.’

‘I should hope so,’ Hornsby growled. ‘My time is very valuable.’

‘If you’d been a little more cooperative in the first place instead of complaining the whole time, we would have been finished by now,’ Lady Deborah Melanson hissed at him. This wasn’t the first time I’d noticed a certain spikiness in the way the engaged couple spoke to each other; there seemed to be no hint of the usual lovey-doveyness you see with most young couples, but I put this down to it being a particularly difficult time for all of them, so I decided it wasn’t worth reading too much into their irritability.

‘And... smile!’ Jim snapped another picture of them. ‘Thank you. Mr Hornsby, if you could move just a smidge closer to your fiancée...’

I was barely listening to Jim’s directions as I had chills all of a sudden. It was as if the temperature in the parlour had plunged a few degrees without warning and I looked around the room to see why this might be the case, but I could find nothing that might explain this sudden burst of cold air. Even more strangely, no one else in the room seemed to have even noticed. I don’t know what exactly drew my attention to the halberds hanging on the wall directly behind the Melansons in that moment, but as I looked at the ancient weapons, I saw one of them suddenly begin to vibrate before falling off of its fixing, the sharp blade heading straight for Lady Deborah Melanson. In the middle of its downswing, however, the weapon suddenly changed direction.

‘Watch out!’ I screamed.

The halberd missed Eugene Hornsby by a hair and clattered noisily to the ground.

‘Oh, God, are you hurt?’ I asked.

Lord Albert and his daughter were as white as sheets next to Hornsby, who was gingerly feeling his back in disbelief. A startled Jim lowered his camera.

‘I don’t think it got me,’ Eugene Hornsby murmured, but his face told me he was every bit as shaken as the rest of us.

‘You were extremely lucky,’ Lady Deborah whispered, pointing to her fiancé’s jacket — a smooth cut ran down the back of it, cleaving the material clean in two.

‘I’m so very sorry, Eugene,’ Lord Albert said, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I never would have thought the walls were in such bad shape here. You can’t imagine how sorry I am that this happened!’

Hornsby had got over his initial shock by this point and had worked himself up into a rage. ‘This damn thing nearly made mincemeat out of me! No one’s safe in this crumbling shack! The best thing to do would be to tear the whole bleeding place down!’

He stomped across the parlour to the door and slammed it behind him. For a moment, there was an embarrassed silence and, much like it always did, it fell to Jim to break it with his trademark irreverence.

‘Well, guess that means the photoshoot is over,’ he announced with a shrug. ‘This roll of film was full, anyway.’

‘I hope you got all the pictures you wanted,’ Deborah mumbled, still staring at the door her fiancé had marched through. ‘I know Eugene well enough to know he won’t want to do this again in a hurry.’

‘I think I did,’ Jim remarked, scratching his head. ‘Though I won’t know for sure until I’ve developed the film.’

‘If you want, you can use my lab,’ Deborah suggested.

‘Really?’

‘Of course,’ Deborah said. ‘Unfortunately, I haven’t had the time to use my darkroom lately, but I would be more than happy for someone to finally use it again.’

‘Do you mind if I get started right away?’ asked Jim. ‘I’m anxious to see how they turned out.’

‘Sure, we can get to work right now if you want,’ Deborah Melanson laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the way.’ With that, they both left the parlour.

‘I still feel guilty about the halberd,’ Lord Albert admitted when it was just me and him in the room. ‘Eugene could’ve been seriously injured.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said, trying to put the old man’s mind at ease.

‘But just imagine if that had happened during the auction,’ Lord Albert said, as he inspected the wall and the hooks holding up the other weapons. ‘I would never be able to forgive myself if someone got hurt.’

‘It’s best not to dwell on it,’ I suggested. ‘The next few days will be busy enough without mulling over hypotheticals.’

Lord Albert didn’t respond, instead continuing his inspection of the metal hooks.

‘How strange. Miss Bannister, come take a look at this.’

I walked over to where he was standing.

‘Look.’ He tried shaking the hooks on the wall that had held the halberd. ‘The hooks aren’t even loose. They’re firmly fixed to the stonework. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks more like the halberd was removed on purpose.’

‘But that’s not possible,’ I said. ‘Other than us, there was no one else in the room...’

A chill shot up my spine. I decided it was best not to alarm Lord Albert any further by mentioning how I had seen the halberd change direction mid-fall, but something told me I needed to prepare myself for a great deal more mysterious goings-on over the next few days...

***

‘That’s just not possible!’ Jim cried, staring at the image in disbelief as it slowly emerged on the photographic paper in the developing tray. He pulled the negative out of the film tank and held it up to the dim light to examine it. ‘It’s not a developing issue — it’s on the negative!’

He paced uneasily up and down the length of the lab, occasionally glancing over at the freshly developed pictures he’d sorted into two piles. He finally stormed out of the small room and hurried over to where the guest rooms were. The loud banging at my door startled me.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Jim. Can I come in?’ I could tell from his voice that he was anxious.

‘Of course. It’s unlocked.’

As he entered the room, I noticed his blond hair was even messier than usual, and he was nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked. ‘Sit down and tell me what’s bothering you.’

‘No time for that,’ Jim said, shaking his head. ‘I have something I need to show you. Come with me to the darkroom.’ I knew if I asked him any more questions, they’d only fall on deaf ears, so I silently got up and followed him. Once we were in the darkroom, Jim carefully locked the door behind us.

‘Think you might finally see your way to telling me what’s going on?’ I asked.

‘Look at this.’ He handed me a stack of photographs, all of which featured individual pieces from Lord Albert’s collection, and in some, Lord Albert, his daughter, and her fiancé posed next to the antiques.

‘They’re very nice,’ I said. ‘This is why you made me rush down here?’

‘Now look at these.’ Jim handed me another stack of photos, again showing the same items as before, but with one crucial difference. On each of the pictures, two shadows were visible, standing between Lady Deborah Melanson and Eugene Hornsby like translucent figures. The shadows reminded me of the shimmering haze that dances over near-melting tarmac roads on particularly hot summer days — except in this case, the haze was in the shape of two people!

‘What is that?’ I asked in astonishment.

‘I have no idea,’ Jim sighed, half-shrugging.

‘Defect in the film maybe?’ I said.

‘That’s what I thought at first,’ Jim said. ‘But these shadows appear on all three rolls of film, and they’re all different brands, meaning it would be a pretty big coincidence if they all had the same defect.’

‘Maybe something went wrong while developing the film?’ I suggested, though I was sure Jim would already have considered that possibility.

‘Impossible.’ Jim shook his head firmly.

I looked down at the photographs, thoroughly perplexed by the whole thing, but Jim wasn’t done yet. He sprung his next surprise.

‘That’s not all,’ he said, thrusting another photo into my hands. ‘This is the last picture on the roll.’

It showed Lord Albert, Deborah, and Eugene Hornsby standing next to the collection of weapons. The open box with the antique pistols inside was visible on the table, and Deborah was smiling at her father while Eugene Hornsby stood next to her with his arms crossed. Behind all of them were the halberds on the