Emma Vernon's Northminster Ghost Stories (The Northminster Mysteries) by Harriet Smart & Julian Smart

Author:Harriet Smart & Julian Smart [Smart, Harriet]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Anthemion
Published: 2021-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

~

I was satisfied with Mr Hazelton’s promise, and for two nights, my sleep was uninterrupted. But it did not last, and the noise recommenced; once again, the rattling stopped when I entered the study. I was tempted to find the key and check the office’s windows myself, but the deeds, and indeed the laws of the land, were very specific: only a dire emergency would allow uninvited ingress to the other property.

So I found myself in Mr Hazelton’s office again, in a worse mood than previously.

“I’m not sure your clerks have quite understood about the windows, sir – the door is being moved by draughts again. Can you please take urgent action, for the sake of my sanity?”

Mr Hazelton sighed. “I’m so sorry to hear it. I will of course be most diligent. But I am the last to leave, and I have been making a nightly check of the windows. They have all been tightly secured, and so cannot have been opened, at least not by our hands.”

“By your hands, sir? Whose hands could they otherwise be?”

Mr Hazelton shrugged, and looked a little uncomfortable. “You are right. No other mortal hands could be implicated – only I and a trusted colleague have access to keys. And he has been away on business.”

I found his manner of speaking most peculiar. Mortal hands? But then, he was a solicitor. Such creatures can be relied upon to use fifty words when ten would suffice.

We agreed that we would engage a carpenter to make good the door, so that breezes and open windows would be of no consequence.

The repair having been effected, my slumbers were blissfully uninterrupted – for three nights. And then, in the small hours of the fourth night, I was awoken by a horrible hammering at the connecting door. I could not believe it, and I swore as heartily as any pugnacious sailor at Tweedmouth docks. In a fury, I flung on my gown, lit a candle, and stomped into my study. Unlike before, the banging continued when I entered.

“What the devil is it?” I shouted. “Why in God’s name are you beating at this door? Answer me, damn you! ANSWER!”

But there was no acknowledgement, just more energetic hammering on the other side.

I tried to think what I should do next, and had to go back into my bedroom and pace up and down to order my thoughts. I could fetch the key and open the door – surely this met the legal criteria for an emergency – but what if the person on the other side had ill intentions? The fact that he did not answer me was sinister. It was clear that he did not want to reveal his identity. And the fact that he did not possess a key to open the door meant that he was an intruder. No, opening the door was too dangerous.

I would need to report this to the Berwick Constabulary; but first, I would talk to Mr Hazelton once more. I had

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