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“B below middle C.”
“Really? I wouldn't know. It used to give Grandfather theheebie-jeebies, but my guess is it's nothing more than the pianostretching and contracting with changes of temperature.”
They reached the top of the slope and Tichborne pointed to thesurrounding land.
“All these wheat and barley fields are part of the estate, up tothat line of trees, there. The houses yonder form the hamlet ofTichborne, which is mostly occupied by the families who work ourland. As you can see, the estate is on a shallow slope that runsdown into the Itchen Valley and the river. Over there-” he pointednortheastward “-is the village of Alresford.”
They continued on along the top border of the Crawls then turnedat the corner and started back down toward the mansion. When theypassed into the bottom field, Burton stopped and walked out intothe crop.
“What are you doing?” Tichborne asked.
“Wait a moment.”
Burton pushed the end of his cane into the loamy soil thenleaned on it with his full weight. It sank into the soft earthuntil the soil's resistance stopped it.
Swinburne said: “Anything?”
“No.”
“What were you expecting?” asked Tichborne.
“I don't know. I'm convinced there's something under these twofields. I thought perhaps the end of my cane might encounter rockor brickwork.”
“Wheat roots can reach a depth of almost four feet,” the baronetsaid, “so the soil here is deep; too deep for your stick to touchthe bottom, if there is one.”
Burton withdrew his cane, wiped a handkerchief along its length,and returned to the edge of the field.
They made their way down to the carriageway.
“I'd like to see your swans,” Tichborne said. “Would you care tostroll around to the lake with me?”
“Certainly,” Burton agreed.
As they walked, the king's agent cast sidelong glances at thearistocrat. Sir Alfred's mood seemed strange; he was touring hisestate with what appeared to be a sense of finality, as if he weresaying goodbye to his ancestral home. Burton's intuition told himthat this was more than the baronet's reaction to his supposedbrother's imminent arrival-something else was bothering him.
“I expect you'll be somewhat relieved to see the Claimanttomorrow,” he said. “After all these weeks, you'll finally set eyeson the man, and will, at least, know one way or the other.”
“Yes, perhaps so,” Tichborne answered, with a distractedair.
He fell into a self-absorbed silence They circled the lake thenreturned to the house with barely another word spoken.
By suppertime, despite that the rooms were brightly lit withcamphor lamps and mole candles, an ominous atmosphere had settledover the house. Sir Alfred sat at the di
Conversation was desultory and sporadic, and the men ate withlittle enthusiasm, though the food was excellent.
“Your Mrs. Picklethorpe works wonders,” Swinburne commentedafter a long and uncomfortable silence.
“She does,” Sir Alfred answered, with a slight slur. “TheTichborne pantries have always enjoyed the reputation of being thebest stocked in all of Hampshire, and she certainly does justice totheir contents.”
Burton froze with a forkful of beef half raised to hismouth.
“Richard?” Swinburne enquired, puzzled by his friend'sexpression.
Burton lowered the fork. “Do you think I might see the kitchenand pantries at some point?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Tichborne. “Why? Do you take an interest incooking?”
“Not at all. It's the architecture of the house that fascinatesme.”
“The cook and her staff will be cleaning up now, after whichit'll be a little late. What say you we go down there tomorrowmorning before the Claimant shows up?”
“Thank you.”
They finished eating.
Tichborne stood and swayed slightly.
“I'd much appreciate a few rounds of billiards,” he said. “Willyou gentlemen join me?”
“Sir Alfred-” Doctor Jankyn began, but the baronet stopped himwith a sharp gesture.
“Don't fuss, Jankyn. I'm perfectly fine. Join us.”
They repaired to the billiard room. Hawkins began a game withSwinburne and was surprised to find the poet a formidableopponent.
Bogle served port and sweet sherry.
Lushington put a flame to a meerschaum pipe, and Jankyn lit abriar, while Burton, Hawkins, and Tichborne all opted for cigars.Within minutes, the room was thick with a blue haze of tobaccosmoke.
“By golly, it's a veritable drubbing!” the lawyer exclaimed asSwinburne potted three balls in quick succession.
“If only you were as accurate with a pistol!” Burton whisperedto his friend.
“To be perfectly honest,” Swinburne replied, gri
He won the game against Hawkins, then played Colonel Lushingtonand beat him, too.
Sir Alfred took up a cue. “I'll be the next lamb to theslaughter,” he a
As Burton watched, he became aware that he was feeling oddlyapprehensive, and when he looked at the others’ faces, he could seethey were experiencing the same sensation: the inexplicablepresentiment that something was going to happen.
He shook himself and emptied his glass in a single swallow.
“Another port, please, Bogle.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“You might open the window a crack, too. It's like a Londonpea-souper in here.”
“I would, sir, but it's worse outside.”
“Worse? What do you mean?”
“It's the mist, sir. It's risen unusually high tonight-quitesuddenly, too. Right up to the second storey of the house, andthicker than I've ever seen it.”
Burton crossed to the window and drew aside the curtain. Theroom was brilliantly reflected in the glass, and he could make outnothing beyond. Twisting the catch open, he drew up the sash alittle, bent over, and peered through the gap. A solid wall ofwhite vapour collapsed inward and began to pour over the sill andinto the room.
Hurriedly, he closed the window and pulled the curtain acrossit.
Behind him, the room fell silent.
A glass hit the floor and shattered.
He turned.
Swinburne, Lushington, Hawkins, Jankyn, Tichborne, and Boglewere all standing motionless. Even through the blue haze, he couldsee that the blood had drained from their faces. They were staringwide-eyed at a corner of the room.
Burton followed their gaze.
There was a woman there-or, rather, a column of denser tobaccosmoke that had taken on the form of a thickset, heavy-hippedfemale.
She raised a nebulous arm and pointed a tendril-like finger atSir Alfred Tichborne. Black eyes glared from her head.
Tichborne shrieked and backed away until he was pressed againstthe wall, banging into a rack of billiard cues which clatterednoisily to the floor.
“Lady Mabella!” he moaned.
To either side of him, the haze suddenly congealed, forming twoghostly, indistinct, top-hatted figures. They wrapped transparentfingers around his arms.
“Bloody hell!” Hawkins breathed.
Bogle let loose a piercing scream, dropped to his knees, andcovered his eyes.
“For God's sake, help me!” Tichborne wailed.
Before any of the men could move, the wraiths had dragged thebaronet across the room. Lady Mabella surged forward, wrapped herswirling arms around him, and plunged through the door, taking himwith her. The door didn't open, nor did it smash; the ghostlywoman, wraiths, and man simply disappeared through the wood as ifit were nothing but an illusion.
A muffled cry came from the corridor beyond: “Save me! Oh,Christ! They mean to kill me!”
“After him!” Burton barked, breaking the spell that hadimmobilised them all.
In three long strides, he reached the door and wrenched it openin time to see Tichborne being hauled through another at the farend of the passage. Again, the flesh-and-blood baronet passedstraight through the portal without it opening or breaking.