“I don’t,” Ellen said immediately. “I want to hear all these awful stories, about what our ancestors did.”

  “No, you don’t,” Marion said firmly. “You have homework.”

  Ellen scowled. “Hate home schooling.”

  “You have to do the work, if you want to get into a good university,” Marion said sternly.

  “I’m still thinking about that,” said Ellen.

  “No, you’re not,” said Marion. “It’s been decided.”

  Ellen looked to her father, but he was deliberately staring in another direction and keeping out of it. Marion bustled her daughter out of the lobby, and up the stairs. Arthur gave me a What can you do? look and went after them.

  “Families,” said Catherine. “Makes me glad I decided never to have one. Follow me, my dears, and let the enlightenment begin. No. Wait a minute...”

  She swept over to take a stern look at the historical display next to the reception desk. Penny and I waited patiently while Catherine carefully studied every detail. In the end she dismissed the entire affair with a loud disparaging sniff, like a bank teller who’d just been handed a three-pound note.

  “Can’t say I think much of this....The farm implements date from entirely the wrong period, and the maps are all to do with the Monmouth rebellion. No one knows what plans Lord Ravensbrook had in mind for his campaign against King James’ army. Something a bit more professional than Monmouth, one would hope.” She paused, to run a grudging eye over the dummy. “At least the outfit is an accurate representation of what Ravensbrook was wearing, on the day he disappeared.”

  “How can you be sure?” said Penny.

  “Oh, there are detailed contemporary accounts of what Ravensbrook was wearing when he left London,” said Catherine. “He was quite the famous dandy, in his day.”

  “I thought he was supposed to be travelling incognito,” I said. “So he wouldn’t be recognised by the king’s agents?”

  Catherine shook her head sadly. “He was a lord. There was probably a limit to how far he could allow himself to hide his light under a bushel.”

  “What kind of man was Ravensbrook?” said Penny.

  “Ambitious,” said Catherine. “Admired, more than liked. And a man who fancied himself more of a soldier than a politician. He deserved a better end than he got...but of course, that’s true for a lot of the people who disappeared at Glenbury Hall.”

  She squared her shoulders, turned her back on the display, and headed for the front door. Penny and I exchanged a look and went after her.

  Outside, the sun was sinking down in the sky and the light was going out of the day. The Hall and its towering topiary walls shed lengthening shadows across the grounds. The dimming light gave the scattered statues an even more sinister aspect, their inclining heads suggesting they weren’t just watching and listening, but taking an active interest. Catherine ignored them, striding briskly across the grounds until she’d gone far enough that she could turn around and take in the entire Hall with one look. Penny and I took up positions on either side of the old lady, and we all studied the house with critical eyes.

  Glenbury Hall appeared even more grim and foreboding in the lowering gloom, a lurking presence with nothing of home or hearth about it. More like somewhere you would only visit for a specific purpose, and then hurry away from. While nursing a suspicion that you’d got out just in time. But even allowing for the impression it made, I still couldn’t see anything obviously dangerous or threatening about the Hall.

  Penny stirred uncomfortably. “We have been to some spooky places in our time, Ishmael...but there’s something disturbing about Glenbury Hall. It feels like just by being here we’ve walked into a trap, and something hiding in the shadows is grinning all over its face and rubbing its hands together...”

  I looked at her, over Catherine’s head. “I’m not feeling anything like that. It’s just an ugly house with an ugly reputation.”

  “The Hall was built to very specific instructions, by the original Glenburys,” said Catherine. “They wanted a house no one but them would want to live in, and no one else would dare approach.”

  I nodded solemnly. “I would have to say they succeeded.”

  “I have very fond memories of my time here, when I was younger,” Catherine said wistfully. “Paul and Mary, Arthur’s parents, used to throw parties you wouldn’t believe. Such good times...”

  “Just looking at the place gives me the shivers,” said Penny. “It’s like the architect had a nightmare, and then inflicted it on the world. I can’t believe Arthur and Marion really thought a place like this would attract visitors.”

  “That’s probably why they started with a group of historians already obsessed with the Hall,” I said. “If they gave the place good reviews, others might follow.”

  “History isn’t supposed to be comfortable,” said Catherine.

  I looked at her thoughtfully. “Why did you decide to write a book about the Hall, and the Glenburys?”

  “Because there was so much fascinating material,” Catherine said immediately.

  “What was your book called?” said Penny.

  Catherine had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “The House with Its Roots in Hell. My publishers insisted.”

  “Do you believe all the ghost stories that have accumulated around Glenbury Hall?” I said.

  Catherine shot me a surprisingly serious look. “If enough people tell you something is true, you’d have to be a damned fool to disbelieve them.”

  Penny turned her gaze away from the Hall and scowled balefully at the closest statues.

  “There’s something odd about these figures,” she said. “It feels like they were put here for a purpose. And that if we did anything to oppose it, they’d come alive and rise up...”

  “If one of them even looks at you funny,” I said, “I will punch its stone head right off.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing interesting about these statues,” said Catherine. “The original family bought them as a job lot, because if you lived in a mansion house you had to have statues in your grounds. It was expected of you.”

  “So you don’t have any idea who they’re supposed to be?” I said.

  “They’re not meant to be anybody,” Catherine said patiently. “Though of course, there are stories...”

  “I had a feeling there might be,” I said.

  “What kind of stories?” said Penny.

  Catherine smiled knowingly. “Some say that on certain nights, when the moon is full and the wind blows out of the east, the statues come creeping forward to peer in through the windows and see what the people are doing.”

  “Okay,” said Penny. “That is spooky.”

  “But unlikely,” I said.

  “Forget the statues,” said Catherine. “Concentrate on the Hall.”

  The sun was setting behind the house now, surrounding the entire building with a halo of curdled golden light. The dark windows stared back at us like so many unblinking eyes, and the Hall seemed to crouch like some great beast lying in wait. I decided very firmly that I was letting my imagination get the better of me.

  “Isn’t it marvellous?” Catherine said cheerfully, clutching her carpet bag to her. “Still standing firm after all these centuries, despite decades of being left empty and abandoned.”

  “How did that happen?” I said.

  “Arthur’s parents were killed in a car crash,” said Catherine. “Very sad, but somewhat inevitable given the way his father drove. Paul always aimed his car like he expected everyone else to get out of his way, until finally he met someone who drove the same way he did.”

  “Why did you become a substitute aunt to Arthur?” Penny said artlessly.

  “Because he needed one,” said Catherine. “Sometimes it seemed like I was the only one in that house who had any time for him. And perhaps I felt a little guilty, that I was having such a good time partying when he was so alone. I never wanted children of my own, but the two of us seemed to suit each other. Until I had to go away.”

  “Why was that?” said Penny. “Did something happen?”

  “It was just time for me to leave,” said Catherine. She stuffed her carpet bag under one arm, in a firm and emphatic way that said she was about to change the subject and didn’t want any arguments. “Arthur was working in London when his parents died. I contacted him, to ask what he wanted to do now he was master of Glenbury Hall. He said, Let it rot. And so the Hall was left to its own devices. Normally you’d expect that kind of neglect to result in broken windows, graffiti on the walls, and local teenagers breaking in to steal what they could and generally trash the place...But not Glenbury Hall. No one from the town, or even the adjoining towns, wanted anything to do with a house they’d spent their whole lives being warned against.”

  “People are that scared of the Hall?” said Penny.

  “Oh yes,” said Catherine. “And with good reason.”

  “Does the house really eat people?” I said.

  Catherine surprised me then, with a quick bark of laughter. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but yes, you could say that. Certainly the Hall has a long history of taking people who don’t take it seriously enough.”

  “Why?” I said.

  Catherine shrugged easily. “Depends which story you believe. I’d say the Hall does what it does...because it can.”

  “It’s creeping the hell out of me,” said Penny.

  “And you don’t creep easily,” I said.

  “Damn right I don’t,” said Penny.

  “So what is it about the Hall that’s getting to you?” I said.

  She took her time answering. “I’m not sure. Maybe just a feeling that if everyone else is so scared, there must be a good reason for it. And the way those gargoyles are looking at us really isn’t helping.”

  “Those aren’t gargoyles, dear,” said Catherine.

  I gave her a stern look. “If you are about to tell us they are actually members of the Glenbury family suffering under a curse, and that they come to life at night and wander around the roof...then you and I are about to have a serious falling out.”

  “What a marvellous imagination you have!” said Catherine. “Of course they don’t come to life! If they did, I would have heard about it. And the statues don’t move around either, so you can stop peeking at them out of the corners of your eyes, Ms. Belcourt. I simply meant that figures like those on the roof are only called gargoyles if their mouths form part of the guttering. Otherwise, they are more properly referred to as grotesques.”

  “Let’s talk about Lord Ravensbrook,” I said. “What happened, when he arrived here?”

  “This much is history,” said Catherine. “He came to the Hall alone, on horseback, with no guards or retainers. Which was unusual as well as brave, in those turbulent times.”

  “Why would he travel alone?” said Penny.

  “The most common explanation is that he was hoping to pass unnoticed by the king’s agents,” said Catherine. “He didn’t know he’d already been betrayed, the poor dear.”

  “Do we know who gave him up?” I said.

  “No one ever admitted anything,” said Catherine. “Most likely it was one of the Glenburys, who didn’t want the family involved in a new rebellion. Or it could have been one of Ravensbrook’s contacts at Court. A lot of the nobility distrusted James, but still didn’t want to risk plunging the country into another civil war. The general feeling among the movers and shakers of that time was that Ravensbrook was too ambitious for everyone else’s good.”

  “Does anyone know what happened after he entered Glenbury Hall?” I said.

  “No,” said Catherine. “Every member of the Glenbury family swore they never saw Ravensbrook inside their home. The only record we have comes from servants working in the grounds, who saw Ravensbrook arrive.”

  “What about servants inside the Hall?” I said.

  “They all swore they were somewhere else at the time,” said Catherine.

  “If the Glenburys were so famously evil,” I said, “and the Hall was such a scary place...how were they able to attract so many servants?”

  “Like calls to like,” said Catherine. “And evil calls to evil. Anyway, all we can be sure of is that on that fateful day, Lord Ravensbrook walked through the front door into Glenbury Hall...and was never seen again.”

  “All right,” I said. “Tell us about the timeslip. The gathering of people from the past who were seen in the grounds, back in the fifties.”

  “Ah yes,” Catherine said happily. “I’ve always been fascinated by that story. Even though there isn’t a shred of evidence to back it up, just the testimony of two very ordinary women who had no reason to lie.”

  “Did you ever talk to them?” said Penny.

  “No, dear,” Catherine said patiently. “I was a child, back in the fifties. By the time I was old enough to think about tracking them down, it was too late. They’d had enough of being mocked by the media, so they just retired from public view and refused to talk to anybody.”

  “Do you believe them?” I said.

  Catherine took her time, considering her response. “The details in their written account were surprisingly accurate. There were none of the usual discrepancies you’d expect from someone who hadn’t studied the period. I suppose it’s always possible they did their homework, before making it all up. But that brings us back to the question, why would they? Neither of them made any attempt to profit from what they’d seen. Other people did that.”

  “What would a crowd of people have been doing here?” I said. “At such an infamous location?”

  Catherine grinned. “The Glenburys have always been famous for the parties they throw.”

  “But if the family was so notorious,” I said, “why would anyone want to party with them?”

  “The allure of evil?” said Catherine. “I’m sure some people came just to find out whether the stories were true. Others, because there was money and patronage to be had, for those who made the right kind of impression. And of course, the Glenburys always had the finest tobaccos and brandies, and all the other luxuries that had been taxed out of the grasp of most people. It was said that the Glenburys set the best table and had the best cellar outside the Royal Court. But in the end...I’d say people came here because like calls to like, and they were captivated by the thought of sinning on the same scale as the Glenburys.”

  “But what was it the Glenburys did, that was so awful?” I said.

  Catherine frowned, choosing her words carefully. “The Glenburys handed the torch of corruption down from generation to generation, each one encouraging the next to do more. But you have to understand: no specific charge was ever made against any of them. Either because people were too frightened to speak out, or because the family had them silenced. It wasn’t just the Hall that made people disappear. All we have are pamphlets, broadsheets, and books condemning the Glenburys, always anonymous, and only ever hinting at the really juicy stuff. Officially, the Glenburys were above reproach, and rich and powerful enough to ensure they stayed that way.”

  “So what did they do, in the juicy version?” Penny said patiently.

  “Diabolism, human sacrifice, and all manner of depravity,” Catherine said calmly. “The Glenburys were so far above the law they could look down on it. But to be fair...if they’d done everything they were accused of doing, they wouldn’t have had time for anything but sinning.”

  “Human sacrifice?” I said. “Like with the old pagan site?”

  “You know about that?” said Catherine.

  “Not as much as you, obviously,” said Penny.

  “Throughout the history of this area,” Catherine said slowly, “people claim to have heard a voice, singing and calling. First from the shrine, and later from the well. A siren song, that would draw people here against their will, to throw themselves in.”

  She strode over to the well, and Penny and I went with her. Catherine tutted disapprovingly at the new sign.

  “I told Marion this was a bad idea, but she always has to go her own way. Never a good idea, at Glenbury Hall. The Devil is not mocked...”

  “The Devil?” I said.

  Catherine shrugged quickly. “Or whatever might once have lurked at the bottom of the well. Stories about the original shrine go back so far they were written in Latin. The Christian Church finally appropriated the spring, so they could claim its miracle cures as their own. But still the stories about the siren song persisted...”

  Penny leaned over the stone wall, bracing herself on her elbows so she could peer down into the darkness. “It doesn’t look dangerous now.”

  “Perhaps not, dear,” said Catherine, “but I wouldn’t risk upsetting whatever might still be down there, with something as frivolous as a wish.”

  “Too late,” I said.

  “Oh dear,” said Catherine. “Never mind. Perhaps it wasn’t listening.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the well?” I said.

  Catherine looked at me. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Why weren’t the Glenburys scared of the monster?” said Penny.

  “Because the Glenburys were monsters,” said Catherine. “I suppose it’s possible they thought they could use the well’s reputation to keep the local people at bay, so no one would find out what they were getting up to out here.” She smiled familiarly at the Hall. “If those walls could talk...they’d probably scream.”

  “Do you know anything about the demon that’s supposed to be imprisoned underneath the Hall?” I said. “Could it be connected to whatever was at the bottom of the well?”

  “We are leaving history behind now, and moving into legend,” said Catherine. “No one has ever reported a direct sighting of this demon...though there was supposed to be a portrait hanging somewhere in the Hall, of a member of the family who wasn’t entirely human. Many years later, when I heard Paul and Mary had started selling off their paintings, I did make a few discreet enquiries, but nothing of the kind ever turned up at the auction houses. Despite a lot of enquiries from certain interested parties.”