111 West End

Chapter Thirteen: The Agent

The patch of dead grass had spread to an area approximately six feet by four feet. A blight on the once-perfect lawn. Ben and his gardener stood beside the pond.

"It's certainly a mystery," Jack said with a shrug. "I've not seen this before."

Ben nodded in agreement. Unable to distinguish a flower from a weed, he'd employed Jack fourteen years ago. The old gardener was worth his weight in gold, and Ben appreciated the peace of mind a well-maintained garden brought him.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"It could be tree roots, drawing all the nutrients from the soil. It certainly isn't due to lack of rain."

This was true. It had rained almost every day for six weeks.

"What can we do?" Ben was becoming increasingly concerned. This garden was his last link to Natalie and preserving it was vital.

"I could dig a trench to see if I'm right."

Ben shook his head. "No, no digging. Find another solution."

Jack frowned and scratched his stubbly chin. "I'll do some research and see what I can come up with."

"Fine. Let me know how you get on."

"Aye, I'll be in touch."

Ben watched Jack leave and walked towards the house, trying to disguise his limp. He knocked on the French doors and waited for Mrs Reynolds to open the door.

"Any luck?" Georgie looked beyond Ben to the garden. She didn't greet him in her usual friendly manner. Today there was no warm smile.

"Not yet. I'm sure Jack will nurse the lawn back to health." Ben smiled and continued, "While I'm here, I wanted to ask if Henry has been in touch about the mice."

"No, not yet."

"Would you mind if I look?"

"Of course not. Come in." Georgie stepped back and allowed Ben inside.

"You said you mostly hear the tapping in the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Can you show me?"

"Yes."

Ben followed Georgie into the hall and past the darkest part of the house. He felt the sudden chill and heard the ticking of a grandfather clock.

He managed not to stutter as he said, "What an extraordinary clock. Wherever did you find it?"

Georgie smiled for the first time. "Isn't it splendid? I found it in the antique shop in town, Harker & Sons. As soon as I saw the clock, I knew it was perfect. It's as though it has been here forever."

Ben cringed. Mrs Reynolds was right about the clock.

Georgie continued up the stairs. Ben hesitated at the bottom. His knee still felt unstable from his fall.

Georgie turned to check he was following. "Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing. I tripped in town yesterday, and my right knee took the brunt of my fall. It's causing me some discomfort." The word discomfort was an understatement. It was damn right painful. He'd dosed himself up on ibuprofen, but the stairs at 111 West End were a challenge.

"Can you manage the stairs?"

"Probably." Ben took each step, one at a time, gripping the handrail, and leading with his good leg. At the top of the stairs, Georgie waited beside the portrait of Arthur Bennet.
Ben had the unsettling feeling the good doctor enjoyed his suffering.

Ben and Georgie walked in silence toward the bathroom. Ben couldn't resist snooping as they passed the bedroom at the front of the house. Without asking, he stepped into the room.

His eyes flicked between the beds, the toys, the flowers, and the brass bells.

Georgie stood at the threshold. "What do you think of the room?"

Ben thought Georgie had lost her mind. "It's different."

"I made it nice for the children."

"Mrs Reynolds, I'm confused. What children?"

"The ones who died here. It's the children who tap. They want my attention. They need someone to know... They're here."

Ben should never have mentioned the children. Her delusion was his fault.

"Mrs Reynolds, I've been coming to this house for over fifteen years. I can assure you there are no ghosts."

"You're wrong, Mr Goldman," Georgie shook her head. "I've seen them."

The hair on the back of Ben's neck rose. Not because of the ghosts. But because he'd heard this once before.