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Back The Whistling Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. EPIGRAPH
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. Part Two
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. Part Three
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘There I was stamping round the attic, dust flying up to sting my eyes and spoil my frock.’ Her gaze fixed on mine now. ‘I was filled with the most terrible dread.’ Her hand went to her neck. ‘And then I heard Evangeline upon the stairs and she appeared at the door.’

I was stunned.

‘I thought afterwards that it must have been a servant or a guest – we had so many – but that feeling, it stayed. Not long after, well … there was a …’ She looked at me, doubt hovering in her expression. ‘Not long after the servants talked of a ghost walking that part of the house.’

She knew. She too knew that the dead could return. ‘Are you saying you thought what they said was true? Iskar was haunted?’

She hesitated, playing with the bracelet on her wrist, then looked at me slyly. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts, Elspeth. There are no such things.’ But behind her look there was a shadow of fear.

‘Whose ghost was it said to be?’

‘It was very sad. Tragic. I’m surprised that you have not heard already. The island loves a good tale. One of the servants, a scullery maid, fell from a window. It was most unfortunate. It was her they said had returned.’

The room grew still, the hairs on my neck pricked awake.

‘Accident? Murder?’

‘Your thoughts are too ghoulish. It was an accident.’

She leaned over and topped up both our glasses. I did not refuse. I welcomed anything to numb the creeping dread of night. The fire cracked and a handful of rain hit the panes, sending out a thin rattle. The whisky worked its way hotly down my throat.

‘Who was the servant?’ I asked finally.

Her voice grew sober. ‘It was Greer’s mother,’ she said.

Greer’s mother? Greer with her solid antipathy – the way she moved as if heavy with bad feeling. It made sense, however, of the strange loyalty and affection that Miss Gillies showed her. How much guilt and responsibility might Miss Gillies feel if Greer’s mother had died within Iskar’s walls?

Miss Gillies leaned towards me, her pupils huge and black. ‘I thought I heard that whistle again recently. But see, I am letting my imagination walk too freely, as the servants did. It will be just one more loose tile among a thousand.’ But as she rose her face was ashen. ‘And now you must excuse me. It’s been an exhausting day.’

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