The House on Widows Hill Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Also by Simon R. Green

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Invitation to a Haunting

  Chapter Two: It Isn’t Just a House

  Chapter Three: Somebody Dies

  Chapter Four: Unexpected Voices

  Chapter Five: Things Seen and Unseen

  Chapter Six: What’s in the Cellar?

  Chapter Seven: Death by Unnatural Causes

  Chapter Eight: A Few Last Revelations

  Also by Simon R. Green

  The Ishmael Jones mysteries

  THE DARK SIDE OF THE ROAD *

  DEAD MAN WALKING *

  VERY IMPORTANT CORPSES *

  DEATH SHALL COME *

  INTO THE THINNEST OF AIR *

  MURDER IN THE DARK *

  TILL SUDDEN DEATH DO US PART *

  NIGHT TRAIN TO MURDER *

  The Secret History series

  PROPERTY OF A LADY FAIRE

  FROM A DROOD TO A KILL

  DR DOA

  MOONBREAKER

  NIGHT FALL

  The Nightside series

  JUST ANOTHER JUDGEMENT DAY

  THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UNCANNY

  A HARD DAY’S KNIGHT

  THE BRIDE WORE BLACK LEATHER

  * available from Severn House

  THE HOUSE ON WIDOWS HILL

  Simon R. Green

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First world edition published 2020

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2021 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2020 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2020 by Simon R. Green.

  The right of Simon R. Green to be identified

  as the author of this work has been asserted

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs &

  Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-9030-6 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-721-7 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0442-4 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described

  for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are

  fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  Call me Ishmael. Ishmael Jones.

  In 1963, something new came into the world. From out of the sea of stars, a single lost vessel came howling down through the night skies, its stardrive failing and its superstructure on fire. It crashed in a Wiltshire field, far from anywhere, and the impact killed all of its crew but one. The sole survivor had to be changed by the ship’s transformation machines, rewritten as human so it could walk the Earth, unnoticed, until help came. But the machines were damaged in the crash, and they wiped all memories of who and what I used to be, before I was human. I don’t even remember where my ship buried itself.

  Help never came. I spent decades wandering the Earth as a human among humans, learning by observing, struggling to fit in. I might have thought it was all nothing but a dream or a delusion, except that I haven’t aged a day since 1963. I’ve worked for one underground group after another down the years, because only they possess the necessary resources to hide me from an increasingly suspicious world. Now I work for the Organization, investigating weird cases and strange happenings, in return for guaranteed anonymity.

  I should know better than to let anyone get close to me, but these days I have a partner-in-crime, the lovely Penny Belcourt. Because, after all, I’m only human. Together we uncover mysteries, protect people from all manner of unnatural threats and solve the occasional murder.

  On the outskirts of the city of Bath, there is a house that no one dares turn their back on. Set high on top of Widows Hill, Harrow House stands alone. Back in Victorian times, something very bad happened there, and the horror of it still lingers. Abandoned for decades, because no one can stand to live in it, Harrow House is not nearly as empty as it should be.

  I suppose it’s only fitting that a haunted house should end up being investigated by a man haunted by his own past.

  ONE

  Invitation to a Haunting

  It was the morning after the case before. A politician had been murdered in a toilet locked from the inside, on a moving train, and the suspects involved too many people with secrets and a psychic assassin who wasn’t even there. Business as usual, in my line of work. Penny and I found the killer, and handed him over to the authorities when the train arrived at Bath, but by then it was too late to get a train back to London, so we had to spend the night at a hotel.

  The Celtic Crown Hotel must have known better days, but I would have been hard pressed to say when. Still, when you arrive around midnight without a reservation or luggage, you have to take what you can get.

  Penny and I slept in so late the next morning that when we finally went down for breakfast, the dining area was completely deserted. The staff apparently had more important things to do than wait on us, or even look in occasionally to make sure we weren’t stealing the cutlery, so Penny and I just helped ourselves to whatever was left on the hotplates.

  I rarely feel up to anything more daunting than a cup of exceedingly black coffee first thing, and I watched with quiet awe as Penny loaded up her plate with a generous sampling of everything on offer. Sausage, bacon, eggs, baked beans, mushrooms and waffles – not so much the Full English as the complete Death by Cholesterol.

  Even though all the tables were empty, I’d made a point of choosing one right in the middle of the room, just to make sure no one could sneak up on us without my noticing. The price of security is endless paranoia. I sat quietly, nursing my coffee and waiting for the rest of me to wake up, while Penny attacked the most important meal of her day with cheerful enthusiasm.

  She looked really good for someone who’d had to make do with the tiny bottles of generic soap and shampoo supplied by the hotel. A bright young woman with dramatic features, Penny possessed a trim figure, far too much energy for her own good, and a mass of dark hair piled up on top of her head. Her stylish dress of black and white squares currently looked more than a little crumpled, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. She caught me studying her and flashed me a dazzling smile.

  ‘I know you don’t approve of my choice in breakfasts, darling, but I need to prime the pump a little before I can get stuck into my day.’

  ‘I’m just amazed you could p
ile so much on to one plate,’ I said. ‘That’s not a meal; it’s the leaning tower of sudden heart failure.’

  ‘Given how much the hotel is charging us for our cramped and not even a little bit cosy room, with grey bed sheets and noisy plumbing, I think we’re entitled to make the most of our complimentary breakfast,’ said Penny. ‘Once I’m done with this, I’m going back to check out the cereals and pick up one of every fruit juice they’ve got.’

  ‘You’ll end up rumbling all morning,’ I said severely. ‘And then want to nap all afternoon.’

  She shrugged easily. ‘What does it matter? The case is over, and we’re on our own time.’ And then she stopped and looked at me speculatively. ‘I know all of this is bad for me, but do you have to worry about things like blocked arteries?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘You can’t live as long as I have without aging and not suspect the transformation machines made a few improvements on the basic model. My system doesn’t even notice things like cholesterol or sugar, and alcohol has never had any effect on me.’

  Penny frowned as she stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork before it could get away. ‘If the machines made you human so you could fit in, why did they introduce changes that would be bound to make you stand out?’

  ‘I’ve always assumed the machines were damaged in the crash,’ I said.

  Penny chewed slowly. ‘Unless they did it deliberately.’

  ‘Why would they want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps you should ask the other crash survivor.’

  For most of my life I’d believed I was the only one to walk away from the fallen starship, but as a reward for solving our last case in record time, a psychic called Mr Nemo (literally Mr Nobody) had given my memories a nudge and helped me remember that there was another.

  My life can get a little weird sometimes, but I’ve learned to roll with the punches.

  ‘There are a great many things I plan on asking,’ I said, ‘when I finally track them down. Probably starting with why they’ve never once reached out to me since we became separated in 1963.’

  ‘All the years you’ve lived,’ said Penny, ‘all the things you’ve done, the people you’ve helped and the monsters you’ve faced down … It makes my life feel so small, and limited. You walk through the world untouched because you’re stronger than anything in it. Everything else just breaks against you.’

  ‘Not everything,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen the scars. What brought this on, all of a sudden?’

  ‘How long do you expect to live, Ishmael?’ Penny said bluntly. ‘How many more years do you think you have in you? How many more than me? You might not age, but I do. What happens when I’m old, and you’re … still you?’

  ‘I have no idea how long I might live,’ I said steadily. ‘How could I? But … human is as human does. All that matters is that I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with you. However long that turns out to be.’

  Penny smiled suddenly. ‘You say the sweetest things, darling. If I push you hard enough.’

  She attacked her breakfast with renewed enthusiasm while I concentrated on my coffee, thinking my own thoughts. Discovering I wasn’t the only one like me in this world had come as something of a shock. If I couldn’t trust my earliest memories, what else might I be wrong about? I was sure I was alone when I stumbled away from the crash site, struggling to come to terms with who I suddenly was. So why had my fellow changeling chosen to abandon me?

  Finally, Penny cleared her plate, pushed it away and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

  ‘How much do you remember about the second crash survivor, Ishmael?’

  I wasn’t surprised to find her thoughts had been following mine. That’s what makes us such good partners.

  ‘I don’t remember their face, or even whether they were male or female. I don’t know how we got separated after we left the ship, or why they left me to make my own way in this world for so many years.’

  ‘Maybe they were as confused as you,’ said Penny. ‘And then … couldn’t find you again afterwards.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Or perhaps they actually tracked me down long ago and made themselves a part of my life without saying anything, so they could watch over me until I did remember.’

  Penny sat up straight, her eyes widening. ‘You think they might be someone you already know? Why wouldn’t they have revealed themselves?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  Penny frowned. ‘What if they’ve been keeping their distance for a purpose? What if they remember something that you need to be protected from?’

  ‘Then I need to know what that is,’ I said.

  We both broke off and looked round, as the door to the dining area slammed open and a tall, imposing presence came striding in. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a gleaming shaven head and skin so dark it had blue highlights, he wore a smart pinstripe suit, white leather gloves and a yellow silk cravat. He was also carrying a large briefcase and heading straight for Penny and me.

  ‘Who is that?’ said Penny. ‘Do you know him, Ishmael?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But it looks like he knows us. Which is not the way things are supposed to be.’

  The newcomer favoured us with a warm and convivial smile as he drew nearer, but it didn’t even come close to touching his eyes. I didn’t need to see any ID to know he was one of us. One secret operative can always recognize another; it’s something in the way we look at the world, as though we know something no one else does. And usually things no one else would want to know.

  I glanced unobtrusively around, checking out how far it was to the other exits, just in case things turned suddenly unpleasant, and so that I could be sure no one else was trying to sneak up on Penny and me while we were distracted.

  ‘He’s doing his best to look friendly, but I’m not buying it,’ said Penny. ‘He’s a big man, sweetie; could you take him?’

  ‘Probably,’ I said. ‘Depends what he has in that briefcase.’

  ‘All right; you knock him over and I’ll kick him while he’s down.’

  ‘You are a bad influence on me.’

  ‘Everything I know, I learned from watching you and taking notes.’

  ‘Good to know you were paying attention,’ I said.

  ‘He must be able to hear what we’re saying,’ said Penny. ‘But he’s still heading our way. Which isn’t at all ominous. Any idea who this person might be?’

  ‘I recognize the casual arrogance,’ I said. ‘Clearly an officer type. I wonder who he works for?’

  ‘And why he’s come here to bother us on our day off,’ said Penny.

  The big man never stopped smiling as he wended his way through the maze of tables to join us. He finally came to a halt and inclined his head courteously. ‘A very good morning to the both of you, Mr Ishmael Jones and Ms Penny Belcourt! I have the honour to represent the Organization. You may call me Mr Whisper.’

  His voice was quiet, little more than a harsh murmur. Some people don’t put nearly enough thought into their code names. I eased my chair back from the table, so it wouldn’t get in the way if I found it necessary to get to my feet in a hurry. In most fights, it pays to be the one who thinks ahead.

  ‘I only talk to the Colonel,’ I said coldly. ‘He is my sole point of contact with the Organization. That was the agreement when I first joined.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the Colonel is not currently available,’ said Whisper.

  ‘How very convenient,’ I said.

  ‘Not particularly, no,’ said Whisper. ‘But if you would care to consider how your last case ended, with all its various security implications, you’ll understand why he’s found it necessary to go off the grid and under the radar for a while. I am here in his place, to discuss a matter of some little urgency.’

  I studied him thoughtfully. ‘You’ll understand my caution if I ask for some kind of proof that you really are who and what you say you are.’

  ‘Of course, M
r Jones, of course! I have a mutual acquaintance on my phone right now, just waiting to speak with you. A familiar voice, whose word I believe you will accept without question.’

  Whisper produced a mobile phone from inside his jacket and presented it to me with a flourish. I accepted it dubiously and put it to my ear; the psychic Mr Nemo immediately started talking.

  ‘You know who this is. The man who helped you remember you didn’t come into this world alone. And no, I haven’t told anyone else that – very definitely including the large and forbidding individual standing before you. He is quite definitely a high-up member of the Organization, though how much you trust him is down to you.’

  He rang off without giving me a chance to say anything. And it was only after he’d finished talking that I noticed Whisper’s phone had never been turned on. Nemo had been speaking directly into my head, which actually went some way to reassure me. Not only that it really was Nemo, but that Whisper hadn’t forgotten one of the most basic rules of our profession. Anyone can listen in on a mobile phone these days, and mostly anyone does.

  I handed the phone back to Whisper and nodded to Penny.

  ‘That was Nemo. He vouches for Whisper.’

  ‘You should have told him I said hi!’

  ‘He’s psychic,’ I said. ‘He probably already knew.’

  I turned my attention back to Whisper.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘You’re the real deal. What do you want?’

  ‘Given that the Organization is responsible for us being stranded in Bath overnight, perhaps he’s come to pay our hotel bill?’ Penny said sweetly.

  ‘That has already been taken care of, dear lady,’ said Whisper.

  I fixed him with a hard look. ‘How did you know to find us here? I didn’t tell anyone where we were staying.’

  Whisper showed me his meaningless smile again. ‘The Organization always knows where you are, Mr Jones. You are, after all, one of our most valuable assets.’