so he has been badgering me for months to buy number 50. If he has his
way he will merge 49 and 50 into one enormous monstrosity, though I dare say
the shopkeepers will be happy.”
“And you refuse to sell.”
Clara stated.
“I didn’t buy this house to
move out in my last years. I am content here, I have it arranged as I want. I
don’t have any desire to go house-hunting at my time of life.”
“How has Mr Mollinson reacted
to this?”
“Mostly he just voices his
annoyance. He is one of those smarmy businessmen who think they can persuade
anyone to do anything if they just offer enough charm and money. I can’t say he
has been aggressive in any manner, though I doubt he likes me much.”
“And when did he last visit?”
Miss Sampford considered the
question, scrolling through the last few weeks in her mind. While she did so
the tea arrived. Clara offered to pour out two cups while Miss Sampford thought
about her answer.
“I believe his last call was
either late September or early October.” The old woman said at last, “It was
his standard visit asking if I had changed my mind or if there was anything he
could do to encourage me to sell.”
“Had he paid any other calls
during the time of the haunting, or perhaps just before?”
“I think he called in July, he
roughly comes every two months. His visits coincide with his inspection of the
work being carried out next door. As you may imagine, with my hesitation to
sell, this has been slow. Now you mention it, I do believe he paid a call just
before the noises began. It was one of the rare occasions he let his temper
fray. His men had been gutting number 49 and he wanted to move on with the
project. He was quite surly when he demanded to know why I could not be more
reasonable. I asked him why his desires were so much more important than my own.”
“That is interesting. What
about on his later visits? Did he ever discuss the ghost?”
“Actually…” Miss Sampford’s
face lit up as if she had just recalled something, “You have reminded me why I
began to suspect him in the first place. The October visit, his last one, he
was in a rather cocky mood, much more jolly than normal and, when we were sat
drinking tea, he once again began rambling on about his projects, he suddenly
asked how the ghost of Berkeley Square suited me. I was a little stunned and I
asked him whatever could he mean? He replied that he had heard I had a ghost
who rattled doorknobs and stomped about. He knew I had lost several maids and
wondered aloud how I was managing as an older lady in a house with such
confusion. He then suggested a move to a modern property would be much more
soothing. I stoutly denied everything, but it did make me wonder. I had quite
forgotten that conversation until now. I must admit I have had quite a number
of visitors wanting to know of the ghost. So many I started to lose track of
who I had and hadn’t spoken to on the subject.”
“May I ask, if the man’s
offers are so disagreeable, why you keep entertaining him?” Clara asked
carefully.
“Unfortunately the answer to
that is not greatly to my credit.” Miss Sampford actually looked abashed, “I
rather enjoy taunting him. He reminds me so much of those sweet-tongued
politicians of the ‘teens, who assured us again and again votes for women were
being discussed and then quietly let it drop. I suppose it was very unkind, but
a little touch of mischief entered my soul and I couldn’t resist.”
“No matter, Miss Sampford. He
had it coming for pestering you. But what about your other suspicions?”
“Ah.” Miss Sampford stared
into her tea for a moment, then she stood and went to the wall of photographs.
She plucked down one and handed it to Clara. It showed a stout Victorian
gentleman, the sort with big whiskers and a permanent place in the local hunt.
He held a pipe in one hand and stared intimidatingly at the camera, “That is my
father Colonel Sampford, fourth baron of Wimfrey. To
way he will merge 49 and 50 into one enormous monstrosity, though I dare say
the shopkeepers will be happy.”
“And you refuse to sell.”
Clara stated.
“I didn’t buy this house to
move out in my last years. I am content here, I have it arranged as I want. I
don’t have any desire to go house-hunting at my time of life.”
“How has Mr Mollinson reacted
to this?”
“Mostly he just voices his
annoyance. He is one of those smarmy businessmen who think they can persuade
anyone to do anything if they just offer enough charm and money. I can’t say he
has been aggressive in any manner, though I doubt he likes me much.”
“And when did he last visit?”
Miss Sampford considered the
question, scrolling through the last few weeks in her mind. While she did so
the tea arrived. Clara offered to pour out two cups while Miss Sampford thought
about her answer.
“I believe his last call was
either late September or early October.” The old woman said at last, “It was
his standard visit asking if I had changed my mind or if there was anything he
could do to encourage me to sell.”
“Had he paid any other calls
during the time of the haunting, or perhaps just before?”
“I think he called in July, he
roughly comes every two months. His visits coincide with his inspection of the
work being carried out next door. As you may imagine, with my hesitation to
sell, this has been slow. Now you mention it, I do believe he paid a call just
before the noises began. It was one of the rare occasions he let his temper
fray. His men had been gutting number 49 and he wanted to move on with the
project. He was quite surly when he demanded to know why I could not be more
reasonable. I asked him why his desires were so much more important than my own.”
“That is interesting. What
about on his later visits? Did he ever discuss the ghost?”
“Actually…” Miss Sampford’s
face lit up as if she had just recalled something, “You have reminded me why I
began to suspect him in the first place. The October visit, his last one, he
was in a rather cocky mood, much more jolly than normal and, when we were sat
drinking tea, he once again began rambling on about his projects, he suddenly
asked how the ghost of Berkeley Square suited me. I was a little stunned and I
asked him whatever could he mean? He replied that he had heard I had a ghost
who rattled doorknobs and stomped about. He knew I had lost several maids and
wondered aloud how I was managing as an older lady in a house with such
confusion. He then suggested a move to a modern property would be much more
soothing. I stoutly denied everything, but it did make me wonder. I had quite
forgotten that conversation until now. I must admit I have had quite a number
of visitors wanting to know of the ghost. So many I started to lose track of
who I had and hadn’t spoken to on the subject.”
“May I ask, if the man’s
offers are so disagreeable, why you keep entertaining him?” Clara asked
carefully.
“Unfortunately the answer to
that is not greatly to my credit.” Miss Sampford actually looked abashed, “I
rather enjoy taunting him. He reminds me so much of those sweet-tongued
politicians of the ‘teens, who assured us again and again votes for women were
being discussed and then quietly let it drop. I suppose it was very unkind, but
a little touch of mischief entered my soul and I couldn’t resist.”
“No matter, Miss Sampford. He
had it coming for pestering you. But what about your other suspicions?”
“Ah.” Miss Sampford stared
into her tea for a moment, then she stood and went to the wall of photographs.
She plucked down one and handed it to Clara. It showed a stout Victorian
gentleman, the sort with big whiskers and a permanent place in the local hunt.
He held a pipe in one hand and stared intimidatingly at the camera, “That is my
father Colonel Sampford, fourth baron of Wimfrey. To
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