The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) by Antonia Frost

up towards the sky and with one last appeal to heaven was swept up by the waves, which carried her off inexorably towards the rocks. She must have been dashed against them again and again, because when her body was recovered a few days later further up the coast, it was unrecognizable, and she had to be identified by her wedding ring. As for Jonas, he escaped the tide and went grimly back up to the house, but that night he was taken ill, and died a few days later in his own bed.’
    ‘Goodness,’ said Zanna. ‘How awful.’
    ‘Fascinating, though, don’t you think?’ said Alexander.
    ‘But where does the ghost come in? Is this the haunted room?’
    ‘Not exactly. This is the room from which Sarah Humble supposedly signalled to her lover with a candle that the coast was clear,’ said Alexander. ‘Those rocks you see down there are the ones against which she was dashed on that fateful night when she was swept out to sea by the tide.’
    ‘I told you it was dangerous,’ said Will, and she gave him a look.
    ‘In fact, the ghost of Sarah Humble—if indeed it exists—is meant to haunt the beach down there, close to the rocks,’ said Alexander. ‘People have reported hearing a woman’s voice. They never hear the words, but they all say that it sounds like it’s begging or pleading, and sometimes even screaming. Sometimes there’s more than one voice. I’ve never heard them myself, and I’m a little sceptical about the existence of ghosts, but we do hear these reports now and again.’
    Zanna thought of the voices she had heard in the water and on the rocks, but said nothing.
    ‘Now, I have something to show you,’ went on Alexander. ‘Come downstairs.’
    They followed him down the staircase to the living-room, where he went across to a wooden display cabinet and brought something out. It was an antique rifle.
    ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it magnificent? Look at the engraving on the barrel. And the grain of the wood. It’s a simply splendid piece. Quite unlike modern guns, which are all plain and functional. This is a work of art.’
    ‘What is it?’ said Zanna. ‘I mean, I know what it is, obviously, but is it—?’
    ‘This is thought to be the very gun with which Jonas Humble shot his wife’s lover and drove her to drown herself,’ said Alexander in some satisfaction. ‘Can’t you picture the scene?’ He levelled the gun at Zanna, who backed away slightly and regarded it warily. ‘Oh, don’t worry—it’s not loaded,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The police wouldn’t let me keep it if it were. It’s an old flintlock, and I don’t suppose you can even get ammunition for it nowadays. Here—take a closer look. Beautiful, isn’t it?’
    Zanna took it and examined it briefly, then handed it back with a little shiver.
    ‘Not keen, are you?’ said Will, and she wrinkled her nose.
    ‘It’s a—not a very nice story,’ she said. She had been going to say ‘horrible,’ but Alexander clearly relished it so much that she didn’t want to sound rude.
    ‘No,’ agreed Will. ‘Dad loves all that stuff, though. He’s a bit ghoulish like that.’
    ‘I confess I do find it extraordinarily fascinating,’ said Alexander. ‘The lives and loves of our ancestors never fail to interest me. It’s the human aspect, you see. People live so differently now from how they did then, and yet their basic motivations never change. We humans are essentially the same now as we were hundreds, even thousands of years ago. We’re driven by the same wants and needs as ever: hunger, ambition, greed, desire, jealousy—love, of course. Perhaps that’s what those who report the voices are hearing: the echoes of past emotions. Some people are more sensitive to that kind of thing than others.’
    Zanna shivered again.
    ‘Let’s go back outside,’ said Will.

‘T ELL US about Helen,’ said Alexander, once they had returned to the garden. ‘What do you know about her? I realize that’s an odd question to