Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

Do you believe in ghosts? Miriam asked.

Shenagh Moss stretched in the ancient armchair. Oz Knight had once said her every movement possessed a feline grace. Shenagh had moved on gracefully, of course from Oz, but he wasnt wrong. Where she came from, nobody cared about elegance, but these days, poise came as naturally as breathing. Even with no admiring man around, just an elderly housekeeper with anxious eyes.

Ghosts are about the past. Look forward, not back, thats my philosophy.

Miriam frowned at a mud-stain disfiguring the carpet shed cleaned for so many years. Thinking about her long-dead husband? Poor, stuck-in-a-rut Miriam. Sixty was no age, but to look at her youd think she had one foot in the grave. At least shed made the effort to dye her hair, but why that dismal shade of mousy brown? Her beige cardigan, shapeless grey skirt and thick stockings were a perfect match for this room, with its faded furnishings, and faint aroma of mothballs.

Yet it was never too late to change your life. Look at Francis, twelve years older than Miriam, and a martyr to osteoarthritis. From the moment they met, Shenagh knew she could put a smile back on his face. Life was short, got to grab your pleasure when you saw the chance.

We cant ignore the past. Miriam rested a hand on Shenaghs shoulder, gripping bone through thin silk. Remember the Faceless Woman.

Our very own ghost? Shenagh giggled. Forget the rotten weather, life was good. She wanted to cheer Miriam up. Hey, after haunting Ravenbank all those years, youd think shed get bored. Forever prowling up and down the same lane, wheres the fun in that?

You may laugh, pet, but Mrs Palladino once caught sight of the Faceless Woman. Gave her the shock of her life and she wasnt given to flights of fancy.

Shenagh glanced at the framed photograph on the sideboard. With her long nose, pursed lips and pointed chin, the late Esme Palladino looked as though she disapproved of imagination, and anything else smacking of self-indulgence. Youd never guess shed drunk herself to death.

Spooky! Shenagh pretended to shiver. Makes you wonder why she carried on living in Ravenbank.

Why ever not? This is the loveliest spot in the Lakes ghost and all! Miriam brightened. You could be so happy, pet, living here permanently. This is your home.

Thanks. Youre very kind.

Yet Miriam was also wrong. Home for Shenagh should be Katoomba, high above her native Sydney in the Blue Mountains. Or maybe a big house at Double Bay or Vaucluse, with views of the harbour. Not a decaying mausoleum on the edge of Ullswater. She wasnt nostalgic for Sydneys outer western suburbs, of course. No one could be sorry to leave behind that weatherboard hovel by the train track in Jannali. But she needed room to breathe. Ravenbank was suffocating her.

Well, youre one of us now.

There was no higher praise that Miriam could bestow. Shenagh was the daughter shed never had, according to Francis. And for sure, shed have been a massive improvement on Shenaghs actual Mom, a surfie chick who gave birth at fifteen, and was run over by a truck one night when she was out of it on cocaine, looking for business on the streets of Caringbah instead of looking after her daughter.

Youre very kind.

Youre not fretting about that dreadful man Meek, are you, pet?

Miriam cared, that was the difference. Shed never even met Craig Meek, but already she was worried sick about what he might do, now he was out of prison.

Hey, its fine. Craig isnt any sort of ghost. Just a selfish, troublemaking bully. Nice as pie as long as everything is going his way, but when it isnt

Miriam peered at her, as if straining to decipher a message written in code. Promise youll be careful. Now hes back in Pooley Bridge well, its too close for comfort, when he has a history of violence.

Im not running scared, Shenagh said. I wouldnt give him the satisfaction. And that is a promise.

The velvet curtains werent thick enough to deaden the lash of rain on the flagstones outside. The clock struck six, but it felt like midnight. This vast sitting room was draughty, despite the crackling fire. Shenagh reckoned the whole house needed a makeover to bring it into the twenty-first century, but she wasnt going to hang around, waiting for it to happen. Who could blame her for counting the days until she landed back at Kingsford Smith?

Miriam tossed another log from the wicker basket onto the flames, and Shenagh reached out to warm her hands.

Why do you ask about ghosts?

Dont say youve forgotten? Today is Halloween.

I wanted to go to a party. Shenagh feigned a pout. Francis wouldnt hear of it. I told him, you dont have to believe in ghoulies, its only an excuse for a piss-up. But hed rather stay at home, the lazy sod.

One thing he isnt, pet, is lazy. Miriam seldom ventured to contradict Shenagh, but shed defend Francis to the death. Hes absolutely tireless. Thats why he reached the top of his profession.

Yeah, I hear the nurses worshipped him. No wonder he expects everyone to jump when he says jump. Sometimes he makes me feel like a stupid kid.

Shenagh smiled. Both of them knew she was anything but stupid. Francis wouldnt want to spend the rest of his life with an airhead, whatever she looked like.

Its just his way.

He thinks the world of you, and no wonder. During that terrible time, when Esme was ill, he couldnt have got through it without you.

A pink tinge appeared on Miriams leathery cheeks. This was another of Shenaghs gifts, her lavishness with praise. It cost nothing to make people feel good, and sometimes they were generous in return.

You always say such nice things, pet, but I was only doing my job.

Francis shouldnt have stayed on in this house, Shenagh said. Even though he doesnt believe in ghosts any more than I do.

Mr Palladinos a man of science. Miriam shook her head. He doesnt believe in anything he cant see and touch.

Shenagh clapped her hands. Hows this for an idea? We can celebrate! Commemorate the occasion. I mean, we cant just ignore our very own legend. It wouldnt be fair on poor old Gertrude. Lets mark the Faceless Womans anniversary with champagne!

Oh, pet, I dont think its

The sitting room door creaked open, and the words died on Miriams tongue. The man who walked in carried a stick, and winced with every step he took. His sparse grey hair was wet, his Barbour coat dripped onto the carpet.

Filthy night.

A voice of authority, unaccustomed to dissent. How he must have relished making the nurses swoon. He claimed he missed the world of medicine, but Shenagh suspected he missed not the patients, but the power. Even shed been startled by his reminiscences of life and death in hospital, and a God-playing former colleague known as Morphine Morris: No bed-blockers in his wards, I can tell you, not after one quick squirt of his trusty syringe!

Dreadful, isnt it? Miriam said.

No wonder Francis had kept Miriam on after Esmes liver finally gave up the unequal struggle. Miriam served the same purpose as the adoring nurses. Yes, Mr Palladino, no, Mr Palladino, three bags full, Mr Palladino. And it wasnt only Francis; her son was someone else she spoilt rotten. No doubt it was the same with her husband, the late lamented Bobby. Big mistake. Let a man get his own way, and hed walk all over you.

Is your back hurting? Your own silly fault, Frankie. I warned you not to overdo it.

Her easy familiarity shocked Miriam, adding to the fun. The older woman helped Francis remove his coat, and hurried off to hang it up in the hall. He hobbled over to Shenaghs chair, and bent to brush his lips against her hair.

Why are you keeping Miriam here? he murmured. Theres a storm brewing. She needs to get back home.