Decimus portrait from the National Portrait Gallery with the "Cavalier Ghost" caption and beneath it: "Is this what she saw?" A short description of Decimus' career and achievements followed the work of Dr. Rupert Durham of Casey College, Cambridge.
It was, however, what came next on the page, rather than this sober assessment, which really boosted the Decimus story. This was a separate article by one D. ]. Smith, described as "a leading historian of the Civil War in Taynfordshire" (of whom no-one had previously heard including the normally knowledgeable Dr. Rupert Durham). It was D. J. Smith who gave an account of the siege of Lackland, including "the local tradition" that the ghost of Decimus Lackland had come to the aid of his beloved wife "Lady Olivia." So far, so good: but D. J. Smith also repeated the story—another "local tradition"—that Decimus' body had earlier been snatched from the chapel by his mistress, the notorious beauty Lady Isabella Clare, and interred secretly somewhere else.
Although this second local tradition directly contradicted the unalloyed devotion Decimus was supposed to have felt for his beloved wife, this fact did not appear to worry that hitherto-unknown local historian D. J. Smith. And it did enable the Jupiter to print another fine picture from the National Portrait Gallery: that of Lady Isabella Clare as St. Agnes. Gazing at her slightly foxy little face, that big pair of exophthalmic eyes above the matching pair of equally globular breasts revealed by her shepherdess' dress, a little white lamb posed suggestively in her lap, long be-ribboned crook to one side, readers of the Jupiter had no need to feel themselves left out of the delights of Page Three in the papers of lesser record.
It was several days before the bemused (and besieged) Meredith family at Lackland discovered that D. J. Smith was in fact none other than Dave, the enterprising ex-student brother of their girl gardener, Cathy Smith, whose self-created credentials as a local historian were now considerably enhanced.
In all this the police had remained publicly silent. They were, said a representative of the Taynfordshire Constabulary, making investigations, pursuing their enquiries and so forth. Was the Haygarth case being treated as acccidental death or suicide? No straightforward answer to that one; just more talk of pursuing enquiries, making investigations . . . The anodyne predictable official phrases did of course nothing to allay the intense interest which now surrounded the butler's death. Nor for that matter did the coroner's inquest, opened and duly adjourned, at the request of the police. Could it in fact be an accident? If so, what was the butler doing at night up on those dangerous battlements? Had he really killed himself, heartbroken at the idea of retirement? Was it even possible—delicious menacing thought—that he had been frightened to death by a phantom Cavalier?
The ghost thought momentarily that if there was a general mission to frighten, then haunting Dave Smith might be rather fun: getting into that small house in the village street lived in by the Smith parents would be comparatively easy since they had built on a pretentious conservatory, more suited to a stately home than a terraced house, at the back . . . Maybe something a little bit more positive than haunting . . . "D. J. Smith, leading local historian of the Civil War" might live to regret those vivid stories he had spun, especially about Lady Isabella Clare . . .
Then the ghost heard the sleepy cry of a child, also on the upper floor but from the other side of the wide staircase which led up from below to the floor where the various Meredith children slept. The ghost was alarmed. This was a complication. If the cry was from the boy Dessie, the cries were liable to get louder and become continuous. Someone—one hoped—would soon come and attend to the cries. And the cries were starting to get louder. It was time for the ghost to be
It was, however, what came next on the page, rather than this sober assessment, which really boosted the Decimus story. This was a separate article by one D. ]. Smith, described as "a leading historian of the Civil War in Taynfordshire" (of whom no-one had previously heard including the normally knowledgeable Dr. Rupert Durham). It was D. J. Smith who gave an account of the siege of Lackland, including "the local tradition" that the ghost of Decimus Lackland had come to the aid of his beloved wife "Lady Olivia." So far, so good: but D. J. Smith also repeated the story—another "local tradition"—that Decimus' body had earlier been snatched from the chapel by his mistress, the notorious beauty Lady Isabella Clare, and interred secretly somewhere else.
Although this second local tradition directly contradicted the unalloyed devotion Decimus was supposed to have felt for his beloved wife, this fact did not appear to worry that hitherto-unknown local historian D. J. Smith. And it did enable the Jupiter to print another fine picture from the National Portrait Gallery: that of Lady Isabella Clare as St. Agnes. Gazing at her slightly foxy little face, that big pair of exophthalmic eyes above the matching pair of equally globular breasts revealed by her shepherdess' dress, a little white lamb posed suggestively in her lap, long be-ribboned crook to one side, readers of the Jupiter had no need to feel themselves left out of the delights of Page Three in the papers of lesser record.
It was several days before the bemused (and besieged) Meredith family at Lackland discovered that D. J. Smith was in fact none other than Dave, the enterprising ex-student brother of their girl gardener, Cathy Smith, whose self-created credentials as a local historian were now considerably enhanced.
In all this the police had remained publicly silent. They were, said a representative of the Taynfordshire Constabulary, making investigations, pursuing their enquiries and so forth. Was the Haygarth case being treated as acccidental death or suicide? No straightforward answer to that one; just more talk of pursuing enquiries, making investigations . . . The anodyne predictable official phrases did of course nothing to allay the intense interest which now surrounded the butler's death. Nor for that matter did the coroner's inquest, opened and duly adjourned, at the request of the police. Could it in fact be an accident? If so, what was the butler doing at night up on those dangerous battlements? Had he really killed himself, heartbroken at the idea of retirement? Was it even possible—delicious menacing thought—that he had been frightened to death by a phantom Cavalier?
The ghost thought momentarily that if there was a general mission to frighten, then haunting Dave Smith might be rather fun: getting into that small house in the village street lived in by the Smith parents would be comparatively easy since they had built on a pretentious conservatory, more suited to a stately home than a terraced house, at the back . . . Maybe something a little bit more positive than haunting . . . "D. J. Smith, leading local historian of the Civil War" might live to regret those vivid stories he had spun, especially about Lady Isabella Clare . . .
Then the ghost heard the sleepy cry of a child, also on the upper floor but from the other side of the wide staircase which led up from below to the floor where the various Meredith children slept. The ghost was alarmed. This was a complication. If the cry was from the boy Dessie, the cries were liable to get louder and become continuous. Someone—one hoped—would soon come and attend to the cries. And the cries were starting to get louder. It was time for the ghost to be
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