The Smile of a Ghost by Phil Rickman

seen that boy several times. I’ve even talked to him.’
    ‘In the castle?’
    ‘When it was quiet, I’d sit in the castle grounds, make some watercolour sketches. I’m sure they come out just as well when I do them at home, from photographs, but I always felt I was honouring a tradition – all the distinguished artists who painted Ludlow Castle. Turner, for heaven’s sake! Not one of his best, I grant you.’
    ‘And the boy…’
    ‘Would come and watch me. From a distance at first. Normally, I’m quite wary of children, especially teenagers, with some of the malevolent little tykes around nowadays. But this boy was genuinely interested. Eventually telling me he did some drawings himself. And his extensive knowledge of the castle was apparent from the start – knew the names of all the towers, their history, the various stages of development. I was impressed.’
    ‘Knew his way around,’ Merrily said.
    ‘Absolutely. Rather a pleasant boy. Shy at first – I find shyness something of a virtue these days.’
    ‘And the woman,’ Mumford said heavily. ‘You were telling me about the woman.’
    ‘Ah. Yes. Mrs… Pepper? Lives in that rather splendid old farmhouse down from the bottom of The Linney.’ Mr Osman pointed somewhere to the left of the castle ruins. ‘Well, it’s a bit of a fraud, actually, was built up from very little by some professional restorer – who, incidentally, cut down a wonderful old oak tree, allegedly by mistake.’
    ‘And the woman herself…’
    ‘She bought the place earlier this year. She’s supposed to have been quite well known at one time – afraid I don’t know very much about that kind of music myself. She’s… like a number of people living here now, I suppose, somewhat eccentric.’
    ‘And you saw Robbie with her,’ Mumford said.
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘How many times?’
    ‘Well, twice, certainly. She’s quite distinctive, with the varying colours of her hair and the way she dresses.’
    ‘Dresses how?’
    ‘Oh… like out of a Victorian melodrama. Long coats. Swirly cloaks.’
    ‘I see. You ever talk to the boy when he was with her?’
    ‘Never. Some people one instinctively…’ Mr Osman cleared his throat. ‘But the boy would follow her around, and they’d be pointing things out to one another. If I hadn’t known she lived here, I would probably have thought they were tourists, a mother and son.’ He looked at Bernie. ‘I gather you’re a friend of the family, my lord.’
    ‘Just, ah, Bishop… please.’ Bernie had dressed down tonight – golfing jacket, corduroy trousers. ‘Yes, we’re all trying to help them come to terms with what happened.’
    ‘Dreadful thing. I did telephone the police station the next day to tell the sergeant I now realized this was a boy I’d seen in the castle. And about the woman. He didn’t seem to think that was very important.’
    ‘Oh?’ Mumford’s tone didn’t alter. ‘What did he say, exactly?’
    ‘He just said something to the effect that Robson Walsh was a familiar figure to a great number of people. Boy was clearly obsessively interested in the history of Ludlow and would talk to anybody who seemed to know something about it. Though why that particular woman would be considered a fount of local knowledge—’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Merrily said. ‘Did you say she was a musician?’
    ‘Some sort of singer, I gather, at one time. Mrs Pepper. Hasn’t lived here two minutes – well, say six months. Admittedly, we’ve only lived here permanently for about three years ourselves, but it was our holiday home for seventeen years before that, so I think we’re permitted to feel a touch proprietorial.’
    ‘And you said she was eccentric…’
    ‘I try not to listen to gossip.’
    ‘You don’t happen to know her first name, do you?’ Merrily said.
    ‘I don’t think I do, no.’
    ‘Couldn’t be Marion?’
    ‘Doesn’t ring any bells. Well, not in that context.’ Mr Osman turned to Mumford. ‘You