Free The Haunted Lady by Bill Kitson Page A

broken, and we had chance to look around at the rest of the chapel, our object to attempt to trace the origin of the ghostly figure. Nothing seemed untoward, and there was certainly no clue as to what might have caused the unexplained appearances. The only thing that struck me was the atmosphere. Admittedly that side of the church would be in full sunlight less than the rest of the building, but that fact certainly wouldn’t account for the much lower temperature in there. I noticed Eve shiver, so obviously the sensation wasn’t a product of what she is fond of referring to as my overactive imagination.
    As we made our way past the pews towards the main body of the church, I noticed a strip of wood that was fixed vertically to the stonework. It was about four feet in length, and appeared to serve neither a useful nor a decorative function. I frowned, perplexed as I tried to think what it might be for. In the end, defeated, I signalled towards the timber. ‘What is that?’ I asked the vicar.
    Michael was silent for a moment. ‘That is all that remains of the church’s darkest mystery – excluding the ghost, of course. That piece of wood was placed there to support the frame of a painting. The picture hung from it via a pair of hinges that allowed it to be turned.’
    It took a moment for the significance of this to sink in. ‘Do I take it that this painting was the diptych your mother described, the one that went missing?’
    Michael nodded. ‘Yes, that was the mystery I referred to. There was an image on both surfaces, front and back, and both portrayals were of Mary Magdalene. In the first she is grieving for Christ following the Crucifixion and in the second she has seen him after the Resurrection. It may seem like silly sentimentality but, although the painting disappeared a long time ago, nobody has the heart to remove that wooden support.’
    He paused and sighed heavily. ‘I suppose people are hoping that somehow the lost work will turn up at some point, and I can’t summon up the courage to tell them that the age of miracles is past. Besides which,’ he added with a wry smile, ‘I’m not sure it falls within a priest’s duty to disillusion his parishioners.’
    ‘I’m not sure you’re right,’ I told him. ‘Perhaps miracles do still happen, all they need is a little helping hand sometimes.’
    ‘Does anyone know exactly what happened to it?’ Eve asked. ‘I assume everyone believes it was stolen.’
    ‘I think theft remains the only logical explanation, but if that’s the case, it seems like a terrible act of sacrilege.’
    Michael had a point, I suppose, and I reflected on it as we made our way to the church door. I looked back at the interior one more time. It would take a particularly low character to commit such a wicked act, that was true, but as we had so recently seen the evidence of even greater evil, I was perhaps not as shocked as might otherwise be so by the theft of a painting, or, I corrected my thoughts, two paintings.
    We waited in the porch again, savouring the last of the cool air as Michael closed and locked the church door. Having grasped the ring handle he pulled it sharply, probably the only way to move such a heavy piece of timber. The sound of the door colliding with the frame was sufficient to have an immediate effect, startling a lone bird that had been waddling amongst the tombstones. At the same time, as I glanced to my left, I saw the stranger yet again, standing unobtrusively in the shadow of one of the ancient yew trees, staring towards the church.
    ‘That man gets everywhere,’ I muttered.
    Simultaneously, the bird, disturbed by the slamming of the door took flight, and flew directly across the churchyard from where the man had been only a second earlier. Seeing it caused Eve to call out loudly, ‘Good morning, Mr Magpie,’ at the same time saluting the bird. I was amused by her adoption of the countryside tradition of greeting a lone magpie with respect in