Mr Campion's Fault Read Free

classical beauty she was far from unattractive. He also admired her spirit – that of a born survivor in the face of adversity – which perhaps reminded him of Rebekka, and when the widow Braithwaite’s fatherless son Roderick gained a place at Ash Grange as a scholarship day boy, he offered if not a protective wing to shelter under, then at least a watchful eye. Young Roderick was in no need of special treatment or favouritism as he proved a hard-working and responsive pupil in all his lessons, and not just those taught by Bertram Browne, in which he positively shined. Thus it was in Mr Browne that Roderick confided that there was ‘trouble at home’ with things going, literally, bump in the night and his mother ‘at her wits’ end’, though of course she would never admit that.
    The story of the haunting of 11, Oaker Hill came to his attention in an essay sheepishly handed in by Roderick as part of his regular homework. Mr Browne, noting the domestic detail in the essay, had the sensitivity to take the boy to one side rather than question him in class, and ask where Roderick’s inspiration had come from. The story, repeated twice for good measure, convinced Mr Browne that the lad was being brutally honest and sincere in relating what he had, or thought he had, seen.
    During a free period early one afternoon, Bertram had managed to get Ada alone in the school kitchen, told her what Roderick had told him and offered to help in any way he could.
    The widow Braithwaite had reacted with suspicion at first, then with an involuntary spark of anger (soon quenched) that her son should be discussing ‘her business’ with others. Knowing he would get such a reaction, for he was a Yorkshireman after all, Bertram Browne stressed that it was important that the matter be kept very much to themselves and not provide entertainment for idle gossip-mongers.
    Reassured, Ada had said she would be grateful if Mr Browne would give his opinion on things, but she had one question: ‘What’s a
poltergeist
?’
    ‘It’s from the German and means “noisy spirit”. Supposedly it’s some sort of psychic manifestation which disrupts things, throws things about, smashes your best china, that sort of thing.’
    The widow Braithwaite had nibbled at her lower lip and nodded sagely. ‘That sounds like what we’ve got, all right,’ she’d said calmly.
    And having seen what he had seen that evening, Bertram Browne had to agree.
    But what exactly had he seen, felt and heard?
    Not being superstitious in the slightest way and not religious ‘so you’d notice’, as the residents of Denby Ash would say, Mr Browne had dismissed any supernatural influence almost immediately but he could offer Ada no alternative, rational explanation. Instead, he had hinted that he had a colleague at the school whom he thought could help and he would consult him the next day. Until she heard from him, he said, it would be best if they did not discuss the events of that night with anyone.
    ‘You know what they’re like round here, Mr Browne,’ Ada had said. ‘I’ve no intention of telling them my business. Oh, tongues will wag – they always do – but not with any help from me. And you’d better go now, Mr Browne. It’s getting late.’
    ‘At least let me help you clear up some of this mess,’ Bertram had offered and had seen Ada’s sinews stiffen even before his lips stopped moving.
    ‘When I need a
man’s
help to tidy my own house, then I’ll put an advert in the
Huddersfield Examiner
, thank you very much.’
    At the top of Oaker Hill, his breath steaming and the night carrying the promise of a frost before dawn, Bertram Browne quickened his pace. The sodium street lamps of Denby Ash ended on Oaker Hill by the village’s branch of the Co-Operative. From here on, Bertram’s walk back to the school would be in darkness, for the only other source of light, the Sun Inn, was already, thanks to a conscientious – some would say pernickerty –