Henry Neville- The Geist Therapist

7. Interlude One

Henry reached for his coat and flat cap, "Payment will be arranged with my assistant Miss Polly, but for now please show me the spirit at your estate."

"The black woman that works for you?" Mr Dibbs said with an air of contempt, "You trust a servant with your finances?"

"Miss Polly is a free woman of whom I owe my life to. If anyone is to serve, it is me to her."

"Queer tidings indeed," Mr Dibbs retorted as he made to follow Henry out of the door.

"Lead the way to Richmond, Mr Dibbs." Henry said moving the conversation away from his assistant.

"I have a coach ready to take us the way," Mr Dibbs said and whistled. A carriage and driver instantly came up the street from a little way down.

Thirty five minutes later, the coach dropped the two gentlemen outside the residence of Henry's new client. In that short time he learnt as much information as he could about the elderly Mrs Dibbs and began putting a plan in place on how to approach her spirit.

Mr Dibbs pulled out a large set of keys from his coat, picked one out and proceeded to open the unlock the door to his home. Henry followed him inside.

"Darling!" Mr Dibbs called. "He's here!"

A short plump woman with glasses and tied back hair came out of the kitchen to greet them.

Henry bowed, "Mrs Dibbs," he nodded. "I've come to speak to your mother in law. Have you seen her today?"

"I'm sure she is about somewhere, she's taken to reading my husband's morning papers."

"Excellent, show me where this occurs," Henry beamed.

"You're a little excitable aren't you, Mr Neville?" Mrs Dibbs said with a frown.

Mr Dibbs cleared his throat, "He came with good recommendations. I'm told this is the chap that can get rid of hauntings."

Henry blushed, "Flattered, Mr Dibbs. Now about your mother. Does most of the activity happen through here?" He asked as he entered the front room without an invitation.

The fireplace was burning through finely chopped logs. Henry found this strange since it was August but said nothing of it. He examined the portraits on the wall and found one of an elderly woman, "Is this your mother?" He asked Mr Gibbs.

"Yes, sir," the man replied.

"And her full name please?"

It was Mr Dibbs turn to frown, he was very much a man of formality, "Mrs Marianne Dibbs, but she liked to go by the name Mary."

"Thank you, Mr Dibbs. I'll take it from here," Henry approached the small round table next to an old cushioned armchair. He brushed his hand along the smooth wooden surface and lightly touched the newspaper sat on top of it, "Is this the spot where she likes to sit?"

"The very one," replied Mr Dibbs.

Henry nodded then called out with a raised pitch in his voice, "Mary! Mary Dibbs!" He waited for a reply but none came. He turned and stared at Mr Dibbs.

"She moves things all over the house but she is usually seen in here," Mr Dibbs shifted uncomfortably.

"Does it occur more frequently in the morn-" Henry started before three heavy knocks on the floorboards above them stopped him mid sentence. "Who else is in the house?"

Mrs Dibbs answered, "No one, sir. The children are grown and away at university."

"Then I can assume the creaking of the stairs I hear is the late Mrs Dibbs?" Henry asked rhetorically.