Chapter Text
And so dear ones, our friends at Button house have spent several weeks now without their dearest Alison. But life, or even death, goes on. Unlike when Lady Heather passed on, the house has not been left empty a day before the business of its next era began. Now, weeks have passed and Robin could tell you the life histories of all the builders who work there. Julien has found a couple of them who are occasionally indulging in liaisons in hidden corners and he revels in describing their activities to a somewhat shocked Fanny, blushing Captain and wide eyed Kitty. He was always one who loved an appreciative audience. Thomas hides himself away on all occasions, well except when Dora, the project manager is seen, then he follows her Monsoon clad form around the house as she inspects and criticises the work being undertaken. Pat on the other hand swings from attempting to learn new skills and rescuing Humphry from wandering builders, head and body forever being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The structural work being more or less complete, everyone's attention has turned to the decorating the new hotel. Van loads of furniture has been bought into the house, sturdy old antiques that echo the elegance and style of the beautiful old house. The house comes rapidly back to life, unlike her inmates, who watch and comment on every change.
“I don’t like this red flock wall paper,” said Julian to Robin, ”reminds me of Indian Restaurants”.
“It always red,” stated Robin.
“Not this colour,” said Julian.
“Yes.” said Robin, “It faded”.
But on this morning they are not the only dissatisfied observers. Two decorators up in the common room look on with horror at crudely painted words painted in chalk white paint across their newly decorated walls.
“Jeff, what the hell is this? You do this?”, said one.
“Why on earth would I do that, Marty? We just finished painting it yesterday. Now we’re going to have to do this wall again,” said Jeff.
“If I find it’s one of the other guys, I’ll kill em”, said Jeff.
“Tell you what, I bet its some kids. The security in this place isn’t exactly great,” said Marty
“What that high up the wall? Bloody tall kids,” said Jeff.
“Nah, There’s a kid in my young cousins class who is 6 foot already and he’s only 12. Kids are big these days. Feeding him too much my mum says,” laughed Marty.
“Right well, I’m going to report this to Dora. I’m not having kids getting in and wrecking my work like this, she’ll have to pay for a night guard,” said Jeff and headed down stairs.
Marty shook his head and gathered his pots of paints, step ladders and holland covers to keep the newly purchased furniture splatter free.
“I can’t read it from this angle, “said Humphreys head, “what does it say? Is it rude? Writing on walls is usually rude...or prophetic”.
“No its not rude.” said Kitty picking up the head and holding him upright. “’Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm’. Who do you think Bella is and what’s a Wych Elm?”
“It’s a type of tree, very useful for Pollarding and Copsing, grows back really fast. No idea about this Bella character however,” said Humphrey.
“What are you doing in here?” said Lady Button as she entered the room, closely followed by Pat.
“Reading the writing on the wall,” said Kitty. “The painting men think someone has broken in and done it...or its one of their friends having a jape”.
“Broken in? To the house? At night? I will not be having marauders around my house, Pat gather everyone, we must put a stop to this despicable behaviour” commanded Lady Button.
Pat sighed and headed to the top of the stairs where he bellowed at the top of his voice, “Everyone to the common room, ‘stanta”.
Just five minuets later, 8 pairs of spectral eyes gazed upon the white letters scrawled across the wall. Two, non spectral pairs of eyes, also frowned up at the words, as they prepared to start re painting the wall.
“I remember that from when I was young. Occasionally some louts would deface a monument with these words. Mostly in the Midlands, so it wasn’t a big problem,” said Julian.
“Yeah, I remember it too. No one knew who this Bella was mind. It was said that it was some gypsy murder. They took this innocent sex worker and cut off her hand to make a hand-of-glory and then stuffed her body down this old hollow tree as a sacrifice to some pagan gods” said Pat in his spooky ghost story telling voice.
“Innocent sex worker,? That’ll be the day,” said Julian.
“Never mind that. Who is coming into our home at night and scrawling across the walls. It’s an absolute disgrace,” said Lady. Button.
“But there’s not been anyone here but the hotel people and us. I’d swear to that,” said Thomas.
“Then must be one of guys doing joke,” said Robin.
“It’s no joke vandalising this wall. I expect Dora will take them severely to task,” said the Captain.
“I just find it odd that its so old. I mean that phrase has been around for years. Maybe even back to the War, do you remember anything like this Cap?” said Pat.
“No we didn’t go in for this kind of behaviour in the war, we had respect for property...Well...Humm...Sometimes you would find names carved into the wood in the barrack dorms. You know, “So and so was here” and the date, but we didn’t encourage it,” said The Captain.
“Don’t tell me you never scrawled on the inside of your desk lid at school,” said Julian.
“I most certainly did not,” said The Captain.
“And no love heart with initials in carved onto a tree,” teased Julian.
The Captain blushed.
“What I mean IS it’s OLD so can’t be kids. Surely every generation has its own graffiti?” said Pat,” I remember we had a little guy called Chad. He was just a bald head, with one hair and a big nose and two hands, peeking over a wall. You’d see him everywhere. Usually accompanied by a short phrase like…”
“Wot No Eggs,” said the Captain unexpectedly.
“Exactly. Don’t tell me he was around when you were alive too,” said Pat.
“Yes. I’d forgotten about him. A protest against rationing if I remember.” said The Captain.
“Now, we had our own symbols in the 90s. We had the yellow smiley face. It was part of the rave scene and drug culture. A lot of fun,” said Julian.
“Well, you should all be ashamed of yourselves. Defacing property like this. A disgraceful product of the 20th Century,” said Lady. Button.
“No. Always been around. Used to do it on the walls of caves in the winter. Animals not words. Something to do. Creative.” said Robin.
“Alison liked this person who does stencils on walls, but he was an artist and people seem to like him painting on their walls,” said Kitty.
“Wall murals are different, Kitty,” said Pat.
“Don’t tell that to the Northern Irish”, said Julian
Just then an annoyed shout came from Jeff, who had climbed down his step ladder to survey his newly re painted wall.
“What do you think you are bloody doing?” he yelled at Marty pointing to a large image of a figure peeping over a brick wall with the words “Wot no undercoat” underneath.
“I didn’t do that. You must of. I can’t reach over there. But how you did that one while I was up my ladder I don’t know,” said Marty pointing to a smiley face in the top corner of the wall.
“Julian!” said Lady. Button.
“What? You cant think I’ve anything to do with this. You’ve all been looking at me the entire time,” said Julian indignantly.
“I don’t like this Jeff, It’s spooky, I’m getting out of here,” said Marty bolting from the room.
“Don’t be a ruddy idiot,” said Jeff after his retreating form. He took a quick look round the empty room and the writing on the wall, then hurriedly followed after his mate.
Everyone looks back at the half painted wall and as they watch the first few words that the decorators had diligently covered with fresh paint reappeared, a skeletal hand, holding a paintbrush, swiftly painting them back. Thomas read them aloud and then feeling inspiration come upon him said.
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?
Who put Bella in the Tree?
Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm…”
“It sure as hell weren’t me”, said a deep female voice from across the room.
Everyone turned to see the face of a young woman come through one of the holland Covers that was covering a wing back chair.