Page 21 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

Brockenhurst, the New Forest, England, 1942

As the train creaked into the station, my thoughts remained on the incident that had landed me here. I was not sure when I first became aware I could see the dead. In my nineteen years of life, they had hovered around the edges of my awareness like a faint melody heard from another room. When I was younger, they’d blended with the living well enough—the girl in an old-fashioned dress in the park who’d ignored my invitation to play, the old man with a blank look who’d stood on our porch one moment and was gone the next. The sightings were rare, and as an adult, I treated those old memories as dreams. That was, until the war started. The overwhelming number of disembodied spirits roaming the streets of the city could not be ignored.

Thankfully, most spirits—at least those I’d encountered—seemed oblivious to the world of the living, completely absorbed with whatever it was they did. They paid me no heed, and though seeing them had been slightly disconcerting, I considered them mostly benign. That was, until the boy called for my attention.

Being deceived to the point of endangering my family made me realize I might have to look more closely at this ability, for if I failed to comprehend what lay beyond the veil separating the living from the dead, I could find myself on the wrong side of it. The thought was grim. For if I were to ever understand the supernatural world, I would have to step farther in. But as I considered the possibility, goose bumps crawled up my arms, and fear of the unknown made me think better of it. I decided to brush away the uncomfortable thought as the train finally stopped, and I rose to gather my belongings. After all, I was here to escape the ghosts.

Alighting from the train, the first thing I noticed was the sky. Compared to the hellish brew of London, it was vast and endless—paradisal to behold. Yet dragging my suitcase across the platform, I felt the part of a vagabond, a refugee from the land of the dead. Piper sniffed the air, which had the refreshing scent of recent rain.

The other travelers brushed past me, impatiently trying to get on with their journeys. Feeling a little of that impatience myself, I readjusted Piper in my arms and took a fruitless lap around the station, avoiding the puddles as best I could. The groundskeepers of All Hallows, the Goswicks, were supposed to fetch me. But no one appeared to be looking for me.

Within minutes, I was the only person in sight except for the clerk behind the ticket window and a man wiping the water droplets off a black car in the parking lot. “Excuse me, sir,” I said to the clerk. “Is there a way to call for a cab?”

His dark eyes rose to meet mine as he put down the pipe he had been smoking apparently nonstop, for he stood in a cloud of fumes. “How far are you going?”

“Burley. I understand it is a neighboring town?”

“That’s correct, and Albert Craven”—he pointed at the man by the car—“offers local transportation.” Looking at his wristwatch, he added, “You might want to speak to him right away. He usually leaves about now.”

“I’m most obliged, sir.”

Mr. Craven was a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows. Folding the cloth in his hand, he took a step back from his vehicle—an unmarked, older car I would have never guessed to be a cab—to make sure he hadn’t missed any water spots. Piper growled as we approached, capturing his immediate attention.

“Good afternoon, sir. The clerk told me you are a cab driver. I’m in need of a lift to Burley.”

“Indeed, I am.” He extended his hand to me. “Craven, miss. Albert Craven.”

“Seraphina Addington.” I met his strong grip with my own.

“Burley, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Not too far from here, about five miles. We can be there in a jiffy.”

“Thank you.” I was relieved, hoping that once I reached the Goswicks, I would regain a bit of that security which came from belonging somewhere.

After the incident in London, Father had contacted General John Lewis, an old comrade of his from the Great War, and accepted his previous offer to let me stay at his country house, away from the chaos of the conflict. Prior to becoming a general, John Lewis had been a familiar face, the image of an uncle in my mind. He was a wealthy and influential man but also acquainted with grief, having lost his wife at a young age and never remarried. Of course, we hadn’t seen him since the war broke out.

“If you’ll permit,” the man said as he hefted my suitcase into the boot of the car. I settled into the back with Piper snuggled against the folds of my blue dress, which Mother insisted I wear, arguing that it matched my eyes and contrasted with my brown hair. I had acquiesced only to avoid an unnecessary confrontation on the day of my departure. Under any other circumstances, I would have worn slacks despite her disapproval. She was one of those who clung to the past, shunning twentieth-century styles.

The car left the station, making all sorts of racket and complaining of long-needed maintenance. The roads were lined with thatched-roof cottages that sat far back from the street, some with hydrangea hedges, others with evergreen shrubs. When we reached the end of the paved streets, Mr. Craven turned onto a rural road guarded by trees of every shape and sort. Through them, I caught glimpses of meadowland flowing through the ancient yews. It was breathtakingly green.

I was surprised to feel the unexpected beauty and calmness of my surroundings flood me, the contrast with what I had left behind startling. The war had taken so much from us, and we had quite rapidly adjusted to its ugliness—the sky dotted with black-and-red clouds of smoke as if heaven itself cried over the world; the explosions of the bombs followed by the shattering of windows; the mangled corpses; and for me, the spirits of the dead who walked aimlessly amid the rubble.

The New Forest, brimming with life, reminded me that our world was still beautiful, our people resilient. The war would end, and we would rise stronger and rebuild all that had been lost. Now that I was away from my family and needed a steadiness to allay my fears for them, I resolved to hold on to this belief more than ever.

Piper rearranged herself on the seat as we bumped along the muddy road. I ran my hand reassuringly through her fur, steadying my emotions at the same time. No doubt she would prefer the country to the air raids, which spared no one, tormenting humans and animals alike.

Apologetically, Mr. Craven explained, “The main road to Burley gets particularly nasty after a rainstorm. You must forgive me, but I’m taking a detour. A longer route through the forest. We don’t want old Harvey getting stuck in the mud—no, surely not.”

The car has a name. I smiled.

Up ahead, trotting gently along the roadside, a group of soldiers on horseback headed in our direction. Mr. Craven steered Harvey to the side of the road, if road was the proper name for this patch of mud in the woods.

“That’s the Mounted Home Guard,” he informed proudly. “They are volunteer soldiers operating out of Breamore. Great lads, they are. We also have both British and American troops stationed here, but thankfully, no bombs have fallen yet. Well, apart from Southampton, that is. The port is a target, but we’ve been spared farther inland.”

“That’s a mercy from heaven. Let us hope it remains like this.” I had seen firsthand the erasure of history, brick and mortar, paper and binding. Hundreds of years destroyed in a matter of minutes.

“Where in Burley are you staying? Where should I let you out?”

“I’m not sure how to find it. I’m afraid I don’t have an address.”

“Don’t fret, miss. In these parts, places have names. That’s how we find them, not by numbers or anything like that.”

“The name escapes me at the moment, but I’m a guest of General Lewis.”

“Oh, I see. He is well known in the region—he owns the Burley mansion. The largest structure in the region.” Just as he said that, a new thought seemed to startle him. “Wait, are you certain? The mansion currently serves as a military post—soldiers coming in and out all day. Not a good destination for a young lady, if you know what I mean.”

The straightforward honesty of country folk was something I could get used to. “Agreed. No, I’m not going to the mansion. I understand the general owns a country house as well.”

“You aren’t speaking of All Hallows, are you?” His gaze found mine through the rearview mirror. For a split second, a shadow of disbelief crossed what I could see of his face.

“Yes, that sounds about right. I’ll be staying there until things settle down in London.”

He reached to loosen the collar of his shirt as if it suddenly strangled him. “That could be a long time…a long time indeed, to be in a house like that.”

Was there something wrong with the house? Leaning forward, I asked, “Mr. Craven, what do you mean, ‘in a house like that’?”

When he took longer than needed to respond, I knew he would not disclose the truth; however, I kept my gaze on him through the mirror until he did answer.

“It’s one of the oldest houses in the region. Hundreds of years of history, you understand. I’m afraid All Hallows’s fame will live forever. But it has been deserted since…”

“Since when?”

“An awfully long time…I didn’t think it was habitable anymore.”

“For my sake, I hope it is. But why is it famous? I imagine there are plenty of old houses around here competing for fame.”

“Actually…since I’ve never been to the manor, I’m afraid my opinion wouldn’t be an educated one.” He cleared his throat, obviously unhappy with my questioning.

“I would still like to hear it.”

“It’s better that you wait to hear it from those familiar with the place.” These last words he said with finality, putting an end to the subject.

His reason for not sharing was simply an excuse. Just as I considered pressing him further, the car slowed to almost an idling stage, but I couldn’t see any reason for it. Piper lifted her head as high as she could, ears pointed, eyes wide open, in response to the unexpected change.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Miss, I thought you were going downtown. The manor is on the outskirts, and the roads are impossible during this weather. I’m afraid all I can do is let you out in town. Maybe you can spend the night there—rethink things?”

Rethink things? What did I have to rethink? Even if I wanted to stay in town, I had no money to spare. “Surely the roads can’t be any worse than the ones we’ve traveled on.”

In a faltering voice that betrayed his businesslike approach, he replied, “If the car gets stuck, it would be days before I could get any help. So, no, I can’t drive you there.” He glanced at the lowering sun. “No one would, at least not until tomorrow.”

I said the first words that came to mind. “You must be having a laugh.” I imagined Mother’s response to such boldness, but after all, I had not come this far just to come this far. “There must be another way. Tell me there is.”

He thought for a moment or two. By the way he fidgeted in his seat, I could tell he fought whatever idea he considered. At last, he let it out. “There is, but I don’t recommend it. The forest is not safe for a woman to go about alone.”

“It involves walking, then?”

He moved his head in assent.

I turned his words in my mind. There were areas in London where women felt unsafe to travel alone, daylight or not. I’d had to traverse them a time or two. This couldn’t be any worse. I should have brought Mother’s frying pan. I had seen her chase away several solicitors with it. It worked wonders.

“Walking Piper and I can handle. We just need directions.”

He frowned as if saying, “ The foolishness of this woman will get her in trouble ,” but aloud, he said, “I can drop you off at the edge of Oker field. The manor is not far from there.” He paused and then suggested yet again, “But I must insist that staying in town is a wise choice.” The assertion made me want to successfully brave the trail to All Hallows all the more.

“I’ll take my chances.”

With a severe expression of disapproval, Mr. Craven pressed his foot on the gas pedal. Harvey picked up speed, and at length, we came to a lane free of trees on one side. I leaned against the window to observe wild ponies roaming freely in the fields. If ponies were the type of threat my driver was worried about, my biggest challenge would be to keep Piper’s excitement under control. She did not like anything, apart from her own kind, that had four legs, and she made sure they knew it.

The more I focused on the scenery, the more ponies I saw. “Oh my. There are so many of them.”

“They belong to the commoners,” Mr. Craven informed. “They have the right to graze their animals in the forest. A good thing too. The ponies and the cattle help maintain the landscape.”

The vehicle made its way deeper into the woods, and soon the ponies were but a distant image. I was about to ask Mr. Craven how much longer we had when Harvey produced a jerking sound and came to a halt in the middle of nowhere. There were no houses in sight, just a welded wire fence guarding the meadow. Beyond that was a thickly wooded area. It was so still it didn’t seem real.

I noticed Mr. Craven’s hand tremble as he looked at his wristwatch. But the hour appeared to calm his nerves, for he said, “Oh, good.” I imagined he meant that the remaining daylight was good enough for me to make the journey on foot. I certainly hoped that was the case, for time could be treacherous when moving against it.

With unexpected agility, he sprang from the car as though a fire burned unattended somewhere and opened the back door for me to follow suit. I stepped out and immediately felt my shoes—my nicest pair, meant to accompany the dress—sink into the wet ground. Piper jumped down after me.

“Remember, cross the field and go straight south through those trees. You’ll see the manor soon enough.” He flipped the boot open and quickly set my bag on the grass. Piper barked at the rushed handling of our property. “May I suggest you waste no time.”

Civility, though I wasn’t feeling it at the moment, called for me to say thank you. I handed him a few bills to cover the ride. He stashed them in his pocket without counting them.

“It’s not too far. You’ll be all right,” he said, as if willing it to be true. Without further ado, he was back in his car. Harvey made a sharp turn, and with surprising speed, Mr. Craven drove away.

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