Page 10 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

Having dropped the two younger boys off at school, I ignored the pull of Auntie Pat’s Pasties and headed straight back to Rowan Vale, where I was meeting Callie.

It was Monday morning and, sadly, it was pouring with rain. The sky was drab and grey, and the landscape – which usually had the capacity to lift my spirits at any time – just seemed to reflect the dullness I felt inside.

Even the prospect of travelling on the steam train to Much Melton had lost its excitement. I wasn’t in the mood. I had backache, I felt bloated, and I was too tired to look forward to the trek to the costume shop, which was a good twenty- or thirty-minute walk from the station.

Callie’s enthusiasm was obvious, though.

‘Isn’t this fabulous?’ she cried, as we began our journey by hailing the little vintage Leyland bus from outside the Hall. ‘Brodie’s dead jealous. He wanted to come with us, but I told him no way. This is a girly day out and we’re going to have fun.’

I tried to smile, not wanting to spoil things for her.

She was still new enough in the village to find everything thrilling.

The ride on the vintage bus clearly still filled her with excitement, as she was practically bouncing up and down on the seat like a child, exchanging jolly gossip with Stan, the conductor, or ‘clippie’.

I just wanted to cry, and I hated myself for it.

‘Shall we get something to eat in Much Melton?’ Callie asked. ‘Or would you rather we wait and visit The Victory Tearooms when we get back? My treat,’ she added. ‘I think we deserve afternoon tea, don’t you? I’ve been dreaming of scones with jam and clotted cream for weeks.’

My stomach lurched and I put a hand on it, feeling embarrassed.

I’d had an increase in, er, shall we say, digestive disorders recently, and I knew it was my own fault.

I was clearly eating too much. Or the wrong things.

Or both. It was all right for thirty-year-old Callie, sitting there looking impossibly pretty, with her shoulder-length dark auburn hair, large hazel eyes and her size twelve figure, rabbiting on about clotted cream.

I, on the other hand, was forty-one, fat, a bit spotty (yep, another thing to thank the perimenopause for), with red hair that had a mind of its own, and now a stomach that liked to play pogo.

The only possible chance I had of reversing the situation was to put myself on a strict diet and possibly shave my head.

Poor Jack, I thought wistfully. Look what he’d got himself involved with.

Sixteen years ago, he’d bagged himself a twenty-five-year-old hottie, full of confidence, and quite willing and able to squeeze herself into size twelve jeans.

Now he was married to an obese old woman with acne, who lumbered around in jogging bottoms and trainers.

And at forty-two he looked more handsome than ever! How was that even fair?

Luckily, Callie didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer.

She rabbited on about Brodie, and how much she was looking forward to seeing him in his costume for the Dickensian weekend, and how she couldn’t wait to try on her dress, until all I wanted to do was leap off the bus and make my way back to the safety of Honeywell House.

I wasn’t fit to be seen in public. People would stare at me. I could imagine the shop assistants’ faces when I walked in with Callie. We looked like Laurel and Hardy.

‘Are you okay, Clara? You’re very quiet,’ Callie said at last. She sounded a bit subdued, and I was angry with myself for pulling her down, when she’d clearly been looking forward to this excursion.

‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Just looking at the rain and thinking I should have brought an umbrella.’

And thinking how soaked I was going to get, since I couldn’t even zip my coat up any longer. Why hadn’t I bought another one? I’d have to go shopping for a new one before winter really set in, despite the expense. Maybe I’d get a cheap one today while I was in Much Melton. It might cheer me up.

‘If you like,’ Callie said hesitantly, ‘we can get a taxi from the station to the costume shop?’

I thought of my aching back and nodded. ‘Might be best.’

The platform at Harling’s Halt didn’t look anywhere near as cheery as I remembered it.

Out of season, and with the rain bouncing on the roof, the actors who normally paraded around in costume were nowhere to be seen.

The soggy bunting fluttered half-heartedly, and the sound of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’ playing over the speakers seemed like a sarcastic comment rather than a morale booster.

The train was waiting, though Callie and I were the only people on the platform. Peering through the windows I could see a couple of others on board, but the train was mostly empty. A far cry from high season when you’d have trouble getting a seat unless you’d booked ahead.

Callie said she’d get the tickets from the booking office, so, ignoring the rain, I hurried along the platform to the end of the train and found Jack and his fireman, Tom, in the cab.

They were wearing heavy navy-blue jackets and trousers, but I knew they’d have been in boilersuits earlier on when they did the hard, dirty work of getting the engine ready.

The day for them started early. By six o’clock they’d have arrived at Much Melton to join the rest of the staff.

Safety checks, loading up the coal, firing up the boiler…

There was so much to do before the train was ready to leave the station on its first journey.

Tom was a lovely man in his late twenties, and Jack was very fond of him. He always said that Tom was the real hero of the railways. Having been a fireman himself before becoming a driver, he was all too aware of how hard Tom worked, and that his job was far more skilful than most people realised.

‘All right, Mrs Milsom?’ Tom called cheerfully. ‘Long time no see. Heard you were going on an excursion. Lovely weather for it, eh?’

‘Isn’t it just?’ I wrinkled my nose and looked up at the sky. ‘All ready?’

‘If we’re not, we never will be,’ Jack said.

Only one engine ran out of season, as it wasn’t financially viable otherwise. Not that the railway made money. It barely broke even, especially the way the price of coal had gone up. If it wasn’t for all the wonderful volunteers, Jack often said he doubted the Davenports would have kept it going.

Although Sir Edward Davenport had purchased the line, the rolling stock, and the station itself after it was closed by the government in the sixties, following the Beeching report, where British railways were reshaped, he’d quickly come to realise that managing the heritage railway was too much for him.

A manager had been put in place who worked closely with the staff at Much Melton and the wider rail network, and the owner of the Harling Estate – in other words, Callie now – oversaw the station and its staff, while Harling Heritage Railway took care of the trains themselves, along with the lines.

Jack and Tom were employed by the Harling Estate, but it was the Harling Heritage Railway management committee who’d interviewed, hired, and trained them, and they spent far more time at Much Melton than they did at Harling’s Halt.

I noticed Jack looking me up and down, and squirmed with embarrassment, feeling incredibly scruffy.

‘You’re soaked,’ he said. ‘Why haven’t you got your coat fastened?’

I blushed. ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘A bit of rain never hurt anyone.’

‘Don’t hang around out here,’ he said. ‘Get on board and make yourself comfortable. Where’s Callie?’

‘Just getting the tickets.’ I glanced round and noticed her standing on the platform, talking to thin air. I sighed. ‘She’s got them, I think. I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Enjoy the journey,’ Tom said cheerfully.

‘Have a good day, love,’ Jack said. He blew me a kiss and I smiled and blew him one back, making Tom groan in mock horror at the soppiness of it all.

Callie looked awkward as I made my way towards her. I heard her muttering something then she turned to me and said, ‘All done? Jack okay?’

‘You don’t have to pretend,’ I said. ‘I take it we’re in the presence of those two soldiers who are always fighting?’

Callie gave a quick glance sideways. ‘Er, actually no. They’re in the waiting room, arguing, naturally. I was just talking to Perks – I mean, Mr Swain. He’s the porter. Was the porter. Is the porter. Oh heck, shall we get on the train?’

Giving an apologetic look to what, to me at least, seemed an empty space, she bundled me on board, and we entered the first compartment.

Within a few minutes we were on our way to Much Melton.

Derek, a retired bank clerk who now volunteered as a guard, popped into our compartment to check on our tickets, giving an embarrassed laugh when he realised who Callie was.

He seemed to take her friendly response as an invitation to stay and chat for ages, and we were nearly in Much Melton before he finally pushed off to check the other tickets.

‘Wow.’ I didn’t know what else I could say.

She laughed. ‘Chatty, isn’t he? I hope he’s not like that with all the passengers!’

‘I suspect you’re a special case, being the lady of the manor,’ I said.

Callie frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You just don’t seem yourself today.’

‘I’m fine,’ I assured her. ‘And look, you don’t have to feel bad about talking to the ghost on the platform. I saw the look on your face, and I felt awful about it. I know what Rowan Vale is. I know how it all works. I’m not expecting you to pretend they’re not there.’

‘I just don’t want to scare you,’ she admitted.

‘I’m not that much of a wimp!’ I shook my head. ‘Look, it’s just… Well, it’s knowing they’re in the house with me. That’s what would freak me out. It’s fine if we’re outdoors. It’s like I have an escape route there, whereas inside… I know, I know. It sounds stupid.’

‘No it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘I’m just the same with spiders.’

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Well, I’m not scared of those.’