Page 21 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER

The train journey to Harling’s Halt had been amazing.

I’d thoroughly enjoyed travelling on the steam train, and when I alighted at the railway station and looked around, seeing all the characters in their Great War costumes parading up and down the platform, and hearing the distant refrain of ‘Goodbye-ee’ over the speakers, I could hardly contain my excitement.

Jack met me, his face lit up with happiness.

‘You’re here at last! I thought the day would never come.’

‘I know. I can hardly believe it myself.’

We exchanged hugs, and I hoped he couldn’t sense how nervous I was about being here on the Harling Estate.

We caught the vintage bus from the station to the village, alighting at All Souls’ church. I gazed at it in awe.

‘It’s just as beautiful as I knew it would be,’ I breathed.

‘You’ve been looking it up?’ Jack asked and I blushed.

‘Yes. Thought I’d better see what I was getting myself into.’

‘And what did you think?’ I could tell he was desperate for me to like the place, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him.

‘I think,’ I said honestly, ‘that it’s absolutely stunning, and I’m so glad to be here.’ Terrified but glad. A strange combination of emotions. No wonder I was trembling.

His smile couldn’t have grown any wider, and there was a definite spring in his step as he led me down the lane that ran alongside the river, past the inn and the library, and various stunning cottages, until we turned off down another lane and within minutes found ourselves entering the courtyard at Honeywell House.

I stared up at the square, golden stone building, my stomach churning as I remembered that I was about to meet Jack’s parents.

I glanced at him for reassurance, and he nodded, smiling. ‘They can’t wait to meet you. Don’t worry. They’ll love you just as much as I do.’

If he’d realised that he’d just declared his love for me, he didn’t show it.

In the year we’d been together we hadn’t said those exact words to each other.

I wondered if it had been a throwaway remark, and decided it was best if I pretended I hadn’t heard him.

I had enough to think about as I braced myself to meet the parents.

In the event, Jack’s mum and dad, Carole and Alex were lovely and couldn’t have been more welcoming.

‘We’d given up hope of him getting serious enough about a girl to introduce her to us,’ Alex told me cheerfully, causing poor Jack to groan and bury his hand in his hands, ‘and now here you are at last. We’ve heard so much about you. Trust Jack to finally meet someone just as we were moving away!’

‘I expect Jack’s told you we live on the Isle of Wight now,’ Carole explained, patting my hand as if we’d known each other for ages. ‘It’s where I’m from originally and I’d always wanted to go back there, as much as I love this place. What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re from somewhere up north, aren’t you? I know you two met in Scotland, but Jack said…’

‘Yes, I’m a northerner.’ I smiled. ‘I’m from Lancashire, actually.’

‘How lovely. I’ve heard there are some very nice places round there,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ve made up the guest bedroom for you so I’ll show it to you now, shall I, and then we can all have a nice little chat over tea and cake.’

Really, I couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome, and as I settled into my room that night (evidently, it hadn’t occurred to Jack’s mum that I’d expected to share his!) I said a silent prayer of thanks that they were such lovely people, along with another prayer that they wouldn’t ask too many questions, and I wouldn’t slip up.

I was supposed to be staying in Rowan Vale for two weeks.

The first couple of days were a hectic whirl as Jack’s parents – who would be returning to the Isle of Wight two days after my arrival – gave me guided tours of the estate.

His dad was particularly keen to show me the railway station in greater depth, and his mum was passionately fond of the Wyrd Stones, and insisted on taking me to see them so she could explain all about their history and the mythology that surrounded them.

The night before they left Rowan Vale, they insisted on treating us all to dinner at The Quicken Tree, and Carole took me to one side and told me how happy she and Alex were that Jack had found such a wonderful girl.

‘I’m so glad we got to meet you at last,’ she said.

‘I was a bit worried about you two having a long-distance relationship, and I wasn’t sure it would work, but I was wrong.

You’ve lasted a whole year, and I can sense that you’re made for each other.

My Jack’s such a lovely man, and I want the best for him, but you’re lovely, too.

You’ve got such a kind, honest face. I know I can trust you to be good to him. ’

I’d never felt more ashamed in my life.

For the rest of that week, Jack and I spent every moment together, and with his parents gone I soon moved into his bedroom, where we were free to make as much noise as we wanted, which was very handy.

We did some sightseeing, but it’s a fact that we spent more of our time in Honeywell House, where I got to see most of the rooms in the place from some very funny angles.

After the first week, though, Jack had to go back to work.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind being here on your own during the day?’ he asked worriedly. ‘I could maybe call in sick…’

If I’d known, back then, how conscientious and responsible Jack was, I’d have realised what a huge deal it was for him to even suggest that. But I didn’t really know him, so I just laughed and told him not to be silly.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘There’s loads to explore in the village, and I’ll probably visit the Ashcroft Mill and have a look around the museum. Honestly, don’t worry about me. And I’ll have your tea on the table ready for you when you get home.’

‘Like a good little wife?’ he asked, his eyebrows shooting up in astonishment.

We stared at each other, both slightly pink in the face.

‘Anyway,’ Jack said hastily, ‘I’d better get to bed. Up and out of here by five-thirty tomorrow morning.’

‘Seriously?’ I’d groaned in horror at the thought of it.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t wake you. I’ll be really quiet.’

‘You certainly will wake me!’ I said indignantly. ‘I want to send you off to work with a smile on your face.’

He looked as if he wasn’t sure if I was joking or not, but I wasn’t. And I definitely sent him to work with a smile on his face, which wasn’t just down to the breakfast I made him when we finally tumbled downstairs.

When he’d managed to drag himself away and head off to work, I washed the breakfast dishes, then wondered what to do with myself. I wasn’t so sure a visit to a museum was something I fancied any longer, since the sun was shining and it seemed a shame to be indoors.

I decided to pay a return visit to the Victorian shops clustered around the village green.

Jack and I had done a quick tour of the area, but I hadn’t really taken it all in.

Left alone to have a good look around, I really wanted to absorb the sights and sounds of Rowan Vale for myself. I’d waited a long time, after all.

The green was just across the river from Honeywell Lane. Luckily, there were several little stone footbridges across the water, so I didn’t have to do much of a detour to get over to the Victorian shops.

There was a well in the centre of the green, which I knew had stood there for centuries. The shops were housed in sweet little buildings made of honey-coloured Cotswold stone, and there was also a cottage that had been decorated and furnished exactly as it would have been in Victorian times.

I strolled along the path, nodding and smiling at dozens of tourists, and the ‘Victorian’ gentlemen and ladies – actors employed by the estate – who were moving from shop to shop, peering in at the windows as if they were genuinely about to make some purchases.

This place really was something else!

With an old-fashioned sweetshop, a chemist’s, a photography studio, a grocer’s shop, a butcher’s and a curiosity shop just like something from a Charles Dickens book, it was enchanting, and I lingered far longer than I’d expected to, even treating myself to some sugar sticks and a quarter of bullseyes for Jack from the sweetshop.

As I left the shop, I noticed a rather distinguished-looking man in elegant clothes that looked superior to the other characters’ costumes. He was walking along the path, and I drew back into the shop doorway, feeling a bit wary when I realised he was talking to himself.

Unless, I thought suddenly, he had an earpiece in.

Maybe that was how the staff stayed in touch?

Maybe there was a tiny microphone pinned to their clothes that they could communicate through.

Although, that would be a pretty expensive operation.

Or maybe he was on the phone, hands free?

Which wasn’t really appropriate, given he was in costume and was supposed to be selling the idea that we were in Victorian England.

Then I blinked and stared around me in astonishment. Goosebumps sprang up on my arms and I shivered. No way!

I’d seen him, plain as day, walk through the closed door of the photography studio.

But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

My hand flew to my mouth as realisation dawned. Everything my dad had told me about this place was true. There really were ghosts here! I’d half believed it, of course, but there’d always been that small element of doubt.

Now I looked wildly around me, not sure what to do or say. It felt as if something so momentous should be obvious to everyone, but people were carrying on with their browsing and chatting as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

Not sure what to do for the best, I told myself I should go back to Honeywell House and think this through. I could be putting myself in grave danger. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t drag myself away.

A moment later, and the gentleman walked out of the photographer’s and began to head up the path back towards the church.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to follow him. I could see him nodding and waving his hand now and then, and from the way his left arm was positioned I guessed he was arm in arm with someone I couldn’t see.

I’d always known I didn’t possess the gift , but the fact that I could clearly see this one ghost meant I had to be related to him.

The question was, who was he? There were only two real options, and I wished I’d studied period costume – as well as my family tree – a bit harder so I could make a more educated guess.

The man continued on his way, and I crept along at some distance behind him. At one point he seemed to let go of his companion and hurried over to some roses that were hanging over a garden wall.

I saw him lean over and sniff them, his eyes closed and a look of bliss on his face. I hung back, squeezing myself against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t spot me, but he seemed oblivious to my presence.

Eventually, he reached a pair of double iron gates and walked directly through them, heading up a long drive.

I hurried over to the gates and peered through them, watching him curiously. He was strolling towards a big country house, and I knew, even before I noticed the sign on the wall beside the gatepost, that this was Harling Hall.

Howling Hall!

How many times had my dad mentioned this place to me? It had featured in so many of the bedtime stories he’d told me and had taken on an almost fairytale quality.

This was the beautiful Elizabethan house I’d heard so much about.

This was the place where magical things happened.

This was my ancestral home.

I waited until the man had vanished through the huge front door, then I turned and trudged back to Honeywell House, deep in thought.

Was I even safe here any more? Maybe I should pack my bags and leave before I was found out. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted to know more about the man whose ghost I could see as plainly as if he was made of flesh and blood.

Besides, I didn’t want to leave Jack. Every moment I spent with him was precious.

He was kind and gentle and funny, and, quite honestly, good in bed.

The truth was, over the course of the last year, I’d fallen for him and if I left here now without a plausible explanation it could ruin things between us.

No, I just had to be careful, that was all. If I kept my wits about me, no one need ever know who I was.