Page 28 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

AUbrEY

Inside, the church was decorated for the festive season, with an advent wreath complete with four purple candles on the outside and a white one in its centre, a Christmas tree with purple, white and gold baubles, and of course, the nativity scene.

There was no one around, and Aubrey thought that Silas was perhaps at the vicarage or had gone for a walk. He slipped into a pew and bowed his head in prayer. He had missed the church and felt the need to apologise for his absence.

For many years after his death, Aubrey had prayed that he would be released from this earthly plane and allowed to move on to wherever it was most people seemed to go.

But after he’d fallen in love with Agnes, he’d stopped praying for that, because he wouldn’t want to be separated from her ever again.

And now they had Florence, he couldn’t possibly abandon his little family.

So instead, he prayed for understanding, for forgiveness if he’d done something terrible that had left him stranded as a ghost, and that – should he ever be taken to the Great Beyond – he would be accompanied by the woman he considered to be his wife, and the child he considered to be his daughter.

He shuffled forward, his hands folded under his chin, his eyes closed. His thoughts strayed to the day he’d died and how disarming it had been to find himself still present in Harling Hall.

That terrible day, he’d looked down at himself, lying so still and deathly white on the carpet in the upstairs drawing room, and had thought how typical it was that he should become a ghost when there was no one alive in Rowan Vale to communicate with.

Unless, he’d thought hopefully, James or his mother could see him.

For the last few years, he’d tried to find someone to take over the estate, but there seemed to be no one with the gift. And now it was too late. What, he’d wondered, would become of Harling Hall and the rest of the village now?

For some time – he wasn’t sure how long – he’d sat beside his body, wondering what to do next.

His mother had been the one to find him, and clearly, she’d had no idea his spirit was lingering in the Hall.

She’d been in her seventies by then and looked every day of her age and more.

But her tongue was as sharp as ever, and if he’d hoped for a word of sorrow or grief from her, he was to be disappointed.

She’d nudged his corpse with her foot then tutted. ‘Typical of you to die in here,’ she’d said in her broad West Country accent. ‘You could have snuffed it downstairs. It would have made it so much easier.’

Then she’d called for James, who’d shown little emotion over his father’s passing.

‘Well,’ he’d said grumpily, ‘this is dashed awkward. We needed a bit more time.’

‘We haven’t got time,’ his grandmother replied. ‘But don’t worry. They’ll not get us out. I’d like to see them try.’

So clearly James couldn’t see him either, and as Aubrey realised how little grief his mother and son felt at his demise, he’d decided it was perhaps a good thing they couldn’t. No doubt they’d have continued to ignore or belittle him even after death, if they’d been able.

He’d cast one last pitying look at his body, then left the room, unable to bear another moment of their indifference.

He’d wandered downstairs into the library, and it was there he’d found Agnes.

Lord, she’d frightened him! Even though he knew that Rowan Vale was home to many ghosts, and even though his father had told him about Agnes, it had still been a shock to see her in the flesh, so to speak.

Bless her, she’d looked more frightened than him, though. She’d stared at him in bewilderment, and it was then that he’d realised her eyes were wet with tears, and she seemed quite distraught about something.

‘I thought – I thought you’d have passed on,’ she’d said in amazement. ‘I heard them shouting that you had died.’

‘I rather think I have,’ he’d replied with a shrug. ‘It’s all rather perplexing.’

Agnes had risen slowly to her feet and walked towards him. Tentatively, she’d touched his arm, and he’d seen her gulp when their forms connected. He supposed she’d been expecting her hand to pass straight through him, but they were as real and solid as each other, as far as he could tell.

‘You are a ghost?’ he enquired, wanting to be absolutely certain.

‘Agnes Ashcroft,’ she said, staring up at him in the most peculiar way. ‘And you are Aubrey Wyndham.’

‘Yes, I know I am.’ Did ghosts usually lose their memory or something? ‘So, is this it then? Am I to remain here for – well, forever, I suppose?’

She blinked away her tears. ‘I have no way of knowing, but believe me, you have no reason to be afraid. There are many of us on the Harling Estate, and it’s not so bad once you get used to it.

I’ll introduce you to everyone, and you’ll soon make new friends.

And, after all, it will be nice to have company in the house after all this time. ’

‘You’ve been here a while then?’ He’d surveyed her attire with some embarrassment. She was, it appeared, dressed for bed.

‘Over half a century,’ she confirmed.

‘And you’re the only one in the Hall, aren’t you?’

‘I am. Well, I was. Now I have you.’

A sudden smile lit up her face and he’d realised she was thoroughly delighted to see him. He supposed that it was only natural considering how long she’d been the only ghost in this place, but even so, it was nice to feel wanted for a change.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Ashcroft,’ he’d said, holding out his hand as he remembered his manners.

‘Oh, Mr Wyndham,’ she’d murmured, her eyes shining as she took it in hers. ‘And it is so very good to meet you at last. So very good.’

Aubrey opened his eyes and sat back in the pew, remembering those early days together, and how, gradually, their friendship had blossomed before turning to love.

He wasn’t entirely sure when his feelings towards Agnes had changed, but he did know that it had been many, many months before he’d dared express them.

He’d expected a rejection and had been overwhelmed when he discovered she felt the same way about him.

Of course, they’d known they could never live as husband and wife; they may be dead, but standards still had to be maintained.

Even so it hadn’t been too long before they started to refer to each other in that fashion.

They were lucky, because Jeremy Davenport had fully accepted them as a couple, and had even suggested they move into the east wing, where he would prepare a suite of rooms for their own use.

After the cruelty he’d experienced from his father, Aubrey considered himself a lucky man to have found such kindness and compassion from the new owner of the estate and had been loyal to the Davenports ever since.

And as for Agnes…

He closed his eyes again and murmured, ‘Thank you.’

His gratitude knew no bounds. Whoever had decided that he and Agnes should spend eternity together, he would never stop thanking them for it.

‘Good grief! It’s you!’

Aubrey leapt to his feet, recognising that rough bark immediately. The Reverend Silas Alexander!

‘Ah, Reverend, there you are,’ he said, raising his chin as if daring the vicar to send him away.

Silas, who had died in 1927, was a scowling, bespectacled man with a shock of snow-white hair, a large nose and thin lips.

He had been rather intimidating when he was the incumbent at All Souls, and Aubrey didn’t find him any less intimidating now. But Aubrey was on a mission, and nothing was going to stop him.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’ Silas demanded. ‘Haven’t seen you in years. Been hiding away in your little love nest, haven’t you? Disgraceful behaviour.’

‘I came here to see you,’ Aubrey said sharply. ‘And for your information, Harling Hall isn’t our love nest. Nor is it a den of iniquity, however much you delight in telling people it is.’

‘Hmm! If you say so. What have you come to see me for anyway? If you want me to pray for your soul it’s all a bit pointless, isn’t it?’

To Aubrey’s surprise, Silas dropped into the pew behind him and heaved a heavy sigh.

‘Christmas,’ he said, gazing round him. ‘The birth of our Lord, eh? What do you make of that then?’

Aubrey frowned. ‘What do you mean, what do I make of it? What do you expect me to say to that? Is it a trick question?’

Silas stared at him, then to Aubrey’s amazement he gave a snort of laughter. ‘Trick question? Good heavens, man. It’s simple enough. Mind you, maybe it’s all a trick. What do you think? We were all hoodwinked perhaps. Me most of all.’

He shook his head, staring gloomily at the nativity scene while Aubrey tried to fathom what on earth was in his mind.

‘Are you all right, Reverend? You’re behaving very oddly, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

Silas turned to face him. ‘I always liked you, you know. Good chap. Decent. But a bit wet, if I’m being completely honest. Why did you hide away in that old house, eh? Why didn’t you come out and hold your head high before now? Be a bloody man? Tell me to stick it?’

Aubrey’s mouth fell open. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘So you should! Let me down badly, didn’t you? Where’s the fun in a sparring partner if you won’t fight back?’

‘Are you telling me that all the abuse you’ve hurled at Agnes and me was a bit of fun?’

Silas leaned back and stared at him with an intensity that was quite unnerving.

‘Not much else to bloody do, is there? It’s only winding people up that keeps me going. And to be honest, I’m angry. Furious, if you really want to know.’

‘With me?’

‘Pah! Not with you, you idiot. With this!’ He waved a hand around the church. ‘With Him! With all of it!’

Aubrey felt quite dazed. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’