Page 37 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

I was in two minds whether to call Callie and ask her to cancel my meeting with Aubrey. The last thing I felt like right now was a family reunion – particularly one that had caused so much trouble before it even took place.

I’d done as Jack had asked the previous evening and made myself scarce before he got home, but I’d barely slept a wink all night.

I’d heard him moving about downstairs early this morning and had longed to make him his breakfast as I usually did, but I didn’t dare face him in case I saw a look of contempt in his eyes.

Maybe, I thought hopefully, he just needs some time. Maybe.

I’d got the boys ready for school and dropped the two youngest off before heading straight home to tidy the house, hoover up the dog hairs, and try to make myself presentable – not easy given my swollen eyelids and the dark shadows under my eyes.

‘What am I even doing?’ I murmured as I gazed into the mirror, mascara wand in hand. ‘I’m tarting myself up to impress a ghost! Bloody hell. I can’t even remember the last time I tried to impress Jack.’

And it was true. It had been months since I’d last worn make-up or made any real attempt to look nice. We hadn’t been to the pub quiz at The Quicken Tree for weeks, but even when we had gone, I’d done nothing more than run a comb through my hair.

I’d not only let myself go, but I’d also let the romance in our relationship die. Life had become all about getting through the day: looking after the kids, cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, shopping, ironing, the school run, working out budgets, worrying about the bills…

If Jack decided he wanted out of this marriage, who could blame him?

I made myself a sandwich for lunch but barely touched it. I was worried sick about Jack, and nervous as hell about meeting Aubrey.

If he gave me any trouble, I decided, I’d send him packing. I’d get Amelia to perform an exorcism if I had to. I had enough to deal with without a bullying ancestor who’d died nearly a hundred and fifty years ago.

I was just refilling Toby’s water bowl when I heard an embarrassed, ‘Ahem’ behind me.

I dropped the bowl in the sink and spun round in shock, which didn’t lessen when I saw I’d been joined by a distinguished-looking man in Victorian clothing. I’d never seen him close up before and was surprised how young he looked. He couldn’t have been much older than Jack really.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said. ‘I did knock but you didn’t hear me. Well, I say knock. I stood on the step and called, ‘Knock knock,’ because there’s not much else I can do, you see. But I did call out quite loudly. Anyway, you were in the kitchen, clearly, so wouldn’t have heard me.’

My first thought was how polite and gentle his voice was. My second thought was even more surprising: Aubrey was nervous. Maybe even more nervous than I was.

‘Is it inconvenient?’ he asked, shuffling from one foot to the other. ‘If it is, I can come back another time.’

I found my voice at last. ‘Sorry. I mean, no, it’s not inconvenient. I was just getting some fresh water for Toby.’

‘Toby?’

‘Our dog.’ I realised he was still in the garden and opened the door to let him in. He came loping in as usual, but to my surprise he stopped suddenly and growled quite menacingly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Aubrey said. ‘Animals usually react that way the first time they meet ghosts. Once they’re used to them, they settle down quite well. It’s just understanding what we are, I suppose.’

Toby padded over to Aubrey and walked around him, sniffing the air as if trying to catch a scent that would give him some sort of explanation for who or what this person was.

‘Good boy,’ Aubrey said kindly. He looked over at me, smiling. ‘Handsome chap, isn’t he? What sort of dog is he?’

‘A-a Bernese mountain dog,’ I said weakly, filling Toby’s water bowl and putting it down on the floor for him. He ignored it completely, still focused on Aubrey.

‘Really? We always had Labradors and spaniels. For the shooting really.’ Aubrey straightened suddenly, looking horrified. ‘I’m so sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Aubrey Wyndham, your… Well, you know who I am, I expect.’

‘My great-great-great-great-grandfather,’ I said.

‘That’s an awfully long title,’ he mused.

‘Perhaps plain old grandfather would be better.’ His eyes widened in horror.

‘Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that I’m expecting you to call me Grandfather!

Good heavens, no. I wouldn’t dream of making such an assumption.

I do realise I’m nothing to you whatsoever, and?—’

‘I’m Clara,’ I said, deciding he’d suffered enough. ‘Clara Milsom. And I guess, in that case, I’m your granddaughter.’

Aubrey stared dumbly at me for what felt like forever.

Toby gave one final, fruitless sniff and seemed to decide that this strange man was no threat to our safety. He lolloped over to the water bowl and began to show me up by drinking loudly and messily, water slopping over the sides of the bowl and all over the floor as usual.

I cleared my throat and gave Aubrey an apologetic smile. ‘I’d love to offer you a drink but obviously…’

He blinked, pulling himself together. ‘Think nothing of it. But please, don’t feel you have to deprive yourself. I don’t mind. I’m used to people eating and drinking around me.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ I asked, pouring myself a glass of fresh orange juice with shaking hands.

‘Sometimes,’ he admitted, ‘but one gets used to it. There really isn’t much choice, is there?’

‘I guess not. Would you like to come through to the living room? We’ll leave that messy creature to his own devices for a while.’

Aubrey followed me into the living room and waited until I’d sat down in an armchair before sitting down in the other.

We gazed awkwardly at each other.

‘I, er, I understand that you saw me in the village when you first came here,’ he said at last. ‘I just wanted to say…’ He shook his head, looking ashamed.

‘Clara, I’m terribly sorry for what happened.

I promise you; I had no idea you were here.

What Lawrie and Agnes did to you – to us – was unforgivable. ’

‘Agnes? Is she your – I mean, that’s the Regency lady from the Hall, right?

Lawrie said she’d seen me watching you and had told him I must be related to you.

I don’t get it. I sort of understand why Lawrie was wary of a Wyndham returning to the village, but what did Agnes have to do with it? Why wouldn’t she want me to see you?’

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Agnes… She had her reasons, I suppose. The main thing now is that we know about each other, and I would really like, if you feel the same of course, to start afresh. Believe me, if I had known I would never have told you to stay away from me. Why, to meet a descendant of mine is a dream come true. I never thought to see the day.’

‘Even knowing there was a chance that I’d bring catastrophe to the estate?’ I asked. ‘That’s what I’ve always been told, ever since I was a little girl. “Wyndhams cannot return to Rowan Vale”. It was practically the family mantra.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

‘Yet here we are, none the worse for wear. I really don’t think it’s a curse, or anything like that, you know.

I believe it was just to ensure that the changeover happened smoothly, with no interference from the previous owners of the estate.

Well, you’ve been here fifteen years, after all, and nothing’s happened, has it? I should imagine we’re safe now.’

He smiled, and I thought how different he was to what I’d expected. Callie had told me he was a sweetheart, but I hadn’t really believed it, even though I’d wanted to.

In our family, we’d always been told that Aubrey had been a stern, unemotional man, with no interest in his family. He didn’t strike me that way at all. Unless he’d changed. I supposed he’d had plenty of time to do that.

‘So, tell me,’ he said, ‘if you wouldn’t mind, that is, who your parents were. Are you a descendant of mine through your father’s or your mother’s line?’

‘My father’s,’ I said. ‘Hang on.’ I hurried over to the sideboard and pulled out the family tree I’d quickly mapped out that morning, showing only my dad’s side.

He’d been obsessed with his ancestry – joining various genealogy sites to keep track of it all – and had drummed the Wyndham line into my memory.

I put the piece of paper on the coffee table for Aubrey to see. ‘That’s my dad, there. He was born in 1959. Then the line runs upwards from his mother to her father, to his mother, and then to her father, who was James, your son, born 1846.’

Aubrey stared at the line, his eyes wide. ‘How marvellous. Thank you for this. All these people, descended from me. It’s incredible.’ He swallowed. ‘And James? What sort of life did he have? Did he marry Frances Croft?’

‘Who?’ I wrinkled my nose, trying to remember the name.

‘She was his fiancée when I – passed. One of the Hampshire Crofts.’

‘No, her name doesn’t ring a bell. My great-great-great-grandmother was called Ellen. She came from Ireland.’

‘ Ireland ?’ Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘James married an Irish girl? Good lord.’

‘We think that’s where the red hair comes from.’ I grinned. ‘He was a lot older than her, though. According to the census returns my dad had, she was eighteen years younger than him.’

‘The census returns?’

‘Yeah, my dad was really keen on genealogy. He made a family tree online. Got the birth, marriage, and death certificates, printed off the census returns, parish records, all that sort of thing.’

I still had most of them, locked away in an old suitcase in the loft. I’d told Jack it contained old art magazines that I wanted to hang on to. Another lie.

‘Ellen was twenty-one when she married James. He was thirty-nine.’

‘Thirty-nine? He waited a long time to marry then,’ Aubrey mused. ‘I wonder why.’

‘Probably just hadn’t met the right girl,’ I said.