Page 47 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

Now the centurion was marching up and down the green, not even bothering to dodge the living people who shuffled around the stalls, but walking straight through them without so much as a backward glance.

‘Extraordinary man,’ Aubrey murmured. ‘How marvellous to see him here in the village at last. He must have been terribly lonely, spending all that time alone.’

‘He does scare me a little,’ Agnes admitted. ‘Do you think he’s safe? He looks rather stern, and one hears such stories about the Roman soldiers.’

‘’E’s all right, Mother,’ Florence assured her. ‘Me and Immi have talked to ’im. ’E was telling us a bit about ’is life. Immi asked ’im if ’e’d come to the ’All and give us a lesson about the Roman Empire, and ’e said ’e’d think about it.’

‘He did?’ Agnes asked, amazed. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘We ’ad to ask,’ Florence said, smirking, ‘just to see the look of terror on Master Tasker’s face.’

Aubrey shook his head, trying to look disapproving, but his lips twitched with amusement at the thought.

‘’E used to live up in the norf,’ Florrie explained. ‘Guarding ’Adrian’s Wall or sumfink, but then ’e was getting near retirement and ’is wife was from round ’ere so—’ She broke off with an excited whoop. ‘There’s Immi! Look at ’er costume! Ain’t it smashing?’

Before they could stop her, she’d run over to see her friend.

‘I suppose,’ Agnes said sadly, ‘she’s used to being without us when she’s in the village.’

‘Well,’ Aubrey promised, ‘that will change, soon enough. We’ll make it up to her, my dear. You’ll see.’

Within minutes they were surrounded by various female ghosts, who’d not had the opportunity to speak to them at the cinema and had evidently decided that they wanted to do so now.

There were lots of congratulations over their forthcoming marriage, which shocked them at first, as they’d thought to keep it a secret until after the ceremony.

‘You can’t keep secrets in Rowan Vale,’ Polly Herron said with a laugh. ‘Your Florence has been telling anyone who’ll listen that she’s going to be a bridesmaid.’

‘Can I be a bridesmaid, too?’ Millie, a teenager who’d sadly passed away in 1964, after falling from her bathroom window when she’d tried to sneak out to a Beatles concert against her parents’ wishes, asked hopefully.

‘I never got to be a bridesmaid when I was alive, and I’d love to do it just once. ’

‘Well,’ Agnes said, rather flustered at all the attention, ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

‘Well, you need to hurry up,’ Polly warned her. ‘You haven’t got long to the big day, and by the way, are you going to ask John and Robert to be your pageboys? It would mean the world to them to be included.’

‘John and Robert!’ Agnes sounded appalled at the idea and Aubrey thought a hasty intervention was called for.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said firmly, ‘Agnes and I shall sit down and make a plan, and when we’ve done that, we will let everyone know what we’ve decided. How does that sound?’

‘Fair enough,’ Polly agreed.

‘But I really would like to be a bridesmaid,’ Millie added. ‘Just so you know.’

Finally alone again, Aubrey and Agnes strolled around the stalls, eyeing up the goods for sale and delighting in the delicious smells of roast chestnuts, sizzling onions, roast pork sandwiches, doughnuts, churros and chocolate.

‘It’s very odd, don’t you think, that one can crave food one has never even tasted, just because of the smell,’ Agnes said, gazing longingly at the doughnut stall. ‘Oh! What on earth is going on over by the well?’

Aubrey glanced over to the old wishing well in the centre of the green.

A platform had been set up in front of it, and a microphone placed upon it.

A man with a cine camera on some sort of tripod was standing nearby, along with a young woman with a microphone in her hand, another young woman with what he recognised from Brodie’s office as a machine for recording the voice, and an elderly man with a camera.

People seemed to be making their way towards the area, and out of the corner of his eye Aubrey saw Callie and Brodie leading a man bearing a remarkable resemblance to Mr Dickens’ crotchety old character, Ebenezer Scrooge, towards the platform.

He turned away, more pressing concerns on his mind.

‘Agnes, I was wondering,’ he said, ‘if you intended to ask Lawrie to give you away?’

Agnes’s face lit up. ‘Oh! I never even thought about that, but yes of course. Who else would I ask? Oh!’ She looked suddenly subdued. ‘Unless you wish him to be your best man, of course?’

‘No, no.’ Aubrey bit his lip, wondering how to put this. He decided, in the end, that he should be direct with her. ‘Actually, my dear, I was considering asking Clara to be my best man.’

‘Clara!’ Agnes’s hand flew to her ribbons, as he’d feared it might. ‘But – but she’s a woman!’

‘Is that your only objection?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Because if it is, I have to say that I have heard that in these modern times, it is quite acceptable for a bridegroom to choose a woman as his best man, if that woman means something to him. And as Clara is my granddaughter – to all intents and purposes – I would really love to have her play a part in the ceremony. But of course,’ he added, ‘I will not do so if you feel uncomfortable about it, my dear. This is your special day, and I wouldn’t do anything to spoil it for you. ’

‘I just…’ Agnes swallowed. ‘I cannot face her, Mr Wyndham. After everything I did. I am so ashamed. Perhaps she will not forgive me, nor accept me as part of your family? I could hardly blame her if that is the case.’

Aubrey sighed, knowing that no matter what he said she wouldn’t believe him. Then his eyes fell upon the most welcome sight, and he straightened. ‘Agnes, she’s here. Clara. Look, they’re all here. Jack and the three children, too.’

Agnes clutched his arm as she saw the Milsoms standing not too far away. The youngest child – Freddie, was it? – gave a grin and waved at Aubrey, and Agnes gasped.

‘Does that child see you?’ she whispered.

Before he could respond, Freddie had pointed to him, and the entire family turned to look. To his amazement, the two older boys stared directly at him, then tentatively waved. They could see him, too?

Aubrey waved back, and Clara said something to Jack. He shrugged, then nodded, and the Milsoms headed in their direction.

‘Don’t worry about a thing, Agnes,’ Aubrey said reassuringly. ‘Remember, they can’t even see you.’

‘You’re here!’ Clara smiled at him, and his heart lifted in delight. ‘I was hoping you would be.’

‘Who is he, Mum?’ the eldest boy asked, staring at Aubrey in surprise.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Jack said. ‘You can see him, too, Ash?’

‘So can I,’ Declan said. ‘He looks like an actor from one of those soppy films Mum always watches.’

‘Oh wow,’ Clara breathed. ‘They can all see you! How amazing is that?’

‘Fabulous,’ Jack said with a sigh.

‘Incredible,’ Aubrey agreed. ‘It’s so good to meet you, boys. I’m your…’ He paused, not sure what Clara wanted to tell them.

‘Ashton, Declan, Freddie, this is your great-grandfather, Aubrey Wyndham,’ Clara said firmly. ‘My grandfather.’

Frantically, Aubrey blinked away tears. ‘How do you do,’ he said solemnly.

‘You’re a ghost?’ Freddie asked, his eyes like saucers.

‘Well, I, er?—’

‘Of course he’s a ghost,’ Ashton said. ‘Immi’s told me all about you,’ he added politely. ‘She’s in my class at school. You’re Florrie’s dad, aren’t you? Is her mum here with you?’

‘Er, she is, yes,’ Aubrey admitted.

‘She is?’ Clara asked. ‘Oh, good. Because there’s something I want to say to her.’

Agnes let out a little whimper, and Aubrey was about to leap to her defence when Clara winced suddenly and clutched Jack’s arm.

‘Are you all right, love?’ Jack asked in alarm.

Clara puffed out her cheeks and nodded. ‘Braxton Hicks,’ she said, sounding a bit breathless.

‘Braxton who?’ Agnes said, frowning.

‘Is it the baby?’ Aubrey asked, feeling rather alarmed.

‘No, no. Just practice contractions. Quite common at this stage,’ Clara assured him.

‘Are you sure?’ Jack demanded. ‘Because if you’ve any doubts, I’ll take you straight home.’

Clara rolled her eyes. ‘I’m fine. Stop fussing. I’ve got three weeks to go yet.’

‘ Three weeks? ’ Agnes whispered to Aubrey, as if they might hear her. ‘She shouldn’t be out in public! What on earth is she thinking?’

‘Now.’ Clara took a steadying breath, then continued. ‘About Agnes. Is she still here?’

‘Yes, she is,’ Aubrey admitted, ‘but I have to say?—’

‘No,’ Agnes said bravely. ‘Whatever she needs to say to me, I deserve it. Please, Mr Wyndham, I am prepared.’

Against his every instinct, Aubrey agreed and waited for the onslaught from Clara.

‘I just want to tell you, Mrs – er, Agnes – that it’s okay.

I understand why you did what you did. I didn’t behave any better than you, keeping secrets from Jack.

You did what you thought was right, and so did I.

I want you to know that there are no hard feelings, and even though I can’t see you, I hope we’ll be sort of – well, family, I guess. ’

Aubrey felt a sudden and unexpected rush of affection for this young woman. He glanced at Agnes and realised she was quite overcome by Clara’s words.

‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that your granddaughter has inherited her generosity of spirit from you, Mr Wyndham, along with a kind and forgiving nature. Will you please tell her that I am deeply sorry for my actions, that I am grateful for her understanding, and am truly honoured that she is willing to accept me into her lovely family.’

His voice thick with emotion, Aubrey relayed Agnes’s message to Clara, who beamed.

‘I have a present for her,’ she told him, dipping into her handbag. ‘I thought perhaps she would like it on her wall. Maybe Callie could frame it.’

She showed him a drawing which he and Agnes gazed upon in amazement.

‘Why, Mr Wyndham, the artist has captured your likeness perfectly! How handsome you look!’

‘You drew this?’ Aubrey asked, astonished.

‘Yes. After I saw you that day when I first came here. I didn’t want to forget what you looked like, you see, after Lawrie said…’ Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. ‘Well, anyway, let’s not go into all that again. Does Agnes approve?’

‘Clara, my dear,’ Aubrey said, ‘she most certainly does. She is thrilled with your kind gift. Thank you so much, from both of us. And now we have a present for you, one I hope you will approve of. Agnes and I are to be married, and we would like you to attend the wedding. All of you, I mean.

‘It’s at All Souls’ church on Christmas Day, and I was hoping…

Clara, if it’s not too much trouble, and if you feel up to the job of course, would you consider being my best man?

I know it’s not traditional, but then, there is nothing traditional about our circumstances, is there?

Not that there will be much for you to do,’ he admitted.

‘It’s not as if we can exchange rings, after all.

But it would be nice to have someone stand beside me. Someone who is family.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news!’ Clara told him. ‘Congratulations!’

‘Just don’t ask us to be pageboys,’ Ashton warned him.

‘ I want to be a pageboy,’ Freddie said.

Aubrey wondered how many pageboys and bridesmaids they would end up with. At this rate the church would be full just with their attendants.

‘I’d be honoured to be your best man,’ Clara told him warmly. ‘And I – oh!’

She gasped and bent over, clearly in pain.

‘Braxton Hicks again?’ Jack asked anxiously.

Clara nodded, clearly unable to even reply.

‘Braxton Hicks, my eye,’ Agnes said firmly. ‘The woman’s labours have begun. You must get her to her childbed immediately, young man.’

‘Mummy, you’ve gone all purple,’ Freddie observed.

‘I’m fine,’ Clara gasped.

‘I don’t think you are,’ Jack said. ‘We’re going home.’

‘I want to hear Cain Carmichael’s speech,’ Clara pleaded. She slowly straightened. ‘Anyway, it’s passed. I’m okay now. I can’t miss the guest of honour.’

‘That foolish old man?’ Agnes asked incredulously. ‘Why on earth would she want to hear him speak? Mr Wyndham,’ she pleaded, ‘you must make her go home. Anything could happen. She is hardly in the first flush of youth, after all.’

That was true enough, Aubrey realised, and he understood Agnes’s concerns all too well. Even so, he hardly felt he was in a position to order Clara around. He’d only just found her. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonise her.

The microphone crackled and Callie spoke, her voice booming loudly across the green as she welcomed everyone to the Dickensian Weekend and thanked them all for coming.

Aubrey barely heard a word she said, so concerned was he about Clara. She was looking most peculiar, and he saw her taking long, deep breaths, as if trying to ward off the pain.

He hadn’t been there when Elspeth had given birth to James.

It had been made perfectly clear to him that his presence was neither required nor wanted, which, he had to admit, had been something of a relief.

He had no idea what happened during childbirth, as he had spent the entire afternoon while Elspeth laboured in The Quicken Tree, nursing a tankard of ale bought for him by his understanding gamekeeper, and trying not to imagine what might be happening back at the Hall.

His ignorance meant that he was rather afraid that Clara’s child would arrive at any moment, and he was torn between getting as far away from the scene as possible and watching her like a hawk for any signs that she was in danger.

It was, after all, a risky business, and as Agnes had rightly pointed out, Clara was of an age when surely the risks were even greater.

A man’s voice cut into his thoughts: the guest of honour, hired by Callie to open the Dickensian Weekend.

‘It still blows me away me that, even though I’ve lived near ’ere all these years, this is the first time I’ve visited Rowan Vale.

I was over the moon when Callie ’ere invited me to open the event, and I’ve ’ad a blast so far.

Ridin’ the steam train, lookin’ round that station, it’s bin a proper treat.

To all those of you watchin’ at ’ome, I say get yourselves ’ere if you ain’t bin before, cos you don’t want to miss out on this, trust me. ’

‘Good heavens, what can Callie have been thinking?’ Agnes said, appalled. ‘His diction is worse than Florence’s.’

‘Ohhh!’

All heads turned to Clara, who was gripping Jack’s arm tightly.

‘You need to go home,’ he told her fiercely.

‘Mr Wyndham!’ Agnes sounded quite distraught. ‘Please, trust me on this. The child is coming, and she must go to her bed.’

‘Clara,’ Aubrey said, terrified, ‘I really think you should go home.’

Clara’s hands gripped Jack’s shoulders. ‘Forget going home,’ she gasped. ‘Jack, get me to the hospital! My waters have just broken.’