Page 51 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)
I lay quietly on the sofa in the living room at Honeywell House, gazing sleepily at the fire. It was ten o’clock at night, and the boys were sound asleep in their beds. It had been a long and exciting day for them, and they were worn out.
Beside the sofa in her carrycot, Caitlyn gave a soft sigh and sucked contentedly on her knuckles. She’d just had a feed and had finally fallen asleep, giving me the much-needed chance to relax and unwind at last.
Over in the armchair by the window, Jack slept, his head propped in his hand, as he’d been too exhausted to climb the stairs to our bedroom.
Toby snored gently from his usual place on the rug.
It had been a day of excitement for him, too, as he’d been brought to Harling Hall after the wedding ceremony and had spent the afternoon being fussed over and spoilt by the entire household.
Like all animals, he could see the ghosts and seemed completely unfazed by them now.
What a day! As if Christmas wasn’t hectic enough, the wedding had added even more excitement. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world and was glad that Caitlyn hadn’t chosen to arrive today instead of Sunday.
Callie had told me that Aubrey and Agnes had looked really sweet together and were clearly so much in love that even Silas had been in a good mood. I’d definitely seen the joy in my grandpa’s eyes, and I couldn’t be happier for him.
After the ceremony, we’d crunched through the snow to Harling Hall.
Callie and Brodie had rigged up some music in the ballroom for the ghosts to dance to, so they could celebrate the wedding in their own style, while the living among us headed to the dining room for a traditional Christmas lunch, cooked to perfection by the super-competent Mia.
After I’d fed and changed Caitlyn, we’d joined the ghosts in the ballroom, and even though I could only see Aubrey, and poor Jack and Brodie couldn’t see any of the ghosts at all, we’d had a lovely time.
The ghosts, the boys, Immi, Callie and Brodie danced to a mixture of classical and festive music, while I sat, gently rocking Caitlyn, in the company of my lovely husband and a smiling Lawrie.
Lawrie had, after the ceremony, apologised to me for his past behaviour, and we’d agreed to put the whole sorry business behind us and get on with enjoying this wonderful day. After all, everyone else was.
Apparently, the only ghostly wedding guest not present at the Hall was Quintus Severus, who’d returned to Appleseed Cottage to keep the reclusive Harmony Hill company. The vicar had also apparently gone home. Callie thought being so nice and cheerful had probably worn him out.
Agnes and Aubrey had kissed Florence goodnight and promised they’d see her in the morning before quietly slipping away to their suite to spend their wedding night together, even though it was only seven o’clock.
‘Bless them,’ Callie said, smiling, ‘they can’t wait. No one deserves this happiness more than they do.’
The boys had thoroughly enjoyed being at the Hall. Ashton, who’d at first found hanging out with Immi embarrassing, had to admit that she was pretty cool as she could see all the ghosts, and Immi was happy to act as a go-between as the two eldest excitedly asked questions of them.
Evidently, Declan was particularly interested in hearing about Peter’s time in the village pillory, while Ash wanted to know why Walter Tasker hadn’t steered William Shakespeare well away from writing, because it would have saved him an awful lot of boring homework if Will had become a glovemaker like his father instead.
At half past eight, Jack and I decided it was time we headed home, and he went off to round up our sons.
‘Not to push you,’ Callie had said hesitantly, ‘but have you thought any more about what you’re going to do about getting a job? Are you still intent on selling tickets for the model village?’
I’d glanced over at the pram where my sleeping baby lay.
‘Hardly seems important right now,’ I’d admitted. ‘And to be honest, I’m sure I can find something better when I’m ready to start work again.’
She nodded. ‘We’re moving the model village over here before the end of January,’ she said.
‘That will give us plenty of time to set things up, make sure it’s in the right location, get the path sorted, that sort of thing.
Thing is, we’re thinking of putting the ticket office in the old stables, and setting up a gift shop there, too.
It’s time we began seriously marketing Rowan Vale and the Wyrd Stones.
We really want the estate to make enough money to keep everything maintained well and to invest in new projects, so we have to up our game. ’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ I said, yawning.
‘Yes, we think so. So, I was wondering if you’d reconsider doing some artwork for us.’
My yawn died immediately. ‘Artwork?’
She nodded eagerly. ‘Yes! Honestly, Clara, you’re so good, and I think we could be a great partnership. Think about it. Your paintings and drawings on jigsaws, cards, notebooks, fridge magnets – all sorts of merchandise. I really think this could be a profitable endeavour for both of us.’
‘Are you serious?’ I asked.
‘Of course! And you could do them in your own time. I totally understand that right now you have other priorities, and if you do decide to go into business with us it would be ages before you have anything to offer us, but I just want you to give it some thought. I have every faith in you, and I know Jack does, too. He can’t rave about your artwork enough. ’
I saw Jack heading back towards us, chivvying the boys along. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I’d said, getting up from my chair. ‘I promise I’ll let you know.’
‘That’s all I ask,’ she’d said. ‘No pressure.’
Now, as I lay on the sofa in the stillness of this December night, my family sleeping while my thoughts tumbled over themselves, I remembered her offer and wondered…
I knew Jack had faith in me. I knew Callie and Brodie thought I was talented. I remembered how my old work colleague, Jenni, had raved about my paintings.
Was I really good enough to go into partnership with the Harling Estate? Maybe it was time I had faith in my own abilities.
I eased myself off the sofa and padded over to the sideboard, where I quietly slid open the junk drawer and pulled out the sketch pad and a pencil.
Sitting down again, I turned the pages, gazing with a critical eye at the drawings of Jack, the boys, Toby, the platform at Harling’s Halt which had been the first sketch I ever made when I arrived here, and the glorious old mill, with its huge waterwheel and tall, brick chimney.
I’d never attempted to draw Harling Hall, or the church, or the shops, or the riverside, or the inn, or the farm. I’d never even picked up a paintbrush since I moved here.
But I remembered sitting on the Leyland bus on Saturday morning, gazing out at the winter landscape, and the longing that had stirred within me to capture the scene on canvas.
For a long moment I hesitated, then I turned over the page, picked up the pencil and began to write.