Page 4 of Kindred Spirits at Harling Hall (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #1)

4

I’d half expected to find the gates to Harling Hall locked, but they weren’t. In fact, there was nothing to stop me heading up the drive to the house, and I had to admit, I’d sort of hoped there would be.

I’d taken a long, slow walk there, unable to shake the feeling of dread as I made my way through the village. Now as I approached the imposing Elizabethan manor house, I was half tempted to forget the whole thing, even though I knew I had no choice. It wasn’t so much about the actors any longer. I was seriously worried about the welfare of those kids, even if they had creeped me out.

Harling Hall was a beautiful, three-storey, E-shaped building, built of golden Cotswold stone, with a multitude of stone mullioned windows, chimneys, gables, and a large, solid, wooden door which loomed up before me all too soon.

I couldn’t see any signs directing me to an office, so could only presume it was inside the house. Steadying my nerves, I lifted the heavy brass door knocker and banged it loudly three times against the wood.

After a few moments, the door opened, and I got another surprise. The man who stood there was probably around my age – thirtyish – tall and broad-shouldered, with very dark, curly, close-cropped hair and piercing blue eyes. Wow!

‘Er, I’m here to?—’

‘You’d better come in,’ he said curtly, opening the door wide.

Not what I’d expected and, quite frankly, rather rude. Nevertheless, I stepped inside the house, finding myself in an impressive hallway with a flagstone floor and a sweeping, L-shaped staircase to the right.

The man closed the door behind me. Didn’t he even want to know who I was or what I wanted? Come to that, who was he ? Dressed in faded jeans and a white T-shirt, he clearly wasn’t the butler. I assumed he must work in the office.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and led me to one of the doors on the left of the hall.

Wondering if he thought I was here to do some cleaning or something, I followed him into a room that appeared to be a study. The walls were lined with bookcases filled with ledgers and files, and there was a large, oak desk at one end of the room. An elderly man with surprisingly thick, white hair was sitting on a Chesterfield sofa which faced the desk, his mouth curved into a welcoming smile.

‘Please, take a seat,’ he said, patting the space on the sofa next to him. The younger man said nothing but headed round the desk and plonked himself in the chair, where he faced us both, unsmiling and as far from welcoming as it was possible to be. Wow again, but in an entirely different way. He might be hot as hell, but he was a miserable so-and-so.

I sat down, thoroughly confused by now. ‘I’m not here to clean,’ I said, in case that’s what they were thinking.

The elderly man laughed. ‘I’m well aware of that. I should imagine you’re here to complain. Am I right?’

I thought that assumption said it all. ‘Do you get a lot of complaints?’

‘Few, if any,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But you’ve had quite a time of it today, what with one thing and another.’

‘Is this the estate office then?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘I suppose it is. I’m Sir Lawrence Davenport,’ he said. ‘Although, please call me Lawrie. Everyone does. And you are?’

I swallowed. I really hadn’t expected to meet the big boss, and it had quite thrown me. ‘Callie,’ I said. ‘Callie Chase.’

‘I’m delighted to meet you, Callie. And this jolly chap here is my grandson, Brodie.’

I glanced at Prince Charming, who glowered back.

‘Why do I get the feeling you were expecting me?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Because we were.’ Sir Lawrence’s eyes, almost as blue as his grandson’s, twinkled with amusement. ‘Bill and Ronnie came to see me earlier in rather a state with themselves. I understand you really tore a strip off them. Gave them quite a fright.’

‘Yes, well…’ I couldn’t help feeling a bit annoyed that the two young men had got to Sir Lawrence first, though I couldn’t really blame them. They’d have wanted to put their side of the story to their boss before he heard my version of events. ‘Look, I don’t want to get anyone sacked or anything like that, but they were openly fighting on the station platform. I was with a group of schoolchildren who could have walked out of the toilets at any moment and witnessed the whole thing. Imagine if they had!’

Sir Lawrence nodded gravely. ‘Imagine if they had indeed.’ He glanced at his grandson. ‘Wouldn’t that have been something?’ When Brodie didn’t reply, he sighed. ‘Bill and Ronnie are always fighting, I’m afraid. It’s what they do best.’

I’d assumed it was a one-off, and I didn’t like the casual way Sir Lawrence seemed to accept their behaviour. ‘And you think that’s okay, do you?’

He didn’t answer the question. ‘Would you like some tea, Callie?’

‘No,’ I said, feeling crosser by the minute. He clearly wasn’t taking me seriously. In fact, he seemed to find the whole situation amusing. And to think I’d been worried he’d be too hard on his staff! Remembering my manners, I added quickly, ‘But thank you. I’ll have to get back to the others soon, so can we get on with discussing what happened at the station?’

‘Certainly.’ He leaned back on the sofa, suddenly more serious. ‘Where are you from, Callie?’

What on earth did that have to do with it?

‘East Yorkshire, originally,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But I don’t see?—’

‘Interesting. Have you any connection to the Cotswolds at all? To this area in particular?’

I glanced at Brodie, who was leaning forward, listening intently. ‘No. Look, Sir Lawrence?—’

‘Lawrie, please.’

‘Lawrie,’ I said uncertainly, ‘I really must get back to the kids, but speaking of kids, were you aware that there are at least three school-age children running around this village in period costume? One of them didn’t have any shoes on and, quite honestly, both boys were filthy. The girl who was with them told me they didn’t go to school, and said the boys can’t even read or write. Surely that can’t be true?’

‘I’ve already heard about your encounter with the children from Agnes,’ he admitted. ‘She’s not impressed, but then – she only heard Florence’s side of the story and the dear child can be a little, er, economical with the truth. Looks like an angel, but John and Robert don’t stand a chance, do they? All the same, I wouldn’t worry too much about them.’

I gathered Florence was Florrie, but who the heck was Agnes? And why was Sir Lawrence telling me not to worry? How could I not? At the very least, those children were being neglected, and he didn’t seem at all concerned. Neither did Brodie, who sat there, silent and stony-faced, and as much use as a chocolate fireguard.

Sir Lawrence got up, opened the study door, and called into the hallway, ‘Agnes, Aubrey, could you spare me a moment please?’

He left the door open and sat down again.

‘Forgive me, Callie, but I really do need to see this for myself,’ he said kindly.

‘See what?’ I had no idea what was going on any more. This meeting wasn’t going at all as I’d expected. Maybe I should have let Mr Gaskill deal with the matter, as he’d suggested. Sir Lawrence clearly had no intention of sacking Bill and Ronnie so my worries had been for nothing, and now I was stuck here when I could have been eating lunch with Immi. Curse my conscientious nature.

My eyes widened as two middle-aged people entered the study – presumably, Agnes and Aubrey.

The man had dark, grey-streaked hair, almost white at the temples, with a rather impressive beard, moustache and sideburns. He was dressed like a Victorian gentleman in a black frock coat and grey trousers, with a stiffly starched white collar and a wide, blue necktie tied in a loopy bow.

As if that wasn’t surreal enough, the woman appeared to have been called from her bed, dressed in a way I could only imagine Mrs Bennet in Pride and Prejudice would have been, in a white, cotton nightdress, woollen stockings, and a flannel bed-jacket, brown ringlets peeping out from beneath a white linen night cap.

I almost laughed at how ridiculous this whole thing was, but my amusement quickly died when the woman, who I presumed was Agnes, glared at me with such contempt that I reared away from her in shock.

‘Is this her?’ she demanded.

‘Come now, Agnes.’ The man – presumably, Aubrey – patted her arm. ‘Let’s not overreact. We should hear what she has to say for herself.’

‘Should we indeed?’ The woman fairly bristled with indignation. ‘And I suppose you think it’s all right for a perfect stranger to accost our daughter in the street?’

Oh heck, this was all I needed. ‘So let me guess. You’re that little girl’s mother – Florence, did you call her?’ I asked, turning to Sir Lawrence. I simply couldn’t think of him as Lawrie no matter how much he insisted. He was looking far too pleased with himself, which only annoyed me further. ‘I think her friends called her Florrie anyway.’

Agnes tutted. ‘Friends indeed! And her name is Florence.’

Sir Lawrence raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Why don’t you formally introduce yourself to our guest?’ he suggested to her. ‘This is Callie Chase. She is, indeed, the lady who spoke with Florence earlier.’

‘Spoke with her! Is that what she calls it? Downright rude I call it. To speak in such an offensive manner to a child. Have you no manners, girl?’ Agnes clearly wasn’t in awe of Sir Lawrence. I wondered if she was a relative of his, rather than an employee as I’d first assumed.

‘I don’t think it’s my manners you should be concerned with,’ I said indignantly. ‘If you’d seen and heard the way?—’

I swallowed nervously as the man moved to my side, staring down at me with obvious curiosity.

‘Well, well,’ he said, glancing at Sir Lawrence. ‘So, she’s the one, eh?’

‘It would seem so,’ Sir Lawrence told him. ‘Not only did she encounter the children, but Bill and Ronnie fighting at the station.’

The man tutted. ‘Typical of those two. Shockingly bad behaviour. A disgrace to the uniform.’ He studied me for a moment, as if mentally examining me for faults, then gave a little bow. ‘Aubrey Wyndham. Very pleased to meet you, Miss Chase. We’ve been rather anxious of late. Time ticking on and all that. Splendid news that you’ve been found at last.’

‘What do you mean, found?’ Quite honestly, I was beginning to wonder if everyone in this village was insane.

‘This can’t be happening. It’s too much.’ Agnes groaned. ‘It can’t be. Not her .’ She stared down at me with distaste. ‘After the way she spoke to Florence?’

‘The point is, my dear,’ said Aubrey gently, ‘she did speak to Florence. And to Bill and Ronnie. And we all know what that means.’

‘And to you,’ Sir Lawrence added. ‘I really don’t see what more proof we need.’ He turned to me, understanding in his eyes. ‘You must be thoroughly confused by all this, but I’m so very grateful you came here today. You really are the answer to our prayers.’

Over by the desk, I heard a grunt from Brodie, then he got up and strode out of the study without saying a word. He might have been gorgeous, but he was the surliest man I’d ever met – and that was saying something, given the childhood I’d had.

‘Bad form, that,’ Aubrey said, shaking his head.

Agnes sniffed. ‘Can you blame him? Answer to our prayers indeed. There must be someone more suitable than her, surely, Lawrie, dear? Mr Wyndham, tell him.’

Aubrey shook his head regretfully. ‘Lawrie’s quite right. With all due respect, time is running out.’ He gave Sir Lawrence an apologetic look.

‘Absolutely. I’m eighty-four and I may not have long left to carry this out. Callie fits all the criteria. I must do this, Agnes, I’m sorry.’

By now, confusion had started to give way to genuine fear. Either this lot were putting on one heck of a show for me or they all needed serious psychiatric help. I decided that whatever was going on in this village, I was leaving. Maybe I’d judged Brodie too harshly. Maybe he felt the same way and that was why he’d left so abruptly.

I got to my feet. ‘I can’t stay here any longer. The school will email you, but right now, I need to get back to the kids.’

‘Good,’ said Agnes.

‘But you can’t,’ Aubrey protested.

‘Callie, could you please spare a few more minutes?’ Sir Lawrence pleaded. ‘I wouldn’t ask but this is so important.’

As I shook my head and moved forward, intent on getting out of there fast, Agnes stepped in front of me, her arms folded. ‘Rude! Sir Lawrence is speaking to you, girl!’

I was now in no doubt that everyone in Rowan Vale was bonkers.

‘Sorry,’ I told Agnes, ‘but I’m a busy woman.’

I put my hand on her arm to gently but firmly manoeuvre her out of the way, but my hand grasped only air.

I was clearly hallucinating.

I tried again with the same result, and suddenly, that awful feeling returned. The prickling sensation. Icy fingers running down my spine and across my shoulders, making me shudder.

David !