Page 5 of Kindred Spirits at Harling Hall (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #1)

5

I barely had time to register the name or give any thought to what it meant as Agnes gave me a smug look and said, ‘You won’t budge me. Just try it.’

Overwhelmed by a feeling I couldn’t put a name to, I dropped back onto the sofa.

Aubrey tutted. ‘Really, Agnes, you could have been gentler with her.’

‘After the way she spoke to Florence? I think not, Mr Wyndham, and I would thank you to put your daughter first for once!’

Aubrey cleared his throat but said nothing. Tentatively, I reached out to touch his sleeve. When my fingers passed through it, I gasped and covered my face with my hands.

‘Oh, God! I’ve lost the plot!’

‘Not at all,’ Sir Lawrence said kindly. ‘You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise you.’

Slowly I spread my fingers and peered out at him. ‘Are you a ghost?’ I asked him fearfully.

In reply, he patted my arm. He was solid. Real.

As for the other two…

I reluctantly lowered my hands. ‘But these two are,’ I whispered. ‘Aren’t they?’

‘Let me introduce you to Aubrey Wyndham and his wife, Agnes Ashcroft.’

‘His wife?’ I thought that a bit odd. She appeared to be dressed in Regency or Georgian style, whereas he was almost certainly from the Victorian era. So how did that work? And how could Florrie be their daughter when she was obviously from the 1940s or 1950s?

They must have recognised the doubt in my voice because Agnes scowled and Aubrey shuffled awkwardly as Sir Lawrence said hastily, ‘That’s right. Look, Callie, what about that cup of tea now?’

I couldn’t reply. Fear and confusion seemed to have robbed me of all ability to speak.

Sir Lawrence seemed to take that as a yes. He went to his desk and pressed a button. Within minutes, a young woman with long, dark hair entered the room. She glanced at me, obviously curious, but said nothing other than, ‘Yes, Lawrie?’

‘Two cups of tea, please, Mia. And some of those biscuits we had yesterday if there are any left.’

‘You’ll be lucky, but I’ll see what I can do.’

As Mia left the room, he smiled at me. ‘Brodie’s very partial to them. Hopefully, he’s left us one or two.’

‘Is Mia – I mean, is she…’ Nope, I couldn’t finish that sentence. It would sound crazy. Maybe I was crazy? None of this could be real, after all. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ I said firmly, blushing as I realised I’d said that out loud. I couldn’t even look at Agnes and Aubrey. If I didn’t see them, they weren’t there.

‘Really?’ Sir Lawrence asked, suddenly serious. ‘You’re sure you believe that? You’ve honestly never encountered this sort of thing before? Think carefully, Callie.’

There it was again – that weird feeling that I was missing something. A memory that I couldn’t quite grasp…

‘David,’ I said slowly.

‘David?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Who’s David?’

‘Nothing. No one. A dream.’ I shook my head frantically as a sudden memory flashed through my mind, released from somewhere I’d imprisoned it long, long ago.

‘A dream? Tell me about your dream.’

I bit my lip. Talking about it would make it real, and it wasn’t real. He was just an imaginary friend at best. Someone I’d made up when I was a little girl, perhaps three or four years old. A young boy who waited for me every night at the bottom of the stairs. A tousled-haired boy of around my age, wearing a blue dressing gown and stripy pyjamas.

‘All kids have imaginary friends,’ my mum had said desperately.

‘I never did,’ Dad had replied, giving me a disgusted look. ‘It’s weird, that’s what it is.’

How had I forgotten David?

‘The girl will never fit in.’ Agnes’s tone was dismissive. ‘She’s not right.’

And just like that, another memory unlocked. Dad queueing at the cafe in a department store while Mum browsed the school uniform section. Me, five years old, sitting at a table, happily chatting to a kindly, elderly woman who’d joined me. Dad almost dropping the tray when he returned to find me deep in conversation with a person he couldn’t see, even though he was standing right next to her.

‘She’s not right in the head,’ he’d told my mum furiously as we drove home.

‘She’s just got an overactive imagination,’ Mum had said anxiously. ‘She can’t help it.’

‘It’s not her imagination,’ Dad snapped. ‘She’s weird. She’s not bloody normal! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?’

‘Please, love,’ Mum had begged me that night, as she tucked me up in bed. ‘Please, just try to fit in. Just be normal. For me.’

And I had tried, I really had. I’d ignored anyone who gave me that strange, icy feeling. I stopped going to the top of the stairs each night, and I never saw David again. And after Mum died, when I was six years old, the ghosts stopped bothering me. So successfully had I suppressed this strange ability that it had deserted me. I’d literally given up the ghost, and eventually I’d forgotten I’d ever been able to see them.

‘She has no breeding. Tell her, Mr Wyndham,’ Agnes continued. I forced myself to look at her. To acknowledge her existence.

‘Well, er…’ Aubrey cleared his throat again. ‘Look here, Agnes, I know this isn’t what we expected?—’

‘She’s just a chit of a girl!’ Agnes shook her head decisively. ‘This is a job for a man! Oh, if only Brodie had the gift. Such a nice young man. So personable. I would have enjoyed conversing with him, of that I am quite certain.’

Aubrey patted her arm. ‘Now, don’t upset yourself. We must make the best of things. Brodie cannot help us and that’s all there is to it. Sad business, but there it is.’

‘What can’t Brodie help you with?’ I asked, drawn into the conversation despite myself.

‘With all this of course!’ Agnes cried. ‘With the house – our beautiful house. And the entire estate. It’s too much, Mr Wyndham. I’m going to my room to lie down. I have one of my headaches coming on.’

‘Quite right, my dear. Best thing to do in the circumstances,’ Aubrey assured her.

‘Ghosts get headaches?’ I asked, genuinely confused.

Agnes hurled one last look of disgust at me and swept out of the room.

Aubrey shook his head. ‘She’s a woman of fine feeling, I’m afraid, and this has come as quite a shock to her.’

‘ She’s shocked?’ I muttered. ‘Have you any idea how I’m feeling right now?’

Bloody hell, I was really doing this, wasn’t I? I was actually making conversation with a ghost.

‘Well, yes, quite,’ Aubrey said. ‘I can imagine. I well recall the day I?—’

‘Aubrey, perhaps you’d be kind enough to let Callie and me have a little talk,’ Sir Lawrence suggested tactfully.

Aubrey straightened. ‘Of course, Lawrie. I’ll leave you to explain.’ He nodded at me. ‘Very pleased to have met you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. Good afternoon.’

With that, he strode purposefully from the room, leaving me to question Sir Lawrence over just what he’d meant by that remark.

‘Why would he be seeing a lot more of me?’

He was saved from answering as Mia returned, carrying a tray with two cups of tea, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, and a plate with three chunky, chocolate-covered biscuits on it and a few custard creams. Evidently, then, she was as real as Sir Lawrence.

‘I’ve had to improvise as I’m afraid that’s all we have left,’ she said, giving him a knowing look. ‘It was a full packet yesterday. If I were you, I wouldn’t buy them again. They only get eaten.’

‘That’s what they’re there for,’ Sir Lawrence said, sounding amused. ‘Thank you, Mia.’

She nodded but paused as she looked directly at me through black-fringed, grey eyes.

‘So, you’re the one then?’ she asked, in a voice that sounded posh enough for her to be related to Sir Lawrence.

‘The one?’

‘I’m very much hoping so.’ Sir Lawrence confirmed. ‘We’re about to have a little chat so I can explain everything.’

Mia took the hint. She gave me a sympathetic smile and said, ‘Good luck with it all,’ then left the room, closing the door behind her.

‘Mia is my housekeeper,’ Sir Lawrence explained, reaching for a custard cream. ‘She’s also a splendid cook, and does some secretarial work for the estate too. We’d be lost without her.’

I sank back in the sofa and groaned. ‘Why is she wishing me good luck? And what did she mean, the one ? Am I dreaming?’

‘I’m afraid it’s all too real,’ Sir Lawrence said cheerfully. ‘Do help yourself to milk and sugar, although I find it’s best taken just as it comes.’

It occurred to me that maybe low blood sugar was causing hallucinations. I hadn’t eaten lunch yet and I’d skipped breakfast entirely. Maybe I ought to have a biscuit, just to be on the safe side.

‘I think perhaps I should start at the beginning.’ Sir Lawrence gave me an approving look as I stirred sugar into my tea.

‘That would be useful,’ I agreed, adding a splash of milk for good measure.

‘How to explain?’ He sipped his tea – black without sugar – thoughtfully. ‘No one ever had to explain it to me , you see. I grew up here, knowing all about it, as did my son and grandson. If things had worked out as we’d hoped, I wouldn’t be in this position, but unfortunately, fate had other ideas. I now realise I haven’t prepared for this day at all. I really don’t know where to start.’

I tried to focus on the chocolate biscuit I was frantically crunching. Sugar was supposed to be good for shock, and God knows, I’d had a few of those today. I wished he’d hurry up and get this over with so I could get out of here.

When he didn’t speak, I said, ‘I can’t stay here all day, so what is it you want to explain? About how, somehow, I’ve met two ghosts today? That might be a good place to begin.’

‘Two?’ Sir Lawrence put down his cup. ‘But surely you realise, my dear, that you’ve met at least seven ghosts today to my knowledge.’

I yelped as I bit my tongue instead of the biscuit.

‘Thorry, wha’?’

He held up his hand, counting on his fingers as he reeled off the names. ‘Agnes, Aubrey, John, Robert, Florence, and, of course, Ronnie and Bill. They were the ones who tipped me off about you. They couldn’t get over the fact that you spoke to them. It’s not often they agree on anything, but they certainly agreed you could see and hear them both, and they ran all the way here to tell me the news.’

I stared at him, my stomach swishing around nervously. ‘Just how many ghosts are there in this place?’

He shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Not all of them come into the village itself and some like to keep themselves to themselves, making their homes on the fringes of the estate. It’s hard to keep track.’ He leaned towards me. ‘We think it might have something to do with the ley lines, you know.’

‘Ley lines? But that’s just airy-fairy stuff. It’s not real,’ I said scornfully.

‘Really? You mean, like ghosts?’

Point taken.

‘Rowan Vale and Harling’s Halt are on a ley line. And a little further south of the village, in the centre of the estate, where four ley lines criss-cross each other, is the Rowan Vale Barrow and, nearby, the Wyrd Stones.’

‘Oh well, that explains everything.’

He laughed. ‘Have you heard of the barrow and the stones, Callie?’

‘Nope. Oh, hang on. I saw a mention of them on your website, but to be honest, I didn’t click the links, so I only skimmed what was on the home page.’

The barrow, I recalled, was where a bunch of skeletons had been found, dating from thousands of years ago, marked by four stones known as The Guardians. The Wyrd Stones were a large circle of Neolithic stones, and a separate, huge monolith standing in a different field. I should have paid more attention.

‘I just quickly looked at the things I knew we’d be visiting, like the farm and the mill museum.’

‘Ah yes, with the children. Are you a teacher?’

‘No.’ I blushed. ‘Actually, I’m a carer. I go into people’s homes and make sure they’re okay. You know – clean and fed, and that they have any medications they need. That sort of thing. I’m here as a volunteer because it’s my daughter’s class who are having the school trip.’

His eyes lit up. ‘You have children? Is your husband here, too?’

‘Just Immi. She’s ten,’ I said. ‘And there’s no husband.’

‘I see. And does Immi share your remarkable gift?’

I could feel my blood pressure rising, indignant on Immi’s behalf that he’d assume such a thing.

‘No,’ I said crossly. ‘She’s perfectly normal, thanks very much.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘There’s nothing normal about being able to see ghosts, is there? Talk about bad luck.’

‘Well, I suppose that depends how you look at it. Personally, I’ve always felt very fortunate that I’ve been blessed with this gift, and extremely sad for my son and grandson, who weren’t.’

‘I’m not feeling very fortunate,’ I told him. ‘And to be honest, I’m still half convinced I’m dreaming this entire thing. Or maybe there’s something in the water around here.’ I eyed the cups dubiously. ‘Are you sure that’s just tea?’

‘Darjeeling,’ he said, sounding amused.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Not even Yorkshire Tea? Could things get any worse?

‘I can see this is a lot to take in,’ he admitted.

‘A lot to take in? You haven’t told me anything yet! What have Aubrey and Agnes and the rest of them got to do with ley lines?’

‘We’re not really sure,’ he admitted. ‘But we believe they’re connected. Our ancient ancestors were far more in touch with death than we are today. Why did they construct the barrow in that spot? Why erect a stone circle and an enormous monolith there? We don’t know but there must have been a reason.’

I managed a feeble laugh. ‘Can’t you ask them? Are they not still hanging around?’

‘Unfortunately, we have no prehistoric ghosts,’ he said, sounding regretful. ‘Or, if we have, they haven’t made themselves known to us.’

‘Shame,’ I said sarcastically.

‘Indeed. Our oldest ghost, as far as we’re aware, is Quintus Severus. Charming chap, if a little reclusive. A Roman centurion who died in the second century. Of course, the barrow and the stones were here long before then so he’s as clueless as we are.’

I gaped at him. ‘A Roman centurion?’

‘Anyway, the point is, we think the barrow and the stones were placed there because our ancestors knew of the power of the ley lines, and that, somehow, they were connected to death and the afterlife. How else to explain this estate? Of course, most of the residents move on after death, but there’s an extraordinary number who remain. And that’s where we come in. The owners of this village. First the Harlings, then the Ashcrofts, the Wyndhams, and the Davenports. Naturally, there may have been others before the Harlings, but they are the first family to be recorded – in the Domesday Book, actually. Built this house in 1588. Then, of course, it all went wrong.’

‘What did?’ Despite asking myself if I really wanted to know, the fact was, I did. I couldn’t deny I was intrigued.

‘The gift was lost. You see, Callie, the veil between the worlds seems to be thinner here. Many of our living residents are able to see the ghosts of their own blood relatives, but their gift is limited to that. Unfortunately, not every ghost has surviving family members. Those poor souls would be unable to communicate with any living person, making things very difficult and frustrating for them, if not for the fact that every owner of this estate has had the ability to see and communicate with all the ghosts here. No one knows when that started, but the gift seems to be passed on through the generations.’ He sighed. ‘Until it isn’t.’

I guessed he was thinking of his son and grandson.

‘And what happens then?’

‘For hundreds of years, the Harling heirs had the gift and life went on smoothly in the village. Then Joshua Harling was born and, as he grew, it became obvious that, for some unknown reason, he didn’t possess the abilities of his forefathers. Worse, when his children were born, not one of them could see the ghosts either.’

I realised I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, gripping the handle of my cup as I listened intently to his story. How had that happened?

‘So, what did they do?’

‘What they had to. There was no choice. There was a farm labourer in the village. A chap called Benjamin Ashcroft. Word reached the Harlings that he had the gift, so Joshua Harling did the only honourable thing. He sold the village to him for ten pounds.’

‘What? But why?’

‘It’s said that the owner of Rowan Vale must possess the gift. If it skips two generations then the village must be sold to a person who does possess it, in case it never returns to the family.’

‘But how could a farm labourer afford ten pounds?’ I asked incredulously. ‘It would have been a fortune to him.’

‘The entire village chipped in. Rich and poor alike gave him money – whatever they could spare.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘Because they all knew how important it was. The owner of Rowan Vale must be able to communicate with the ghosts. You see, they are as much in our care as our regular tenants. If we can’t see or hear them, how do we make sure they’re happy? And an unhappy ghost – well, can you imagine? How would you like to be miserable for eternity? They have rights, too, you know. Life isn’t only for the living.’

‘Fair point.’ I could hardly argue. ‘Even so, I’m guessing this Ashcroft man’s family also lost the gift at some point. Oh! Ashcroft? Is he related to that old— I mean, to Agnes?’

Sir Lawrence gave me a knowing smile. ‘He’s related to Agnes’s husband.’

‘Aubrey? But I thought?—’

‘Her first husband.’ He gave a little cough. ‘We’ll discuss that another time.’

‘So, after the Ashcrofts, it went to the Wyndhams – Aubrey’s family?’

‘That’s right. After them, my great-grandfather purchased the estate.’

‘How much did he pay?’ I asked, taking a sip of tea. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind telling me.’

‘Not at all. Ten pounds.’

‘Ten quid?’ I spluttered. ‘Have you never heard of inflation here?’

‘Ten pounds is what the Harling Estate sells for. That’s the way it is and the way it will always be,’ he said firmly. His expression softened. ‘I presume, Callie, that you can raise the sum of ten pounds?’

I laughed. ‘I think I can just about manage it. Why? Are you going to sell it all to me?’

He didn’t reply but the way he raised an eyebrow and met my gaze steadily was enough to give me my answer. I put my drink on the floor, my hands shaking so much that the cup clattered hard on the saucer.

‘You’re having me on,’ I murmured.

‘Callie, this isn’t easy for me, but with neither my son nor my grandson having the gift, I’ve had to accept that the time of the Davenports is over. The estate must be sold to someone who has the gift. I’m eighty-four and?—’

‘Oh no. No!’ Panic rose up in me. ‘I’m not the person you’re looking for. You’ve got this all wrong.’

‘I admit, I’m perplexed. The successor has always come from the village. But no such person has been found and I was beginning to despair. Today, when Bill and Ronnie came to me and told me about you, I knew my prayers had been answered.’

‘No,’ I repeated, my heart thudding. ‘I’m really not. I mean, I can’t. I just can’t. I’m… I’m normal !’

‘Callie,’ he said gently, ‘if you don’t do this, I honestly don’t know what will happen to Rowan Vale, or to my tenants. The ghosts need to be able to communicate with the living. They need a voice. They need someone to hear them. All of them. This village is their home, and they should have a say in how it’s run, as well as the security of knowing there’ll always be a place for them here. Please, think about it. For just ten pounds, all this can be yours, and you can bring peace of mind to so many souls.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ I stared at him in dismay. ‘My God, you really mean it.’

‘Callie Chase, I’m making you a formal offer. You can purchase my entire estate for ten pounds and start a new life here at Harling Hall, as well as ensuring the security of Rowan Vale and its tenants for the foreseeable future, or you can walk away and leave us to face whatever happens next. What’s your answer?’