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POLLY

Polly didn’t like going out after dark. As soon as dusk approached, she would make her way back to her flat above the teashop and nothing and no one would persuade her to leave until the following morning.

She knew it made no sense. It wasn’t as if anyone could hurt her, was it?

But the darkness held terrifying memories for her, and she couldn’t help herself.

Shona knew and understood, bless her, and made sure a lamp was left on in the living room and landing of the flat every evening so she could always have light if she needed it.

She wasn’t sure if Shona knew why she was so scared of the dark.

They’d never discussed the events of that night.

She supposed Jimmy must have explained some of it to her, but then he didn’t know it all either.

She and Norman had agreed on that. It was best kept quiet. Let the past keep its secrets.

Even so, tonight, Polly was doing the unthinkable.

She was braving the darkness to go to Appleseed Cottage where Harmony Hill lived with an unknowing Mrs Smithson.

It was a big cottage on the outskirts of the village and quite a walk from the teashop.

Normally, Polly would have thought nothing of it, but having to cross the footbridge over the river and walk up the long, winding lane towards the cottage in the darkness was something else entirely.

‘Bloody Harmony! Why does she have to be so stubborn?’ Polly muttered to herself as she walked.

She clutched her chest as she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, then felt weak with relief when she realised it was just a fox.

The relief didn’t last long, though. She was wary of foxes.

She remembered how her mum and dad had hated them, because one had got into the chicken coop and killed the hens.

Ray and Norman had stuck up for them, telling their parents that foxes had to eat, and that didn’t make them cold-blooded killers. They were only doing what they had to do to survive, after all.

She recalled how foxhunting had been very popular back in her day. Despite her wariness, she was glad they’d put a stop to that. Yes, foxes killed, but they didn’t deserve to be hounded to their deaths, poor things.

Polly faltered as the fox stopped and looked directly at her. Ray had once told her that foxes were guides to the spirit world, and thinking about that now made her shiver.

Even so, she felt quite sorry for it – this lonely, nocturnal creature, living mostly in the woods, treated as vermin by some and branded a killer by many. She couldn’t deny it was beautiful, and there was a gentleness in its eyes that Polly found enchanting.

The fox sniffed the air, as if trying to catch her scent. Then it trotted away as if it had realised she wasn’t of this world and he shouldn’t linger near her. Maybe this solitary creature was more scared of her than she was of him?

Shaking her head, she hurried on. ‘This won’t get the baby its bonnet, Polly Herron. Just get to Appleseed Cottage. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can go home.’

She felt better hearing her own voice. It grounded her, somehow. Maybe she should sing to herself? It might keep the fear at bay anyway.

She began to sing ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square’ but found it too emotional, so she switched to the more upbeat ‘Everything Stops for Tea’. Her dad used to love singing that to her and her mum when they got home from the teashop. Mind, as her mum had often told him, he was no Jack Buchanan.

Remembering her mum and dad made her feel even sadder.

Must be the dark. It was bringing all those buried feelings to the surface.

Maybe she should stop singing. Then she remembered when Millie used to waitress in the teashop, back in the early sixties, and how they’d all got very sick of hearing one song in particular that she would insist on singing over and over again. How did it go now?

Polly grinned to herself and walked a little faster as she sang ‘Love Me Do’ at the top of her voice.

‘Good heavens, Mistress Herron, why on earth are you caterwauling at this time of the night?’

Polly’s hand once more flew to her chest, and she jumped in fright before her mind had time to register that it was friend, not foe, who’d approached her. Or that he’d just insulted her singing. Bloody cheek!

‘Walter! Oh my word, you frightened the life out of me.’ Realising what she’d said, she gave a nervous laugh. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

‘Indeed. What are you doing out and about in the darkness?’ he enquired politely. Walter Tasker, former teacher of William Shakespeare no less, was always polite, but she could see he was also deeply suspicious. Everyone knew she didn’t venture out at this time of night.

Polly hesitated, aware that Walter hadn’t really approved of the ghosts’ plan to visit Harmony Hill.

‘I’m off to Appleseed Cottage,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘At this hour?’

‘No bloody choice, Walter. She’s never in during the day. I’ve tried a few times now but she’s not home, and there’s no way I’m going over to Woodstone Manor to see if she’s there. I don’t care what anyone says; no one will persuade me to venture to that creepy place.’

Walter shuddered in agreement. ‘I don’t blame you. What a terrible place it is, and who knows what evil lurks within its depths?’

His eyes widened and he struck a pose, making Polly’s heart sink as she realised what was coming.

‘“ By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes .”’

‘One of yours, Walter?’ she asked mischievously, knowing his propensity for claiming that much of his famous former pupil’s work was directly copied from his own verbal outpourings.

‘Alas, no,’ he said. ‘But it’s quite catchy, don’t you think?’

‘It doesn’t calm my nerves, though, so thanks for that. As if I’m not nervous enough.’

It crossed her mind briefly that it made no sense for either her or Walter to be afraid of ghosts, or anything else for that matter, but common sense went out of the window when darkness fell. At least, in her case. She didn’t know what Walter’s excuse was.

‘Would you like me to accompany you to Appleseed Cottage?’ he asked kindly.

‘You wouldn’t mind?’

‘Of course not. I know you aren’t comfortable walking abroad at this hour, and I can’t sleep anyway, hence my nighttime wander. I should be glad to walk with you if it will ease your discomfort.’

‘Oh, Walter, you’re a diamond!’ she told him gratefully, as she slipped her arm through his and they headed along the lane towards Appleseed Cottage. ‘I know you don’t really think we should be bothering Harmony.’

‘I understand your motivations for doing so,’ he assured her. ‘You go with a good heart and that’s enough for me. Please be aware, however, that she may not be receptive to your pleas. I hope you will respect her right to privacy if that is what she desires.’

‘Of course I will, Walter. I just want to make sure she knows about the forties weekend, and that she understands there are no hard feelings. Just because she’s shied away from us for most of the time she’s been here, we don’t bear her any grudges.

She needs to know that. After that, she can make her own mind up. ’

‘Very well then. I see no harm in that,’ he said.

They walked along the lane, chatting about the forthcoming event and wondering how busy it would get.

The lane was quiet and the only person they encountered along the way was, of all people, Silas Alexander, taking his evening constitutional.

He glared at the two of them. ‘Out walking together at this time of night? Disgraceful!’

Before they could respond, he marched off again, muttering to himself, leaving the two of them staring after him.

‘How does his mind work?’ Polly mused, shaking her head.

‘I’m sorry, Mistress Herron. Your reputation has been compromised by walking alone with me in the dark. I should have thought.’

‘Don’t be daft, Walter. It’s him. Always thinks the worst of everyone, doesn’t he? Take no notice. Not our fault if he wants to twist a simple act of kindness into something sordid, is it?’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, what were we talking about?’

They resumed their journey, and Walter told her he’d heard there was to be a new teashop opening in the village, which was news to Polly, though he assured her Shona was well aware of the fact and seemed to approve of the idea.

‘You know everything, Walter,’ she said admiringly. ‘It’s amazing how much you pick up.’

‘I must admit,’ he said, sounding rather pleased with himself, ‘that since I’ve started teaching the children at Harling Hall, I have been privy to more information than in previous years. It’s quite surprising how much you hear as you wander the corridors of that illustrious house.’

Walter was teaching three of the ghost children at the Hall: Florrie, who was a ten-year-old wartime evacuee who’d been unofficially adopted by Agnes and Aubrey, and her friends, John and Robert, two little ragamuffins aged nine and six, who’d died in 1790.

He was assisted in his mission to educate them by Lawrie, as well as Callie’s eleven-year-old daughter, Immi, who shared her mother’s ability to see all the ghosts.

‘I meant to ask you, as a matter of fact,’ Walter continued, ‘if you’d care to come to the Hall to talk to the children about life during the Second World War. We’re doing a project on it at present, and you’d be perfect to chat to them about what what it was like to live through those times.’

‘Me? Heck, I don’t know about that, Walter! What could I tell them? Besides, you were there. You know as much as I do.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Mistress Herron. I merely observed those times. You lived them. You know what it was like to be afraid for those you loved who were away fighting. You know how it felt to worry about rations, and queue for whatever supplies you could get hold of at the shops. About digging for victory. Making do and mending.’

Polly laughed. ‘I think someone’s been browsing the old propaganda posters,’ she said, giving him a playful nudge. ‘All right, Walter, if you think it will help, I’ll be glad to. I expect the kiddies are looking forward to this 1940s weekend then?’

‘They are extremely excited,’ he agreed. ‘It will certainly help them to remember what it was like back then. Florence is looking forward to hearing the music,’ he confessed. ‘John and Robert, on the other hand, can’t wait to smell the food.’

‘Bless them.’ Polly shook her head. ‘I must say, sometimes it’s hard not to crave some of the dishes our Shona serves up in her teashop. But do you know what I miss most of all, Walter?’

‘Pray tell, Mistress Herron,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘A bloody strong cup of tea! What I wouldn’t give. None of this fancy stuff that our Shona doles out. Just a nice brew in a big, heavy mug, with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk.’ She sighed. ‘Bliss.’

‘I confess I’ve never tasted tea,’ Walter told her. ‘I have tasted coffee, which I quite enjoyed, but tea – no.’

‘Oh, Walter!’ Polly exclaimed in sorrow. ‘What you’ve missed! I feel quite sorry for you.’

‘There is no need. You cannot miss what you have never had.’

‘I suppose…’ Polly’s voice trailed off as they approached Appleseed Cottage. ‘Do you want to come in with me?’

He shook his head. ‘I feel this is a conversation best left for you two ladies. However, I will wait outside for you and escort you home.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that!’

‘You didn’t ask me,’ he pointed out. ‘I offered. I couldn’t leave you to walk home in the dark, knowing how you feel about it. Especially when you are only here from kindness.’

‘Aw, Walter.’ Polly was deeply touched. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the startled man’s cheek. ‘Good job the Reverend Alexander didn’t see that, eh? But I don’t care. What a star you really are.’

‘A diamond and a star. You honour me!’ Walter’s eyes twinkled. ‘I shall not be far away, Mistress Herron. I wish you luck in your endeavours.’

‘Fingers crossed she’s in,’ Polly said, holding up her entwined fingers for luck.