Page 43

Max looked deeply worried by now. I sat next to him and turned to face him.

‘This,’ I told him, ‘is going to sound completely bonkers, but I want you to just listen to me, okay?’

He nodded.

I closed my eyes for a moment then exhaled sharply. ‘Okay. Right. Here goes. The reason I don’t want to dig any deeper into Aunt Polly’s murder is…’ I swallowed. ‘Aunt Polly has asked me not to.’

He blinked.

‘Actually,’ I admitted, ‘she’s practically ordered me not to.’

Max didn’t speak. He just stared.

‘And Dad’s in total agreement with her. Not,’ I added glumly, ‘that he’d ever be anything else.

He adores Aunt Polly. Well, everyone did, didn’t they?

Even Betty said how much she was liked in the village.

And dying hasn’t changed her personality or made her any less likeable.

She really is lovely, but for some reason, she’s got a real bee in her bonnet about this, and although I thought she’d want to know who killed her, it turns out she really, really doesn’t. ’

Max shuffled away from me. ‘Are you saying you had a seance or something? Because I’ll tell you, here and now, that I don’t believe in such things. And if you’re trying to?—’

‘Not a seance,’ I said quickly. ‘There’s no need for those things in Rowan Vale, believe me.’

‘Shona,’ he said nervously, ‘are you quite well?’

‘Look, Max, I know this sounds mad, I really do, but you have to believe me. There’s something about Rowan Vale.

About the Harling Estate. Some people think it’s something to do with the Wyrd Stones – you know those ancient stones in the woodland?

There’s a burial place there. A barrow, you know.

They found human remains there years ago, from the stone age. And there’s a stone circle?—’

‘I know what the Wyrd Stones are. What do they have to do with anything?’

‘Well, that’s just it. We don’t know. Did the stones and the barrow cause this to happen? Or were the stones and the barrow put there to mark the fact that this happened? Or was it something to do with the ley lines?’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he said, exasperated. ‘What’s this nonsense you’re throwing at me? Stones and barrows and ley lines. This is what fairy tales are made of.’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘When you live round here, you realise, “there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”’

‘Shakespeare?’ he said, his brow furrowing.

‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘Or possibly Walter Tasker.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh! This is so hard to explain. Okay, here’s the deal. There are ghosts in Rowan Vale, Max. Ghosts of people who used to live here, going back to the Roman days, in fact. And my Aunt Polly is one of them.’

He let out a splutter of nervous laughter. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘No. It really isn’t. Some of us have ancestors here and we can see those ancestors, but we can’t see the other ghosts.

But Callie can see all of them. She’s the owner of the estate, and the reason she’s the owner is because Sir Lawrence Davenport sold it to her as cheap as chips because the owner must be able to see all the ghosts, and his son and grandson can’t. ’

Max slowly stood up. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,’ he said. ‘If all this is some attempt to persuade me to give up on clearing my grandfather’s name then all I can say is, I’m disappointed in you. I thought better of you than that.’

‘I would never do that,’ I promised him. ‘And I’m not lying, I swear it! It’s all true. There are ghosts in Rowan Vale and my Aunt Polly is one of those ghosts. She lives above the teashop as a matter of fact, in that flat up there.’

I pointed to the window that I’d opened just that morning to air the place.

‘She moved there after her husband died in the war, and she still lives there now. She comes to Starling Cottage a lot, though, to visit Dad and me. One of my daughters can see her, too, and one of my granddaughters. The baby. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Max! It’s all true.’

‘And your Aunt Polly has told you she doesn’t want you to find out who killed her,’ he said flatly.

‘That’s right! She came to see me and Dad a couple of days after you and I had that discussion in The Quicken Tree.

You know, after we’d seen Betty? It turns out that we weren’t alone in the pub after all.

’ I pursed my lips, still cross that Isaac had been eavesdropping on our conversation.

If only I could talk to him, I’d give him a piece of my mind!

‘What are you talking about now?’ he asked wearily.

‘The former landlord of the pub, Isaac Grace – he was around in the seventeenth century – he was listening to our conversation, and he told Aunt Polly what we’d been talking about.’

‘Well, how very rude of him.’

‘I know! I was furious … Oh. You’re being sarcastic.’

He sat down again and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I can’t decide if you’re having a mental breakdown or if you’re playing a joke. Or perhaps you’re just being cruel for some reason I can’t yet fathom.’

‘Can’t you just at least try to believe me?’ I begged. ‘Isaac told Aunt Polly what we’d said about Sir Edward and her being closer than they ought to be, and our theory that he’d forced Gerhard to kill her and made Alf Rowland give him a false alibi.’

‘And she didn’t approve?’

‘No, she didn’t! She was fuming, actually.’

As succinctly as I could, I told Max about the conversation Dad, Aunt Polly and I had had that night.

‘And she said Dad needed to keep me in line, or else. To be honest,’ I said, frowning, ‘I was quite annoyed about that. Not like Aunt Polly at all. Fancy talking as if Dad had control of me! I’m a grown woman of fifty-two, for goodness’ sake.

I’m older than her! Well, unless you count the birthdays she’s had since she died. ’

‘I think,’ Max said, ‘that you’re either quite insane, or you’re mocking me. I can’t decide which would be worse.’

‘You’re not going to listen, are you?’ I said sadly. Max was the first outsider I’d ever told the truth about Rowan Vale to, and this was the response. No wonder Dad, Aunt Polly, and even Luke had warned me to be very careful about sharing the secret.

‘I have listened, Shona, and I am at a loss to know what your purpose for saying such things is.’

‘I wouldn’t have told you,’ I said, ‘but for two reasons. One, Dad begged me to drop it for Aunt Polly’s sake, and I don’t want to fall out with him or her.

I love them both too much for that, and there has to be a reason she’s behaving in this way.

I have to respect her wishes. It was her murder, after all. ’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘And the second reason?’

‘Well… If you and I are going to have any sort of relationship, then you needed to know the truth about where I live. About what this place is. I needed to be honest with you.’

‘And this is you being honest with me?’

My eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not a liar. I am being honest here. Every word I’ve said is the truth. Ask anyone who lives in Rowan Vale. They’ll tell you about the ghosts.’

‘The people in Rowan Vale can’t always be trusted, can they? My grandfather would have told me that if only he could. Sadly, he couldn’t, because we don’t have ghosts in Hannover.’

‘For all you know,’ I told him. ‘Just because you can’t see them?—’

‘That’s enough!’ He jumped up. ‘There are no such things as ghosts. When people die, they’re gone.

They’re gone for good. They don’t hang around having conversations with their relatives and living in flats above teashops.

I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.

I don’t know what you hoped to achieve by this little joke, but if it was to drive me away, you’ve succeeded. Congratulations. Now, I’m going home.’

I grabbed his hand. ‘Please listen to me, I’m not lying.

And I’m sorry!’ I realised, too late, that this talk of ghosts had made him think of Nina, and it was too much for him to bear.

‘Not all people who die become ghosts,’ I added desperately.

‘Most go on somewhere. It’s just that the percentage in Rowan Vale is far higher than anywhere else. ’

He deftly removed my hand from his. ‘I’m going home,’ he repeated. ‘Goodbye, Shona.’

I couldn’t exactly physically restrain him, so I simply slumped on the bench, watching in despair as he marched away from me as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run.

I wanted to say goodbye, because I knew we were over. Finished. Yet somehow, I couldn’t even manage to get the words out. I massaged my temples, knowing I had to go back to the teashop, put a smile on my face, and just get on with things. What else could I do?

I got to my feet and jumped as a flash of russet startled me. A fox was slinking slowly round the side of Blighty’s Bakery.

A fox in broad daylight? What was it even doing here at this time of day?

It stopped as if it sensed me watching, and turned to stare at me, sniffing the air.

‘You’re after scraps from the bakery, aren’t you?’ I murmured. ‘Are you really that hungry? Bet there are plenty of pickings in the woods.’

We rarely saw foxes in the village itself, so this was quite a treat. Dad would have loved it. He was very fond of ‘Old Reynard’, as foxes were also known.

Reynard blinked and I smiled hesitantly at him. He sniffed again then slowly stalked away in that peculiar way foxes have – half-canine, half-feline. There was something quite unearthly about them, really. Maybe it was because they were usually nocturnal creatures and seemed so solitary.

I wondered if Max liked foxes, or if he considered them vermin as some people did. Then I realised I’d probably never get the chance to ask him and rubbed my eyes as tears threatened once again.

But no matter what, I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d told him the truth. It was all up to him now.