Page 3 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

That just happens to be one of the temporary red velvet stage curtains.

There’s a loud tearing sound and then Wally is swinging out like Quasimodo on a belfry sash.

There’s another crash as more of the curtain rips away under his weight and he hits the ground on his back with a loud, “Oof.”

“Wally? Are you okay?” I hurry over to him.

“I’m fine,” he croaks. He rolls over and pushes himself to his feet, then untangles his cloak, which is probably for the best. He does seem to trip up a lot.

“Wally, this is–” I begin to introduce Morgan, but Wally’s eyes widen in panic.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back. It’s lovely to meet you, but I’m like two seconds away from having an accident.”

He turns and sprints for the door—well, it’s more of a power walk.

“More like he’s two seconds away from causing an accident,” Morgan mutters under his breath. He turns his attention back to me. “Was he really the best candidate?”

“He was the nicest.”

“Nicest?” he parrots slowly.

I give an enthusiastic nod. “I have a feeling about him.”

“Is that feeling ‘we should take out more accidental coverage on our liability insurance’?”

I take his hand again and pull him over to the few chairs set up in front of the stage.

“Seriously.” Morgan looks up at John the Maid as he chats to Rosie. I regard her thoughtfully. She does look a bit like a cartoon villain with that moustache; perhaps we should give her a beard too.

“What are you lot up to?” Morgan asks, drawing my attention back to him. “Is there a reason why John the Maid is wearing a dress?”

“Well.” I pick up a flyer from the pile stacked in a box on one of the chairs to hand to him. “We’ve been brainstorming ideas to help save the hotel, and we decided we needed an event to draw in more guests, but we also need to make sure they have such a good time that they leave brilliant reviews for us.”

He looks down at the flyer in his hand and scans through the information, then looks back at me. “A ghost-hunting weekend? Didn’t you learn anything from the murder mystery weekend fiasco?”

“Well, I do feel confident lessons were learned from that experience,” I say sagely. “Which is why this will be totally different. Since this weekend is Valentine’s Day, we thought that we’d do a long weekend of events based on the Legend of Lovers Hollow.”

“The what of what?”

“The Legend of Lovers Hollow.” I scoop the tourist guidebook off the floor from where I’d dropped it earlier and thumb to the right page. “It’s quite a famous tale around here, although there are several different versions of events and no one can agree on which is correct. Basically, back in seventeen hundred and something, there was a Lady Clare who lived right here at the Ashton-Drake,” I tell him excitedly. “Well, back then it was just called Ashton Manor, I think. We’re pretty certain she was part of your family tree. Cedric is looking it up in the family archives.”

“You’ve dragged my grandfather into this insanity too?”

“It isn’t insanity.”

“Forgive me if I reserve judgement until something goes hideously wrong,” he mutters.

“Anyway, Lady Clare was forced into a marriage her father arranged with a local landowner named Clement St. John, but Lady Clare was madly in love with someone else, someone she was having a torrid affair with.” I sigh and clutch the book to my chest, feeling the wild, clandestine romance of the story wash over my soul.

Morgan’s frown softens, and he reaches up, tugging one of my curls affectionately. “So Lady Clare was having an illicit affair with her secret lover. I’m guessing it didn’t all end well?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Lady Clare planned to run away with her lover. They had arranged to meet at the old hollow tree—which is still on these very grounds, in the forest past the bowling green—but before Lady Clare and her lover could escape, they were discovered by her husband. He murdered Lady Clare, and her lover killed St. John in a fit of rage, and then, in utter despair at losing his love, he killed himself.”

Morgan raises one brow. “Not exactly a Hallmark movie, is it?”

“Apparently, this all happened around Valentine’s Day,” I continue. “And, as Lady Clare seems to be tied to the hotel and your family, we thought we could do a whole event centred around the doomed lovers. We’re putting on a historical re-enactment.” I point to the stage.

“Why does Rosie look like one of the Beatles during theirSgt. Pepperphase?” – Morgan stares at the stage, his eyes narrowing– “And what is Dilys supposed to be?”