16
“H i, Tristan! It’s Ellis!” I greet brightly as I twine the old-fashioned curly phone wire around my fingers and casually spin on the office chair. I don’t usually use the office landline, but I put my phone down this morning and I can’t remember where. “So, um, hypothetically speaking, if you just so happened to accidentally wake up three ghosts trapped in a vicious love triangle that ended in gruesome murder when two one of them turned out to be psychotic killers… what would you do?”
The other side of the connection is silent for a long moment.
“Ellis,” Tristan replies slowly. “Did you accidentally wake up three ghosts trapped in a vicious love triangle that ended in gruesome murder because two of them were psychotic killers?”
“Weeeeell...” I draw out the word. “It wasn’t me, exactly—per se—but I can’t say I’m entirely blameless in this situation. I mean, we’re not entirely a hundred percent certain what woke them up. Apparently, it could have been the séance–”
“Séance?” he repeats.
“Or the ghost-hunting equipment,” I continue.
“Ghost hunting?”
“Or it could have been some… or a lot… of residual psychic energy. You know, from our ghosts. They’ve been a bit, um, active lately.”
“Oh my god.” Tristan sighs. “Ellis, tell me the truth, how dire is the situation?”
“Um, moderately dire.”
“Moderately dire?” he parrots.
“Hmm.” I nod even though he can’t see me. “Four out of ten, could be worse.”
He goes quiet again and I wonder if I’ve lost the connection.
“What can I do for you, Ellis?”
“Well, Bertie was hoping we could borrow your spirit guide for a bit. The blonde drag queen? She was epic. Plus, she’s able to keep spirits in line—you saw how she pulled Skid up on his behaviour. We were hoping that she could track down the potentially murdery ghosts and have a word with them before, you know… they decide to murder anyone.”
“I don’t even know where to start unpacking that sentence,” Tristan says. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m not sure I can spare Dusty at the moment. We’re kind of in the middle of our own supernatural crisis at the moment.”
“Your friend who was murdered?” I ask.
“Vivienne,” Tristan says quietly. “Yeah, it’s proving to be a lot more complicated than we thought, and on top of that, my dad…” He trails off, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is so sad it makes my chest ache. “My dad’s not well. We don’t think he has long left.”
“I’m so sorry, Tristan,” I say softly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You’re sweet, Ellis, but there’s nothing anyone can do.” He blows out a breath. “Besides, I think you’ve got your hands full.”
“Do you have any idea what we should do?” I ask.
“Let me think on it for a bit.” He pulls away from the phone, and I can hear muffled words but not enough to make them out. “Sorry, my friend Sam wants a word with me. I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Okay. Thanks, Tristan. If there’s anything I can do, you know, with your dad and all, just call me.”
“I will,” he murmurs. “Speak soon.”
The line at the other end clicks and I hang up.
There’s a knock on the door, and when it opens a crack, Rosie pops her head around the corner. “Hey, Sparky, the troops are amassed in the lobby. You ready for the tour?”
“Sure am.” I grin. “Thankfully, it’s not snowing at the moment. Has everyone got boots?”
“Boots sorted.” She nods. “Coats on, hats and gloves at the ready. They’re just waiting for you.”
“Be right out,” I reply, and she closes the door again. Standing up, I grab my scarf and wind it around my neck before reaching for my thick winter coat. I pull it on, zipping it up to my chin, and grab my mittens, sliding them onto my hands. I’m already wearing my fleece-lined snow boots, and my toes are nice and toasty. Scooping up my woolly hat, I head out of the office and into the lobby.
“There you are,” Morgan says, stepping in closer. I’m so tempted to lift my face for a kiss, but we should at least attempt to look professional with a lobby full of guests and ghost hunters watching us. “I found this in the dining room.” He holds up my phone.
“Oh, thanks.” I smile brightly and offer my hip for him to slip it into my coat pocket. “I was looking for that for ages.”
He tucks my phone safely inside and reaches for my hat, pulling it on my head and tugging at the two pom-poms that look like panda ears.
“You look cute and warm,” he says quietly, and I smile at him.
Just then, Warren strolls up, a coffee in one hand. “You do look cute.”
“Afternoon, Warren,” I greet him with a bright smile. “Are you all caught up on your sleep now?”
“Why, yes, I am, Ellis. Thank you for asking and not mocking.” He throws his brother a pointed look.
“Are you not joining us?” I ask, eyeing his jeans, sweater, and casual shoes.
“Nope.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “The snow looks pretty as a picture from in here, but I have no desire to get up close and personal with it. I’ve got a date with some more of Aggie’s cookies and then I’ve got some work to do.”
“Or you could not work and have an actual break,” Morgan suggests.
“I could, but I’m not going to,” he says. “You kids have fun making snowmen.”
I watch as he walks away, and I also don’t miss the way Thad’s eyes follow him across the lobby.
“Okay, can I have everyone’s attention, please!” I call out to everyone milling about the room. The low murmur of voices quiets down as all eyes turn in my direction. “I hope you all enjoyed your tour of the house with Rosie this morning. I’m sure she introduced you to our resident ghosts, and you had a chance to see their portraits and the places where they died. Now, we’ll be heading outside in just a moment so make sure you’re bundled up warmly.”
My gaze scans over the group quickly to make sure they’re all dressed appropriately.
“First, we’ll be heading through the orchard where Edwina Ashton-Drake met her end during the winter of 1904 in protest of women’s rights. Then we’ll make our way towards the chapel and graveyard. We won’t be going inside the chapel or the mausoleum as they are private for the family. I’d like to also remind you that the graveyard is the Ashton-Drake family burial ground, so please be respectful. Once we pass through the orchard, we’ll be heading through wild woodlands. We do have several badger setts located in that area, and as cute as they look, we ask that you don’t get too close. They can be a bit aggressive.”
“Awww, will there be babies?” Haru asks excitedly.
“Not yet,” I chuckle. “We usually see some babies during springtime. Although they’re born around February, they won’t emerge from undergrounds until April or May.”
“Oh,” Haru pouts.
“Once we’ve seen the chapel and graveyard, we’ll continue on through the woods where the tour will conclude at Lovers Hollow, then it’s back to the hotel for hot drinks and a slice of Aggie’s ginger cake, which is amazing. Now, before we head out, one more warning. It’s been snowing during the night, so the snow will be quite deep in places. I wouldn’t want anyone to stumble on the uneven ground and hurt themselves, so Morgan and I will go first and cut the path. Try and follow along the path of our footprints. Any questions?”
When everyone shakes their heads, I clap my mittened hands together even though they make no sound.
“Okay, let’s go!”
I turn to Morgan, who’s zipping up his coat, and take his hand. Together, we lead our little group out into the crisp afternoon air. It’s a nice day for a walk, the snow fresh and crunchy under our feet. The air is cold but not bitter, and the sky is clear and pale blue.
I breathe in deeply and from the corner of my eye, I catch Morgan watching me.
“What?” I ask curiously.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I just—there are moments when I can just see how much you love this place.”
“I do.” I smile and nod. “It’s been home for as long as I can remember. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, but it’s more than that. The whole estate is so beautiful and full of secrets and history. Whether it’s in the house or on the grounds, there’s always something to see.”
“Like baby badgers?”
“Yes, we have lots of foxes too. I love them, they’re so playful. A bit noisy though,” I say with a rueful expression. “Especially when they’re horny and getting it on. Seriously, you’ve never heard a racket like it.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” His mouth curves. “You got pretty loud last night.”
I laugh loudly. “Oh, trust me, I’m not even in the same league as them.”
We fall silent as we make our way through the orchard.
“You’re right, it really is beautiful,” Morgan says quietly as he looks around his ancestral grounds. “I remember playing out here when I was a kid. My dad would take me sledding when it snowed.” He blinks. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten that.”
I nod. “There’s a hill not far from here, and I think there are still some sleds in the storage sheds. I could ask John the Maid to see, and maybe you and I could try them out once all the guests have checked out.” I grin. “It could be our first date.”
He stares down at me as we walk. “I’d like that,” he finally says.
We stop briefly so I can point out the actual tree Edwina chained herself to and accidentally froze to death. I personally wouldn’t have had a clue which one it was, but Edwina, who was still trailing after Thad like a groupie, helpfully pointed it out and seemed quite adamant it was the correct one.
After a few selfies, we move on. The orchards give way to the wild woods that I love so much, and as predicted, we do see some of the badgers who’ve ventured out of their cosy little subterranean setts. A few more photos for the guests and we are on our way once more.
“Did you manage to call your friend?” Morgan asks.
“Tristan?” I clarify, and he nods. “Yes, I did. He said he’d have a think about it and call me back.”
“Have a think about what?”
“How to help, but he’s got his hands full at the moment,” I explain. “His dad is dying and one of his friends has just been murdered.”
Morgan frowns. “He’s a medium, isn’t he?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Well, not officially. I mean, he does see dead people. He’s a forensic pathologist and his boyfriend—sorry, fiancé, they got engaged when they were here—his fiancé is a detective at Scotland Yard.”
“And they were here during the murder mystery weekend?”
I nod. “Yes. When one of the murder mystery actors, Professor Plume, turned out to be actually dead, not just fake dead, and we were snowed in without the police being able to reach us, they basically unravelled the mystery of how the professor died.”
“It’s never dull here, is it?” Morgan states dryly.
“Well, it was for ages,” I reply. “Up until Tristan came, I didn’t even know ghosts were real. Then the murder mystery weekend happened, and it changed everything. After that, you arrived and boom, everything changed again. This last month and a half have been the best weeks of my life so far.”
As we continue through the trees, a small building comes into view.
“Is that the chapel?”
“No, actually. It’s the mausoleum. The chapel is just behind it, along with the graveyard.”
Morgan falls silent and I know what he’s thinking. The mausoleum is where Bertie told him his father’s ashes are interred.
“I brought the keys with me if you want to go in,” I tell him softly. “I’ll make sure you have some privacy.”
He stares in silence for several long seconds as we walk towards it, but eventually, he shakes his head.
“Not today. Maybe some other time,” he says quietly.
“I understand,” I reply. “Today’s probably not the best time with all these people around, but you can go anytime. We keep the keys in the office, so you can take them whenever you’re ready.”
“Would you–” He breaks off. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will.” I squeeze his hand through my mittens.
Morgan’s phone suddenly rings, the tone shrill in the hush of the woods. Pulling it out of his pocket, he frowns at the screen.
“Hello?” His expression suddenly clears. “Hi, Sam.” He pauses. “You did? That was quick. What did you find?”
I squeeze his hand again. “I’m going to talk to the others,” I whisper.
He nods and lets go of my hand, and I wander back towards the others. While Morgan takes his call, I get the others around me, giving a history of the chapel and when it was built, followed by a few other facts about some of the graves. Then I leave them to it, letting them roam freely.
The Sch?fers, the Taylor-Joneses, Haru, and Amelia wander through the graves, excitedly pointing out the names they’d learned from Rosie on this morning’s tour. They manage to find Artie’s grave and Admiral Hilary’s. Edwina is there too, as well as Bertie. But they also exclaim excitedly when they find the grave of Lady Clare herself. Her husband isn’t buried here; his body was returned to his family, or so I’ve heard.
As for her lover, no one knows for certain who he was—I’ve heard the name Osyn and also Oswyn or Owen. The legend changes with each retelling, and I think it’s sad. Someone who was so important to Lady Clare, who loved her so much he was willing to kill and die for her, yet he’s remained nameless and faceless for over three hundred years. We’ve got a large portrait of Lady Clare up at the house and a smaller painting of her husband Clement St. John, but nothing for the other man. He’s lost to time.
“Ellis?” Morgan calls to me. I turn in his direction. “Do you know if there’s a ground-floor guest room available? One with access for a wheelchair?”
“Yes, there is. Why?”
“We have another guest arriving tomorrow, sometime around late morning or lunchtime.”
“Okay. When we get back, I’ll have John the Maid prepare the room.”
“Thanks.” He nods.
“Who is it for?”
He grins at me. “It’s a surprise,” he says, and goes back to his conversation.
I glance across and watch Thad, who is talking into the camera Kem’s holding while Faiz holds the sound boom over his head, just out of shot. Nearby, Bez and Jules are keeping an eye on the crew.
Eventually, I round everyone up. Thad wraps up the part he’s filming, Morgan finishes his phone call with someone called Sam, and I gather up the rest of the guests. Once again, we set off through the woods, this time heading in the direction of the Hollow.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but the air feels colder, the sky looks more overcast, and despite it being midafternoon, the light seems darker. A strange sensation settles over my skin, making the little hairs on my arms prickle. Again I have that feeling—the air is charged somehow, like before an electrical storm.
I can see the Hollow now, but just as we approach, Thad suddenly yells for us to stop.
“What?” I ask, curious at the excitement in his voice.
“Look!” He points to the hollowed-out tree in the centre of a clearing. Freshly fallen snow covers the circle in deep undisturbed drifts, but closer to the tree are footprints. These aren’t animal prints—they are very definite heavy boot prints, and they circle the tree several times over, as if someone had been pacing.
“Nobody get any closer just yet,” Thad says. “I just want to check something.”
We watch as he jogs around the outer edge of the clearing, disappearing momentarily behind the Hollow, then reappearing at the other side.
“Oh my gosh!” Haru exclaims, whipping out his phone and starting another Instagram reel.
“That’s quite clearly fake,” Mrs Taylor-Jones scoffs. “That John fellow could’ve come out here and made them before we arrived.”
“Actually, John doesn’t venture this far from the house,” I tell her as I eye the strange footprints.
“You’re missing the point,” Thad says as he jogs back to us.
“What point is that?” Ans asks eagerly.
“The Hollow is sitting right in the middle of the clearing and the footprints circle it,” he says thoughtfully as he watches Kem walking the circumference of the Hollow and filming.
“So?” Mrs Taylor-Jones frowns.
“So there are no footprints leading to or from it,” he explains. Kem rejoins the group but keeps filming the hollowed-out tree. “Where did whoever made those footprints come from and where did they disappear to?”
There’s a heavy silence as everyone ponders Thad’s ominous words.
I don’t need to ponder anything though. I’m pretty sure I know exactly who, or rather what, made those impressions in the snow. But then again, I have an advantage. I know that ghosts are real. Just as I know none of our ghosts would have ventured out here to make them, not after last night.
“We should probably head back now,” I say, shivering and looking up. A dark cloud passes over us, casting pale shadows over the Hollow.
“I think that’s a good idea–” Morgan’s words are cut off by a loud and rather worrying cracking sound.
The ground vibrates beneath our feet, and we all stumble back a few paces as the Hollow suddenly tears asunder, the two sides parting, but as the rupture reaches the roots of the tree, it doesn’t stop. We watch in horror as the earth itself splits open like a gaping wound, and the jagged opening stretches a couple of feet towards us and then stops.
For a second, there is nothing but silence and the sound of heavy, adrenaline-filled breaths. Then everyone starts talking at once.
I turn to Morgan and see his expression is as troubled as mine. He whispers harshly, “What the hell was that?”
* * *
I smooth my suit down and smile at Mr and Mrs Taylor-Jones as they make their way past me and into the ballroom. They weave their way through the chairs we’ve set up in front of the makeshift stage and sit down next to the Sch?fers, whom they seem to have become quite friendly with.
After the strange events at the Hollow earlier this afternoon, the atmosphere is one of anticipation and excitement. Although there were one or two people who suggested that the tree splitting was entirely a natural phenomenon caused by the weight of the snow on the dead tree, it didn’t explain the massive, jagged crack in the ground that Thad and his team thoroughly documented, measuring the depth of the split at nearly six feet. Curiously, the exact depth of most graves.
Something I really don’t want to think about. I just hope Tristan can come up with some sort of solution because we have a really big problem on our hands. Trying to shake the unease from my mind, I give our little makeshift theatre the once-over.
Everyone else is settled in their seats, including Thad and Warren, whose gazes, despite them being seated on opposite sides of the room, keep clashing. Mr Pennington, dressed in his black beret and matching polo-neck sweater, gives me a nod, and I lower the lights.
A hush falls over the audience as the shabby red velvet curtains edged in frayed gold tassels are winched open by Mr Pennington in short, jerky movements accompanied by a squealing sound.
Maybe we should have oiled the curtain runners.
Finally, the curtains open and the stage is set. From my angle, I can see Rosie, playing the part of Lady Clare’s father, waiting in the wings dressed like a town crier from the olden days. I can also see Wally beside her, waiting for his cue. He’s once again wearing his cloak, but this time the hem has been raised several inches so it hangs somewhere under his knees, which hopefully, fingers crossed, should stop him from tripping over it again.
In the middle of the stage is Dilys, standing stock-still, wrapped in a layer of brown painted foam and holding a twig in each hand. Suddenly, John the Maid comes gliding onto the stage, extremely gracefully for a man his size, wearing a heavy brocade gown and corset and a long dark wig covering his usually bald head.
I jump slightly when I feel someone grab my hand. Turning, I faintly see Morgan in the dim light. He smiles and raises a finger to his lips, then beckons me, giving a gentle tug on my hand.
Not needing any more of an invitation, I follow him. We sneak out of the ballroom and into the snug leading off the bar area. We don’t speak, as we bypass the bar and head through the lobby, along the corridor, and into the barely used billiards room.
“What are we doing in here?” I ask curiously as he flips on the low lights and locks the door behind us.
“I thought we could steal five minutes for ourselves before all the craziness starts up again. With all the weird stuff going on right now, we need to take the time where we can find it. Everyone’s busy with the play, they won’t miss us,” he says as he leads me over to the billiards table. He lifts me up and sets me down on the velvety surface of the table, then reaches for my belt buckle.
“Mr Ashton-Drake,” I chuckle, “whatever are you doing?”
“I would have thought that was obvious.” He unzips my trousers and, reaching into my boxers, pulls my cock out. Before I can utter a single word, my cock is engulfed in delicious hot, wet heat.
I groan loudly. Planting my palms on the table, I lean back and enjoy the sinful pleasure of his mouth.
“Oh god,” I cry as he slides his tongue along the underside of my cock and then tightens his mouth in the perfect suction. “Ohhh.” I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair. “If you keep that up, I won’t last long.”
He chuckles and I feel the vibrations along my dick. He takes my breathy statement as a challenge. He seems determined to make me lose control in the shortest amount of time possible, and seriously, that’s not going to be a problem. The pressure on my cock, the feel of his lips and tongue, the way he slips his hand into my boxers and massages my balls.
My whole body tenses up, and lightning shoots down my spine. My balls tighten in his grasp, and I come hard. He hums happily and swallows.
I shudder, my cock overly sensitive as he pulls off, and I shove him back, not even bothering to tuck myself away as I drop to my knees.
I make quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans, dragging them down his hips along with his underwear. Fisting his cock, I aim it at my mouth and swallow him deep. Following along with our challenge, I try to make him come even quicker than I did, but I have to give it to him, he’s clearly got more stamina than me. I’m always too greedy, too impatient for him.
I grip his sexy arse and encourage him to fuck into my mouth. My jaw aches and my lips are swollen, but he tastes so good. Eventually, he gives a loud groan and pulses on my tongue, his flavour filling my mouth. After swallowing a couple of times, I pull off, breathing heavily.
He pulls me to my feet and kisses me, and I can taste both of us. But, however much I want to stay wrapped in him, we should rejoin the others. Reluctantly, I pull back and tuck myself into my trousers, re-zipping and buckling my belt while he does the same.
Once we’re both looking presentable, he traces his thumb over my lips and gives me one more lingering kiss to tide me over until we can be alone again.
Hand in hand, and smugly satisfied, we head back to the ballroom, but as we open the door and step inside, we both stop dead, mouths falling open at the sight that greets us. The huge crimson curtains are on the floor, the runners hanging half off the ceiling. John the Maid, Aggie, and Rosie are piled on top of one another in a huge heap of tangled limbs. Part of the stage has collapsed, and the backdrops have fallen into the audience, sending the chairs scattering in all directions. The guests are all picking themselves up off the floor, laughing and dusting themselves off.
And in the midst of all the chaos, Dilys stands quite calmly in place, holding her two twigs, while above her, Wally dangles upside down, one ankle caught in the rope from the curtain runner. He slowly spins around, his two black eyes wide and his bandaged nose wrinkled.
I breathe out slowly and fight the urge to laugh.
“But we were only gone twenty minutes.”