A spooky short story set featuring Rachel and Anthony from Meet Me Under the Mistletoe and Meet Me At Willow Hall.
Chapter One
Do you ever get that feeling when you think you see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look, there’s nothing there?
That’s been happening to me a lot recently. Just now, for instance, I could have sworn someone walked past the window.
Looking up from the Halloween flower arrangement I’m preparing for tonight’s workshop, I go to the door to look out. I’m working in an old brewhouse in a wooded area next to a lake, so the location is ideal for letting your imagination run away with you. Especially when it’s as dark out as it is tonight. All around me, the black shapes of the trees loom, their crisp autumn leaves rustling in the chill breeze.
‘Hello?’ I call, hoping the ladies that are booked into tonight’s workshop have arrived early. But there’s nobody about. There’s only me out here.
That’s not quite true, actually. I’m only a short walk away from Willow Hall, the big country house where I know my future mother-in-law will be eating her dinner in a brightly lit kitchen. But when it’s dark like it is now, and I’m working alone with only the surrounding trees for company, it sometimes feels like I’m miles away from anywhere.
With a shiver, I close the door and glance around my workshop. The old brewhouse dates back to the early nineteenth century and, really, I’m not used to spending so much time alone here. Usually, I’d be with my assistant, Bobbi, but she’s pregnant and has gone home to put her feet up. It doesn’t help that I’m surrounded by Halloween decorations, either. As well as the usual pumpkin lanterns, fake cobwebs, and rubber rats and bats, I’ve dressed an old mannequin in a long white wig and lace bridal gown and positioned her so she’s staring out of the window down towards the lake. She gives me a fright each time I come up the path, and I keep imagining that her blank, staring eyes follow me about the place. I’ll be pleased when tomorrow comes and Halloween is over so I can put her away.
I’ve been running the Halloween flower arranging workshops all week and I’m really pleased with how they’ve been going. I hadn’t intended to hold a workshop tonight, but the group has specifically requested Halloween evening so I’ve agreed to do it. It’s rather late to be doing a spooky themed arrangement, so instead of skull-shaped vases and black roses, we’ll be making a harvest bouquet in a ceramic pumpkin, using red, orange and yellow flowers. I’m pleased with how the one I’ve just made has turned out. I hold it up to inspect, but at that moment the lights flicker and go out.
It’s disorientating being plunged into sudden darkness. I blink, willing my vision to adjust to the dark, but it’s so pitch black I can’t see a thing. The electricity’s gone off a few times recently, which is puzzling because although it’s an old building, all the wiring is new. It’s never felt this dark before either; every other time it’s gone off it’s only been dusk or I’ve had some other light source as back up. Tonight, I haven’t even lit the pumpkin lanterns.
Trying not to panic, I lean my elbows on the worktop and wait. My eyes slowly begin to adjust and I see the pale figure of the mannequin ahead of me, ghostly in the darkness, and a chill runs down my spine. I pray the lights will come back on soon. The electric usually only goes off for a few seconds. Why is it taking so long this time?
Calm down, Rachel, I tell myself, the lights will come back on in a moment.
I wait a few more minutes in the darkness, listening to the rasp of my own breathing, before letting out a frustrated hiss: ‘Oh, come on!’
‘Come on…’
All at once, a female voice fills the air. Silvery and distant, her words overlap mine. It’s like a whisper, but it’s everywhere at once, echoing off the walls and whispering in my head so that I jump so badly I bang my hip on the edge of the table.
‘Who’s there?’ I demand, my voice shrill with fear. My heart is beating so fast and hard I feel it might jump out of my chest. ‘Hello?’ I wait, but this time there is no other voice.
Giving myself a mental shake, I move across the room towards the Welsh dresser where the candles are waiting to be lit. My eyes have adjusted well enough to the darkness by now to make out the shapes of the surrounding furniture, and I feel a flash of relief when the candle lighter flares and casts an arc of light around me. I light each candle, feeling easier with each additional flame, before crossing to the window and lighting the tealights in the pumpkins on the sills.
Now that the brewhouse is filled with flickering candlelight, it’s easier to believe it was just my imagination. I try to ignore the spooky mannequin and the way the candlelight casts strange shadows on the walls and set to work laying out the equipment for tonight’s workshop.
Scratch, scratch, scratch
I stop and listen, the hairs on my arms lifting as goosebumps prickle my flesh.
Scratch, scratch, scratch
Could it be rats? They would account for the electricity going off, too, if they’ve been gnawing the wires. Luckily, I’m not too scared of rats, but I’d rather they weren’t making such creepy noises in the dark.
‘Shoo!’ I say, hoping to scare them away. ‘Shoo! Go on, go back …’
I stop talking abruptly as all of the candles and tea lights are extinguished at once. This time the darkness feels different. More intense. More impenetrable. The room feels colder too. I’m suddenly freezing as I reach for the table in front of me, only to find it isn’t there. Thinking I must have moved away from it, I spin, groping blindly through the darkness in the hope of finding something, anything, familiar.
But it’s gone. It’s all gone. I can feel it. The air feels strangely empty as though a black void has opened up. I can no longer see the ghostly outline of the mannequin by the window. I can no longer smell the candles or the flowers. There is another smell though. The smell of cold, damp stone, and hops and beer.
Then the darkness lifts, but it’s not my room with its polished wooden floor, big oak table, and Welsh dresser that I see. The refrigerator for storing flowers is no longer whirring in the corner and all the Halloween decorations are gone. This room has a bare stone floor, and wooden barrels are stacked in the corner. A young woman is lying on the floor, sobbing as though her heart is breaking.
I’m so shocked I can’t speak. I just stare, open-mouthed as she sobs wretchedly. I try to move towards her but I’m stuck. I can’t move, I can’t speak. All I can do is watch.
The door flies open and suddenly I’m back in my own version of the brewhouse, standing next to the oak table in the dark.
‘Rachel? What are you doing in the dark?’ Anthony flicks the switch next to the door and light floods the room, returning the room to normality. The girl has gone and all my furniture is back in place. ‘Are you okay? You’re shaking!’ Crossing the room, he pulls me into his arms. Pressed up against his chest, I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of his aftershave. He feels so solid and warm, I never want to let him go. ‘You’re freezing!’ he says, stroking back my hair. ‘Why were you in the dark?’
‘The electricity went off.’
‘Again? We need to get that checked out. I’ll phone the electrician in the morning. Let me light the candles so you don’t get left in the dark if it goes off again.’ He tries to move away, but I keep hold of him, refusing to let go.
‘Rachel?’ he says, gently. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I lit all the candles before and then they all went out and then I saw…’ My voice trails off as I realise how ridiculous it sounds.
‘Saw what?’
‘A different room.’ I peer up at him to gauge his reaction and see his brow creased in confusion.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was this room, but different. It looked like how it would have looked in the past.’
‘But it was dark. Surely you couldn’t see anything?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Yes, but…’
‘It’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.’ Anthony rubs his hands up and down my arms briskly. ‘And I’m not surprised when you’re surrounded by all this Halloween stuff! That mannequin gives me the creeps!’ he shudders theatrically he looks across the room. ‘I’m sure it winked at me before.’
‘Don’t say that!’ I tighten my arms around him, making him laugh.
‘I’m only joking. When does your workshop start?’
‘Six.’
‘They should be here in a minute then. It’s ten-to now. Here, let’s get these candles lit then I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘Okay.’ I let go of him reluctantly. The instant he’s out of my arms I feel cold again and my knees sag a little. I find myself hoping the workshop ladies don’t turn up so I can just go home with Anthony. But that’s not very professional and I have to prepare for their arrival, so I carry on putting out the flowers they’ll need and trying to organise everything so it will be easy for them to make the arrangement. Anthony boils the kettle, telling me about his day at work. Now that he’s here and the lights are back on, my nerves are settling again and I do my best to convince myself that I’d imagined it all.
Chapter Two
There’s a loud knock on the door and my heart bangs against my ribs. Why do people have to knock so loud? Are they trying to wake the dead? I regret that thought immediately and paste on a smile as I answer the door.
‘Rachel?’ Two ladies are standing outside, smiling expectantly.
‘Yes, hello!’ I say, as cheerfully as I can muster. ‘Have you come for the workshop?’
‘Yes, that’s us. I’m Angela,’ says the taller of the two. Her grey hair is cut into a bob and her gold-rimmed glasses catch the light when she moves her head. She reminds me a little of my mum and I’m immediately comforted by her presence.
‘And I’m Sue,’ says a smaller dark-haired lady behind her. She also looks like a nice middle-aged lady. This won’t be so bad, I think to myself relieved by their normality. When they’d requested to come on Halloween, I’d half expected a coven of witches to turn up. These nice ladies are a pleasant surprise.
‘Our friend, Gloria, will be here any minute. She’s just taking a walk down by the lake.’
‘The lake?’ I say, taking their coats and hanging them on the hooks next to the door. ‘It’s so dark down there. I hope she doesn’t fall in!’
Sue and Angela laugh. ‘She’ll be fine. We told her not to but there was no stopping her. She’s a bit… well, you’ll understand when you meet her. Thank you so much for agreeing to run the workshop tonight too. Gloria’s been dying to have a look at this place for years.’
‘Really?’ Obviously not as much as she was dying to see the lake, I think to myself, slightly miffed that she’d gone wandering around the wood instead of coming straight in.
‘Oh yes, she’s convinced this place is haunted,’ Angela says sitting down at the table. ‘Gloria’s interested in the occult, you see.’
Ah, not so normal then.
I want to say the workshop’s off and send them away, but I’ve already taken their coats and now they’re sitting down and Anthony is offering them tea. He seems to know them and they’re asking after his mother. I stay quietly by the coat hooks, trying not to panic.
‘We’ve known Anthony since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,’ Angela tells me, seeming not to notice my agitation. ‘Such a cute little boy.’
‘Really?’ I gather myself enough to smile at them and try to act more natural. ‘You live in the village, then?’
‘Yes, we’re all local. My family has lived in the village for a couple of generations, and Gloria’s has been here longer than that. Susan is more of a newcomer, aren’t you?’
Susan smiles. ‘Yes, I moved here from Manchester five years ago. I love it here though. Such a beautiful part of the world.’
There’s brisk tap on the door and it opens before I can reach for the handle. A small woman with wiry black curls appears, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She smiles cheerfully and I note with relief that she doesn’t look too scary after all.
‘Hello,’ she says, reaching out to take my hand. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gloria. Ooh, my dear, your hands are like ice!’ She encloses my hand in both of hers, rubbing gently as though she’s trying to warm me up. It’s strangely comforting and the warmth of her hands seems to flow up my arm and through the rest my body. I feel calmer, immediately.
‘Can I take your coat?’ I ask politely, though I don’t want her to stop rubbing my hand.
‘Oh yes. Thank you.’ She shrugs off her big wolf-print fleece jacket to reveal a multi-coloured stripy jumper. She looks so cosy and warm I kind of want to hug her.
‘I must say it’s a surprise to see you here, Gloria,’ Anthony says as he passes mugs of tea to Angela and Sue. ‘I didn’t have you pegged for the flower arranging type.’
‘Well, I’m not really,’ she says, pushing her sleeves up her arms in a business-like fashion. ‘I wanted a look at this brewhouse, didn’t I. I’ll have one of those mugs of tea while you’re about it, too.’
‘Already on it,’ Anthony says, going back to the kettle and making another tea. ‘So, what’s so interesting about this brewhouse? And the lake, for that matter?’
‘You must know that your great-great-uncle hung himself down there.’
‘But that was over a hundred years ago!’ Anthony’s lip curls as he glances back over his shoulder at her.
‘Of course, it was. But you know they say his spirit still haunts this wood.’
‘They do?’ Anthony looks sceptical. ‘Who’s they?’
‘People who’ve worked here over the years.’
‘Well, I’ve never seen him.’
Gloria shrugs. ‘Maybe your mind is closed off to such things.’
Anthony pulls a face and shakes his head. He doesn’t believe in anything supernatural, believing there is always a scientific, rational explanation. When Bobbi mentioned she’d heard someone sobbing last week when there was no one around but her, he’d told her it was just her body preparing for the baby. I wasn’t sure how his explanation was scientific or rational, but he seemed pleased with himself, anyway.
‘Did you see him when you were down there, Gloria?’ Susan asks.
‘No, I didn’t see anything. But perhaps he’ll appear later on in the evening.’
Later on in the evening? The workshop only lasts for an hour!
I clear my throat and pick up the ceramic pumpkin containing the flower arrangement I’d made before. ‘So, ladies…’
‘Have you experienced anything since you’ve been working here, Rachel?’ Gloria interrupts as Anthony passes her a mug of tea. ‘The pregnant girl with the pink hair that works here came into the bakery last week and told me she heard someone crying.’
‘Bobbi told you that?’ I say, surprised.
‘Oh yes, we always have a good chat whenever she comes in.’
‘She heard a child crying,’ Anthony says. ‘I told her it would be her hormones.’
‘She didn’t say a child,’ I say. ‘She said a girl.’
‘Have you heard it too?’
I hesitate, thinking of the girl I saw lying on the floor, crying her heart out. ‘Not really.’
‘But you’ve heard something?’ Gloria is looking at me carefully, as though she senses something happened before they arrived. I don’t want to tell her though. Telling her would make it more real. And besides, we’re meant to be arranging flowers.
‘Just a bit of scratching. Rats, probably. Anyway,’ I say, trying to get the workshop back on track, ‘I thought we’d make this lovely Autumn arrangement tonight. You’ll be able to display it for longer without all scary spidery stuff.’
Angela and Susan ooh and aah over the arrangement, and I’m hopeful they will actually get to work and stop talking about ghosts. But Gloria’s not ready to leave it yet.
‘So, you’ve not seen anything of the girl…?’
My heart speeds up and it feels as though iced water is being poured down my spine. ‘Girl? I thought you said it was a man.’
‘Ah, but you said Bobbi had heard a girl. And there is a girl too. Violet, her name was. That would have been who Bobbi heard weeping. She and the man who hanged himself were lovers, see. His name was Charles Bascombe and she was a servant girl,’ she smiles benignly at Anthony. ‘And look at you now, Anthony. It’s like history repeating itself, isn’t it? You, falling in love with a servant girl, just like he did. The only difference is that time has moved on and you and Rachel are allowed to be together.’
‘Hold on a minute!’ Anthony bristles immediately. ‘Rachel’s hardly a servant.’
‘Well, she’s only a flower seller, Anthony,’ Gloria says, a note of amusement in her voice. I sense she’s deliberately goading him. ‘Hardly of the same class, is she?’
I don’t feel offended by Gloria’s comments. It’s true. I don’t think of myself as a servant, but Anthony and I are from very different backgrounds and in a different time, society would have frowned on us being together. Even now, some families might not have been as welcoming as Anthony’s had to me. I feel a flood of sympathy for poor Violet and Charles.
‘I’m not a member of the aristocracy, you know,’ Anthony says, heatedly. I know how he hates the whole landed gentry thing, and has been in denial about it for years. He didn’t even tell me about Willow Hall when I first met him. ‘I work for the police force, remember. I’m a public servant. My great-great-grandfather made his fortune in the shipping business. It’s not like we’re related to the Queen or anything.’
‘Like it or loathe it you’re still part of a class system.’ Gloria seems amused by Anthony’s anger, her black eyes gleam as she watches him across the room. ‘Back then, your relationship with Rachel would have been quite illicit. Can you imagine feeling all those feelings you have for each other and not being able to be together?’
My heart squeezes for poor Violet and I think of the girl I saw sobbing on the floor. Had I stepped back in time and seen Violet? Or just stumbled on some kind of echo from the past. A moment frozen in time and replayed over and over again.
‘So, what happened?’ I ask.
‘When the family found out about Charles and Violet’s affair, they sacked Violet,’ Gloria tells me. ‘She was only a poor girl from the village and her family could hardly manage without her wages. They were so angry with her, they cast her out too. Poor girl had nowhere to go, but Charles promised to meet her here and told her they’d elope. That night they were holding a big party at the hall, and he thought he’d be able to slip away without being noticed, but he was wrong. He was delayed, and Violet thought he wasn’t coming. She froze to death right here, in this brewhouse, waiting for him.’ Gloria looks around at us all before delivering her final line as theatrically as possible. ‘And, she’s still waiting for him now.’
‘But that’s so sad!’ I say, as Anthony gives as derisory snort.
‘Why would she still be waiting for a man she thinks didn’t come for her?’ he says, drawing out a chair and sitting down. ‘Why isn’t she in heaven or hell or whatever comes after this life?’
‘She’s stuck, poor love. She might not even know she’s dead.’
Anthony groans loudly. ‘Oh, now that’s just depressing! Why on earth would you want to believe something as depressing as that? Can’t you just tell yourself she’s gone to heaven and be done with it?’
‘We’d love to. But we can’t when people can still hear her crying.’
‘But that could have been anything!’ Anthony protests. ‘Creaking floorboards. The wind in the trees. A fox. Rats even.’
‘So, what did Charles do when he got here?’ I ask, wanting more of the story.
Gloria leans towards me, eager to tell the story. ‘When Charles finally stole away from the party and came here, he found her dead on the floor. He was inconsolable, poor chap, and hung himself from the nearest tree.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Anthony says, rolling his head back with a groan. ‘Could this story get any worse?’
‘But if he’s dead too, why aren’t they together now?’ I ask, ignoring Anthony. ‘Can’t they find each other?’
‘They’re stuck,’ Gloria says, simply. ‘They are both stuck.’
Anthony rolls his eyes and laughs and I shoot him a warning glance across the room. ‘How would you like it if you got here and found me frozen to death?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go outside and hang myself from the nearest tree, that’s for sure. I’d administer CPR first, then phone an ambulance. The odds are you wouldn’t be dead after just a few hours. That’s the thing, see. Her pulse might only have been slow when he found her, so if he’d got her help he could have saved her and all this could have been avoided. My great-great uncle was obviously a great-great dickhead!’
‘That’s as may be, Anthony, but he wouldn’t have known such things back then. And besides, we can’t change the past, we can only aid these poor spirits in moving on to a better place.’
‘You’re going to help her move on?’ I ask, now completely won over by Gloria’s story. ‘Can you do that?’
Gloria shrugs. ‘I’ve had success in the past but every spirit is different. We can but try.’
Anthony laughs. ‘Gloria! What nonsense. Ghosts don’t exist! It’s all rubbish. There’s more to be feared from the living than the dead.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’re right about the living, Anthony!’ Gloria nods sagely as she leans towards him, spearing him with her beady eyes. ‘But spirits do walk this earth. I see them everywhere. Feel them. Hear them. It’s been a curse and a blessing my whole life.’
‘Is that so?’ Anthony rolls his eyes. ‘I didn’t even know you were a fortune teller.’
‘I am not a fortune teller!’ Gloria says, thoroughly annoyed. ‘I’m a spiritualist medium!’
‘Sorry!’ Anthony says, sounding anything but. ‘But I’ve never heard talk of this place being haunted and I’m certain my mother would have mentioned it. I’ve heard of Charles hanging himself but we were always told it was over his gambling debts. There was never any mention of a girl.’
‘Is your mother a believer?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, she’s not likely to tell you a story about something she doesn’t believe in, is she? And really, Anthony, if you don’t want to help this poor girl then you may as well go. Your presence here is a distraction, and we have no need of you.’
‘Gloria! Don’t be so rude!’ Angela sounds shocked at her friend. ‘Anthony, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay, Angela,’ Anthony laughs and pushes his hands through his blond hair so that it’s all sticking up. I can see that he’s tired and annoyed. ‘Rachel wants me to stay in case the electricity goes off again.’
I watch him for a moment. I love him so much, and knowing that if we were living in a different time, we wouldn’t be allowed to be together makes my heart ache. I can completely empathise with how heartbroken Violet must have been. If Gloria’s story is true, and if there is a way she can help Violet, then I want her to try.
‘It’s okay, Anthony,’ I say. ‘You go and have your dinner. We’ve got the candles and I’ll phone you if it goes off again.’
‘Are you sure?’ He frowns, and I can see he doesn’t want to leave me. His eyes dart suspiciously towards Gloria then back to me.
‘Yes, you’ve had a long day. Go and put your feet up.’
He narrows his eyes at me before turning back to Gloria. ‘How do you know so much about my family history, then? Why don’t I know any of this?’
Gloria shrugs. ‘Everyone in the village knew about it at the time, and you know what it’s like. These stories get passed down from generation to generation. It’s only just over a hundred years ago, and that’s not so long in the grand scheme of things. My great-grandmother worked here when it happened so she knew all about it. Violet was just a slip of a thing, barely eighteen years old. She told me she had beautiful corn-coloured hair that fell in spiral curls right down her back. So pretty that it was no wonder the master’s son fell for her.’
‘What happened to the bodies? Where are they buried’
‘In the churchyard.’
‘Together?’ I ask.
‘Noo, goodness no! Charles is in the family spot, and Violet has her own little grave, near the edge of the graveyard.’
‘But that’s so sad,’ I say. ‘It would have been nice if they’d been buried together.’
Gloria shook her head slowly and looked accusingly at Anthony. ‘The Bascombe family wouldn’t allow it.’
‘You can’t blame me for that when I wasn’t even born!’ Anthony protests. ‘So, how do you propose to send Violet into the light, or whatever you do?’
‘We need to make contact with her. Talk to her.’
‘And what about Charles? Are you going after him too?’
‘Of course. Though I feel it will be Violet that is trapped more than him. Violet died alone and in despair, thinking Charles wasn’t coming.’
‘I can’t imagine Charles was too happy either.’
‘Well no, of course, but his despair was different, don’t you see?’
‘Not really.’ Anthony stands up. ‘Well, if you’re okay without me, I’ll walk up to the hall to see my mother. I won’t be long so no Ouija boards or seances please. I don’t want to come back to find you’ve summoned hordes of zombies or what have you.’
‘And here was I thinking you were a nonbeliever!’ Gloria smiles at him.
‘I am.’ Anthony winks at me as opens the door and goes out into the night.
‘Okay!’ I smile around at the women as the door closes behind Anthony. ‘What happens now?’
Chapter Three
Gloria turns to look at me. ‘Are you sure you haven’t heard Violet sobbing? It’s quite common to hear her in this building. Lots of people have heard it. Even just walking past the place.’
‘I think I saw her,’ I say. ‘When the electricity went off before, I thought I heard a voice. And then all the candles went out too and it felt like I was in a different room, with the original brewhouse things around me. The barrels and the smell of beer. And there was a girl lying on the floor, crying.’
‘Really?’ Gloria looks enthralled and I see a spark of excitement in her eyes. ‘Then we must get to work. The veil between the living and the dead is thin tonight. This is our best chance to help this poor girl. Lock the door, Rachel, so Anthony can’t get back in.’
‘Oh!’ I start in surprise. ‘Err, I don’t think I want to do that!’
‘This is no place for nonbelievers. Come now, let’s sit and join hands around the table. There’s no need to be afraid. This poor girl needs our help.’
Sweeping the vases and flowers to one side to clear the table, Gloria indicates for me to sit next to her. Angela holds my hand and gives me a reassuring smile as Gloria grasps my other one. I cannot believe this is happening. It is so far from what I expected of tonight’s flower workshop that I can’t begin to process it.
As soon as all four of us are joined, the electricity cuts out again. The candles continue to flicker, their shadows dancing on the walls, and I glance around, relieved to see I’m still in the present-day version of the brewhouse.
‘She’s here,’ Gloria whispers, suddenly. ‘Violet? Violet, come forward, my dear. You have nothing to fear from us.’
Is she here? I don’t see or hear her. The hairs on my arms prickle and my blood rushes in my veins. Angela’s chair creaks and my heart speeds up a notch from its already galloping pace.
‘Violet? Come forward, Violet. Come, speak with us.’
The candle flames slant to the right as a cold breeze gusts across the room. I glance nervously around at Angela, Sue, and Gloria. They all have their eyes tightly shut as though concentrating with ferocious intensity. Am I supposed to close my eyes too? I close my eyes, and suddenly I see the room I saw before. The smell of cold concrete and beer. Violet, lying on the floor.
I gasp, drawing cold dry air deep into my lungs. The room is now so cold I can see my breath. All three women are looking at me.
‘Do you see something?’
‘Is she here?’
‘Sorry! No, it’s just in my head, I think. When I close my eyes, I see the room how it used to be and the girl lying on the floor. I think it’s just my imagination…’
‘No, you are seeing Violet. Can you speak to her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Try.’
I take a deep breath before saying ‘Violet?’ in a tremulous voice.
There’s no answer. The room remains still and silent.
I close my eyes and the image of Violet lying on the floor comes back into my head. It’s like a photograph though, still and static. She’s not really there. I think about the voice I heard earlier. She’d just repeated what I’d said, hadn’t she? Come on.
I open my eyes and make my voice strong and desperate, like it had been before when I was longing for the lights to come back on.
‘Come on, Violet!’
The air whispers around us, and I feel it stirring my hair.
‘That’s it, Violet,’ Gloria says. ‘Come forward. Come speak with us.’
A scratching noise. The same scratching I heard earlier. Fear grips me and I shrink closer to Gloria, clamping my mouth shut to stop myself from screaming.
‘Well done, Violet!’ Gloria says like a proud mother. ‘Can you make that noise again?’
Again, the scratching is followed by a scraping noise, like something being dragged across the floor. My mouth is dry with fear and my heart is banging.
‘Good, good… Oh, I see you now.’ Gloria looks towards where the noise is coming from, smiling kindly. ‘Oh, my dear, how unhappy you are. Please, let us help you.’
At once, the fear leaves me. I look over towards where Gloria’s eyes are trained, but I see nothing. Why I can’t see her? I feel both grateful and disappointed at the same time.
‘Do you know what happened to you, Violet? Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry, but you are dead. You cannot wait for Charles anymore.’ There’s a pause while Gloria seems to be listening to some other voice. I stare at her, wide-eyed, waiting for her to continue her one-sided conversation. ‘No, I am sorry Violet,’ she goes on, her voice full of sympathy. ‘Charles did come, but he was too late and your body had already died, and now he is dead too. It’s time for you to leave this place and find peace. I know you are frightened, but there is really nothing left to be frightened of. You need to go towards the light. Do you see it? Yes, there. Go towards it, Violet. It’s time to rest now. Be with your loved ones. They are calling you. Do you hear them? Go, Violet. It’s time to go.’
The candlelight shivers and flares brighter and I suddenly see the silvery outline of a girl. I catch my breath, willing her to go into the light to find peace. Suddenly the door flies back on its hinges, banging off the wall and making us all scream. But it’s only Anthony.
‘Electricity’s gone again, I see! Oh, it’s come on again. Isn’t that funny?! Must be some sort of faulty connection. Hey, what are you all doing?’
Gloria turns to glare at Anthony over her shoulder. ‘We’re trying to help this poor spirit, and we were getting somewhere too until you showed up. Rachel, I thought I told you to lock that door!’
‘I thought I said no seances!’ Anthony says, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘You’re meant to be arranging flowers, not communing with the dead. I think it’s really rather rude of you to come here and take over Rachel’s flower workshop with your own bizarre agenda.’
‘Anthony…’
‘No, Rachel, it’s not on! They’ve tricked you into this. You opened up a special spot just for them and they’ve disregarded all your preparation and gone ahead with what they want to do.’
‘I was part of it too, Anthony. Don’t blame them. This poor girl needs rescuing.’
‘Oh, please, Rachel! It’s utter nonsense. You can’t really be falling for this! I just spoke to my mother and she doesn’t know anything about any ghosts.’
‘That’s not quite what I said, Anthony.’ Cath, Anthony’s mother, appears in the doorway behind him. Standing on tiptoe, she peers over his shoulder and smiles at us all gathered around the table.
‘Hello, Cath,’ Gloria says, looking a lot friendlier than she did towards Anthony. ‘We didn’t mean any harm. Rachel said she’d seen something earlier so we thought we’d try a séance. There’s a poor girl trapped here, waiting for her love to come. She’s not even aware that she’s dead. I just hope we managed to convince her to move on into the light.’
‘Is there any way we can tell?’
‘Not really. It’s just a matter of waiting to see if anyone hears her weeping again, or if the electricity stops playing up.’ She sighs heavily and her shoulders droop. ‘I don’t think there’s any point trying to contact her again. The connection is broken and I sense she’s gone for now. Would it be okay if we go down to the lake and see if we can contact Charles?’
‘Now, that’s the one I had heard of,’ Cath says, squeezing past Anthony and into the room. ‘I’ve never heard of the girl, but people claim to have seen the figure of a man near the lake. Your father said he had, Anthony.’
‘Really?’ Anthony screws up his face. ‘You let me play down there as a kid!’
‘That’s not true, Anthony. You know I never liked you playing down there. Besides, he hasn’t been seen for years.’
‘Perhaps he’s gone into the light of his own accord,’ Gloria says, getting up to put her wolf fleece back on. ‘Let’s go and check.’
We walk out into the darkness, down towards the lake. Trees rise up on either side of us, their gnarled trunks and twisted branches cloaked by thin patchy mist. The faint tang of wood smoke hangs in the air, mixing with the smell of cold, damp earth and vegetation. Cath walks ahead, chatting with Gloria, Angela, and Sue. Anthony falls into step beside me and when I slip my hand into his large warm one, he squeezes gently. I’m relieved he doesn’t seem to be cross with me about the séance. I don’t want an argument on top of everything else tonight.
‘It’s this tree here, isn’t it?’ Cath says, patting the gnarly trunk of an old oak. A series of low-slung branches make it appear the perfect climbing tree. I’d often looked at it and thought so. How terrible that Charles had considered it perfect for something else.
Anthony’s looking at the tree with a horrified expression on his face. ‘I used to climb this tree when I was younger. Used to sit in it for hours. I had no idea that someone had hung themselves from it.’
‘I told you not to play down here!’ Cath says, casting a rueful look towards him. ‘But what’s past is past. I’ve seen nothing spooky down here myself. Maybe people just see shadows and mistake them for something else. Nobody’s seen anything for years.’
‘Perhaps Charles has moved on by himself,’ Gloria muses. ‘Hmm, perhaps I’ll do an incantation and see what happens.’
We stand back as Gloria lays her hand on the tree trunk and calls out into the darkness, but there is no sudden unveiling of a spirit or any kind of contact at all. Everything feels still and peaceful. The pale moon watches silently from the black sky as we wait, listening to the wind rustle the leaves above us and the occasional gentle splash from the lake. But nothing happens. Even when we move to another spot and walk around, following Gloria through the dark tangled trees, nothing reveals itself.
I’m surprised Anthony stays so long, but he holds on to my hand tightly and apart from the occasional exasperated sigh, makes no more sarcastic comments. I’m grateful for his presence; Violet’s story has affected me deeply and I feel heavy with sorrow. Even the knowledge that we might have helped her can’t change the fact she’s been stuck for so long.
Chapter Four
The sorrow clings to me long after we say goodbye to Gloria, Angela, and Sue, and walk Cath back to the big house. It stays with me when I’m lying in my soft bed, enfolded in Anthony’s warm arms. Despite being bone tired, I stay awake long after Anthony starts snoring softly, and when I do eventually drop off, I dream of Violet’s lifeless body lying on the cold stone floor, wrapped only in a thin shawl. She’d looked so tiny and fragile. It was no wonder she’d died of hypothermia.
Anthony watches me worriedly over breakfast the next morning. ‘I knew this would upset you,’ he says, as he passes me a cup of coffee. ‘Bloody Gloria and her stories! You know there will be a logical explanation for all of this, don’t you? I hope you’re not worried about working there.’
‘No!’ I give him a look and continue buttering my toast. It’s not entirely true, though. I feel something about going back there, even if I don’t know exactly what that something is. It’s trepidation and fear and curiosity all rolled into one. ‘I thought I might go down to the churchyard and look for Violet’s grave,’ I say, carefully.
‘If Violet actually existed at all,’ he says, gently, laying his hand on mine. ‘We don’t know if Gloria’s story is true, remember. She might have made it all up.’
‘Why would she do that?’ I say, feeling suddenly emotional. Why would anyone do that? Besides, hadn’t I seen Violet with my own eyes?
‘For effect. To scare you. To convince her friends that her so-called gift is real. Who knows why people do the things that they do. You’ll notice how she used our relationship to sell her story to you and gain your sympathy.’
‘Your mother seemed to accept her story, too.’ I take a sip of coffee, hating that Anthony and I aren’t seeing eye to eye on this.
‘She was just being nice!’ He sighs and checks his watch. ‘I’ve got to go to work now. But if you really want to check out Violet’s existence, there may be some records of her in the office up at the hall. Ask my mother. She’ll know where they are.’
I go to the brewhouse first, just to check how it feels more than anything. At the back of my mind, there is a fear that Gloria might have opened some kind of portal when she spoke to Violet and more spirits might have slipped through. But it feels just as it does any other day. The morning sun streams in through the windows, lighting up the dark corners and chasing away the shadows. I take the mannequin outside and leave her on the grass before ripping down the cobwebs and collecting up the rubber bats and rats. The unused flowers from last night’s non-workshop are still lying on the side, so I gather them into two hand-tied posies, intending to place them on Charles’ and Violet’s graves, then make my way up to Willow Hall.
Cath is in the kitchen, mixing up a batch of scones by the counter. She’s always baking and her kitchen smells wonderful. Doris Day is playing on the radio and she’s singing along.
‘Of course!’ she says, when I tell her I want to look through the old servant’s records. ‘I’m sure she’ll be there if she did exist.’
We go through to the drawing room. A huge, wood-paneled room dominated by a mahogany desk. It smells of wood polish and the rich, musty aroma of old books. Cath takes down a large leather-bound ledger from the bookcase and blows off a layer of dust. ‘This is the one,’ she says, opening it up. ‘A list of all the servants and staff employed at Willow Hall since the Bascombe’s bought it in 1890.’
We go through the book. Each servant’s name is recorded in a neat, slanting script. Looking at the list of names and their associated jobs gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach and a deeper realisation of the history attached to this Georgian manor house. Cath flicks through pages and pages until she finds an entry marked Violet Smith, scullery-maid, 1900. Aha, so she did exist! There was no date or reason given for her leaving, just a blank space that doesn’t even acknowledge her death. For some reason, this makes me want to cry and I have to hold back my tears so that Cath doesn’t notice. Poor Violet. She seems to have been cast aside in so many ways.
‘I suppose they had lost a son,’ Cath muses, as though she’s thinking the same thing. ‘They probably weren’t thinking in a very fair or rational way. Such a shame for the poor girl. We might have a photograph of her somewhere. They photographed the staff periodically.’ She turns back to the bookshelf and pulls down a photo album. Inside, the pages are separated by thin gossamer tissue. We flick through the sepia pages, looking at each photo in turn, taking in the blank faces of people long since passed. At last, we reach a page with the words July 1900 in thin, curling scroll at the top of the page, the ink slightly smudged. About 20 staff stand on the front steps of the hall, each one unsmiling and serious. I stare at a girl in the front row. Her hair is pinned back and hidden by a cap, so it’s hard to tell, but the girl is about the right age and the same build as Violet would have been.
‘I think she might be that one,’ I say, pointing at the girl. Cath and I stare at the girl closely. ‘It’s hard to imagine what their lives must have been like,’ I murmur, taking in the small pinched features of the girl. ‘Can you imagine working here and being in love with the master’s son?’
Cath sniffs. ‘I should imagine a lot of it went on back then. Poor girl. How tragically this ended though. Terrible.’
Cath accompanies me down to the graveyard, saying she’ll show me the Bascombe family plot. It’s not Charles’s grave I’m worried about finding, though. I just hope that Violet has one and has not been shoved in some shallow grave somewhere.
The churchyard is always neatly kept, but the poor caretaker is fighting a losing battle against the ancient oak tree, whose yellow leaves are scattered everywhere, banking up in miniature pyramids against the gravestones and gathering beneath the hedgerows. We find Charles’s tomb and leave the flowers on top, before walking around the graves looking for one marked Violet Smith. It takes a good fifteen minutes to find, and when I do it’s almost by accident. She’s been placed in a corner, beneath a yew tree. It’s a plain stone covered in lichen and ivy, the inscription almost worn away by more than a century of weathering. Running my fingers over the letter V, I push back the ivy so her name is more visible. Violet Dorothy Smith, 1882-1900.
My heart crashes in my chest. Such a short, sad life. ‘Violet,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry. I hope you’ve found peace now.’
Cath and I clear off more of the ivy to make the gravestone look less forgotten and leave the posy of flowers on the grass in front of it. We walk back up the driveway to Willow Hall almost in complete silence. There’s nothing to say. It is all too sad.
When Anthony arrives home later, I’m in much the same mood as I was when he left. Proving that Violet existed has done nothing to improve my mood and I haven’t been able to go back to the brewhouse since. If I hear her crying again, I think I’ll lose my mind. The thought of her being stuck forever is too painful.
‘Just because she existed doesn’t mean Gloria’s version of events is true,’ Anthony says later when he’s holding me tight in bed. He strokes the hair back from my face and kisses my forehead. ‘Please stop thinking about it. Dwelling on it and upsetting yourself won’t help, will it?’
‘I know,’ I look up at him and try to smile. ‘I just can’t seem to stop thinking about the poor girl and how unfair it all is. And Charles too.’
Anthony sighs and kisses me. ‘It’s all too sad. I can’t let myself think about it. I’m sorry, I know you think I’m not taking you seriously, but doing the job I do and seeing the things I see, makes me not want to worry about what happens to people’s souls or spirits after they die. It’s bad enough dealing with the living, without worrying about the dead too.’
‘I know.’ I put my hand on his cheek and gaze up at him. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’ He smiles at me, and then a cheeky glint enters his eye. ‘I’m glad society’s moved on since then, else I wouldn’t be allowed to be with a lowly serving wench such as you!’
‘Cheeky!’ I laugh and hit him with the pillow.
The next morning, I wake before Anthony does. He’s off work today so I don’t wake him as I slip out from beneath the warm covers and go to the window to look out. It’s a beautiful golden morning with a shimmering mist lying low over the fields opposite. I make myself a coffee, then walk down to the lake with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl. The air is deliciously sharp and cold and I draw it deep into my lungs as I stand at the edge of the lake, watching a lone moorhen sail slowly across the still surface. A crow caws loudly from the trees on the opposite bank. The pale golden light holds a magical, timeless quality. It’s so peaceful, I just stand there, absorbing the beauty and taking in the moment as the sun rises higher in the sky, sparkling on the water and deepening the yellow haze.
Then I get that feeling again. From the corner of my eye, I see something move. But this time, when I turn to look, I see it. The mist is moving, swirling, taking form. I stare transfixed as the figure of a man appears. He’s tall and wears a black evening suit. I know instantly that this is the ghost of Charles Bascombe, but I’m not afraid. I’m more curious than anything. Why would he appear to me now, in the daylight? What does he want?
Then I feel a cool breeze on my cheek and goosebumps break out across my skin as a girl appears. Violet! She’s gossamer thin, almost translucent, but as she leaps into Charles’s arms, she grows brighter and stronger, her golden hair flying behind her as he twirls her round and round. They’re laughing and kissing and so much joy radiates from them that everything seems to grow brighter and brighter still, until it reaches such an intensity, I have to shield my eyes from the light.
And then they’re gone.
I stare in shock at the space they’ve left behind and then all at once my legs give way beneath me, and I find myself sitting on a carpet of golden leaves. I laugh out loud in disbelief, shock still coursing through my veins. Violet has found the light at last! I can’t wait to tell Gloria.
Copyright © Carla Burgess 2018
Carla Burgess asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This short story is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.