Lauren brought out a tray of cold drinks, and the three of us chatted for a while about the possibility of ghostly goings-on at Castle Hill House.
‘Perhaps someone died a violent death there, years ago,’ Lauren suggested.
‘Yes. It’s usually a murder, isn’t it?’ I said, with a little shiver.
‘But the document we found mentioned someone dressed in military uniform, with horrible wounds. Could they have been war injuries?’ Matt suggested.
‘Mm. And they mentioned a little child, crying for her mother.’ I glanced from Lauren to Holly, who’d now gone back to whizzing back and forth on her swing and was singing a happy little song to herself. ‘That was a bit upsetting,’ I added quietly.
‘Yes. But it’s strange that the family who live there now haven’t experienced anything, isn’t it?’ Lauren said thoughtfully.
‘Perhaps they’re not attuned to the supernatural,’ Matt said, with a grin.
‘You don’t believe in it, do you,’ I said. ‘You think it’s all – what? – someone’s overactive imagination?’
‘I wouldn’t say I don’t believe. But I’m sceptical, sure.’ Just then, Romeo came rushing out of one of the bushes, haring across the lawn and jumping up in the air after a butterfly, making us all laugh. ‘Cats are supposed to be linked to the paranormal world, aren’t they?’ he went on, as Romeo, looking offended with us for laughing at him, sat down with his back to us and started washing himself.
‘So they say,’ Lauren said, laughing again. ‘They do have nine lives, after all!’
But I stayed silent, thinking about Albert. It hurt me to admit to myself that I was never going to see him again. I wondered if he even remembered me now. I supposed I should be grateful that I could at least enjoy the company of Lauren’s two cats, to say nothing of all the pets I was looking after now.
For the next couple of days I looked forward eagerly to my day out with Matt, but, sadly, on the Saturday morning I pulled back my bedroom curtains to see the rain pouring down outside.
‘The weather’s broken,’ Lauren said with a sigh. ‘It was too much to hope for sunshine for longer than a week, here in Devon. We’ve had more than enough rain this year already, though.’ She shook her head. ‘Everyone’s getting nervous about the river again.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, staring at the heavy clouds and rain-spattered windows.
‘The part of town nearest the river gets flooded sometimes when there’s been a lot of rain all year. Fortunately it’s been a few years since it’s happened, but it’s always on our minds.’
‘Oh yes – I noticed sandbags by the houses along the riverbank, back in the winter. It must be really worrying for those people.’
‘It is. Fortunately we’re OK over this side, we’re on higher ground of course. But let’s hope it doesn’t happen. Will you still go out for the day, though, Emma? The moor can be really dreary in the rain.’
‘I don’t know. Matt’s supposed to be picking me up in an hour, but perhaps he’ll want to reschedule.’
However, Matt was shocked at the very idea of cancelling the trip.
‘We could wait all year for a dry day,’ he pointed out. ‘Come on, a bit of rain won’t hurt us. It might even clear up by lunchtime.’
‘Ever the optimist,’ I muttered, as I ran from the front door to the car with my anorak over my head.
We headed slowly out of town, the rain beating down on the car windows, the wipers going double time. I wondered how I was going to see any of the scenery through the downpour. But before we’d gone very far the rain eased off a little. We turned onto a tiny narrow lane, passed across a little bridge over a stream and started to climb slowly uphill, and by now there was only a fine drizzle in the air. At first there had been a few cottages beside the lane, but now there was nothing – no habitation whatsoever, just miles and miles of moorland in every direction. Suddenly, there was a shaft of sunlight through the clouds, illuminating everything, making all the greens, yellows and purples of the landscape brighten up as if someone had switched on the lights.
‘Oh, wow,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
There was a little lay-by just ahead where someone, perhaps a group of walkers, had parked an old Land Rover, and Matt pulled in behind it. We got out of the car, ignoring the persistent light drizzle, and crossed the road to stare around us.
‘That’s Grey Tor,’ he said, pointing towards a rock formation looming above the moor. ‘And that stack of rocks in the distance – see? – is called the Giant’s Nose. You’ll see why when we get there. It’s right on the top of Tinker Ridge. From there we can head down to Widecombe-in-the-Moor.’
‘Oh, that’s one place I have heard of,’ I said.
‘Yes. It’s a bit touristy, unfortunately, but there’s a nice pub there for lunch.’
‘Sounds good!’ I smiled at him as we shook the rain off our jackets and got back in the car. ‘I knew Dartmoor was beautiful, but seeing it in this light, with the sun shining through the rain – it’s just …’
‘Stunning,’ he finished for me. He put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine. He was watching me as I did up my seatbelt. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said softly.
‘The colours are amazing. The yellow – is that gorse?’
‘Yes. Though we usually call it furze.’ He laughed and added, ‘And I’ve heard some of the old folk call it Dartmoor Custard.’
‘It’s not edible though, is it?’
‘Only for cattle. And the Dartmoor ponies, of course.’ He was still smiling at me. ‘We’re bound to see some of them today.’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve heard a lot about the ponies, I’d love to see them!’
He turned away to start the car, but still didn’t move off.
‘There’s an old saying about gorse,’ he said without looking back at me. ‘When gorse is out of bloom, kissing’s out of fashion.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked.
He looked back at me, smiling again. ‘There’s always gorse in bloom,’ he said. ‘Kissing’s never out of fashion.’
I felt a sudden shock of excitement as he leant towards me. The kiss took me completely by surprise – I hadn’t even realised I’d wanted it until it was happening, but within seconds I was melting into it. His hand caressed the back of my neck, his lips were soft and warm, the kiss gentle and lingering. I didn’t want it to stop, but eventually I couldn’t bear the discomfort any more.
‘Ouch!’ I said, pulling away slightly. ‘The handbrake …’
‘Oh, sorry.’ He took a deep breath and looked at me anxiously. ‘I hope I’m not presuming too much?’
‘No, you’re not.’ I leant over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Of course you’re not. I enjoy being with you, Matt. I want us to be …’ I hesitated, and I saw his eyes cloud over.
‘Friends?’ he said. ‘Just friends?’
I sighed. I wanted more than that, of course I did. But how could I begin a relationship with somebody when even our friendship was built on my secrets and lies? I’d never be able to tell him who I really was, not when his livelihood and his future depended on making everything he found out public knowledge. It wasn’t fair.
‘Can we take it slowly?’ I suggested gently. ‘It’s not that I’m not interested. But …’ I searched for a reason that would buy me some time to think how to manage this, without hurting his feelings. ‘I’m getting over a break-up.’
‘Oh yes – you did say you’d come here to get away from an abusive relationship. I should have been more considerate. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ I smiled. ‘I just don’t want to rush things.’
‘I understand.’ He reached for my hand and squeezed it. ‘No wonder you don’t want to talk about the past.’ He looked into my eyes now, and to be honest all I really wanted to do was collapse into his arms and kiss him again. ‘I’d like us to be more than friends, obviously. But I promise I won’t put any pres
sure on you, until you’re ready.’
We were both quiet as Matt drove us on across the moor. All I could think about was that kiss, how much I wanted to do it again, how much I wanted to be with him. And how unbelievable it was that I’d let myself have feelings like this for a journalist. I’d never liked them, never trusted them! Back in New York it had felt like Shane and I had had to run in and out of our apartment block, and dive in and out of our cars, almost every day to avoid the paparazzi constantly hanging around, with their cameras and their microphones, trying to get the latest picture, the latest snippet of gossip to twist a supposed story out of – the more salacious, ridiculous and frankly untrue the better. In the end I was scared even to open my mouth when any of them were around, I was so afraid of saying something stupid. I knew these people. They’d do anything for a story. How could I expect Matt to be any different?
We were climbing higher now, and gradually the clouds were lifting, the drizzle giving way to sunshine.
‘You were right about it clearing up by lunchtime,’ I said, to lighten the mood.
‘Ah, well, I’m used to the Devon weather.’
‘Have you always lived in Devon? You haven’t got much of an accent. And – well, your surname’s not very English.’
He was silent for a moment. I glanced at him, wondering if I’d offended him. I was just about to apologise when he responded:
‘I’m half Italian. But I’ve never even been there. And anyway, we don’t all speak like Annie, around here.’
I laughed, but I couldn’t help thinking he’d seemed reluctant to answer. The thought came to me suddenly that perhaps he was hiding something about his past too. In a funny way, that would actually make me feel better.
When we came across a group of Dartmoor ponies grazing in the shelter of one of the huge rocky outcrops, Matt pulled over again and wound down the window.
‘They’re so cute,’ I said. I was surprised by the variety of their colours – brown, cream, black, white. ‘Although to be honest I was expecting to see more of them today.’
‘They’re an endangered species now – only a small number left, compared with the past. They’ve been on Dartmoor for thousands of years. I’m surprised you haven’t seen any before. We do occasionally get one or two wandering into town. They shouldn’t be handled or approached, though.’
‘No, of course not – they’re wild animals after all,’ I said.
‘Not really. They’re not tame, of course, but they all belong to various people who live on the moor. Every year in September or October they hold drifts, where the ponies are rounded up and herded into fields where they get sorted out by their owners’ brands, and given health checks, to make sure they’re OK for the winter. It’s tough out here on the moor but they’re hardy little ponies.’
‘That’s really interesting.’ I smiled at him. ‘You’re an excellent Dartmoor guide, you know.’
‘At your service, madam,’ he said, starting the car again. ‘Are you ready for lunch now?’
The rest of the day passed quickly. It was easy to feel relaxed and happy in Matt’s company, as long as I stopped thinking about his profession. I’d have liked the day to go on forever. As we finally headed back to Crickleford, I sat in silence, still enchanted by the scenery but struggling with my feelings. Would I ever be able to have a relationship again? Would I always think about Shane and my life in the States, whenever I got close to being with another man? How could I ever leave my past behind?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
That evening, I went back to Castle Hill House, taking the tin box with me in a carrier bag. Billie was just trying to chase the two boys upstairs to bed.
‘They’re tired and overexcited after the flight and everything,’ she said apologetically. ‘I really need to get them settled. Can I leave Carl to sort out your payment? Was everything OK with JoJo?’ she added with her usual anxious look.
‘Yes, absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
I was glad I had an excuse to talk to Carl, her husband, on my own.
‘I didn’t actually just come for my money,’ I explained quietly as soon as Billie and the children were out of earshot. ‘I needed to show you something.’ I pulled the tin box out of the bag and placed it on the table in front of him. From the way he stared at it and looked back up at me blankly, it was obvious he’d never seen it before. ‘I’m afraid everything wasn’t completely fine while you were away. I had to ask a friend of mine to come and help me take up a couple of floorboards,’ I said. ‘JoJo’s hamster ball is broken. I’ve left it in the kitchen for you to see. It doesn’t look like much of a hole, but he managed to get out of it and went down that gap—’ I pointed to the place, and Carl gasped.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry you had all that to cope with,’ he said.
‘Not at all. I was just relieved we got JoJo back safely. But the thing is, my friend found this under the floorboards.’ I passed him the tin box and he turned it around in his hands, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, but we were kind of nosy,’ I went on. ‘We looked inside. And … well, you’d better take a look for yourself.’
I sat back in my chair while he took the lid off the box. I was trying to listen out for the sound of Billie coming back downstairs. I could hear her talking in a constant, quiet voice and presumed she was reading the boys their bedtime stories. Downstairs, we were silent apart from the occasional whirr of JoJo’s wheel as he took his usual lively evening exercise. Carl’s eyes were almost popping out of his head as he thumbed through the pile of banknotes and let the gold necklaces and bangles drape across his fingers.
‘I presume you didn’t know about any of this,’ I said.
‘No. But the house has been in the family for more than a century. We inherited it from my Great Aunt Maud. She was a wealthy lady, the only daughter of a rich family who used to own a lot of land around here, so I can only presume this little lot belonged to her. Oh! Yes, I recognise this ring.’ He suddenly looked quite overcome. ‘She used to wear it all the time. I always liked looking at it when I was a little boy, the stones fascinated me. I think she stopped wearing it because it became too loose for her as she aged. How nice to see it again. And I remember this brooch too. What a find! Fancy it lying under our floorboards all this time.’ He shook his head, and then picked up the papers that Matt and I had folded carefully underneath everything. ‘What are these?’
‘Well …’ I lowered my voice. ‘I didn’t want to talk to Billie about them without showing you first, because they’re a bit, um, disconcerting.’
‘Really?’ He spread the typewritten sheet out in front of him and started reading. To my surprise, he began to smile, and by the time he’d read to the end of the page he was chuckling to himself.
‘You don’t think there’s any truth in it?’ I said. ‘But look: it was even written up in the local paper.’
He opened out the old newspaper and immediately started chuckling again. I was completely perplexed.
‘What – do you think it’s just somebody’s overactive imagination, then?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ He grinned up at me. ‘That’s exactly what it is. Good old Great Aunt Maud! I’d heard this story when I was a boy, but I’d forgotten all about it. Apparently she was always up to mischief, had a wicked sense of humour and loved to play tricks on people. As a teenager it seems she drove her parents mad, always hanging around with the local kids and frightening visitors up at the castle by dressing up in sheets and making ghostly wailing noises.’
I smiled to myself, thinking of this high-spirited young girl whose wealthy parents would probably, in those days, have preferred her to sit quietly at home doing her sewing.
‘And this,’ Carl went on, jabbing a finger at the newspaper page, ‘is what she did when she was a lot older and living here on her own. She never lost her sense of fun, you see. She just loved to tease people. Apparently this story really got everyone around here excited and worked up – but when people started wanting to c
ome to the house to hunt for ghosts, she eventually had to admit it was all a practical joke.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I was relieved, really, for Billie’s sake, but I couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit deflated too – just as, I supposed, the townspeople had felt back then. ‘Were people annoyed with her?’
‘She said most of them took it in good part. But some people actually took a lot of convincing that it wasn’t real. That’s why some of these ghostly stories still come up today, from time to time.’
‘Do they? I haven’t heard anything.’
‘Oh yes. The story about the man in military uniform is repeated by tour guides up at the castle!’
Just then Billie appeared back in the lounge.
‘I hope you’re not scaring Emma with all these old ghost stories,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘They’re all made up, Emma – mostly by Carl’s great aunt!’
‘So I hear.’
Carl pushed the tin box across the table towards his wife. ‘Look what Emma found.’
By the time we’d filled Billie in about JoJo and the floorboards, it was nearly nine o’clock, but they wouldn’t hear of me leaving until I’d had a drink with them to celebrate finding the jewellery, which I completely understood was more important to Carl, for sentimental reasons, than the money and the papers. They opened a bottle of wine and we shared it, toasting each other and also raising a glass to Great Aunt Maud and her quirky sense of humour. Billie seemed completely relaxed, and I came to the conclusion that it was mostly with her children that she became anxious. Perhaps she was just an overprotective mum. I was glad I hadn’t had to scare the life out of her or make her want to move away from their lovely old family home.
‘There’s one more thing,’ I said after we’d all drained our wine glasses. ‘My friend – the one who actually found the box – works for the Chronicle.’
Carl immediately started laughing again. ‘I bet he liked this story, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, he did! He wondered whether you’d mind if he wrote it up for the paper. I could get him to come round and talk to you, and you can decide how much you’re happy for him to include.’
The Pets at Primrose Cottage Page 19