Secrets of the Mist

by Kate Ryder

  Grass grew long at the base of the stone, which leant at a precarious angle, giving the impression it would topple over with the slightest push. Together, we attempted to decipher the carved epitaph.

  ‘I can see a couple of names here. I can’t read the first one but I think this one says Elisa. There are some more letters so it’s probably Elisabeth,’ Mo said, pointing to the lower word. I shivered as she spoke the name. ‘And the date is either 1844 or 1644. Are you sure this is the one, Maddie?’

  I nodded.

  She took a photo of the gravestone and we stood in silence, trying to make sense of it all. Behind us, the church door creaked open. I glanced over and saw the younger of the two flower arrangers emerging with a posy in her hand. She turned and headed away from us down the path leading to the lych gate. Quickly, I followed.

  ‘Excuse me, but do you know if there are any recent burials in that part of the graveyard?’ I indicated to where Mo stood.

  ‘No. The recent graves are all on the other side. I’m going there now. My grandmother,’ she said, raising the posy she was carrying.

  I thanked her and walked back to my sister.

  ‘I don’t understand it. There are no recent burials on this side of the church but this is definitely where I saw him.’ I looked back at the stone and a thought came to me. ‘Mo!’

  The urgent tone in my voice made her look up sharply.

  ‘When the man looked in my direction he didn’t see me and yet I was only twenty yards away. I assumed it was because he was so distraught, but…’ I faltered, not sure whether I dare continue.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘What if he couldn’t see me because I wasn’t there?’ I said slowly.

  Uncomprehendingly, she gave me a puzzled look but then, suddenly, understanding dawned.

  ‘And where are his flowers?’ I continued.

  Slowly she nodded her head. ‘This is important, Maddie. You’ve got to find out what it all means. I have a friend who specialises in film enhancement. I’ll see if he can clean up the photo and decipher the inscription.’

  The last of the daylight was fading fast and, all at once, floodlights illuminated the church. In the gathering dusk we walked back to Walditch and by the time we reached The Olde Smithy it was nearly dark.

  *

  Later that evening I took Mo to the pub for supper. Brian was charm personified and the perfect host.

  ‘I had no idea there was another stunner in the O’Brien household,’ he exclaimed, as I introduced my sister. Mo laughed and graciously accepted the compliment. ‘Now, what can I get you two lovely ladies?’

  We ordered drinks and I enquired what Vera’s ‘special’ was that night.

  ‘Not Vera’s, it’s the “assistant chef’s special” tonight. I’ve given Vera the evening off to visit her sister in Salisbury. Now there’s a family lacking in the looks department, I can tell you.’

  ‘Brian! That poor woman,’ I scolded. ‘You work her to the bone and in return she looks after you magnificently. She’s given you the best years of her life. The least you can do is support her.’

  ‘That’s true, she certainly looks after me.’ He patted his belly. ‘Can’t complain about that, but you must agree she’s no oil painting.’

  ‘You’re a shocker and you don’t deserve her,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ He laughed. ‘She’s too good for me.’

  We sat chatting at the bar with Brian, and not for the first time I considered how lucky I was to have found this job only yards from my home. Being a Sunday evening, the pub was not particularly busy but a few people had ventured out. I was vaguely aware of a group entering the pub and moving to one of the private alcoves by the restaurant entrance.

  We decided to risk the ‘special’, placed our orders and debated whether to eat at the bar or move to one of the tables nearer the fire. Suddenly, Mo leant forward with a conspiratorial look on her face.

  ‘Don’t turn around, Maddie,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but a guy over there keeps looking your way.’

  I was itching to check. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Nice. Oh! You’ll find out in a minute. He’s heading over.’

  She leant back and I watched her smile at the approaching man. The next minute I became aware of a presence beside me and heard a voice that was as music to my ears.

  ‘Hi, Maddie. Thought it was you.’

  I turned my head and there stood Nick, tanned and gorgeous, and my heart skipped a beat. ‘Hello, Nick. You look well.’

  He appeared happy and carefree, his blue-grey eyes seemingly all the more intense within his lovely, tanned, open face. He smiled and immediately butterflies took flight in my stomach. Suppressing them, and without missing a beat, I made the introductions. He shook Mo’s offered hand.

  ‘I thought you must be family. The resemblance is very strong.’

  I was disproportionately jealous that my sister had actually touched him.

  ‘How was Australia?’ I asked, attempting to keep my rising emotions under control.

  ‘Good. Very hot and over in a flash. It was great seeing Chris again.’ Turning to Mo, he enlightened her, ‘My brother.’

  She smiled. ‘I agree. It is good to spend Christmas with family, although I missed out this year.’

  ‘We’ve been catching up over the last couple of days instead,’ I explained. ‘Quality sister time, but it’s gone by too quickly. Sadly, Mo leaves tomorrow.’

  I noticed his hair was longer and his fringe flopped over his eyes, making him look like a romantic smuggler. It suited him.

  ‘So how do you like our neck of the woods?’ he asked Mo, in that lovely, soft Dorset lilt.

  ‘I like it very much. I can see why Maddie has fallen in love with the area and wants to make a life here.’

  Had I imagined it or did this news make him smile? I was on edge and stole a glance to see if there was any hidden meaning to Mo’s comment, but she was being sincere. It was just paranoia and my heightened nerves playing tricks on me.

  ‘Then we are very fortunate indeed!’

  He looked from Mo to me, the merriment dancing in his eyes. Infuriatingly, a blush started to creep up my neck and, inwardly, I groaned. He and my sister seemed so at ease. It was only me out of control.

  ‘How’s the window holding up?’ he asked.

  ‘Great. No draughts. Very snug.’

  Damn! I shouldn’t have said that. Now I would have to find some other job for him to do if I wanted to see him again. But in the next sentence Nick paved the way for further meetings.

  ‘Glad to hear that, but it is only a temporary measure, Maddie.’ He glanced in the direction of his friends. ‘I’d better rejoin my table. Nice to have met you, Mo, and I hope you visit your sister again soon. Enjoy the evening.’

  He walked away. Instantly, I felt the chill.

  Mo sat gazing at me with a thoughtful look on her face.

  ‘Who’s he with?’ I demanded. She didn’t answer immediately. ‘Mo! Who’s he with?’

  ‘Can’t see who’s sitting opposite him but there’s a girl there.’

  She wasn’t giving much away.

  The doors to the kitchen swung open and Brian emerged with our order. We decided to sit more comfortably by the fire and as we moved to the table, I took the opportunity to glance over at Nick’s table and instantly wished I hadn’t. The girl sitting next to him was equally tanned and he sat with his arm draped casually around her shoulders, chatting to whoever sat opposite. They looked comfortable and relaxed together. As I sat down at the table I noticed Mo observing me.

  ‘Oh this is hopeless,’ I said in an anguished voice.

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘How can you say that? He’s with her!’

  ‘Yes, and he needn’t have come over to say hello but he did.’

  She had a point.

  ‘Tuck in, Maddie, and – as Nick said – enjoy the evening.’

  I tried to swallow my disappointment. I so
wanted to enjoy my last evening with my sister.

  ‘Have you noticed that painting?’ I pointed to the picture hanging above the fireplace.

  As she studied it, surprise registered on her face.

  ‘Maddie, that man,’ she said, not taking her eyes from the oil painting. ‘I swear he’s the one I saw on your stairs!’

  I looked up at the figure shoeing the horse as she turned and looked at me.

  Seeing my expression, she added, ‘You’re not surprised, are you?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s obviously The Olde Smithy. Every time I look at the painting I feel as if I know the scene. I mean…’ I paused, searching for the right words ‘…somehow I think I’m connected with the scene.’ I pointed to the blacksmith. ‘This man is very familiar to me and yet I can’t place him.’

  ‘Mads, you must discover the history of your cottage.’

  I agreed.

  We finished our meal, decided against dessert and ordered two Irish coffees. Brian brought them over and announced they were ‘on the house’, adding with a flourish that as the two best-looking girls in the pub that night, we’d earned the right to have a double whisky in each plus an extra dollop of cream. We laughed.

  Presently, I became aware of Nick’s table preparing to leave and, surreptitiously, I watched as the other couple emerged from the alcove. It was Becky, the bitchy girl who’d warned me off Nick on New Year’s Eve, and her partner, Mark. The two girls happily chatted as they put on their jackets. The tanned girl, who I assumed was Sarah, looked to be in her late twenties and was of medium height and build. She wore her long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail and although not overtly pretty, she had a healthy, wholesome girl-next-door appeal. Envy consumed me; for her relationship with Nick and the legitimate time she could spend with him.

  Dragging my eyes away, I met Mo’s unwavering gaze. I groaned and pulled a face at her, watching as she looked up brightly at the approaching party. Mark passed by and continued on towards the door, but Nick stopped at our table and wished my sister a safe onwards journey. Then he looked me straight in the eye.

  ‘Bye, Maddie. I’ll give you a ring in the week to arrange a day and time to deliver the window.’

  Deliver the window? I hadn’t yet asked him to make a new one! We had only discussed the inevitability of replacing the temporarily patched-up one.

  ‘Great,’ I said, wondering if I had lost the plot.

  Sarah, standing behind Nick, gave me a quizzical look as he put his arm around her waist and ushered her towards the door. As Becky passed by she glared at me, which made Mo laugh out loud. Momentarily thrown, the girl faltered but quickly regained her composure and pulled a face at my sister before hurrying after her friends. I sat there, a jumble of nerves, trying to work out what had just happened. Mo sipped her coffee slowly.

  ‘Well, this certainly has been a most entertaining evening,’ she announced.

  ‘I’m glad you think so. I’m an emotional wreck.’

  ‘Why?’ She laughed.

  ‘Because Sarah’s got Nick and no doubt they’re just about to get married and have lots of babies. In fact, they were probably discussing wedding plans tonight and that couple with them are their Best Man and Chief Bridesmaid.’

  ‘Oh, Maddie, your imagination!’ She set her coffee down on the table. ‘You are your own worst enemy.’

  ‘But it’s probably true,’ I wailed.

  ‘Did you see a ring glinting on her finger?’ she asked.

  Damn, I hadn’t looked. I was so hopeless at this and Mo was so together.

  ‘No,’ she answered her own question. ‘The only thing I saw her wearing was one pretty fine tan.’

  ‘All over,’ I said dryly, remembering what Becky had been so eager to tell me. ‘No white bits.’

  Mo laughed again but I couldn’t see the funny side.

  ‘And what’s all this about a window?’ she enquired.

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Well, case closed!’ Leaning back in her chair, she smiled broadly at me. ‘Be a good little Catholic girl, Madeleine O’Brien, and have a little faith.’

  *

  The next morning I drove my sister to Exeter Airport to catch her flight to Geneva where she was to join the rest of her team. Once she had checked in I found myself strangely tearful.

  ‘Look after yourself, little sis.’ She hugged me hard. ‘That cottage of yours has an unsolved mystery it wants you to unravel.’

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  ‘And as for that gorgeous man…’ She squeezed me tighter. ‘What will be, will be, Maddie, but if I can give you a little advice based on my seniority—’ she arched an eyebrow and pulled a mock-superior face ‘—have a little faith.’

  She picked up her hand luggage and joined the back of the queue working its way slowly towards security. After checking through, she turned, smiled and waved… and then she was gone.

  The day had not dawned clear and as I walked back to the car I noticed dark grey clouds ready to deposit their load on the earth. It suited my sombre mood. On the drive back to Walditch, I decided I needed structure to my day and formed a plan. I would visit the museums in Bridport and Dorchester as soon as possible and find out as much as I could about the village and the surrounding area. I also set myself a daily schedule of research, both locally and on the internet. Soon, my simplistic diary of unusual happenings at The Olde Smithy would grow to become a journal with more meat on the bone. However, as I became progressively engrossed in Dorset’s history, frustratingly little information came to light about The Olde Smithy itself.

  The following Friday was a particularly cold day. I’d just lit the wood burner, made myself a mug of coffee and had planned an afternoon of research when the phone rang. Storm, lying in his favourite chair by the fire, stretched as the shrill ringing disturbed him from his slumbers. I walked to the kitchen and lifted the handset from its cradle.

  ‘Hi, Maddie. Hope I’m not disturbing anything?’

  A swarm of butterflies took to the wing.

  ‘Nick!’ I swallowed hard. ‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ I added, attempting to sound cool.

  ‘Just wondered if you’d got around to fitting that bread oven door?’

  I looked through the open doorway into the sitting room and laughed. ‘Nope, it’s still where it was before Christmas.’

  ‘Would you like me to come round and fit it for you? I could check the repairs on your window at the same time.’

  ‘That’s very chivalrous of you. Yes please.’

  ‘How are you fixed next week?’ he asked.

  I explained I had started writing on a freelance basis so I’d be at the cottage most days. He sounded interested and asked what writing I did.

  ‘General interest pieces with a Dorset flavour and also eco projects within the county. I don’t suppose you know anyone doing their bit for the planet?’

  There was a pause at the other end. ‘Yes, as it happens. Me.’

  ‘Oh, in what way?’

  He described how he was in the process of renovating his barn, the aim being to create a low-carbon-footprint home that was as self-sustaining as possible.

  ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing Colin’s after,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose I could do a piece on it?’

  ‘Sure. How soon do you need it?’

  ‘Sooner rather than later.’ The little white lie tripped off my tongue.

  ‘How about this weekend?’ he suggested.

  I punched the air. ‘You’d better give me an address and directions then.’

  And so it was agreed that I would visit on Sunday, late morning.

  ‘Look forward to seeing you,’ he said.

  Did he truly mean that?

  I said goodbye and stood for a while taking it all in.

  Returning to research, I became so engrossed that I didn’t notice the diminishing light as the afternoon faded to early evening. It was only when Storm walked through the open archway between the two roo
ms to remind me he needed feeding that I realised the time.

  ‘Sorry, boy, you’re rather neglected at the moment.’

  I made to rise from the chair but stopped. A fine mist hung in the air and then I saw movement on the other side of the stained-glass divide. I froze as a figure appeared in the archway and moved from the front to the rear of the cottage. I was aware that Storm mirrored my stance. Slowly I got to my feet, walked to the archway and cautiously peered towards the kitchen. There was no one there. As the mist began to clear, I glanced towards the inglenook, once again drawn to the bread oven. Was this the figure Mo had seen on the stairs?

  I jumped as Storm brushed past. I followed him into the kitchen and noticed my hands were shaking as I spooned cat food into his bowl. However, Storm was, once again, behaving normally and clinging to the belief that animals possessed a sixth sense, I decided to use him as a gauge. Slowly, my heart rate returned to normal.

  Walking back to the computer, I opened the file entitled ‘Happenings’ and noted the time. There was a definite pattern emerging. I described everything I had just witnessed. The figure was a man, aged approximately mid-forties, with a weathered face and shoulder-length, dark blond hair. His clothes were grubby: a shirt, possibly made of linen; loose buff-coloured trousers, equally in need of a wash; and he was wearing a pair of well-worn leather boots. As I typed my observations I realised this was definitely the man I’d seen at the graveside. My rational mind told me it was impossible and, yet, these events were happening. The figure was no fleeting suggestion or spectre on the edge of my vision, and I recalled Mo’s words following her visitation on the stairs: ‘As solid as you and me’.

  9

  I turned off the road, as directed, drove past the main house and on towards the farm. Just before reaching the farm buildings I turned right onto a stone track. After another three hundred yards or so, the track rounded a corner and came to a sudden end in a circular parking area to one side of Ashton Chase Barn. Before me, nestling in a fold of the Black Down Hills, was a substantial, traditional stone barn with a cleverly added green oak extension to one end. I parked next to a silver Nissan pickup, switched off the engine and stared at the view. It was simply stunning. The land fell away from the barn in a series of terraces, still under construction, each enjoying uninterrupted views over the magnificent vista stretching as far as the eye could see to the coast and beyond. On an area of lawn immediately to the front of the barn, three dogs romped together in the morning sunshine.