by Kirsty Ferry
‘He won’t hurt you,’ she said – but Alex wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the floor, so he held up the tome in his hand.
‘Great book. Is this where you get all your inspiration from?’
‘Oh, it’s one of the places. It’s a lovely book, that’s for sure – this one’s nice too.’ She leaned across him to reach for a hardback, and she was so close that he could feel the heat of her body. He closed his eyes briefly.
‘I got the inspiration for—’ Then she stopped and shrugged, the book still in her hand. ‘Yeah. You don’t want to know that really. Wedding dress.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a pity. It was a lovely dress.’
‘It was. Shame your husband was a tosser though.’
‘Yes. A waste of a good dress.’
‘So you’re over him, then? No regrets at walking away?’ It seemed that, once the floodgates of tosser-ness had opened, he couldn’t stop himself. They’d more or less established that she was over him earlier, when they’d had that conversation on the balcony, but the devil inside him needed to hear her say it again.
‘Well over him. And no regrets. But I didn’t walk away. I drove at high speed. Picked up a speeding ticket on the motorway.’ She frowned. ‘If I never see him again it’ll be too soon. Why, last time I was down, I just knew there was a different woman there and—’ She stopped again and blushed. ‘Yeah. I just wanted to look at the old house. Needed closure, that’s all. Visited Cori. You know. Come on then. Let’s go.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to explain yourself to me. If you go down there, you go down there.’ And the floodgates opened a tiny bit more. ‘But I’m kind of used to you being here again.’
‘I’m used to you too.’ She looked up at him and smiled as she pulled the door closed behind her, and they set off up the path. ‘I won’t be going back to the old house any more. It’s definitely not my home. It hasn’t been that for a while. Cori said she couldn’t imagine me calling Suffolk home after being down in London, but I disagreed. Hey, maybe some nice country estate will provide me with a little cottage and some Living History work to cling onto – just to keep my hand in. You never know.’
Alex stopped dead in the middle of the path and this time one of his demons decided to speak for him. ‘I can do as many Living History weekends as you want. Just tell me how many you can cope with.’
‘Oh! I’m just teasing! You don’t have to work it around me, you know. You can do craft fairs, or local farmers’ markets. They’re quite popular and good for bringing the visitors in.’
‘What else can you do?’ The demon had its talons in, for sure. And he knew his eyes were boring into hers, silently begging her to get the point of the conversation – quite literally.
‘Me? Well, I can organise art exhibitions. Or photography exhibitions. Costume displays. I have contacts that could help.’
‘I like those ideas. What else can you do? Tell me more.’
Anything to keep you at Hartsford.
Elodie looked a bit stunned. ‘Okay. Because I didn’t want to suggest anything in case you thought I was trying to take over, but I was thinking it would be nice if …’
And she was off, the ideas flowing like the River Hartsford; open air theatre, country fairgrounds, well-dressing, scarecrow weekends, working more closely with the Folk Museum … Cassie had already suggested a Country House Weekend, based on the lavish parties the bright young things of the family had enjoyed between the wars, and she’d mentioned dragging out that old marquee from the squash courts for it, so that was something to consider, wasn’t it?
By using strategically placed murmurs of agreement, Alex encouraged her to continue talking as they wound their way down towards the river and the lake. At the very least it encouraged him to believe that she was intending staying here for a little longer and she was indeed over Smarmy-Boy.
Alex was nodding at her suggestions and even making the odd agreeable noise, so Elodie thought he was pretty on board with some of the things she was suggesting. Suddenly, she was enthused about her future. And her future seemed to be inextricably linked to Hartsford.
If anything was ever to progress properly with Alex and herself, she’d never want to go anywhere else anyway. But was that what he wanted? She wasn’t sure. Her ideas filled in the time it took for them to reach the Faerie Bridge, and she stood on the sandy bank looking up at the pretty little arch, trying to imagine what it had been like back in 1796 or whenever little Lucy had found the silver penny there.
Elodie found that if she stood quietly and tuned out the present-day intrusions – like the faint hum of traffic, the airplane leaving a cloud of vapour behind it, the distant chatter of the last straggling tourists in the pleasure grounds beyond the bridge – she could almost sense what it had been like then. And in fact, it was surprisingly easy to get a picture of Lucy that day. Her energy was still there, as if she had simply come and gone within the last few minutes.
In her mind’s eye, Elodie saw a little girl run down from the Hall. Her reddish-blonde curls were bouncing around and she was holding up the skirts of a white dress, the ribbons from her red sash flapping out behind her. She pulled up in front of Elodie, and looked around, scouring the ground for a silver penny or a magical horseshoe.
‘I think Lucy stood about … here.’ Elodie moved to one side, feeling as if she was obstructing the little girl. ‘And I think it was early evening.’ Closing her eyes, she tried to attune herself more to the earth and the energy around her. This wasn’t called the Faerie Bridge for nothing – it could be quite an eerie place at twilight. ‘She’d been agitated all day, trying to get away from everyone. And Georgiana lost her temper with her. Georgiana told her if she was going to go looking for trinkets, she should go and stop bothering her. Lucy said she would simply refuse to share any trinkets she found and that was that.’
Elodie opened her eyes and found Alex watching her, faintly amused. ‘She sounds like Cassie was at that age. In fact, she sounds like Cassie still is if she puts her mind to it.’
‘Lucy’s energy is so strong. I can sense her. It’s that sort of place. That sort of evening. What? What is it?’
His eyes kept sliding away across Elodie’s shoulder and focusing on a corner of the bridge. ‘Nothing.’ Suddenly, he began patting his pockets down and swore. ‘Damn it! I’ve lost the penny. I must have dropped it on the way down. For God’s sake!’
He flicked his eyes back along the way they’d come, as if he would see it sparkling on the pathway; and then Elodie remembered the experiences she’d had with that very same coin. ‘Oh! I wonder—’
‘What? I – ouch!’ He stumbled as if someone had shoved him from behind. ‘What the hell?’ He turned around and glared at the empty space.
‘That probably answers my question. Which direction did she aim you in? Let her do it again.’
‘Elodie! Ouch! Hey!’ Once again, Alex stumbled forwards – further this time – and Elodie could see he was heading towards the corner of the bridge he’d been focusing on moments earlier. ‘God, it’s like tiny little bony hands in the small of my back!’
‘Okay. The bridge it is, then.’ Elodie linked his arm with hers and pulled him across to the ancient brickwork.
And there, on a ridge between two old stones that were balanced on top of each other, was a silver coin.
The Faerie Bridge was packed tightly together by some skilful dry-stone work, which probably explained why it had never needed to be cemented into place.
It had odd little steps going up the side and was really the most incredible arched bridge Elodie had ever come across. The closest thing she could liken it too was a packhorse bridge – those wonderful pieces of bucolic architecture that are usually covered with cobbles and look far too steep for anything but a packhorse or a 4×4 vehicle to cross. The steepest one she had ever seen was at Carrbridge in Scotland. That one however, was almost washed away by floods; and much as the Carrbridge one sort of resembled the one at
Hartsford, the Faerie Bridge had survived quite a few spates of the River Hartsford.
But on one of those little steps up the side was Alex’s silver coin.
‘It’s there. Look!’ she told him. Alex was still patting his pockets down, looking a little bit angry and a little bit confused. He was gorgeous, standing there with the evening sun making highlights of black diamonds in his hair and Elodie’s heart flip-flopped as she watched him.
‘But—’ he started.
She touched him on the arm, so she could feel he was solid and real and right next to her, then let go of him. ‘Let’s see if she’s showing you anything else. Come on.’
Elodie leaned over and looked at the coin. It certainly appeared to be the same one that had been following her around the estate for the past few days.
She picked it up and Alex growled in protest. ‘Leave it! If that’s the one from my pocket it’s bloody haunted!’ His eyes drifted across to the bridge again and Elodie followed his gaze. ‘Is it just me,’ he asked sharply, ‘or is that bit there odd-looking?’
He was homing in on the same spot time after time, and Elodie nodded. ‘Yes! That’s it, then. We’ll look there.’
It was the ridge to the left of the stone the coin had appeared on, a ridge that kind of went around the bridge structure and into the interior of the arch. Again, Elodie felt that gust of wind rush past her. The hairs stood up on her arms and she took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Let’s see what we have here.’ She walked towards the bridge and peered underneath it. ‘Any ideas?’ she asked as Alex poked his head underneath as well.
Elodie turned to look at him. His face was inches from hers and their eyes met.
For a moment it seemed as if her heart stopped beating and she definitely stopped breathing. ‘Oh.’ The word was little more than a whisper.
A spark flared in his eyes then died. ‘Right there, d’you think?’ He took hold of her hand and gently directed it to a hole in the stonework. Those little fireworks zinged up her arm again and she worried that she’d fall at his feet in a horribly messy heap – her legs were definitely threatening to give way if she wasn’t careful.
Elodie calmed herself down and, assessing where she was on the sandy bank, put one foot on a rock in the river, and the other on a tree stump.
Alex released her hand and took hold of her waist. ‘Is this okay? I don’t want you falling in.’
‘Yes.’ Her chest constricted and she caught her breath, but she knew it owed nothing to the asthma this time. Trying to ignore the tingling warmth of his hands through her thin, cotton shirt, she poked her fingers into the crevice and felt around until she located a cold, rough object.
She gasped: ‘I think we have something!’
The “something” had sharp, square edges and didn’t feel at all like a brick or a stone. Checking her hand, she saw a smattering of mud on her fingertips, but no rust.
Elodie leaned in and worked whatever it was free. She slid it out of the crevice and there was a sort of scraping sound; and once she had it in daylight, she realised she was holding a small, dull-silvery coloured box with an overlay of mossy green and mud.
She jumped down onto the ground and gave the box a little rub with her fingernail, dragging a channel through the green. ‘Pewter. Doesn’t rust.’ She shook it and there was no sound of rattling, just a sort of kerchunk as something inside lifted and dropped.
‘They used pewter a lot in the Georgian period,’ said Alex quietly, his hands in his pockets now.
Elodie looked at him and held it out. ‘Do you want it?’
He shrugged. ‘I doubt it’s Ben’s. It’s more likely to be Georgiana’s.’
Turning the box around carefully, Elodie saw a little hole, just big enough for a small key to fit into. ‘I don’t have any of Georgiana’s memories coming in, and if it was important, I would think that she would – oh! Lucy! Of course! Lucy hid it down here. I suspect our little key would fit right in there.’
‘That would explain those bony little hands.’ Alex shuddered at the memory. ‘Back to the cottage then?
Elodie nodded, thinking of the items they’d found in the tomb. This box might solve the mystery about the key. But they still had the pistol to contend with.
Chapter Sixteen
Elodie’s cottage was warm and bright, with the evening sun coming through the windows and making the place all mellow and welcoming.
They both had bare feet and were in her tiny lounge once again, sitting cross legged in front of one another with the box between them. It seemed like neither of them particularly wanted to open the box. Elodie had already cleaned it over and over with a soft, soapy cloth and then spent a good deal of time polishing it up with a Tate Gallery tea towel and some metal polish. ‘It’s come up nice and shiny,’ she said, rather inanely.
‘Yep.’
They both sat and stared at the small, pewter container for another few minutes. Elodie gave it another little rub for good measure and folded the tea towel up neatly. She laid the folded cloth on the floor beside her and clasped her hands together in the space between her knees.
‘Cori’s Simon gave that tea towel to me. Remember? He works at the Tate.’
‘That must be a great place to work.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded. ‘He doesn’t like the modern stuff much. His doctorate is in the Pre-Raphaelites.’
‘Interesting.’
They stared at the box again.
‘Why don’t we want to open it?’ Elodie suddenly asked. ‘It’s not going to bite us.’
‘I think we’re scared about what we might find.’
‘This is personal. This was hidden away for a reason, wasn’t it? Oh!’ She looked towards Alex, but seemed to be looking through him, rather than focusing on his face.
‘What is it?’ He swivelled around as best he could. ‘What’s behind me?’
‘Nothing. I’m just thinking about the attic. There was a loose floorboard in the attic and Georgiana didn’t want Lucy to find whatever was in it. She stepped backwards. And there was a tiny creaking sound. Lucy must have realised what it meant and went back to search for it.’
‘So you think this box was hidden there?’
‘I don’t know.’ She stood up and walked over to the window, looking across the gardens to the house as if she was thinking of something. She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘To be honest, I’m a bit worried about opening it. I don’t think it holds anything that’s going to put either of those girls in a good light.’
Alex stood up and took a couple of steps forward.
He joined her at the window and stared outside as well. ‘How about we leave the box and do something completely different? Get away from the cottage and everything and maybe go to the pub? If you’re worried about it, the box can wait until you’re ready for it.’
He looked down and Elodie nodded. He’d forgotten how tiny she was in her bare feet. He remembered her on Prom Night. She’d had high heels on and the top of her head had been level with his nose and they’d laughed about the fact she was the tallest she’d ever been that night. They’d had a good time, until it all went horribly wrong. He shuddered, regretting it all over again.
‘The pub sounds good,’ Elodie replied. ‘The box can definitely wait. I don’t think I want to deal with it all right now.’
‘Great. Come on then. The Green Dragon? They do the best food.’ It was the oldest pub in the village. There was also a wine bar at the very edge of Hartsford, and many of the younger people went there. It was nice, all chrome and glass and coloured bottles, but the food was served in poncey little portions and always left Alex feeling cheated.
‘The Green Dragon,’ Elodie agreed and moved away from him, sliding her feet into some wedge-heeled sandals that were tossed in the corner by a pile of interior design magazines. She grew about two inches in a matter of seconds. ‘Just let me get changed first, then I have to do one thing before we go.’
She headed out of the room and was bac
k a few minutes later in a long, floaty white dress to complement the sandals.
Then she reached into the book shelves and brought out something that looked like a thick, tightly bound sausage of green vegetation. ‘Sage. I’m going to purify this place before we go. I need to get rid of any negative energy that might be hanging around the box. After all, we know nothing about it and neither of us wants to open it.’ She looked at the pewter container and frowned. ‘Yes. I’m going to smudge it all, I think.’
‘Smudging?’
‘Smudging. Just bear with me. It’s one of my oddities.’
Elodie found a box of matches, struck one, and lit the end of the sausage. A lovely, herby smell came out of the vegetation, along with a wisp of greyish smoke. Elodie moved around the room, waving the sausage around and murmuring what sounded like incantations.
Alex briefly wondered where she’d learned about sage, but it was most peculiar; even he could feel the atmosphere of the place lifting. And at the end, when she blew out the few flames on the end of the sage bundle and laid it carefully in a little dish on the windowsill, the room felt so different.
‘That’s it. I’m done.’ She coughed and wheezed a little, and glowered at the sage. ‘I have to get out before I choke myself to death on the smoke though. Let’s go and enjoy our drinks in peace.’ She smiled and led the way out of the lounge. ‘I’m going to leave the front door open, it’ll be good to freshen the place up.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Alex replied. ‘You seem to know what you’re doing.’
‘Only sometimes.’ She flicked a gaze upwards. ‘Sometimes, I get it horribly wrong.’
‘Me too,’ responded Alex. ‘Horribly wrong.’
‘Nobody’s perfect!’ said Elodie with a laugh as she went outside and waited for him to catch her up.
You are. You’re perfect.
But he just smiled and said nothing and fell into step with her.
Alex was at the bar, waiting for Bob the barman to serve him. That was the only thing about the Green Dragon; you couldn’t be in a hurry.