But she didn’t want to go against Reggie’s wishes. He was their host, after all. And if it was his wish that she not walk unaccompanied, then she would let Violet go with her. If nothing else, it might be a change of pace.
It was sunny for May. After the perpetual rain they’d endured all through April, it was a nice change. She was sick of rain. It was the curse of London and she had hoped for a bit of a reprieve from it in the countryside, but she hadn’t been so lucky.
They’d been trapped inside for nearly a week with just the rain. She had contemplated murdering someone just to change the pace, but she had resisted the urge. She may dislike her cousin, but deep down she didn’t want her dead.
So it was nice to be outside. It was pleasant to see the country flowers in bloom and witness the first hints of life in the fields. She’d never cared much for farming, but there was an appeal to the cycle of it all. Even seeing the newborn livestock never failed to bring a smile to her face.
Gloria and Violet strolled idly through the grounds. They had passed the edge of the garden now and were wandering the paths that tracked down into the fields. Several of the farmers who lived on her cousin’s estate, travelled them frequently, checking on their crops.
She often wondered what it would be like to have an estate like this, farmers who worked the land for you. Her family had only ever owned Fyfe Hall. They had always been city dwellers. Growing up, they’d relied on the hospitality of cousins and other relatives to host them, should they wish to spend time in the countryside.
It had worked for them. Her father had never possessed any great ambitions of being a landowner. He was a lawyer. Gerald had been humbled to receive his wife's family's property, having modest holdings of his own, and now it was theirs to pass on.
As Gloria looked about her at the fields, she figured it took a great deal of effort to manage so many farmers. She had never been very good at handling people. She was used to getting her way. She wasn’t at all versed in negotiations.
She was so lost in her train of thought that she almost walked into them. She was surprised that Violet hadn’t noticed their approach. But when she glanced at the group of children in front of her it was easy to see why. Their bare feet made their footsteps silent on the dirt and their clothing all but blended with the grass around them.
“Well hello there,” Gloria greeted, keeping her voice friendly. She knew that they were gypsy children, but there was nothing threatening about a group of children.
Violet looked at her in panic. It was clear that she wanted to remove herself from the situation. It was clear that she wanted nothing to do with the gypsies, children or not. But Gloria paid her no mind.
“Hello,” one girl replied. She seemed to be the oldest of the group. She had a mass of dark curls tied back in a colourful scarf, the only hint of colour on her neutral clothing.
“Are you out enjoying the nice spring weather as well?” Gloria heard them giggle and watched them exchange looks, as children will.
“It is very nice out,” the oldest girl agreed. “But we didn’t come to see the flowers.”
Gloria’s brow creased in confusion. “What is your name, child?”
“Durril,” she replied.
“And what brings you here, if not the flowers?” Gloria looked around herself as if tying to consider any other reason to be outside.
“I came to find you.” Durril gave a shy smile. “Benjamin says hello.”
Gloria’s eyes went wide for a moment as she struggled to process the words that she had just heard. “What did you just say, girl?”
“Your son says hello.”
Gloria blinked twice before the world around her went dark.
Chapter 2
A Curse Upon You
* * *
Fyfe Hall
London, England
November 19, 1880
* * *
Gloria would always remember the day that she became the employer of two gypsies. It was never something that she’d planned but it was working out to her benefit.
After the young girl Durril had told her about Benjamin, she’d promptly fainted. She wasn’t particularly proud of that fact, but it had happened nonetheless. Durril had rushed to find her older brother, Django, who had carried Gloria back to the estate house.
Gerald had been extremely grateful and had offered them employment immediately, as compensation for their assistance. It would mean permanent lodging, food, and income for them. It seemed like a good offer.
Gloria knew that they would hesitate, as it was against their culture to be stuck in one place for too long. But Django accepted, on the basis that he be allowed to work with the horses. That was his one true passion. A deal was struck.
It had been several months since the two had come to join the household. They’d made it through a summer season in London and everyone was eagerly trying to prepare for winter. The two extra hands were appreciated around the large house.
Gloria had nothing but good things to say about the two of them. Gerald was mostly indifferent, but he was around the house less than she was. He spent less time with them. And he was indifferent about most things. As long as things were running smoothly in the house, he was content. And as long as people left him alone to his work, all was good.
And things were good, until Django crossed a line.
He was lucky that Gerald didn’t shoot him where he stood. He was lucky that Gerald threw him and his sister out onto the streets instead. Especially after finding Django with Veronica in the stables.
This was a line that was never to be crossed. The hired help did not mess with the children of the house. Django was lucky to escape with his life.
But he didn’t see it that way.
Django and Durril had abandoned the ways of their people in order to join the Smythe family. They had abandoned their culture, and there was no chance of them ever being welcomed back with open arms. They were now discarded with nothing but the money in their pockets and the clothes on their backs.
They had no family, no tribe, and no prospects. And Django set the blame for this squarely on one quarter: the Smythe family.
So, standing defiantly on the front step of Fyfe Hall, staring into Gerald Smythe’s eyes, Django cursed the family.
“You will be the last of your line, Gerald Smythe. And your days will be filled with sadness and loss so that you can know what it is like to have everything you care about stripped away from you.”
Gerald looked at him with a cold, blank stare. He’d had worse things said to him in a courtroom. He wasn’t about to take this man seriously.
And that was the last anyone in the Smythe family saw of Django or Durril, but it was not the last time any of them thought back on the two gypsies.
That winter, Veronica fell ill with a fever. The physicians were optimistic, given her age and good physical wellbeing. But despite all the promises of her pulling through, she died in her sleep before December had begun.
The holidays were a sombre time at Fyfe Hall, lacking all of their traditional festivities. Gloria would barely leave her room from grief. Gerald poured himself in to his work. And all of them prayed for a better new year.
The New Year started as the previous year had ended: with death. Warwick was found dead in the pond outside of the house, by his older sister Molly. He’d fallen through the ice and become trapped. How no one had heard his cries for help, was unclear. But that year began with the burial of a second child.
Molly was never quite right after that. She blamed herself for the death of both of her siblings. She walked around the house like a ghost, slowly becoming more and more irate with anyone whom she encountered.
Gerald finally could handle it no longer. He sent his only remaining child to an asylum before she could do any damage to the members of the household. It was unnerving enough having her wandering about the house. But she was becoming violent in her encounters and he couldn’t risk it.
Within two short years, all his ch
ildren were gone from Fyfe Hall. And after two years in the asylum, they received word that Molly had also passed on. The circumstances of her death were mysterious, according to the physicians. But they insisted that it was for the best. Her time at the asylum had been neither a calm nor pleasant stay.
So Gerald and Gloria were left alone in Fyfe Hall. They had the household staff, but the bustling bodies who worked to clean the small mess made by the two residents, were little comfort.
Gerald buried himself in his work. It was all he could think to do. He would work until they told him he wasn’t allowed to work any longer, and then he’d join his family in their graves. He had no doubt about that.
Gloria had no such distraction. Rather than rejoining society, engaging with the elites of the city, she distanced herself. She digressed from attending a few events a season to attending none at all. She isolated herself in the house with just the staff as company.
This continued for four years after Molly’s death. Gloria was a shell of a person. She drifted through the house like a ghost. It got to the point where she barely even spoke.
Gerald came home from work one day to find her drowned in the same pond that had taken their son. He couldn’t even find it in his heart to feel sad for her. He was simply happy that she’d finally found peace after so many years of pain.
He stayed at Fyfe Hall for a year after her death. It took a year for him to decide that he’d had enough of seeing those he’d lost out of the corner of his eye, hearing voices of those who no longer existed. He was drinking too much. He was sleeping too little. And it was too much for him.
He sold Fyfe Hall, despite it being all that was left of his family, and he retired from his practice. He took a young bride and moved to Leeds in an attempt to start over, start fresh.
Gerald Smythe died with no surviving children, no heirs to his name, no living legacy. He died exactly as Django had said he would and that thought came to mind on his deathbed.
The curse of one gypsy had ruined his life, had taken everything from him. The curse of one gypsy had destroyed him.
And his only satisfaction was the fact that he knew that gypsy was dead too.
Chapter 3
Setting Down Roots
* * *
Fyfe Hall
London, England
March 8, 2017
* * *
Fyfe Hall was definitely a sight to be seen. It stood at three storeys of gothic architecture situated in what had been a bustling and posh part of central London once upon a time. The house featured decorative patterns, finials, scalloping, lancet windows, hood moldings, and label stops. It had witnessed many gatherings. It had hosted many balls. And in the last five years, it had sat unoccupied in the heart of the city.
Perhaps it was because of the gothic architecture. Perhaps it was the sense of ill will most people got the moment they walked by it. Or maybe it was the history of the building itself. It was really hard to say, but most people were reluctant to take up occupancy within the grand structure.
That is until Barry and Kate Berkely stumbled upon the advertisement for Fyfe Hall on an estate agency website while they were lunching at a Spanish café.
“Kate, darling, have you seen this place?” Barry turned his laptop towards her and pushed aside his half eaten sandwich. He hadn’t been as thrilled with it in person as he had been with the idea of it as it lured from the display behind the deli glass.
“Hmm?” Kate glanced over from her own screen to see what he was on about. She saw the image of the gothic estate that filled his screen. Her eyes widened slightly at it. “Well, isn’t that the most beautiful thing I’ve seen today.”
Barry rolled his eyes. “I was thinking something similar but I figured you’d smack me if I said it.”
Kate grinned. “You were right to assume that.” She pulled the laptop closer. “So what’s the deal with this place?”
“It’s been on the market for almost five years now,” Barry began to explain. “The price is at an all-time low. It seems the owners are rather eager to get rid of it. I can’t understand why it’s still standing unoccupied. The place is gorgeous.”
“Fyfe Hall,” Kate read and rolled the name over in her mind. “It has a nice ring to it. Places like this always have a history. Perhaps the history of this place isn’t so friendly.”
“Are you going to get all superstitious on me now?” Barry raised a brow.
“Have I ever?” Kate chuckled and picked up his sandwich to take a bite. She set it back down with a frown. “It really isn’t that good.”
“Right?” He grinned. “So we’re going to put in an offer, right?”
“What’s the worse that could happen?” she glanced back at the project she was working on and made sure to save her progress.
“We could become owners of a gothic mansion?” He shrugged.
“Well then, why the hell not?”
Kate stood in the entrance of Fyfe Hall and just took in the beauty of the space. It was better than any picture could have shown. It really captured the era; and the furniture was included in the offer. That had been a real tipping point for her. She couldn’t imagine what it would have taken to properly furnish a residence such as this.
It was the first time they’d considered settling anywhere permanently. They’d always been quite a nomadic pairing. They went where work took them and they stayed however long they needed to. It had always suited them. They’d seen more of the world than she had ever fathomed she would.
But perhaps it was time for them to stop gallivanting around the globe. Perhaps it was time to settle down into something a little more permanent, or as permanent as was feasibly possible.
“So what do you think of it?” Sharon, their estate agent rounded the corner with Barry beside her. “I know it needs a little bit of work…”
“You said it’s sat empty for five years?” Barry glanced at Kate as she moved to his side.
“The owners sent in staff to clean it before showings and such, but it’s been unoccupied. No one seems willing to take on the commitment of such a large estate.” Sharon gave a small shrug as she glanced at the decorative wallpaper. It wasn’t what she would want in a house, but it wasn’t her job to sell her likes or dislikes. She was just supposed to sell the house.
“Oh, the size of the estate isn’t an issue.” He gave a small smile. “Something this large can be rather lucrative if marketed properly.”
“Are you looking to rent or commercialise?” Sharon’s brow creased. She knew the story of Fyfe Hall. The legend of it, if she was being fair, but enough people believed in it that the house had stood empty for five years. But no one had died in the house and no one was buried on the property. So it wasn’t her job to let them know what they might be getting themselves into.
“Something like that.” Kate looked around herself. “We’ll have to see how the renovations go.”
“Does that mean you’re going to buy it?” Sharon’s eyes lit up. It was the first legitimate interest she’d had in a long time on this property. Most people simply booked an appointment to see the grand Fyfe Hall estate.
Barry and Kate exchanged a glance. “Well yes, of course we’re going to buy it. Who wouldn’t want this place?”
You’d be surprised, Sharon thought but she just offered a polite smile. “I’ll get the paperwork together for you then.”
Kate watched her walk off, pulling her mobile out of her pocket as she went. “I’m fairly certain that we just made that woman’s year. At least when it comes to the commission she’s going to make off of this sale.”
“You do like the place, right?” Barry ran a hand gently down her back. “You haven’t looked around it much.”
“The finials and turrets are a bit precocious, but that’s always been my taste. If you liked the rest of it, then that’s more than good enough for me. My focus was on the library, which will make a lovely office for us.” The small smile played at her lips. “Did you happen to see
it yet?”
“I can’t say I have. But we will need a workspace. I’d also like to convert one of the main floor rooms into our sleeping quarters. Then we can rent the upstairs rooms without issue. There are five bedrooms between the second and third floor.”
“That’s pretty impressive. Will the bathrooms need a major overhaul?” Kate sat on the small couch in the entrance hall.
“Minor overhaul. Someone tried to update them about twenty years back, by the looks of the plumbing.” Barry shrugged. “We’ll be putting some money down on updating, but it should be worth it with the income from renters.”
“Is this a good idea?” She took a moment to indulge in skepticism. It was an important part of their relationship. They rushed into things headlong and they made rash decisions. But they always took a moment to reflect on their decisions before they carried them through.
It rarely changed their mind, but at least they could move forward knowing that they’d taken a moment to be logical. They were both business people underneath all of the impulsive behaviour. And to be successful in business you had to be logical.
Barry sat beside her and was quiet for a moment. He knew the routine. He knew that this is what they were supposed to do. The moment of quiet contemplation and reflection was all part of the process.
“Would you rather we continue to globe trot until we are old and grey, darling?” He raised a brow and took her hand. “We can do that.”
She sighed. It was a long and heavy sound. “No, I don’t want to globe trot until we’re old and grey. I want some sort of permanency in our lives. I want some place to come home to after we wander the world.”
“You think it’s time we set down some semblance of roots? Even if we share the house with strangers? Even if we leave the house and continue to travel?”
“I think we need roots,” she agreed. “We’ve been without them for a long time.”
Haunted Happenings Page 24