by Cross, Amy
“I beg your pardon?”
“Even if you don't believe in that sorta thing,” he continues, “there's no harm in just popping it in one of the rooms and shutting the door and forgetting about it. That's what I'd do, rather than leaving it out somewhere. But whatever you do, don't take it out of the house. You must know the stories about what happens to people who even try.”
I open my mouth to tell him I don't want to know, but I can't deny an inkling of natural human curiosity.
“What happens to people who try to take the painting outside?” I ask.
“Well, they don't manage it,” he tells me. “It's not supposed to be taken out, not that painting. The last fella who tried, back when the Ashbyrns were first thinking of selling up, he dropped dead on the stairs. That's what they say.”
“I see.” I can't help smiling. “You're saying that the painting is haunted in some way? And that if I so much as try to take it out the front door, some awful fate will befall me?”
“Just leave it be. Don't tempt fate.”
“And what would you say,” I continue, “if I told you that I carried that exact painting outside about half an hour ago, and I put it in the shed?”
“Well...”
He seems shocked for a moment. Too shocked to say a word.
“It's the only painting in the house,” I add. “A woman wearing a bridal dress. That's the one you're so concerned about, isn't it?”
“Well... Yes, but... You took it outside?”
“I did.”
“Right outside?”
“All the way to the shed.”
“And nothing...” He looks me up and down, as if he genuinely can't quite believe what I'm telling him. “And nothing happened to you?” he adds finally.
“Not that I'm aware of,” I reply. “So as you can see, you're a little late to come and warn me about the damn thing. If a terrible spook should happen to come and seek revenge, I'll be sure to let you know. I assume I can find you at the local pub each evening? Is that where everyone gathers to share ghost stories about Ashbyrn House?”
He seems genuinely perturbed for a moment.
“I should get on,” he mutters finally, turning back to resume his work on the fuse box, where yet more spiders quickly retreat from view.
He adds something else under his breath, something I don't quite catch, but I'm hardly of a mind to ask him to say it again. Instead, I turn and head back along the corridor, and I'm quite pleased to find that Bob follows me all the way through to the room next to the kitchen, where I've set up my laptop on the desk I discovered last night. Until my furniture arrives in a few days' time, I'll have to make do with a rather primitive means of living, but at least there'll be no distractions to keep me from working. And fortunately, the desk came with a rather fine old chair.
Taking a seat, I open my laptop and see that I have 75% battery remaining. Hopefully there'll be some power in the house before I run low, although I'm tempted to go outside right now and burn that stupid painting, just to prove a point. At least the electrician would have a story to tell his mates down the pub.
Putting all thoughts of revenge aside, I start writing, as Bob curls next to me and settles down to nap.
***
“Done!”
Before I even have a chance to look up from my work, the laptop's screen brightens slightly and the battery-charging indicator flashes to life, and I hear a distant beep that can only mean one thing.
Electricity.
I never thought such a simple amenity could gladden my heart.
Sure enough, when I look up, I see that the bulb high above me is now on, and I feel a flash of relief at the realization that I won't have to spend another night here in the dark. I wince a little as I get to my feet, feeling a flash of pain in my back, and then I make my way out to the corridor with Bob in tow.
“You won't have any more trouble with this,” Andy says, closing the panel on the new fuse box as I reach the hallway. “Like I mentioned earlier, the wiring in the house is basically good. My old man did the place up a few years ago, back when the Ashbyrns were still in charge. Of course, he and his mates made sure that none of them were ever alone here. They always worked in pairs, just in case.”
He crouches down and starts taking some plastic clips off a set of pipes.
“I know you don't like talk about the house,” he continues, “but would you mind if I just say one more thing?”
Sighing, I realize he's probably not going to let it go. Better to give him his chance, I suppose, and then to hope that I never have need of his services again.
“It wouldn't hurt you to put the painting back,” he tells me.
I immediately sigh.
“Hear me out,” he adds, still working to remove some clips from the pipes. “There's no harm in just carrying it back inside and sticking it in a room. That way, you don't risk causing any trouble, and hopefully she'll leave you alone.”
“She?” I ask, even though it's painfully obvious that this is part of some painfully earnest local hysteria.
“Lady Ashbyrn,” he continues. “You're not one of her lot, so she might not have a problem with you. Apparently it was always her blood relations she bore a grudge against. But, well, it's always been said that she wants the painting to stay here. That's why the family didn't have it removed with the rest of the stuff when they left. You don't have to understand or even believe the stories, but -”
“But I should move the painting inside, in case a dead woman gets upset?” I ask.
He reaches down to remove the last of the clips.
“They say she's angry,” he continues. “They say she was a right bitch when she was alive, and after she died she came back to -”
Suddenly there's a flash and a bag, and Andy lets out a pained groan as he slumps away from the cupboard and falls to the floor. Hurrying over to him, I kneel and immediately check his pulse, but he's already mumbling something under his breath and starting to sit up.
“Steady,” I tell him. “What happened? Didn't you isolate it properly?”
“I did, I swear,” he stammers, staring at the rubber clips on the pipes. “There's no way they should be able to give me a shock. Not unless...”
His voice trails off, and after a moment he looks up toward the ceiling.
“Those pipes run up through the main part of the house,” he continues, before getting to his feet and brushing himself down. Before he can finish, there's a sudden loud bump from directly above us.
We both look up, but the bump has already faded and the house is once again quiet.
“Obviously you got something wrong,” I tell him. “I hope my entire house isn't wired for shocks.”
He steps cautiously over to the cupboard. Taking out a handheld device, he holds the end against the pipes, and then he uses the back of his right hand to check that there's no charge. Once he's tried a couple of times, he turns to me.
“It's safe now,” he says, swallowing hard. “I don't know what caused that, but...”
He pauses, before turning and reaching down to quickly put all his tools back into his bag.
“Must have been the ghost,” I mutter, relieved that he's okay but slightly amused by the fact that he worked himself into such a fever in the first place. Clearly he didn't have his mind on the job. “Maybe she didn't like all the advice you were giving me.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles, hauling his bag onto his shoulder and then hurrying to the front door.
“Send me your bill!” I call after him.
He stammers a reply, but he seems to be in a real hurry to get out of here. Once he's gone, I take another look at the cupboard and then I swing the door shut before heading to the window and looking out at the driveway. I half expect to see Andy's van screeching away in a rather comical manner, but instead I see that he's sitting in the driver's seat and talking to somebody on his cellphone. He still looks panicked, and I imagine he's spewing out more of his nonsense about the house be
ing haunted. The yarn-spinners at the pub will have a field day.
Never before have I felt so certain that I was right to come here. I want to avoid other people as much as possible. Both the living and the dead. In fact, moving to a supposedly haunted house might have turned out to be a masterstroke. If a few ghost stories scare the locals away, then that's fine by me.
And of course, at that precise moment, I spot a large van heading this way, and I realize my furniture has finally arrived. I guess I'm going to have to be social and friendly to yet more strangers.
Chapter Twelve
Katinka - 1859
“It will be the most magnificent wedding the county has ever seen,” Charles exclaims as he leads us across the sun-drenched lawn. “People are already talking about it. Why, I suspect word will even reach as far as Bristol and Bath. Maybe even London!”
“Do you really think so?” Mother asks, her eyes wide with anticipation as she turns to me. “Did you hear that, Katinka? Your wedding is going to be the highlight of the county's social calendar! People are going to be talking about Ashbyrn House again!”
“I hardly think so,” I reply, remembering to seem humble even though I'm positively bursting at the seams. The thought of people in London talking about my wedding, talking about me , is almost too much to bear. And deep down, I feel that the attention is nothing less than our family deserves. “Still,” I continue, “we must do our best to make everybody proud. One only gets one chance to hold a wedding, after all.”
“And your dress is in order?” Charles asks, turning to me.
“Of course.”
“It's the most beautiful dress you ever saw!” Mother tells him. “I saw Katinka try it on, and it's exquisite. It just needs a few tiny alterations, to let it out in a few places, and then -”
“Mother!” I hiss.
“What?”
“Do not say such things!” I grab her arm and hold her back, and then I wait a moment as Charles goes ahead to check on the preparations at the church. “Do not inform my future husband,” I continue, lowering my voice, “that my wedding dress is to be let out an inch! I don't want him thinking that I'm fat!”
“You? Fat?” She laughs. “Don't be ridiculous, child! You're -”
Before she can finish, I slap her hard on the side of the face. I know I shouldn't do such a thing, and indeed I regret my moment of anger as soon as it's over, but sometimes she pushes me too far. And since she knows my temper, this little provoked outburst is as much her fault as it is mine.
She steps back, clearly shocked.
“Do not call me ridiculous!” I say firmly. “You might have been content to let Ashbyrn House slide into decrepitude since Father died, but I am marrying a man who has the money to restore our home to its rightful condition! You will hold your tongue around him, and you will most certainly not say anything that casts me in a bad light! Is that clear?”
“Katinka...”
I raise my hand again. “Is that clear?”
“Yes!” she stammers, nodding frantically. “Of course! I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't even think that I might be speaking out of turn!”
“Well think in future,” I reply, before taking a deep breath. “I know you're not accustomed to using your brain, but I'm sure you can manage at least a few rudimentary moments of good sense. This wedding is to be perfect. Anyone who puts my plans in jeopardy will...”
I pause for a moment, and I can already feel my blood starting to boil. Mother looks so supine and pathetic right now, and I find it hard to believe that she'd risk making me look bad in front of Charles. Then again, since Father died, I suppose Mother has been rather left to her own devices, and perhaps her wretched mind has begun to go soft.
“Don't push me,” I add finally, before taking a step back. “Perhaps you should return to the house and make sure Pippa isn't making errors with the tea. It's bad enough that we have nobody to do that for us. Charles must think we're wretchedly poor, since we can't even afford a little woman to keep the house tidy. I'm embarrassed to have him here, but there'll be changes once I'm married and my husband and I take control of Ashbyrn House.”
“Katinka...”
“Go back inside!” I snap. “Now!”
She turns and scurries back across the lawn. I know Mother has done her best since Father died, but her best has been a disaster and she's frightfully ill-equipped to run a household. By marrying Charles, I shall be elevating our family back to the rightful position we lost following Father's death. I just wish I could be given a little more credit for all my sacrifices and hard work.
Once Mother has disappeared into the house, I take a moment to gather my thoughts and then I make my way around the line of trees. Charles is over near the church door, inspecting another part of his future property, and I can't help but notice his fine profile and the way he carries himself as a confident, powerful man. He already looks at home here, and I am certain he will be a wise and effective owner once he takes control of Ashbyrn House on our wedding day.
“Do you like it?” I ask, stepping closer.
He turns to me. “Do I like what ?”
“I used to play here as a girl,” I continue, smiling as I look up at the bell tower. “As silly as this might sound, I often wondered what it would be like to get married on this very spot. I still have the bible inside that Father gave me one day, back when I was just a child. Pippa lost hers, but I always kept mine safe. It's the exact same bible the priest will use next week when he marries us. All my dreams are coming true.”
He mutters something under his breath as he goes to the door and pushes it open.
“There are spiders everywhere in this wretched place,” he adds finally. “They make my skin crawl.”
“I kill them whenever I can,” I tell him. “Is that morbid?”
I wait for him to reply, but he seems more interested in the door itself, which he seems to be checking for sturdiness.
“I often wonder what it must be like to be dead,” I continue, hoping that perhaps I can tell Charles things that I keep from other people. “Whether it is merely oblivion that awaits us, or whether there might be something else. But if there is something else, then can it really be called death? Or would it just be another stage, another level of life?”
Again I wait, but he doesn't seem to be listening.
“So every time I kill a spider,” I add, “I think of its soul making the great discovery. Really, by now the house should be filled with the ghosts of spiders, but I've never found such a ghost yet. Not even one. I keep hoping, though. Do you think I'm frightfully silly?”
“Perhaps it would be wise to have it knocked down,” he replies, still examining the church.
I feel a rush of fear in my chest. “I'm sorry?”
He turns to me. “This church is old and decrepit, and it hasn't been in use for years. It's a relic, Katinka, and its main value is in the stones that form its walls. We could have the place torn down and then we could make a pretty sum if the stones were sent to one of the new projects in London.”
“You can't be serious,” I reply, stepping closer. “Charles, I won't allow it!”
“Who said you'd be asked for your opinion?” he continues. “Once we're married, Katinka, the entire estate will be mine. I haven't made my mind up yet, but dismantling the church is certainly a possibility. And if that is the decision I make, I would remind you that as my wife it is your job to provide unending support. Not to challenge me.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, before realizing that he's right. It's not my place to disagree. Still, I must remember that there is time yet to change his mind. Once we are married, I shall simply have to find some other way of persuading him. I am a woman, after all, and I am sure I can be subtle. Plus, once he falls in love with Ashbyrn House, he'll never dream of removing so much as a single brick or stone.
“But this is where we shall be married,” I point out. “That, at least, is settled.”
“Yes,” he
mutters, not sounding particularly enthused by the idea. “I suppose it's too late to change our plans now.”
“And we will look after the house, won't we?” I continue. “Ashbyrn House is so dear to my heart. I have always longed to take a husband and improve the property.”
“Is that why you're marrying me?”
“Of course not!” I say quickly, perhaps too quickly. “There are other reasons.”
“And they are?”
“The proper ones, of course.”
“And they are?”
I hesitate. He seems to be testing me for some reason, and frankly he's giving me a headache.
“I have need of an heir,” he continues, clearly unmoved. “ That shall be your priority once we're married. Do not worry about the house or its grounds, Katinka. They're not going to be any of your concern. Focus on conceiving an heir, and perhaps a girl too. I know women always seem keen to have little girls as well as boys. I require two boys. One to follow me, and one to act as a kind of spare in case something happens to the first. Beyond that, I am happy to produce one or two more children, including a girl if necessary. We must be pragmatic about these things.”
“Of course,” I reply, looking down at my hands.
“And now I should go and inspect the rest of the house,” he continues, heading past me. “I suppose your mother and your sister have laid on tea? Lord knows, I hope it tastes better than last time. This whole place has gone to the dogs, Katinka. I hope you realize how lucky you are, finding a man who is willing to take it all on by marrying you. Not many men would. Really, I'm something of a saint. I deserve a medal!”
“Of course,” I whisper again, turning and watching as he walks away. He might be a difficult man at times, but at least he is reliable, and he is precisely the type of man I have always wanted to marry. Finally, I shall be a bride.
Chapter Thirteen
Owen - Today
“Crazy? No, not yet. In fact, this might come as a surprise, but I think I'm actually starting to like it here.”
“You'll crack,” Charlie replies, his voice sounding a little tinny over the phone as I head through to the kitchen. “It's still new to you, but you'll go stir crazy all alone in that place.”