by Aline Riva
Under the Cobblestones
Under the Cobblestones by Aline Riva
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
A Kindle Original 2016
Copyright © Aline Riva 2016
Cover Design Copyright © Nathan David Ward 2016
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this publication be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Dedication
For Nathan:
Thank you for friendship and inspiration – all the magic that makes words dance.
Chapter 1
The details in the brochure had stated everything a potential buyer needed to know:
A pretty Grade II listed two bedroom thatched cottage steeped in history. The cottage dates back to the 18th century but may be considerably older. Ground Floor: Sitting Room, Dining Room, Kitchen, Bathroom.
First Floor: Landing, Bedroom 1, En Suite bathroom, Bedroom 2. Front and rear gardens well tended in traditional cottage style.
Location: Ravencroft Cottage, River Lane, Harpley Village.
Tenure: Freehold.
Guide: £450,000
And after a thankfully easy time at auction, Zachary Stirling had got the home of his dreams – out in the countryside, in a small and quiet village, the cottage was thatched and the garden was filled with roses and herbs and carried the scent of lavender as bees hummed about the tall stems getting drunk on the stuff. The cottage had taken up most of his cash and being tall meant he had to duck his head on entering most of the rooms, but the beamed ceilings and the soft walls and the inglenook fireplace all added to the age and the charm of the place. The kitchen was modern and the front room although charming had modern sofas in a shade of pale green that fitted well with the pale carpet, and now his TV on the wall and the laptop on the table by the window added a modern touch to the place that he considered necessary – it was okay to live out in the middle of nowhere in a village that hadn't changed much since the eighteenth century, but he was instant on wifi being installed before he moved in. The stairs were narrow and steep and the second floor had more low doorways and ceilings decked with beams. The main bathroom was as modern as the master bedroom en suite, and the leaded bedroom window opened out to a view of the traditional English country garden below.
This was the place where he wanted to spend the rest of his days, because at the age of fifty after thirty years working in the city and dealing with pressure every day, this was the perfect place to retire – or at least, to make sure he didn't lose his mind again... The year before, everything had fallen apart. He had lost his job because of the financial climate and then his wife because she had decided she couldn't go on with a lunatic who drank too much and then slit his wrists in the bath. Now he was on his own, with most of his savings sunk into a beautiful home that reminded him of how comfortable life could be, and how lonely the silence was, too.
And so he had advertised a room to rent – and after filtering out the other two applicants who seemed more likely not to make ends meet – one was a student and the other described himself as between jobs, he chose the third applicant – twenty-eight year old Sarah Tate, an art teacher who was taking a year out after her marriage of three years had come to an end.
She seemed okay. At least, after spying on her social networking profile and finding out she liked a quiet life and loved the countryside, he hoped she would be his best bet – especially after running a credit check on her and everything came up good...
Checking up on her so thoroughly had even extended to searching her name far and wide on the web to find out everything about her – he told himself it was purely to be sure he had a trustworthy tenant, but the thought had crossed his mind that she was rather attractive, her short fair hair framed her face and her wide blue eyes sparkled when she smiled. But that was just a passing thought. He was renting out that bedroom purely to get some extra cash, and he hoped she would mostly keep out of his way when she arrived. It would be enough to know another person lived in the cottage to stop him from feeling lonely – he was hardly planning to invite her for dinner every night...
The grandfather clock at the end of the hall chimed the hour and the sound carried through the house and out through the open back door and into the garden beyond. It was three in the afternoon on a warm day in early June and any moment now, he was expecting her to turn up but so far, no car had pulled up outside. Zack went to the mirror and ran his hand through dark hair shot through with grey and wondered if he would have quite so many lines etched about his eyes if he had not had a breakdown eighteen months before. Then he closed up a couple of the buttons on his shirt because it had been half open due to the warmth of the day, and as he thought of Sarah he knew when they met he would feel more than a little guilty for spying on her as much as he had – there was checking up and then there was being excessive, and his actions had definitely leant towards excess. And there was also the fact that she knew very little about him indeed, because he was careful what information was out there on the web. Certainly not the worst part...she wouldn't know anything about that...
As the memory of the razor slicing his wrist and the bath water running crimson filled his mind, he tugged at the sleeves of his white shirt, ensuring the jagged scars on his wrists were covered.
Yes, some things were best left in the past...
A bit like his anti depressants, he had left those off when he had moved in. He had been off them for three weeks now and although his sleep was often broken by something he couldn't explain, a few restless nights were the only price he seemed to be paying for ditching the meds.
The knock on the door came unexpectedly, and it was a soft tapping on the brass door knocker. He turned from the mirror as a smile played about his lips and he felt strangely amused at the thought of exercising honesty and opening the door and saying, “Hi, I'm your new landlord. I tried to kill myself less than two years ago but don't worry - I don't think I'm about to do it again...”
No. That was a bad idea. It wasn't even funny.
He stopped smiling at thought, and headed down the hallway as the caller knocked again.
Sarah had been standing there with a suitcase at her side and about to reach for the door knocker again, when the door was opened. She smiled at the tall, older man with striking dark eyes and she held out her hand.
“I'm Sarah. You must be Zack?”
He smiled as he shook her hand, took in the honesty reflected in her eyes and the way her light summer dress skimmed tanned legs and tried not to think about how much he had stalked her online. Yes, it had been stalking, and now he felt bad about it...
“Nice to meet you,” he said, “Come in,” and he stepped back and she picked up her case and went inside the cottage.
As he closed the door she looked around.
“This place is lovely. It's even better in real life. I mean, I know you showed me around on webcam but being here, seeing it for real – it's great.”
“Thanks,” he replied, “I haven't lived here long. Your room is the second door at the top of the stairs, on the left. I can take your bag for you if you like.”
“I can manage,” she replied, and then she left him at the bottom of the narrow stairway and he watched as she hurried up, carrying her case with ease.
Sarah's first impression of Zack had been that perhaps she liked him – but only time w
ould tell if that assumption was correct. He seemed quiet – but didn't most people when they first met someone?
She opened up the wooden door to her room and was greeted with pale walls and oak beams, the furniture was all pine and the bed looked comfortable. She put her case on the floor beside the wardrobe and went over to the window and pulled back a sheer net, looking through leaded glass on to the front garden and the pathway that led to the gate, and beyond that, the road, and the fields that stretched up to the woodland in the distance.
The scent of summer and the country garden filled the room and she smiled as she watched the sunlight shining down on the colourful garden with roses blooming. This was perfect, she decided, perfect to take some time out from life, and perfect to forget about her failed marriage and the fact that she had decided she didn't know where to go from here. Right now she didn't need a compass to point her life in any direction – this place was peaceful, and it was all that she needed.
She stayed at the window for a short while as she admired the view, and then as she heard a hesitant tap on the half open door she turned around.
“Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
She started to smile as she realised Zack was standing out of sight behind the door, she could see him through the crack and his head was turned away.
“As much as I love this place I haven't had the urge to strip naked and dance about the place yet so yes, I think its safe for you to come in.”
He heard the sarcastic tone of her words, and by the time he had entered the room carrying a tray, his face was flushed.
“I brought you some iced lemonade,” he said, and set the tray down on a table near the window.
She looked at the glass jug and saw the way the ice cubes danced about in the pale liquid, they clinked and chimed together as the contents of the jug began to settle. There was only one glass on the tray – it was clear he had no plans to join her, so she skipped the invite to sit down with her and chat.
“Thanks,” she said, and he nodded, and then left the room.
The sun was dipping low in a sky slashed blue and amber by the time the two of them met again. This time Zack was in the garden, sitting alone at the patio table as he read a local newspaper.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“I'm not very interesting.”
“I bet you are,” she said warmly, and she sat down at the table.
Zack folded the newspaper and put it down.
“No I really am boring,” he assured her, and she laughed off that remark.
“Your house isn't boring,” she replied, “I did a lot of research before I came here. It's got quite a history.”
He looked across the table, and for the first time, she saw interest spark in his gaze.
“Really? I haven't bothered to look into it. I do know some kind of wise man lived here – more than one, several generations... I was more concerned about moving in and getting the place how I wanted it before I bothered with the history. Please don't tell me it's got a ghost. Apparently this village has quite a few of them – I wouldn't know whether to believe in it or not, I've never seen one.”
She leaned on the table as she spoke again.
“I can tell you about it if you like. I read up on the history of the place all the way back to the eighteen hundreds.”
He cast a glance about the garden, took in the scent of the roses and the herbs and the sight of the old brick wall that surrounded the cottage – this place was steeped in history from its stone floors to its thatched roof, and now, in the garden with the sun sinking on a warm day, he was in the mood to hear a story.
“Go on then, tell me what you know.”
As their eyes met he smiled and so did she, but the moment was brief as she cast her mind back and began to relate all she had learned:
“Ravencroft Cottage was built way before the eighteen hundreds – the exact date isn't recorded. But it was home to generations of cunning men – sort of warlocks who helped the community. The title was passed down from father to son along with all the knowledge of magic and herbs and whatever else they used in their trade. The last cunning man to live here was Thornton Ravencroft – he inherited his title at the age of twenty eight when his father died and he lived in this house for the rest of his days, it's thought he died in 1912, because that was when he vanished -”
“Vanished?” Zack said in surprise, “Well you did say he was some kind of wizard!”
She laughed.
“I said warlock. Cunning man. Not quite what you're imagining. He made herbal brews and cast spells to help the community, or so the story goes...” then she briefly paused, recalling what else she had learned:
“There was a rumour that he fell in love with the daughter of a local landowner, Lord Frederick Brackenby. Her name was Lillith, she was younger than Thornton and a relationship with someone considered at the least to be the local eccentric and at worst some kind of witch...in those days, it wouldn't have been tolerated. He disappeared and she -”
“Died of a broken heart?” Zack guessed.
Sarah blinked.
“No, she married someone else - presumably someone her father approved of. That's all I know. There is no more to the story.”
“It was 1912,” Zack pointed out, “Maybe he fancied a new start abroad and sailed on the Titanic.”
“This was after the Titanic tragedy, he vanished in the summer of 1912.”
They looked at each other.
“No,” Zack said as if reading her mind, “I'm not going to get into this mystery. Next thing you'll be telling me, is this place is haunted!”
“Not that I know of,” she replied, “But there are quite a few ghosts in this village – the poltergeist at the Old Fox Inn, the White Lady who walks along the riverbank by moonlight -”
He chuckled.
“Sounds like you'll have lots of fun ghost hunting, then.”
“You could come with me if you like.”
Surprise registered in his eyes and he politely smiled.
“No thanks.”
Then he looked down the garden towards the brick wall, hoping there would be no more invitations, because he barely knew her and wasn't sure if he wanted to get close to anyone or even consider making a new friend right now – he had been alone for too long, and through too much emotional pain to feel like sharing much at all.
“I was going to make some dinner – I can cook for two, you have a well stocked kitchen, I checked earlier,” she said.
“I had a sandwich.”
“Okay. I'm going in to have a bite to eat and then I think I'll go upstairs and watch TV.”
“Okay,” he replied, and he glanced at her, smiled politely, then breathed a relieved sigh as she went back inside the cottage.
Zack at alone at the table for another ten minutes after Sarah had gone back inside, then he got up and took a walk across the lawn to the back of the garden, where he ran his hand over the cracked and weathered wall. He looked back at the house that was framed on either side by trees, and not for the first time he smiled to think the place was his. Then he looked down at the flower bed and the colourful flowers that grew there, they were planted so close it was as if they all fought for a space to stand and turn their heads sun ward. The garden smelled great, and he was looking forward to tending it – although at this time of year, cutting the grass was all he had so far needed to do, the close planting of the flowers allowed no growing space for weeds to creep in at all. He guessed the garden had been this way for centuries.
The heat of the day was still coming off the brickwork, and he took his hand off it and turned away from the wall and began to walk back towards the cottage. His mind was on Sarah as he glanced at the small, dry stone well just behind the Victorian summerhouse that sat beneath the shade of a tree. He was sure she would be very interested in that given her love of history.
“A cunning man indeed, sir,” hissed a low voice th
at carried on the breeze “You will explain yourself, Thornton!”
Zack turned sharply, so sharply he felt slightly dizzy.
“Hello?” he said nervously, but saw only bees buzzing by the wall as they hovered over sun gazing flowers. He looked back to the house – the garden was empty, he had a clear view to the open back door, and he knew it couldn't have been Sarah who had spoken because he had just heard a male voice...
He looked about the place again, and suddenly all he could feel was the beating of his own heart as the thought ran through his mind that perhaps he was going mad. Maybe he was already mad, after all, a sane person wouldn't have slashed their wrists with a razor just because their life was coming apart. Lots of peoples lives came apart every day, but they didn't open up a vein over it behind a locked bathroom door...
And now there was another voice and it was whispering to him:
“What do they know of fire and earth, of magic and ways of the old? Cold are my bones and deeper than stones, I am all alone – we are all alone, all alone and cold under stone...”
Zack caught his breath as he looked about him again, now his head was dizzy because it was hard to breathe as his heart raced.
“I'm not hearing voices!” he whispered, “I'm not!”
“You are,” came the reply, “You are...”
He finally found it, that space inside his chest that he needed to find to grab a lungful of air, and he drew it in sharply and hurried back towards the cottage.
“I thought you said you wanted to go upstairs?”
Sarah put a half eaten sandwich back on a china plate that was set on the coffee table, and she looked to Zack in surprise, wondering why he had hurried into the room so fast, and why he looked so pale.
“Are you okay?” she asked.