Spring Fever (Tales From Appleyard Book 2)

by Emma Davies

  Within twenty minutes the kettle had been forgotten, and instead the kitchen floor was littered with newspaper, as she emptied the first box and then the second. The table was covered with a selection of wine and spirit glasses, and having room for no more, Merry started to ferry them to the dining room. It didn’t escape her notice that it would have been easier to unpack them in situ, but she enjoyed walking back and forth, and the way it made her feel a part of the house.

  The dining room, which faced the road, was still in darkness, heavy curtains drawn to shut out the night. They were thick and cumbersome, dark, with a faded flowery pattern, and although she’d leave them in place for the time being, Merry eyed them dispassionately; they would have to go. She struggled to throw them back, wrestling with their weight and amazed that after her tugging, the rail still remained fixed to the wall.

  Her eye was immediately drawn to the view outside, or more specifically to the figure which stood by their gate, staring up at the house. The day was foul and yet it seemed to make no difference to the woman, her raincoat already soaked and buffeted by the wind. She stood motionless, her gaze trained on an upstairs window, and if she saw the curtains opening, she certainly gave no indication that she had. Merry turned away, smiling to herself. She wasn’t sure yet what form the local jungle drums took, but she had a fair idea that whoever was standing by her gate would be one of the main drummers. Their arrival had obviously not gone unnoticed.

  Whilst it was better with the curtains open, the light this morning was minimal and did little to expel the gloom. The dark, almost navy blue walls weren’t helping either, but Merry opened the doors on her dresser and started to replace the contents: glasses which had only been removed for packing a few days earlier. She enjoyed this, the routine and rhythm of making the house theirs, and breathing new life into it with their things. They had a long day ahead of them, but it was exciting, and as she bent to load the last few glasses into the cupboard, she realised that she hadn’t felt this good for a long time.

  She straightened up once more, surveying the room, her artistic eye looking forward in time to her vision of how she wanted it to be, but first things first; now it really was time for that cup of tea. She crossed the room, instinctively looking back towards the window; but whoever it was who had been outside was gone.

  By some miracle Robyn hadn’t woken until half past seven. Merry had even crept upstairs to check on her once or twice, but the baby had been fast asleep. Now though, she seemed to be making up for lost time with an extra-long feed, and Merry winced as she latched on once more. Tom had made copious quantities of toast this morning, and she munched on slice after slice to keep her mind off the pain, while they chatted over their plans for the day.

  Tom was itching to get started on the shop; clearing it out ready for the refurbishment that needed to take place. Although there was still much to be done in the house, he reasoned that the quicker they made a start outside, the quicker they could ascertain what work needed doing and start to make plans. It was going to be their livelihood after all, and the sooner it was open, the sooner they would start to see some return on it.

  ‘Besides which, once we get everything else unpacked we’re going to have a huge amount of rubbish to get rid of. This way maybe we can do it all in one fell swoop, maybe even get a skip.’

  Merry considered her husband for a moment, knowing that there would be no deterring him from something he had already decided to do. So rolling up her sleeves and helping him was the only real option. She glanced down at the now, sleeping baby, and levered herself out of the chair. No time like the present.

  In truth the shop was more than one room. The front part that was visible from the road was the largest of the rooms, split almost in two by another wall with a wide archway through to the rear portion. From here, another door led into not one but two separate store rooms, and it was these rooms which had really fired Merry and Tom’s imagination. The second of these was L-shaped and formed the top of the courtyard. It sat beyond the house, providing a backdrop to the rear garden, and in time was an area they hoped to develop into a showcase for local speciality products.

  The other thing which had appealed to both of them was currently still in place, although covered in assorted rubbish, and, Merry suspected, had long been out of operation. The little black pot-bellied stove would have once been here purely for practical reasons, but it was such a homely addition to the space and fulfilled every vision that Tom and Merry had for the place. Now, eyeing the flue warily, it seemed that an extraordinary leap of faith would be called for to ever get it working again.

  They decided to start on the store rooms and, checking that the baby monitor was switched on, Merry pulled on a pair of gloves. Robyn usually had her longest sleep in the morning, and if Merry was to be of any help to Tom today, now would be the time. She flicked on the old light switch and surveyed the space in front of her. Spiders she could cope with (up to a point), but dear God, let there not be any rats.

  The space was dim at best; on a day like today little natural light fell through the tiny window at the rear, and despite her surprise that the single overhead bulb actually lit, the glow from it was disappointing. The only thing that Merry could establish was that to get to her goal – a row of wooden cupboards at the rear of the room – she would have to wade through a huge number of damp and rotting boxes. She picked up the first, but it fell apart as she lifted it, the smell of decay, sour and strangely verdant.

  She wandered back out into the main room.

  ‘Tom,’ she called, searching the room for her husband.

  A head appeared from behind the archway, already white with dust.

  ‘Found any buried treasure yet?’ He grinned, wiping away a cobweb.

  ‘Not exactly… I was just wondering whether that agent had ever got back to you. Did you find out what the shop used to sell?’

  ‘General produce was his best guess. I googled it too and found some old references from the fifties when it seemed to be a family grocers. There was a picture with an old delivery bike propped outside. Other than that, only what a chap from the village told me: that it was a gallery of some sort. Why, what have you found?’

  Merry held up a wodge of sodden papers. ‘Not much… a box of mush mostly, but from what I can make out they could have been drawings, sketches, at one point. The rain has got to them though and they’ve pretty much dissolved.’

  ‘Well, that would fit then, with it being a gallery?’ replied Tom.

  ‘Hmm, I suppose so. It’s just that there is a whole box of these, all stacked together. It seems a bit odd.’

  ‘Now’t so queer as folk, so they say. Let me know if you find anything interesting.’ Tom had already returned to his task.

  She looked down again at the papers in her hand, lost in thought for a moment before finally dumping them in the wheelbarrow by the door. The rest of the box appeared to be the same, the condition of the paper noticeably worse at the top where the rain had dripped onto it through the leaky roof. She bent to pick up the last of the pile, papers from the very bottom of the box which had toppled sideways as she lifted it from the floor. A face stared up at her.

  At first she thought it was just a random pattern on the paper, making it appear familiar, like seeing shapes in clouds, but as she peered at it a little more closely, she could definitely make out a sweep of hair and at least one eye peering out at her. She stopped for a moment, looking back at the mess on the floor. She was looking for others; pages that might not be quite so damaged, but as she turned them over, they were all illegible. On a whim, she lay the paper on top of a box a little way from her. Perhaps when it was dry some further detail might appear.

  She worked solidly for the next half hour, heaving out the sodden contents of three more boxes. More papers, but this time what looked like bills and receipts of some kind. She was just about to start on her fourth box when a loud squawk alerted her to the fact that Robyn was awake once more. She grabbe
d the baby monitor to go and check on her daughter.

  With the busy events of the day behind her, Merry wouldn’t have given the sketch another thought had it not been for the strange encounter, later that day.

  Chapter 5

  ‘I’m sorry can I help you?’

  Merry was on her way back into the house having delivered a cup of tea to Tom. What useable daylight they had left was fast fading and he promised only to be another half hour or so. Robyn wriggled in her arms, as she hurried, trying to get out of the rain. The baby hadn’t fed at all well this afternoon, and with the prospect of their own dinner preparations looming, Merry was anxious to try and settle her.

  She almost didn’t notice the woman standing by the gate once more. In fact, she might have missed her altogether had the dog by her side not given a small bark. Merry pulled her coat a little more closely around Robyn and tugged her hood further forward to shelter her own face.

  The woman raised a hand in greeting, which was a start at least. She looked just as she had that morning: as still as stone, her face all but expressionless, as she waited for Merry to join her.

  ‘You’re in then?’ she said in greeting, pushing a hand down onto the dog’s back. It sat down instantly. ‘I came by this morning, but it didn’t look like anyone was up. I thought it best not to disturb you.’

  ‘Oh yes, I saw you…’ Merry frowned gently at the rain dripping off her hood. ‘Would you like to come in? It’s grim out here.’

  ‘That would be very nice, thank you,’ came the reply, polite and quietly spoken.

  Merry lead the way back into the house, not quite sure if she was up for entertaining. She was about to enquire about the dog when it trotted past her, pausing momentarily on the doorstep to scuff its feet on the mat, for all the world as if it was wiping them clean.

  A voice shot past her. ‘Ma-nners Rupert!’ It wasn’t exactly a shout, but there was a touch of the Seargent Major about it nonetheless. Rupert stood smartly to one side to let Merry pass.

  ‘Now then where would you like me? I don’t want to get in your way.’

  Merry, who was busy shrugging off her wet raincoat, gave a nod towards the kitchen table.

  ‘We could sit in here, if that’s all right? I’ve just made tea actually – would you like a cup?’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No, no. Have a seat. I won’t be a moment.’

  She adjusted Robyn who was fussing gently in the carrier. Her gaze wandered to the dog, which still stood by the door.

  ‘Erm, he can come in if it’s Okay. Will he be all right with the baby?’

  Her visitor, now in the middle of taking off her own coat, gave a wry chuckle. ‘I can see you’ve never met Rupert before. I think it’s time some introductions were performed, don’t you? Probably better if you sit down.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Merry, a little amused. ‘Okay.’

  With a gentle nod of permission, Rupert approached Merry’s chair and sat beside her, where he held out a polite paw. She laughed and took it as the dog gazed into her eyes, before resting his head against her leg.

  ‘Well I’ve never seen anything like that before!’ she exclaimed. ‘However did you get him to do that?’

  ‘Well manners cost nothing I’ve always said, even from our canine friends. I’m Cora by the way,’ said her visitor with a smile, holding out her own hand, the fingers bent with arthritis.

  ‘Merry. It’s lovely to meet you. Do you live nearby?’

  ‘Oh yes, just over the hill, in more ways than one.’ The piercing blue eyes twinkled. ‘But, I have Rupert, and he keeps me sane. Well that’s what I tell people anyway.’

  ‘Sanity’s greatly overrated in my opinion. He’s a beautiful dog though. What are they called again?’

  ‘He’s a Weimaraner.’

  Merry couldn’t help but warm to the slender figure. Her self-deprecating manner was endearing, and she suddenly realised that her colouring was almost identical to the beautiful grey dog with the blue eyes.

  As though reading her mind, Cora said, ‘The only difference of course is that Rupert has rather fewer wrinkles and, to my knowledge, doesn’t suffer from arthritis.’

  ‘Well it’s lovely to meet you too, Rupert, although perhaps I could have my hand back now so I can make some tea.’ Amazingly the dog did as it was told.

  Once Merry had placed the tea down on table, the conversation resumed where it had left off.

  So, that’s me and Rupert, how about you, and this little one?’ asked Cora. ‘Is she your first?’

  Merry laughed. ‘Is it that obvious? Over-protective-mother-syndrome I expect. But yes, she is. Born on Christmas Eve, the little darling. Her name’s Robyn.’

  ‘Oh very fitting. I like that.’

  ‘Well she was such a tiny little thing when she was born, it seemed appropriate. She seems to be making up for lost time now though, and usually guzzles her food except for this afternoon for some reason. That’s why she’s a bit cross.’

  Cora watched them both for a moment. ‘And your husband?’

  ‘Tom is the filthy one who’ll be coming through the door any minute now. He wanted to make a start on getting the old shop cleared out as soon as possible, but it’s pretty gruesome work.’

  ‘I can’t remember a time when the shop was last open, but I expect you have lots of plans. You must tell me all about them one day when you’re not quite so busy.’

  ‘I’d like that, thanks. Right now it feels as if we’re mad as hatters, taking on all this.’

  Cora smiled. ‘Well I expect you are, but I guess you have very good reasons for it. A friend once told me that sanity is a very overrated thing anyway.’

  Merry gazed at her in astonishment, feeling the warmth in the words. She smiled back.

  ‘My husband mentioned something that one of the villagers told him, about a curse on the house…’

  ‘And you want to know whether I think it’s true?’ asked Cora. ‘Well now… I’ve lived in the village a very long time, but I’d much rather know what you think.’

  ‘It’s not really something I want to think about if I’m honest, seeing as we’ve just moved in… but, no, this feels like a happy house to me. I don’t think it would feel that way if it were cursed.’ The dog shifted against her leg.

  ‘Quite. And I agree. I’ve been here on many an occasion, and always felt very peaceable. It’s had an unhappy history over recent years certainly, but I think the villagers allow superstition to cloud their judgment. Either that, or a good dose of cider in the Apple Cart on a Friday night. Isn’t that where all the best stories come from?’

  Cora paused, and for a moment Merry thought she was going to elaborate on her story. Instead, with a glance at the clock on the wall, she stood, holding out her hand. ‘Now, I’ve already taken up too much of your time, Merry, but it’s been lovely meeting you and your beautiful daughter. You must come and visit Rupert and me anytime. As I said we're just over the hill, the little cottage with the bright blue door. I shall be walking Rupert for a bit now, but I’ll pop back later with a cabbage for you if that’s all right?’

  Merry took the proffered hand, feeling a little guilty that she would have no gift to give in return, but she clasped it warmly. What a lovely neighbour to have found.

  True to her word, at a little after six, there was a knock on the back door and Merry opened it to find Cora and Rupert on the doorstep. She pulled the door wide to let them in, but Cora remained where she was.

  ‘I won’t keep you while you’re so busy,’ she said. ‘But I did promise I’d bring this for you. Keep it in the fridge, it works better that way.’

  Merry looked down at the green vegetable, not quite sure what to say. ‘Did you grow this yourself, Cora? It looks beautiful. I’m sorry I haven’t anything to give you in return – we’re not quite up to speed yet, but I’ll be sure to bring you some cakes next time I’m baking.’

  Cora stared at Merry for a moment and then let out a peal
of laughter.

  ‘It isn’t for you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well it is, but not in the way you think. No, it’s for them,’ she said pointing at Merry’s chest. ‘If I’m not mistaken you’ve a nasty bout of mastitis on the way. Best cure of all is a cabbage. Two leaves down the front of your bra. Leave them there until you can’t bear the smell any longer, and then put fresh ones in. You’ll be right as rain in a day or so.’

  Chapter 6

  Freya laughed like a drain. ‘Merry, that’s priceless, but did it work?’

  ‘It bloody did, I couldn’t believe it! Oh, but Freya, it hurt. I thought she was a bit nuts when she first left. I mean everything felt fine, but then after tea when I tried to feed Robyn, things felt a bit weird. By bedtime, my left boob had blown up like a Belisha beacon, and the heat coming off it was something else. I went to sleep wearing the cabbage, woke up stinking like old socks, but by yesterday evening it had all but gone. And I’m fine today.’

  ‘Is Robyn okay?’

  ‘Oh she’s grand… Listen, I don’t suppose you fancy coming over do you? I think I’m going ever so slightly mad. With all this rain, we can’t get out, and I’m not really any use to Tom. Besides which, he’s gone back over to Worcester today to speak to a builder chum of his.’

  ‘I’m on my way. Give me twenty minutes.’

  An hour later and they were both sitting on the floor surrounded by half-emptied boxes and piles and piles of books.

  ‘You never mentioned slave labour when you rang,’ grumbled Freya. ‘How on earth did you get to have so many books?’

  ‘It didn’t look this many in the hotel somehow. Still, I love this room, particularly because the bookcases take up two whole walls so there’s not quite as much paint on show as there might otherwise have been.’

  Freya looked around her. ‘Actually I don’t dislike the colour in here,’ she said, eyeing the damson walls. ‘It’s just that they clash rather with the green carpet don’t they?’ She got to her feet. ‘Right, come on then. This isn’t going to get them all put away. Are you one of those hideously OCD type of people who has to arrange their books by colour or something weird, or can we just put them all on the shelves?’