by Iris Gower
The grass and flowers had been wild then, and it was because of Tom and his men that the flower beds had begun to have order and shape. Of course, I could afford two gardeners now, who kept the gardens trimmed and neat and weeded, but I knew I would never forget that Tom was the one who had planted my garden and made it beautiful.
I knew I should be pleased with my life. I had good friends – especially Diane, who had my best interests at heart – and I was becoming a ‘name’ now in the world of art. I was known as the strange young lady who lived with ghosts, but I didn’t mind what folk said about me as long as my work was appreciated. I was even commissioned by a minor royal to paint an ancestor sweeping grandly across the lawn at Aberglasney. In spite of myself and my best efforts, the lady ended up bearing a striking resemblance to Beatrice. The painting was returned with a short letter telling me the likeness to the royal lady was not quite right and would I do more work on the face?
I looked at the painted miniature I’d been allowed to borrow and worked with a focused mind, and at last the likeness was almost perfect. This time the painting was accepted and I was paid a handsome sum, which I immediately took to my bank in Swansea, grateful that I was secure for at least another year if I wasn’t too enthusiastic with my spending on the house.
Summer came and went, hot and dry and with visitors galore, who were not only coming to see the house but also to visit the beautiful gardens, making use of the newly-restored drive and entrance archway. I saw Tom only twice during the summer, and each time he told me he loved me, took me to bed and made such beautiful love to me that I cried each time.
Now the summer had gone, there was an autumnal touch to the evenings, and the leaves fell like coloured patterns on to the well-manicured grass lawns. I walked the gardens – shuffling through the crisp leaves and kicking them up in heaps like a child.
And then it suddenly became winter once more. The nights drew in and shadows crept across from the cloister into the garden, and I felt that first summer at Aberglasney was long ago and far away.
The house was almost restored to its former glory now; there was electric lighting all over the house, though we still used oil lamps and candelabras for effect on the ghost weekends. My career was blossoming, and all I needed to make my life complete was Tom. But he continued to be evasive.
Justin came often with Diane and stayed at the house, and I had yet to prove by law that Aberglasney was mine. Justin seemed to have given up the idea that he owned the place, but I soon found out that I was completely wrong about that.
I was sitting in the comfort of the drawing room, wondering what to do for a Christmas party this year and enjoying a glass of much needed sherry, when there was a commotion at the door. I stood up abruptly, my senses alert, imagining Tom had arrived to sweep me away.
A flustered Mrs Ward called me into the hallway. ‘It’s Mr Mansel-Atherton, Riana. He says he’s here to stay and that I must take my orders from him.’
Justin stood in the hallway smiling at me, his bags and cases on the floor beside him. ‘Sorry, Riana,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’ve nowhere else to go, and this house is rightfully mine. So I’m here to stay, whether you like it or not!’ He turned to Mrs Ward. ‘Make up a room for me, Mrs Ward.’
She hesitated, looking at me uncertainly.
Justin put his hands on his hips in a ‘lord of the manor’ pose. ‘I won’t ask again, Mrs Ward.’
She scuttled upstairs, and I could hear her rummaging in the linen cupboard for sheets. I stood there glaring at Justin for a long moment, and then without waiting he strode past me into the sitting room and sat down in the most comfortable armchair! When Mrs Ward returned he ordered a brandy and soda, and she was so frightened by his authoritative manner that she rushed away to do his bidding.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ I could hardly speak I was so angry. ‘How dare you come striding in here as if you own the place?’
‘Because I do own the place! Call the police, if you like. See what they say about all this. Just see if they will throw me out!’
‘You know they won’t be able to do that on the spot. It takes a solicitor and legal papers to determine who really owns Aberglasney,’ I stuttered.
‘Precisely, and all you own is a pathetic piece of paper signed by a batty old woman. You only got the house because no one contested it. Well, all that is changed now. I’m back, and if I want to live in my house then I have every right to do so. That solicitor chap told me that before he died.’
I shook my head. ‘How convenient for you that a bomb killed him before we could sort this out. Well, we’ll see about that in the morning! There are other solicitors who deal with wills and that sort of thing.’
‘Well, in the meantime, I’ll go to my room. And once in, believe me, you won’t shift me.’
‘We’ll see,’ I said, overwhelmed by anger. ‘I might get someone to throw you out, if I have to.’
‘Threats, Miss Evans? Don’t overstep the mark or I might be the one to do the throwing out.’ He bowed to me as though he was a gentleman and left the room.
I could hear him going upstairs, and I stood near the door and shook my fist up the stairs. ‘I hope all the ghosts of Aberglasney rise up to haunt you,’ I whispered.
Justin must have heard me, because he turned round and smiled spitefully. ‘I know the ghosts of Aberglasney much better than you do, Riana darling, and they are not the ones in the spirit world, believe me.’
‘What are you talking about, Justin?’
‘Past history, Riana. Things you don’t understand and don’t need to know about.’ Justin was as smug as ever. ‘Now, I’ll say goodnight.’
He disappeared along the corridor, and I went back into the sitting room and refrained from banging the door shut. I sat there and fumed as I heard Justin’s footsteps across the landing, wondering if he was attempting to intrude into my studio to look at my unfinished paintings. If he was, he would soon find out that I always kept it locked! It looked as if I was stuck with Justin until I could invoke some legal law that would have him evicted.
In the morning, Justin was seated at the breakfast table with Mrs Ward serving him bacon and eggs and toast as if he was lord of all he surveyed.
‘You don’t have to wait on Mr Mansel-Atherton,’ I said crossly. ‘Let him cook his own breakfast, seeing as he’s not even paying for board and lodge here.’
‘No man pays board and lodge when he owns the house,’ Justin said, rebuking me, and Mrs Ward made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
I followed her. ‘When Justin pays your wages you can wait on him as much as you like. Until then, please do what I ask.’
‘It’s difficult for me to take it all in,’ she said. ‘The Mansel-Atherton family has owned Aberglasney for as long as I can remember.’
‘Well, I’m the legal owner now,’ I said more gently, ‘and I’ll prove it. I’ll go to a London solicitor if I have to and get Justin thrown out of here.’
‘Want breakfast?’ Mrs Ward adroitly changed the subject. ‘I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea.’
I sat down. ‘I’ll have tea and toast,’ I said, sulky as a child, ‘but I won’t eat with that man. I’ll stay in here with you.’
‘That’s all right,’ Mrs Ward said, and I felt, churlishly, that she was giving me permission to eat in my own kitchen.
Later, I heard Justin go upstairs, and by the banging and moving of furniture I realized he was searching my house. He wasn’t the first one to make a search of Aberglasney; what were they all looking for? Could they really all still be looking for Mr Mansel-Atherton’s engine designs, after all this time? Of course, I thought, Justin could be looking for proof of his inheritance. My blood ran cold.
I hurried upstairs just as he was going in to the blue room, Beatrice’s room. I pushed the door open and there he was on the floor, tapping the boards, a chisel and a hammer lying alongside him.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ I stared down at him, my hand
s clenched to my sides, longing to hit him.
‘What does it look like?’ He sat up and leaned back against the wall. He looked unruffled; Justin always appeared to be in full evening dress, even though he now wore casual trousers and an open-neck shirt. ‘I’m searching the old house.’
‘But why?’
‘You must be incredibly stupid, Riana. My father’s plans are here somewhere. Designs for a new type of aeroplane engine, so revolutionary and brilliant that I could still make a fortune from them if I discovered them, even now. Everyone wants to get their hands on my father’s drawings, from the United States Army Air Forces to the Russians.’
I went cold. Was that why Tom kept returning to me, making love to me, only to learn if I knew about the drawings and where they could be kept? He was in the United States Army Air Forces, after all.
‘Sounds as ridiculous as the presence of ghosts to me,’ I said ‘Now get up from here and get out of my house before I call the police and tell them your intention was to come here and rob me.’
‘How would you prove that, Riana my darling? All I would have to do is show the police my birth certificate and they would back off. With my name it would be hard to prove that I am not the rightful owner of the house, wouldn’t it?’
‘Where’s Beatrice when I need her?’ I muttered, and Justin turned his back and continued to remove floorboards.
In the kitchen, Mrs Ward was washing the floor, her hair tied up in a scarf and a hint of steel curling pins peeping out over her forehead.
‘How can I get rid of that man, Mrs Ward? He’s trying to ruin my house! He’s busy pulling up floorboards at the moment in the blue room.’
Mrs Ward gave me a quick glance, but remained tight lipped.
I stared at her for a long moment. ‘What do you know about these designs that Mr Edwin created? Is it common knowledge that there are lost plans, worth a fortune, hidden in this house?’
She shrugged. ‘There was talk when he was taken away by the police, but we villagers didn’t know anything about designs and plans and such and no one has ever found anything in the house. If they were to exist though, they’d be worth a mint of money.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Just the way that strange men have been here to search. I suspect all this nonsense about lights and ghosts has always been more to do with folks searching the old place than any ghosts.’
I shook my head and tiptoed across the wet floor and went out into the garden to be on my own to think things through. I sat under the cloisters. Could it be true that the mysterious noises in the night, the bumps and crashes, had been made by men searching the place all along? And the flickering lights on the landing, so eerie in darkness, were the candles of burglars come to rob Beatrice of what was rightfully hers? I shivered. It seemed as unlikely an explanation as the ghosts.
It was cold in the garden, and a rim of frost edged the stonework. But in a few weeks spring would be coming and the brave yellow of daffodils would make bright splashes across the borders of the gardens. But I was running ahead of myself. I had to plan for my Christmas party for my ghost hunters. My first job was to get rid of Justin. I would ask Diane if she knew of a good lawyer who could look at all the facts – my bill of sale versus Justin’s claim to the house because of his name – and learn exactly what the law was about the ownership of Aberglasney.
I would be desolate if Justin proved to be the owner, but I felt my bill of sale was legitimate and legally binding. However, I knew it would take heaven and earth and the might of the law to move Justin out of my home.
THIRTY-TWO
Diane arrived for a visit, but she was in a very funny mood. ‘I find Justin very convincing,’ she said.
We were sitting on the sofa. It was comfortable and warm in the room, with a glass of good port to keep us company.
‘Why on earth are you taking Justin’s part?’ I was disturbed by Diane’s attitude. She seemed to think Justin was the true heir to my house and that I could do worse than to marry him.
‘Don’t be silly, Riana. I’m thinking of you. He’s young, he’s ambitious, and as I told you I will be leaving the gallery and all the goodwill of the business to him. He’s become very close to me.’
‘He’s charmed you,’ I said bluntly. ‘Has he made love to you yet?’ As soon as I spoke the words, I regretted them.
‘Riana! How could you be so gross? I loved my Mr Readings. You know that the greatest day of my life was when he put a ring on my finger.’
‘I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,’ I said at once. ‘Of course, you wouldn’t want a boy like Justin, not after a good man like Mr Readings.’ And yet I looked at Diane afresh. She was much younger than Mr Readings, of course. She was a comfortably upholstered but nonetheless attractive widow with lots of money and influence. But then I was being silly. Why would Justin want me and the house if he’d already settled for Diane and her fortune? I hugged Diane and kissed her cheek and told her again how sorry I was . . . and yet and yet, was she really my friend? Was anyone really my friend, including Tom, my dear man? And then there was Mrs Ward . . . She was constantly there at Aberglasney. She had every chance to search the house whenever she cleaned and dusted and changed the linen. Has she discovered any papers? And if so, was she keeping them from me? I was growing paranoid, and I hated it.
Diane persuaded me to go to London, and together we visited her lawyer – who was young and keen and told me my documents regarding Aberglasney were legal and binding. ‘Of course, the son has a right to contest the will,’ he added, and my spirits sank.
We travelled to the guest house, and once there I sat in a chair my head in my hands. ‘You know Justin is forcing himself on me, don’t you?’ I said miserably.
Diane looked at me sharply. ‘You don’t mean . . .’ Her words trailed away, but she had a glitter in her eyes that I didn’t like to see.
‘Not physically, of course,’ I replied hurriedly. ‘I mean that he insists on living in my house, in spite of my protests. Well, today I’ve got an appointment with another lawyer, Mr Prentice, a fine London lawyer who specializes in houses and wills and such.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Diane said. ‘I’ve wasted my time advising you and taking you to see my lawyer. What are you thinking of, Riana? Don’t you trust me?’
‘I trust you, but I don’t trust Justin,’ I said. ‘No doubt he advised you which firm to visit.’ She nodded slowly, and I smiled. ‘I thought so. You are too trusting, Diane.’
I went to see Mr Prentice on my own because I knew Diane would put Justin’s case to him, even if it was only out of a sense of rightness and fairness. The lawyer had modern premises, very unlike Mr Jeremy’s dark offices and book-lined study. Mr Prentice sat in a bright light room with two windows and a warm light over a polished, immaculate desk. His ink tray was spotless, no ink blotches stained the burnished wood, and even the nib of his pen was shining as though it had never been used.
Mr Prentice read the bill of sale in silence, absorbing it all quickly and digesting it in silence. At last he spoke. ‘Looks legal and binding to me,’ he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So what is the problem, Miss Evans? I assume there is one, or you wouldn’t be here.’
I told him about Justin and his claims, and he leaned back in his chair, adjusted his glasses, and listened carefully.
‘I visited Aberglasney once,’ Mr Prentice remarked, ‘on a business matter concerning putting funds into designs for a new type of aeroplane engine. Unfortunately, I couldn’t raise the money, but the plans were brilliant, quite brilliant. We haven’t seen their like again. But later, if I remember rightly, Mansel-Atherton was accused of murdering five girls.’ He paused and lit a cigar. ‘All nonsense, of course, not a real shred of evidence against him. I hear the room had been freshly painted. I always thought that if the chimney had been blocked, the lead paint fumes could have killed all the girls in one night, as they lay sleeping in their beds, but not a man like Edwin Mans
el-Atherton. He had no motive, for a start. Still, the case ruined him. He killed himself, I believe. Now back to business.’
He paused and picked up a great tome of a book. ‘The point is, did Mr Mansel-Atherton ever acknowledge this son in writing? The man had a wonderfully creative brain, so he would know what he was about. Was the father’s name on the birth certificate? These questions I must answer before I know for sure what this young man’s claims amount to. I will write to you with my findings, Miss Evans, and in the meantime don’t worry too much. I think you are pretty safe. Where may I contact this young man?’
‘He’s in my house, and he won’t be moved,’ I said, and Mr Prentice frowned.
‘He’s going to have to be evicted through the law courts then,’ he said. ‘Or, and officially I didn’t tell you this, you could have friends to literally remove him by force.’
That sounded tempting. I could imagine Justin being thrown out on his ear. How indignant he would be that his arrogant pride had been dented! I put my papers away in my bag and got to my feet. ‘Well, thank you, Mr Prentice. I will wait to hear from you then. Please be as quick as you can.’
He rose and shook my hand. ‘Of course, Miss Evans. I’d be delighted to act for you at once.’ His smile was warm, and his hand held mine a little longer than was necessary.
I drew away, blushing. He was a very attractive man, even though he was of mature years. What a pity I was in love with Tom – who didn’t appreciate me at all, who came and went at a whim, and who seemed to get me into danger whenever he was around. And yet my heart ached for him.
I left the office walking on air, however. Aberglasney was almost surely mine, and a good-looking man had found me attractive and showed it. I really felt positive for the first time in ages. Also, Mr Prentice had given me an idea to mull over about the death of the maids.
I turned a corner and stopped walking abruptly. Ahead of me was a couple, arm in arm, and I recognized Diane’s fashionable hat. I slowed my pace and kept a discreet distance behind them. The man too looked familiar: the hair, the slant of the shoulders, the cut of the clothes . . . it was Justin and Diane! She’d lied about their relationship, making me feel disgusting for even suggesting there was something between them, and there they were together! Thank goodness she hadn’t come to see Mr Prentice with me; she would have proved to be a thorn in my side.