The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  The Silent Touch of Shadows

  Christina Courtenay

  Copyright © 2012 Christina Courtenay

  Published 2012 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choclitpublishing.com

  The right of Christina Courtenay to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN-978-1-906931-76-6

  To Joyce and Raymond Fenton with love

  Thank you for the wonderful Stocketts memories!

  and

  To Roger de la Stockette

  May you find what you’re looking for and RIP one day

  Acknowledgements

  This story is based on a real house and a real ghost. I never saw him myself (and would probably have died of fright if I had!), but I did stay in the house and believed the owners when they told me about the supernatural phenomena they experienced on a regular basis. I would like to thank them very much for allowing me to use their experiences as a starting point for this novel.

  For many months the members of Cecily Bomberg’s writers’ circle put up with me reading them excerpts from this story, so I thank them for their patience and input. At that time, becoming a published author was just a dream for all of us, but they made me believe it could happen by taking my writing seriously, and I’m glad they were proved right!

  As always, huge thanks go to the wonderful Choc Lit team and the other Choc Lit authors – it’s an enormous pleasure working with you all!

  Thanks also, as ever, to all my friends in the Romantic Novelists’ Association for your unfailing support and encouragement, and to old and new friends in the Historical Novel Society ditto.

  And last, but not least, a big thank you to my family – I couldn’t do this without you!

  Prologue

  In the huge inglenook of the ancient manor house, the remains of the log fire collapsed with a hiss into a heap of smouldering ashes. A coil of smoke floated up the chimney, disintegrating slowly.

  Nothing else moved in the room. The shadows that waited there gave no sign of their presence, apart from an occasional sigh that could have been mistaken for the draught blowing in under the badly fitting window frames.

  Even so, the air crackled with restless energy and expectation. An electric charge suddenly galvanised the dust motes into a frenzied whirl, sending them spiralling towards the ceiling before they plunged downwards again in a never-ending dance.

  The time had come to try again.

  The time had come for the silent touch of shadows.

  Chapter One

  Ashleigh Manor, Kent – Present Day

  The driveway appeared quite unexpectedly after a sharp bend in the winding lane, taking Melissa by surprise. There were no signposts to advertise its presence and she almost missed the turning. Something made her slow down though and look to her right as they came around the corner. And there it was.

  ‘Ashleigh,’ she whispered to herself as she stared at the house through a pair of wrought-iron gates. Confusion filled her mind when she realised she recognised this place, and yet she was sure she had never been here before.

  The old manor house nestled in a hollow, as if it had burrowed into the ground for comfort. Picture perfect, it was built of timber and orange-red bricks, with tiny leaded windows and tall chimney stacks. The colour gave an impression of warmth, reinforced by the sunlight reflected off the myriad of windowpanes. A shiver snaked up Melissa’s spine. The view was eerily familiar.

  ‘Is this where the old lady lives?’ Her twelve-year-old daughter Jolie sighed and removed the ear plugs of her iPod, then directed a look of suffering at her mother which Melissa ignored.

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied, but really there was no doubt about it. She knew this was the right place and didn’t need to check the written directions. The sensation of déjà vu was so strong it made her frown. Perplexed, she continued to stare through the gate.

  ‘Do we have to stay long?’

  It was Melissa’s turn to sigh. ‘I told you we’re invited for the whole weekend. Weren’t you listening? I’ve never met great-aunt Dorothy before, so it would be nice if we could at least make a good first impression. Come on, please stop sulking now. You’ll survive. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.’

  Jolie made a face and muttered, ‘Fat chance,’ then turned up her music once more, oblivious to the beautiful countryside surrounding them. Melissa shook her head and climbed out of the car to open the gates. She had to admit to some apprehension herself, as her great-aunt’s invitation to come and stay for a weekend had been totally unexpected. Dorothy’s phone call a few days earlier was the first communication anyone in the family had had with her for over fifty years. Apparently Dorothy had fallen out with her sister Ruth, Melissa’s grandmother, and no one had heard from her since.

  So why the sudden change of heart? And how had Dorothy found her after all this time? A recent electoral roll perhaps, or had she hired a sleuth?

  The crisp air made Melissa pull the edges of her unbuttoned jacket together, but she soon forgot the cold as she breathed in the earthy smells of the countryside. It was like stepping into a greenhouse where you instinctively fill your lungs to capacity from the oxygen-rich air, and Melissa couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Although nature was only just waking from its winter slumber, there was plenty of greenery around, which made a welcome change from London. Melissa stood for a moment simply admiring the view.

  They continued up the drive and parked next to a yew hedge, which surrounded a part of the lawn and flower beds immediately in front of the house, creating a cottage garden within the main grounds. The hedge had been trimmed to velvety perfection and grew thick and deep. A profusion of snowdrops peeped out from underneath the bushes, looking as if they were wondering whether it was safe to come out yet.

  Before Melissa had even switched off the engine, a woman emerged from the front door and came down the path towards a gate set in the hedge. ‘Welcome, my dears,’ she called out. An excited little white terrier with a patch of black over one eye trotted behind her. When he caught sight of them he started jumping up and down, barking furiously.

  Melissa assumed the woman must be her great-aunt since no one else came out. They shook hands in a rather formal way, which made Melissa feel as though she ought to curtsey or something. Dorothy was all smiles, however, so she gathered it was just old-fashioned manners.

  ‘Hello, lovely to meet you,’ Melissa said.

  ‘And you, I’m so glad you could come.’ Dorothy turned to wag a finger at the terrier. ‘Now stop that, Russ, you’re too noisy,’ she ordered, but he wouldn’t settle down until he had been made a fuss of by his guests. ‘I’m sorry, he has no manners. He’s just so happy to have visitors. I think he’s hoping your daughter will play with him later.’

  ‘I’d love to, can we go now?’ The sulky expression had miraculously vanished the instant Jolie had caught sight of Russ.
She bent down to scratch him behind the ears. ‘I love dogs,’ she added and giggled when the terrier tried to lick her chin.

  Dorothy’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘Why don’t you come and see the house first, then you two can go off and explore for a while before lunch?’

  ‘Oh, all right then.’ Jolie reverted to her previous near-teenage pout and ignored the warning look Melissa shot her.

  Dorothy chattered on about the weather and this obviously wasn’t the right time to ask awkward questions, so Melissa just nodded politely from time to time. Dorothy seemed amiable enough, although there was definitely a hint of steel in her gaze as if she was used to ruling the roost. Well, she would have had to be pretty tough in order to stand up to Grandma Ruth, Melissa thought. She remembered all too well the terror that old lady had inspired in anyone who displeased her.

  While Dorothy held forth, Melissa studied her surreptitiously to see if there was any family resemblance, but couldn’t see any. Her great-aunt was tiny, with thick white hair and clear blue eyes, the complete opposite of Melissa’s late grandmother. Dressed in navy blue trousers and a cashmere sweater, with a matching silk scarf knotted loosely around her neck, Dorothy looked casual but chic. She certainly didn’t look her age, which Melissa guessed to be around seventy.

  As they walked up the path to the porch, the sense of déjà vu returned and grew even stronger than when she’d first arrived. Melissa stopped to contemplate the house close up, searching for an answer to this phenomenon, but could find no logical explanation in the weathered brick walls.

  ‘Are you coming, my dear?’ Dorothy had turned to wait for her.

  ‘Yes, of course. I was just, umm … admiring the façade.’ Confused by her strange reaction, Melissa forced herself to ignore it and move on. Before their arrival, she had been excited about the prospect of visiting a house that had apparently belonged to her ancestors for generations, and she was determined nothing should ruin her enjoyment of this weekend.

  Before she had time to think about it more, they were whisked into the house through a solid oak front door, which squeaked in protest as it slammed shut behind them. Suppressing the irrational feeling of recognition, Melissa tried instead to gaze with interest at her surroundings. They had entered a low, dark hallway lit by two dim wall lights. A strong smell of floor-polish hung in the air, reminding Melissa of her grandmother’s house. In fact, polish seemed to have been rubbed into every surface; whether wood or metal, they all gleamed in the soft light. An old-fashioned bronze mirror distorted their images into comical shapes and Melissa saw Jolie peering into it from different angles to see what effect it would have on her features.

  ‘This is lovely!’ Melissa stopped and looked around at the smooth, plaster-covered walls, which had been painted white to contrast with the dark oak beams and planks around them. They looked ancient and solid and the sheer beauty of the workmanship was amazing.

  ‘In here, dear.’ Dorothy and Jolie disappeared further down the hall and her great-aunt’s voice floated back to her, muffled by the thick walls. Melissa tried to follow the others, but was suddenly overcome by emotion at the thought of all the generations of ancestors who had walked here before her. She felt as if she was being enveloped into a collective embrace by them all and had to swallow hard. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and made her way to the sitting room, where Jolie waited impatiently.

  ‘Mum, look, isn’t this huge?’ She was obviously impressed enough to have forgotten to sulk and her honey-brown eyes opened wide as she took in the generous proportions of the room. Her winter jacket had been flung onto the floor and Melissa bent to pick it up, her reaction automatic.

  ‘It used to be the great hall when the house was first built some time in the fifteenth century,’ Dorothy told her. ‘If you think it’s huge now, you should have seen it back then – open all the way up to the ceiling. If you go up into the attic you can still see the soot from the cooking fire on the roof beams, left over from before they constructed this fireplace.’ Dorothy pointed to an enormous inglenook, which took up more than half a wall.

  Melissa closed her eyes and was shocked at the detailed picture that formed in her mind. She could see the big hall clearly, including the massive ceiling rafters, the benches along the walls and even the haze of smoke from the central hearth drifting upwards to a hole in the ceiling. At either end she glimpsed doorways leading to storage rooms and steps up to small private sleeping chambers above. The sounds of feet scraping on the floor and the barking of dogs assailed her.

  A voice came out of nowhere, calling for ale, but the man spoke with an unfamiliar dialect which made Melissa wonder where he might come from. There were candles burning in sconces set at intervals along the walls, and their distinctive smell caused Melissa to wrinkle her nose. They cast their flickering light over floorboards that weren’t very clean, and in one corner a couple of dogs were fighting over a bone.

  When Melissa inhaled sharply, the stench of unwashed humans and cooking clogged her nose and throat. It made her gag in disgust and she blinked, shaking her head to clear the images away. She looked around the room for the source of the voice, but there was no one there now except Dorothy and Jolie. They were still talking and didn’t look as though they’d heard or seen anything unusual. Completely disorientated, Melissa stumbled after the others when they moved on.

  ‘The whole of the first floor was created later to make space for more bedrooms,’ Dorothy was saying, ‘and an extension added in the seventeenth century made the house L-shaped.’ The old lady was obviously very proud of her home and Melissa dutifully admired everything that was pointed out to her. She had no trouble making the right noises; it really was beautiful and just the sort of house she would have liked for herself. She’d been fascinated by history for as long as she could remember, so to her, living in a building this old would be paradise.

  To her relief, Jolie was becoming more animated by the minute and showed great interest in what Dorothy told them.

  ‘So this house is six hundred years old?’ Jolie said. ‘Six hundred is, like, ancient.’

  Dorothy chuckled at her expression. ‘Yes, you’ll get used to the idea. Isn’t it nice to know that it was built to last? Just think how many storms it must have weathered. I always feel so safe here.’

  Jolie nodded, but Melissa shivered involuntarily as she thought of all that must have happened during the past six centuries. Births, deaths, marriages, the house had seen them all. Laughter, sadness, love, grief … As the others moved on again, a gut-wrenching sadness overwhelmed her without warning and made her gasp out loud. She wanted to curl up on the floor and howl with some dimly remembered pain. When she followed this instinct and doubled over, clutching at her clenched stomach muscles, the emotion disappeared as quickly as it had come. Melissa straightened up and took in a shuddering breath.

  What on earth is the matter with me?

  She felt suddenly cold and glanced over her shoulder, but there was nothing. She shook her head at her own stupidity and hurried to catch up with the others before any more strange things happened.

  ‘I’m so pleased you could come. I’ve been meaning to contact you ever since I found out that both your mother and grandmother had passed away,’ Dorothy said. ‘But my beloved husband, Charles, also died last year and it’s taken me a while to come to terms with that.’

  They were having a chat by the fire in the sitting room and Melissa felt herself relax into the deep armchair. Entering the room for a second time, she’d been relieved not to experience any more strange sights or sounds. She put the unusual images down to an overactive imagination. It was a very old house after all.

  ‘Of course,’ she said now. ‘Grief isn’t easy to cope with. When I lost mum I found it so hard to accept. She was the only one I had left, apart from Jolie, of course.’

  ‘Yes, and what a terrible shame, dying so young. Cancer is a dreadful disease.’

  Melissa nodded. It wasn’t something s
he wanted to dwell on. She still couldn’t quite grasp that her mother was really gone. ‘I have to admit your call came as quite a surprise. Grandma hardly ever spoke of you and I didn’t expect to hear from you.’

  Melissa hadn’t even known of Dorothy’s existence until she began to trace her family tree and started asking questions, but she thought it best not to mention that. When pressed as to the reason for this estrangement, her mother had told her Dorothy wanted no contact with their part of the family and then muttered something about ‘letting sleeping dogs lie’. This was intriguing and Melissa hoped she would finally get some answers.

  ‘Oh, it was all so silly.’ Dorothy shrugged. ‘Ruth and I had an argument and we were both very stubborn. The years went by and before we knew it, it was too late to patch things up. It was just one of those things, but it’s all in the past now. It needn’t concern us.’

  Melissa felt sure there must have been more to it than that, but before she could ask Dorothy for details, the old lady changed the subject.

  ‘So what is it you do exactly? I gather you’re divorced, so presumably you work, at least part time?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m a professional genealogist. I prepare family trees for private clients and I also do freelance jobs for several law firms, helping them to find people mentioned in wills. Some of the work can be done from home, which makes it ideal for me.’

  ‘Sounds fascinating.’ Dorothy looked as though she meant it and Melissa was just about to tell her more when they were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming. The noise made Melissa’s stomach muscles clench with sudden anxiety. She was still trying to puzzle out this irrational reaction when, seconds later, Jolie burst into the sitting room, closely followed by a panting Russ. They were both oblivious to the trail of mud behind them as Jolie rushed to her mother’s side and Russ trotted over to lie down on a little dog bed next to Dorothy, looking tired but happy. Melissa cringed and tried in vain to signal to her daughter, but Dorothy made no comment.