The Lavender Lady

by Faith Martin

  They’d discussed adoption, of course, but in the end had decided against it. Because Effie knew, deep in her heart, that Michael, if he couldn’t have children of his own, wouldn’t want to raise someone else’s. There had always been a sort of fastidiousness to his nature that she found both irritating and, in some profound way that she’d never fully understood, also endearing.

  Even though the injury had been done to her, it left her feeling as if she was the one who needed to take care of him.

  Gradually, over the years, the fact that she was barren got pushed to the background of her life. And whenever it raised its ugly head, she simply told herself repeatedly that it didn’t matter. After all, the world was so grossly overpopulated already, wasn’t it? Nowadays, women hardly needed to be mothers in order to justify themselves or their place in the world. Right? Michael had never made her feel less of a woman because of it. Not once had he ever indicated that he felt cheated or robbed in marrying her.

  Which had only served to make her love him more.

  And after so many years now of living with it — and especially since losing Michael — she’d thought that the fact that she couldn’t have children was all done and dusted. Irrelevant. Something that didn’t even impinge on her existence any more.

  But it only took two complacent women, gossiping spitefully about their host, to show her how wrong she was.

  ‘Effie?’

  Effie quickly looked up as Jean drew a chair up on the other side of her. And as she did so, she noticed the ex-schoolteacher glance at Ros questioningly, and could only wonder what their hostess was signalling back.

  Really, this wouldn’t do. She had to pull herself together and fast.

  ‘Hello, Jean. I think I’ve been overdoing it a bit,’ she said, with a slightly wobbly smile.

  ‘Yes, I’m feeling a bit faded myself,’ Jean responded quickly. Which was obviously a lie. The older woman looked as indomitable and indestructible as ever.

  ‘I’d better go and see if Clive’s managed to avoid incinerating the chops again, like he did last year,’ Ros said diplomatically, and got up to see to the rest of her guests.

  Effie slowly shook her head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jean asked softly. ‘You look, if you’ll pardon the expression, as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  And in spite of herself, Effie had to laugh. And then, to her horror, she heard herself say, ‘Oh, Jean, I can be such a liability sometimes.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Jean said bracingly.

  Effie smiled weakly and slowly leaned back in the chair. Thankfully, the awful light-headedness had gone, and even the weak feeling in her knees was beginning to wear off. She still felt slightly sick though, and suddenly realizing that she was still holding on to her plate of salad as if her life depended on it, deposited it gently on the ground beneath her chair.

  Somewhere behind her, she heard Zoe laugh happily, and heard Corwin’s voice say something laconic in response. All around her, people were eating and drinking and having a nice time.

  ‘Jean, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Just how did you come to join the C-Fits?’ Effie asked. What she needed now was some ordinary conversation, something to take her mind off what a fool she’d nearly made of herself. And Jean, bless her, seemed to understand her need for normalcy.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing dramatic, I’m sorry to say,’ she began dryly. ‘So if you’re hoping I’m going to regale you with some gothic story of seeing something nasty in the woodshed, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.’

  Effie smiled. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Jean said amiably. ‘I suppose it all began with my mother. Now that sounds a bit dramatic — I didn’t mean it to. I had a very normal childhood! Anyway, I’d always known I wanted to be a teacher, so when I finished my A levels and got my degree I went straight on to teacher training college. One day I went home in the summer vacation for a bit of a family get-together — you know what I mean. A proper cooked Sunday lunch and a bit of cosseting. So I arrived with a pile of dirty washing, and looked forward to some of Mum’s apple pie.’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’

  ‘Oh, it was. I used the washing machine, and gobbled up the roast beef and Yorkshire pud, and all that — just good, normal stuff. But I noticed that Mum seemed a bit . . . off.’ Jean gave a brief shrug. ‘Sort of distracted and a bit shamefaced. And I noticed that Dad would sometimes look at her and grin, like he always did when he knew something that I didn’t. So, naturally, I demanded to be let in on the joke. And that’s when Dad said that Mum had seen a ghost.’

  Effie shifted in her chair a little, in order to watch her more closely. ‘Really? And what did you say to that?’

  Jean smiled. ‘What you’d expect me to say, I suppose. What anyone would say. I demanded to know the details. She didn’t really want to say at first — I suppose she felt a bit silly. But in the end I persuaded her to come out with it, as you do. And it seems that Mum had gone to my nan’s grave to lay flowers and tidy up, as she did every fortnight or so. And when she’d got up from clipping the grass, she saw a man, about two rows down, standing by another grave. Naturally, she’d simply assumed that he was another relative, making a visit to his own loved one. But, and this is where Dad began to smile even more like a loon, Mum swore that, when she bent down to pick up the dead flowers and then looked up again, he had vanished.’

  ‘Ah,’ Effie said. ‘And he couldn’t have just walked off? Or went behind a tree or something?’

  ‘Mum said not. She said the churchyard was deserted and that there were no trees or anything nearby. And that, for the man to have just walked away and vanished without her catching sight of him, he’d have had to sprint as if he’d been rocket-propelled.’

  ‘So what did she do?’ Effie asked, beginning to get drawn into the tale. Which was just what she needed, of course.

  ‘Well, after looking around her for a while and trying to catch a glimpse of him and failing, she went over to the grave where he’d been.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was the grave of a woman, with one of those older stones that have lovely old-fashioned inscriptions on them. Apparently she’d been a “spinster of the parish” who’d died at the age of twenty-one.’

  ‘Oh no. I hate it when they die so young,’ Effie said.

  Jean nodded. ‘I know. Me too. Anyway, Mum came home and told Dad, who laughed at her, of course. And then Mum laughed too. After she told me all about it, we just let the subject drop. I could see Mum was embarrassed by it. But she continued to be sort of thoughtful and distracted all that weekend.’

  ‘And what did you do?’ Effie pressed.

  Jean looked at her, one eyebrow slowly rising. ‘I did nothing, of course. Except go back to college, then spend the next forty years teaching all manner of children all kinds of things about world geography.’

  Effie laughed. ‘Sorry, Jean, I was being rather fatuous, wasn’t I?’

  What had she expected? That Jean would have instantly done some research on the occupant of the grave, found out all about her, and discovered that some lovesick swain had romantically died of a broken heart after losing her? And who now, according to local legend, was seen visiting her grave and grieving, before vanishing into thin air?

  That sort of thing only happened in Gothic novels. Not in real life.

  ‘I know, it’s all very unsatisfactory.’ Jean’s eyes twinkled as she regarded her. ‘But actually, that’s where it all began for me. For all the years I worked at various schools, I often thought about that story, and the more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me. Because I knew Mum wasn’t lying — why would she? There was nothing in it for her. And if she’d been one of those sort of people who like to make things up in order to be the centre of attention, she would have made the story far more elaborate. Besides, I just knew that she wasn’t like that. And she had been genuinely puzzled and even slightly annoyed about it. Mo
re importantly, I reasoned, how exactly could she have been mistaken in what she’d seen? It’s not as if there was an obvious explanation for it. I even went to the churchyard myself once, going through the same routine as Mum had. And it was just like she said. There was no way anyone could have gone out of sight so quickly, even running flat out. It only takes two or three seconds to bend down and pick up some dead flowers, after all. No matter how slowly you do it!’

  ‘I can see how puzzling that must have been,’ Effie agreed.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Jean said briskly. ‘But there wasn’t much I could do about it, was there?’ she added with a wry smile. ‘After all, that sort of interest in ghosts and the paranormal wasn’t something that I could openly admit to in my line of work. If my colleagues didn’t start looking at me cross-eyed, you could bet that the head teacher would have had something to say about it. Not to mention the parents! And as for what the children themselves would have made of it,’ Jean laughed with a mock shudder, ‘the little monsters would have made my life a misery. Miss Spooky Smith! Forget it!’

  Both women laughed.

  ‘No, it was only after I’d retired that I was finally free and able to indulge my curiosity in ghosts,’ Jean continued. ‘So I did some research on the subject. Some of it was fascinating, but some of it downright daft in my opinion. But I did come across Corwin’s books and articles, and when I learned that he was local I wrote to him, explaining my interest. I didn’t really expect a response from him. My credentials, as it were, were hardly impressive, were they? But to my surprise, he invited me on a vigil, and I met Malc and Lonny and three others who have now since left. Gisela and Mickey joined after I did. And that was that. I’ve been with the C-Fits ever since. And a grand bunch they are.’

  ‘Have you ever regretted it?’ Effie asked curiously.

  ‘Not once,’ she said quickly and definitely. ‘It’s given me something fascinating to get my teeth into, and stopped me from becoming a lonely old crone. Besides, Corwin’s a dedicated researcher and it makes me feel useful again to be able to help him. And Malc and Lonny are like me, genuinely curious about what might be out there to discover.’

  She didn’t mention Mickey, but Effie had the feeling that she was hoping that Mickey’s somewhat wearing enthusiasm would soon fade, as had the enthusiasm of others before him, and that he might drift away from the group before his studies were over.

  Or was she the only one hoping that, projecting her own wishful thinking onto others? she wondered with a wry sigh.

  ‘And Gisela?’ she asked carefully.

  Jean looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Gisela is a lovely girl.’

  Effie nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to actually ask the retired schoolteacher whether or not she believed Gisela to be an authentic ‘sensitive.’ That would have been impolitic.

  ‘And does Zoe believe in ghosts?’ Effie heard herself ask, and then wished she hadn’t.

  Zoe Younger was strictly none of her business.

  ‘She says she does,’ Jean said blandly, starting to rise to her feet. ‘And she’s certainly very supportive of Corwin’s career. He does, after all, earn a very good living from the books and television,’ she added, somewhat ambiguously.

  Once on her feet, Jean stretched discreetly and glanced around. The garden was beginning to look crowded, and as the wine flowed more copiously, the noise level began to rise. Effie, now that she was beginning to feel better, supposed she should once more join the fray.

  Luckily, when she stood up, she felt fine.

  She was about to suggest to Jean that they go and find Ros, so that Effie could thank her for her kindness, when a large, rather fleshy man with a mop of shaggy blonde hair that was fast turning salt-and-pepper moved up towards them.

  ‘Hello. Someone pointed out you two ladies as belonging to this ghost-hunting bunch staking out my mother’s house. I’d like a quick word, if you don’t mind,’ he added, a shade aggressively, Effie thought with some dismay.

  Beside him, a very thin woman with short, reddish-brown hair and wide hazel eyes regarded them with a look that also verged on vague hostility.

  Effie’s heart sank a bit. The last thing she needed now was more aggravation.

  ‘Monty Watkins.’ The big man thrust out his hand and took Jean’s hand in what looked like a crushing grip. ‘This is my wife Celia. So what sort of nonsense exactly has poor old Izzie been filling your minds with, hmmm?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Effie felt Jean tense beside her, and had to bite back a smile. She rather thought that Claudia’s son and heir was about to discover that this conversation wasn’t going to go quite as he might have expected.

  ‘Isabel?’ Jean said with exquisite politeness. ‘Yes, what a very fine lady she is. She is your sister, I take it?’ Her tone indicated quite clearly that she had severe doubts about whether such a boor as Monty could possibly claim kinship with such a paragon, and as Effie watched, she could see Monty Watkins’s spine slowly straighten up and come to attention.

  And she didn’t blame him. Jean hadn’t been a schoolteacher for forty years without learning how to put real steel in her voice. The look on her face — calm, slightly supercilious and politely curious — was enough to make anyone quail.

  No doubt the middle-aged man in front of her was being instantly transported back to his schooldays, when teacher definitely knew best, and rude boys had better watch their Ps and Qs.

  ‘Er, yes, my little sister,’ he mumbled, reddening slightly.

  Jean nodded. ‘Lady Cadmund has been most gracious in letting us investigate your grandmother’s house for detectable phenomena,’ she deigned to say, with a wintry smile. ‘So far we’ve found two instances that call for further research, though we are hopeful of finding more.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ Monty said, his voice clearly sounding as baffled as he now looked.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake.’ It was, predictably, his wife Celia who spoke, her voice impatient and slightly high-pitched. And it was immediately clear to Effie that whilst her spouse might have been reduced to the consistency of a wet lettuce leaf by Jean, she wasn’t made of such lily-livered stuff. ‘You’re talking about some ridiculous cold air in the bathroom, and smelling lavender. It’s hardly anything to write home about it, is it? Isabel’s been going on and on about it until we’re all sick and tired of hearing it. Aren’t we, Monty?’

  Even given the fact that the woman was clearly irritated, there was something whining and insistent in her tone that instantly grated on Effie’s nerves. And her voice seemed pitched slightly too high to sit easily on someone with such a sour appearance.

  And Effie found herself, unexpectedly, feeling suddenly sorry for Isabel’s big brother.

  Clearly, Celia wasn’t going to be intimidated by an older woman with better manners than her own, and had no difficulty in making her displeasure clear. In fact, Effie could well imagine that Celia had probably been a horror at school as well, and had probably delighted in thwarting her teachers and acting up. Something that Jean sensed too, since she barely glanced at her, choosing instead to keep her stern eye on Monty.

  Celia looked to be a good few years younger than her husband, and was obviously attempting to look even younger still. She was stick-thin, with the body of one dedicated to exercise and dieting, and was wearing a trouser suit in mint green that had probably cost a mint as well. Her short hair had been cut in a stylish bob, and careful highlights occasionally caught the sun. Her make-up was thickly but expertly applied and she had a sparkling ring on nearly every finger of every hand. Precious gemstones sparkled whenever she moved them. Her eyes were narrowed in growing temper.

  ‘I really don’t know what got into Izzie, asking strangers to come prodding and poking into our private family business. I told her no good would come of it. Especially when it’s quite clear to everyone that it’s just Izzie making a silly fuss, like she always does.’

  ‘You don’t think there could be something in it?’ Effie put in,
more to stop the flow of censure than because she was interested in anything the woman might have to say.

  ‘Of course not! It’s all rubbish,’ Celia predictably shot back.

  ‘You don’t believe that your mother-in-law may not be resting in peace, Mrs Watkins?’ Jean asked casually.

  Celia surprised them all by suddenly smiling. Even if a shade grimly. ‘Now don’t go putting words in my mouth. If anyone were likely to carry on causing trouble even after they were dead and gone, then it would be my mother-in-law Claudia.’

  That was becoming so common a refrain that Effie barely paid it any attention. So the recently deceased old woman had had a strong, pugnacious personality. So what? Did everyone really think that you needed to be particularly bloody-minded in order to be able to come back as a ghost?

  In which case, she could take it for granted that she was unlikely to come across any gentle spooks with a sweet nature! Effie, aware that she was letting her whimsical thoughts get away from her again, abruptly forced herself to focus on the conversation going on around her.

  ‘But not even I think that Claudia would be able to cheat death,’ Celia swept on. ‘Which probably came as a real shock to the old bat! So no, I don’t think there’s anything “spooky” going on,’ she said, using her fingers to make little quote marks in the air. ‘I think Izzie’s just been imagining things and is putting two and two together and coming up with five, as usual. Either that or she’s trying to delay probate just to spite us.’

  ‘Now hang on, Celia,’ Monty said sharply. ‘I’ve told you before, these things always take time. It’s nothing to do with Isabel how long it takes. It’s that old buffer of Mum’s solicitor who is dragging his feet for some reason.’

  His wife shot him a quick, fulminating glance, and Jean caught Effie’s eye. Quickly, both women looked away so as not to burst into embarrassed laughter, because Effie had no doubt that they were both thinking the same thing. Clearly Monty’s wife was so keen to get her hands on her late mother-in-law’s money that having to wait for it was beginning to seriously chafe.