by Clare Revell
She nodded. “What about the church fire?”
Evan choked. He grabbed his glass, swallowing quickly. “Church fire?”
“The stones visible on the spire are blackened. The only thing that could cause that is a fire. And a pretty big one.”
“Oh, right. Again, I wouldn’t know for sure, but local folklore says bomb damage.”
Dr. Fitzgerald shook her head. “As far as I know, the flooding occurred in 1934 or ‘35. Well before the war.”
“September 1935. It’s the anniversary next week. And I said bomb not blitz.”
“Terrorists in the middle of Cumbria?”
Evan shrugged. “It could have been a case of you’re not taking this from us, we’ll destroy it. Or it could have easily been a lit candle catching an altar cloth. Or something.”
“I imagine it’s documented in the library.”
“Probably.” He reached for his glass again, taking several long swallows.
Dr. Fitzgerald finished her meal. “That was delicious. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
She wiped her lips on the serviette. The simple movement captivated him. What was it about her that distracted him? He was instinctively drawn to her like a moth to a candle flame, and that never ended well. She folded the paper napkin and laid it on her plate.
“Mr. Close, really I can’t accept that.”
Evan came within a hair’s breadth of asking her to call him by his given name. Then common sense prevailed if only for an instant. “You can pay next time.” The impulsive words were out before he realised, but there was no taking them back. They hung between them like an insurmountable cliff face.
“Next time?” Her eyes twinkled. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” he said, covering quickly. “I’ve told you my story. It’s only fair that you tell me yours. How about dinner tomorrow?”
“Your story? You’ve hardly told me anything. A little about your great-grandparents, but nothing about you.”
“All the more reason for dinner tomorrow night.” Why was he pushing this? He should let her go, back away, keep his distance, and things might be OK.
“Thank you for lunch, but I need to go. I have a lot of work to do in a very short time frame.” Dr. Fitzgerald slid into her jacket and grabbed her bag as she stood.
Ever the gentleman, Evan rose. “A word of warning, Dr. Fitzgerald. Whether you believe the ghost stories or not, it isn’t safe by the lake after dark.” He seized her hand and ran his thumb over the back of it before kissing it. Just as before, sparks zipped through him. “I mean it.”
“OK.”
“You never did say whether you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow. And yes, that is the fourth time I’m asking. Please don’t make me ask a fifth.”
She caught her breath, colour flaming in her cheeks again. She left her hand in his, as if she enjoyed his touch, or perhaps she could feel it, too. The instant attraction, the spark that flowed through him, was setting each nerve ending aflame with…
Passion? Was that what he was feeling? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that at this precise moment, his entire being was off kilter, and he didn’t like it. He had to be in control, all the time.
The pretty archaeologist inclined her head. “OK. Dinner tomorrow.”
He smiled. “Then I’ll pick you up at seven and we’ll eat at the manor. I can show you around the place, tell you more of the history. Show you the family portraits and so on.”
A slight frown crossed her face. “I thought the agreement was you paid for this, and I will be paying for dinner tomorrow.”
“You can owe me one.” He finally let go of her hand. “Good afternoon, Dr. Fitzgerald.”
The frown vanished, replaced by a faint smile. “Have a good day.”
He lingered as she left, his gaze following her across the pub to the door. The way she walked and moved was mesmerizing, to put it mildly. Shaking his head, he sat down and picked up his glass to finish his beer slowly.
Ira Miles slid into the seat Dr. Fitzgerald had vacated. “Keeping your enemies close?”
“Something like that. It’s a case of having to do so. Just make sure the library is kept locked at all times and that CCTV is on in all the rooms in the manor. Dr. Fitzgerald is joining me for dinner tomorrow. I don’t want her going off and exploring on her own.”
6
Lou spent a frustrating afternoon in the library. The history section contained hardly anything of any use to man nor beast. She tried the tourist office, but that proved utterly fruitless. Charlie wasn’t answering his texts, but she’d try him again later. It was almost as if all records for the area had been wiped the day they flooded the valley and the villages died.
Heading back to the hotel seemed the best option. The scuba gear wouldn’t be available until tomorrow, and dusk was falling.
Lou settled onto the bed with her laptop and hit the Internet search engines. A village had existed on the site of Abernay since the Roman invasion in 71 AD. A monastery had been built as early as 685, but that had been destroyed when the Vikings invaded in 875. It was left abandoned during the intervening years, finally being rebuilt in 1154 until destroyed again during the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII in 1540. All the stones were removed and used elsewhere.
Several battles ensued over the years; the most noted one during the civil war in 1645, where the death toll rose to over a hundred. The village was ostracized for its part in the Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536.
There was a small mention of the protest about the building of the dam, but nowhere as much as she’d hoped or expected. A few photographs, including some aerial ones, of the village before and after the flooding completed all she could find.
She leaned back on the pillows. Not much for a place that had been there so long.
No mention of ghosts or anything else. Not that she’d expected to find any. She’d need to call up urban legends for that. Going back to the search engine, she began typing. Only to be distracted by her phone.
Yawning, she picked it up and read the message from AJ.
HEY, BOSS. WILL BE LEAVING FIRST THING. SHOULD BE THERE BY ELEVEN. NEED ME TO BRING ANYTHING? I CAN RAID THE OFFICE ONCE V AND M GO HOME. I KNOW WHERE THE BOSS KEEPS THE SECRET CHOCOLATE STASH.
Lou grinned. AJ was a card. A total twit at times, no sign of respect for authority, but a great bloke to have around in a crisis. His way of thinking outside the box had got her out of a jam on more than one occasion.
NO ONE KNOWS THAT UNLESS THEY HAVE BEEN SNEAKING IN MY DRAWERS AND LOCKED BOXES She replied.
HAH. I KNOW EVERY-THINGGGGGGGGG. SERIOUSLY? YOU NEED ANYTHING…CHOCOLATE?
She thought quickly, then tapped out a reply.
YEAH, I LEFT MY TROWEL AND OTHER BITS IN MY BAG UNDER THE DESK, ALONG WITH MY DIARY AND FILOFAX. MEET ME AT THE DAM IN THE MORNING. I’LL BOOK YOU INTO A ROOM IN THE HOTEL HERE. IS C COMING?
ASK ME ANOTHER, DR. F. SHE AND M ARE AS THICK AS THIEVES. WOULDN’T BE SURPRISED IF HE IS LIVING WITH HER AFTER WHAT I SAW IN THE OFFICE EARLIER.
Lou snorted. Thieves was so the right word. And Monty and Clara being involved with each other would fit why she wasn’t coming as well. She sent one final text.
DRIVE SAFE. SEE YOU TOMORROW.
At least with AJ here, she’d get something done. Either way, whether she got the university job after meeting with Professor Cunningham or not, she would be quitting as soon as she possibly could. The only question was how much notice did she need to give and would it be better to resign now or once this dig was over?
She stood and crossed to the window to close the curtains. Thick fog had descended, making street lamps glow eerily. Not a single sound came from anywhere. She closed the curtains with a swish and grabbed the TV remote. Nothing caught her fancy, and she switched it off. The room phone rang, but when she answered, no one was there.
Maybe she should go find something to eat. Not that s
he was hungry, but her blood sugar was starting to dip. And a walk would do her good.
Lou slid into her coat and clutched her bag and room key. She took the lift to the ground floor. The reception desk was empty, a steaming mug of coffee sitting on it. The restaurant bore a sign saying closed. So much for getting something to eat there.
She peeped into the hotel lounge, but that, too, was empty. Magazines and cups lay scattered about as if they were in use, simply lacking the people. It reminded her of the story of the Marie Celeste. The fog came down and everyone vanished, leaving things as they were. Her mobile rang. “Hello?”
Again, like the room phone, no one replied.
She shook her head. She was letting herself be spooked by ghost stories and a lack of people. She’d walk the few yards to the pub, get something to eat there, and come back. Five long strides brought her to the door. The frigid air stole into her lungs, taking her breath away.
Lou tugged her collar around her neck and shivered. The swirling fog was thick and yellow, reminiscent of the pea-soupers London used to get, the ones she’d seen on the Internet. She couldn’t see a thing.
“I’d stay in if I were you, Dr. Fitzgerald.”
Lou jumped and twisted around to find Charlie Brampton inches from her face. “Evening, Charlie. I didn’t hear you creep up behind me. And why should I stay in?”
“It’s safer.” He nodded to the fog. “Nights like this, the spirits walk.”
“Seriously?” Lou scoffed. He had to be kidding, surely. “You do know there are no such things as ghosts.”
Wide white eyes stared at her from his dark face. “Nights like this, the fog and dead rise. Mark my words, Dr. Fitzgerald. This is not a natural fog; people go out, and they never come back.”
She shivered again, although whether from the cold or the way her mind suddenly ran rampant, she couldn’t tell. A muffled siren began to rise and fall, the sound muted by the fog. “What’s that?”
“Ghosts,” Charlie intoned. “That’s the siren warning that the flooding is about to start. Goes off a lot this time of year, just like the fog. The fog rises and with it the drowned folks rise to seek revenge.”
“Charlie, that’s enough.” Mr. Close’s firm, steady, and somewhat calming voice came from behind them. “I don’t want you to go scaring Dr. Fitzgerald with your stories. It’s not friendly, especially on a night like this.”
Lou tried not to react visibly as she twisted to face the second person to have crept up on her unawares. Seriously, were they all out to give her heart failure tonight?
Charlie shrugged. “Merely telling it how it is, Mr. Close.”
“In this case, Dr. Fitzgerald, it’s merely the Tanmoor sirens.”
“Tanmoor?” She peered at him.
“The loony bin,” Charlie inserted.
Mr. Close shot him a glare. “Tanmoor is the hospital for the criminally insane fifteen miles away from here. It’s similar to the Broadmoor institution in Berkshire. They test the sirens every Monday morning at ten.”
Lou shivered. “But it’s eight thirty Tuesday evening.”
Mr. Close nodded. “Then it means someone has escaped. On this occasion, Charlie may be right, and it’s safer to stay inside.”
“I was going to the pub for something to eat,” Lou said. “Purely because the desk and lounge are deserted, and the restaurant is closed.”
“Not tonight. I’ll find someone. Come back inside where it’s safe.”
Feeling very much like a naughty child being sent to her room, Lou did as he asked. As an afterthought, she peered at him, trying to see him as something other than a very handsome man. An extremely tall, handsome man, who had at least a foot in height on her. “So, if it isn’t safe out there, how will you get home?”
He smiled slowly, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. “I have a car and a bodyguard. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
Lou did a double take. “You have a bodyguard?”
He nodded. “And Mr. Miles is a very good shot. He never misses.”
Not sure how to respond, she twisted and headed inside. Why would the bloke need a bodyguard? Never mind one who was an excellent shot. What exactly was he hiding, and what was going on here? “The desk is still empty.”
“I’ll see if I can find someone,” he said.
“It’s fine. Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’ll try the desk a bit later, and see if I can get room service. G’night.” She headed back to the lift and sighed as the doors closed. A minute or so later, she reached her room and opened the door.
The window was wide open. Fog swirled in, churning around the room and reaching for her with long tentacles. Cold oozed into her, piercing her. Moving quickly, she left the door open and reached the window in five strides. She could see Mr. Close and another man standing under the streetlight looking up at her window. She nodded to him, slammed it shut and double checked the catch. She hadn’t left it open. She knew that for certain.
At that moment, Lou caught sight of a man’s reflection in the glass. He stood behind her, a knife in his hand, balaclava over his face. She spun around, screaming as he tackled her, tucking her against him. Panic overwhelmed her. All the moves she’d learned in self-defence classes left her. Metal touched her throat. She tried to swallow, fear making it impossible.
Was this it? Had she overcome everything life had thrown at her to die in a cold, foggy hotel room alone?
No. She hadn’t. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed her head back, trying to hurt her assailant. At the same time, she brought her leg up backwards in an attempt to kick him. However, he’d apparently anticipated this, as his foot promptly swept her false leg out from under her and she wobbled. She would have fallen if he wasn’t holding her so tightly.
“Don’t do that again,” he hissed.
“What do you want?”
“You.” The knife dug a little deeper, and he began pushing her across the room.
She hit the wall with a thud, breath forced from her lungs.
“Let her go.” Mr. Close’s strong voice echoed from the doorway.
Lou glanced over. She’d never been more pleased to see someone. “Mr. Close…” She broke off as she realised the man standing beside him was aiming a gun at her. “Wait—”
The gun fired.
Lou screamed.
7
As Dr. Fitzgerald screamed, Evan moved quickly to her side, afraid that Ira had missed and shot the wrong person. Despite his confidence in Ira’s abilities, this one had been a little close. “It’s OK, Dr. Fitzgerald. You’re safe now. Ira, call the police.”
He led her to the bed and set her down on the edge of it. “It’s OK. It’s over now. I did tell you that Mr. Miles was a good shot.” He drew the blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’m OK. W—what are you doing here?”
“As you shut your window, we could see a man wearing a balaclava behind you. He was obviously up to no good. We were coming to investigate.”
“G-glad you did.”
“You’re bleeding. Let me see.” Tugging his clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he pressed it to the wound on her neck.
Dr. Fitzgerald flinched and bit her bottom lip but made no sound. She appeared almost embarrassed, even though there was no need. Her gaze flickered past him to the man on the floor. “Is—is he dead?”
“No, but he won’t give you any more trouble.” Evan glanced over at Ira, who still held the gun on the man, despite the fact he was now tied up. “Will he?”
Ira shook his head. “No, it’s only a leg wound. The police and paramedics are on their way.”
“Thank you. Can you also call another ambulance for Dr. Fitzgerald?”
“I’m fine. It’s only a scratch. Please, I don’t want a fuss. I’ve done worse in my time than a simple cut.”
Peering under the handkerchief, he was dismayed to discover the cut was still oozing blood. “Th
en allow me to administer first aid. This needs a dressing on it.”
“OK. There’s a first aid kit in my pack. It’s a field one, so it’s quite comprehensive.”
He nodded. “Hold this for one moment.” He placed her hand over his makeshift dressing. “You will need to press quite firmly.”
Dr. Fitzgerald held his hand briefly. “Thank you, Mr. Close. If you and Mr. Miles hadn’t arrived when you did, I…” her voice faltered, and she shook harder.
Evan patted her hand, aware of Ira talking on the phone in the background. “I’m just glad we got here.” He moved over to her pack and undid it. Fortunately, the first aid kit was near the top. She wasn’t kidding about the size of it. “And I think we’re past the Mr. Close formalities now, don’t you, Dr. Fitzgerald? My name is Evan.”
She held his gaze. “Louisa. But my friends call me Lou. In fact, most people do, apart from when I’m in trouble. Then Mum uses my full name.”
He smiled. “My mother does the same. How many names do you have?”
“Four.”
“Four?” he repeated, knowing full well that she did.
“Yes.” She paused. “You don’t seem that surprised, but then I guess you’ve checked me out on the Internet the same way I have you.”
A slight smile crossed his lips. “Guilty.”
She nodded as he crossed back over to her. “It’s quite a mouthful. Fitzgerald is my stepfather’s surname. I kept my original as a middle name when he adopted me.”
Evan put the first aid kit on the bedside unit and opened it. “You must care for him a lot.”
“Yeah, I do. He’s always there when I need him. It’s as if he knows instinctively somehow.” Lou nodded. “He literally saved my life many years ago. Then when he married Mum and adopted me, it only seemed right.” She paused. “I don’t make it a habit of needing to be saved.”
“I wasn’t making that assumption. Let me see your neck.” He peeled back the handkerchief and frowned. The wound was no longer gushing but he suspected it wasn’t as superficial as she’d tried to make it out to be. He glanced at the first aid kit, noting the steri-strips in the top compartment. He’d make use of them. “I need to clean it up a little first. Hold this again.”