Authors: Elizabeth M. Hurst
Siren Spirit
SIREN SPIRIT
Book One of the Lost Souls Series
by Elizabeth M. Hurst
First Kindle edition ©2015 Elizabeth M. Hurst
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Table of Contents
“Come on then, girl. No good standing in the shadows where we can’t see you.”
Despite her grey overcoat, Grace shivered by the door, the cold wind tearing at her skin through her dress and petticoats. It was warm inside the forge, at least. She shuffled towards the fire and the two men working there.
“Grace, I’d like you to meet Tom. He’s going to be working with me from now on and living here with us. It means we’ll have another mouth to feed, but it also means I can take on more work.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss,” said Tom.
Grace looked from her father to the new face and held out her hand. “Hello, Tom.”
His blue eyes were somewhat sunken in from the tanned skin. He had worked outdoors, that much was obvious, both from his muscular physique and his strength, which became apparent as they shook hands.
She longed to have skin which grew tanned in the sunshine, but she had been blessed with a translucent complexion, rather like her poor dear mother, a fact that made it difficult even now, several years after her death, for her father to look her in the face. Such a pretty face too, her dark hair framing delicate elven features. She remembered herself as a little girl, walking through the village with her mother and hearing exclamations of praise from the ladies.
She sighed inwardly. She knew her father was busy these days, not just with shoeing horses either, or with repairs to Mr Thatcher’s harrow and his other farm tools. They had started work on the canal nearby. Workers were forever turning up with broken pickaxes that had to be mended. Then there were the wagon wheels and iron tyres from the carts that carried out the dug earth. And of course these carts were drawn by yet more horses, all of which needed new shoes from time to time.
What really worried Grace, however, was her father’s intention to have her married off to a nice young man as soon as possible.
This time the sigh escaped her lips, and she watched for a while as her father worked. She had always loved to watch him work, even as a small child. She had no fear of the dancing flames, the red-hot coke pieces or the yellow-hot molten metal as he removed it from the furnace with his tongs. Her favourite part came next. She closed her eyes to better appreciate the noise of the hammer striking the metal.
DING! DING! DING!
Tom rested for a moment against the wall of the forge, his arm leaning on the bellows to keep him upright. He also watched Joe Richardson working the glowing metal into shape. Sparks flew onto the blacksmith’s leather apron as he knocked the clinker off the iron onto the floor. Tidying up the waste material would be part of his new job.
Grace turned her back on them and made her way back into the bad weather. “I’ll put more broth on the stove for dinner, then,” she shouted, just above the racket.
“You do that,” her father shouted back, without looking up.
Grace stood on the chair with a heavy heart. The lone candle was almost out but it still cast a subdued light across the cold, empty forge.
An image came to her mind from that first meeting with Tom; the way he had looked at her, and her father’s nodding towards her. It all made sense now, but it didn’t alleviate the heaviness in her heart.
It was some time after midnight. The fire had long since gone out, and they had both gone to bed an hour or so earlier, following their usual ritual of a couple of ales at the inn down the road. She had waited until she could hear them snoring before creeping downstairs.
Sorrow filled her soul. The rain battered the roof like an expectant drum roll and she shivered. She glanced at the letter she had carefully placed upon the workbench and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She checked the rope one more time and then, taking a deep breath, she stepped off the chair and into oblivion.
As the removals van drove away down the narrow country lane, Emma McVeigh allowed a deep, mournful sigh to escape her lips. As last she could be alone with her thoughts.
From her position, sat halfway up the stairs, she surveyed the scene. There were cardboard boxes piled everywhere. She knew she should really make a start on the unpacking but had little motivation or energy.
First thing’s first though. A nice hot drink. Having dug out the kettle from the chaos earlier in the day to try and keep the removals guys happy, she made herself a steaming mug of soup and settled back on the stairs. She remembered her mum’s advice: “Always keep a box of essentials handy and make sure it doesn’t go in the van. Keep it with you so you don’t lose sight of it.”
Lily, her black and white cat, appeared at the bottom of the stairs and gave a tiny murmur. She joined her where she sat and nuzzled her ankles, seeking comfort and reassurance in the strange new territory. Emma stroked the velvet ears.
“Hey, Lily,” she said. “It’ll be nice here. You’ll see.”
The cat gazed up at her, as if she knew her mistress’s words were more for her own comfort than anything else.
Retreating into her thoughts again, Emma wondered if she had done the right thing, moving to the country. She had never lived in a village before. What if she hated it? What if she couldn’t make any friends? Was she really ready to swap her taxi-and-takeaway lifestyle for a more sedate life?
In truth, though, she needed a fresh start. The divorce had been relatively straightforward but had nonetheless taken its toll. Fine lines were beginning to show around her jade-green eyes, which she knew were more the result of sadness than laughter.
“Take each day as it comes,” her mother had said. “A broken heart just needs time.”
How had she arrived here at this crossroads in her life? What had gone so wrong? She reflected on her marriage. They had been so happy, happier than she had ever thought possible. Was there anything she could have done to save it?
She drained the last of the soup from the mug and let out another sigh.
Meow.
“Are you hungry, Poppet?”
The cat gazed at her with expectant eyes.
“I know how it feels to be a single parent,” Emma said, a wry smile appearing on her face. “Having to hold it all together for the sake of the kids.” She lifted the cat into her arms and hugged her. “I need you to be my rock now, Lily. Can you do that?”
Meow.
The warm, purring mass of fur brought such comfort. Emma felt like a small child cradling her favourite teddy bear. She trudged through to the kitchen with Lily over one shoulder and then set her down on the floor while she prepared food and fresh water. She then crouched to stroke her companion as the cat munched her way through her favourite dinner.
A muffled chime rang out from one of the boxes in the hallway. Emma found her carriage clock and placed it on a small table. Already it was striking ten o’clock, although sunset didn’t feel so long ago. She yawned. She had been on her feet all day and needed some rest. She could always unpack tomorrow.
Emma grabbed her overnight bag (another of her mother’s tips) and headed upstairs to the master bedroom. Damn! She hadn’t yet made the bed. Oh, well. It would have to do. She had barely enough energy to lift the duvet out of the large black bag. She dragged her weary body onto the bed and wrapped it round her, before curling into the foetal position and waiting for sleep.
Her husband had told her he didn’t find her attractive any more. How could anyone say anything so cruel? Tears stung in her eyes at the recollection. Sadness enveloped her and she turned her face into the pillow, trying to hide from the world. Sleep was far away tonight and she lay awake, trying to control her breathing and slow her heart rate, which was still buzzing from the adrenalin-fuelled events of the day. Eventually, though, she drifted into a difficult sleep.
The cat was not sleepy either and perched on the windowsill overlooking the garden. A barn owl began its hunting trip from the trees opposite, its flight path perfectly illuminated by the light of the full moon.
Had Emma stayed awake, she would have witnessed Lily turn and hiss towards the room’s interior, apparently empty but for her sleeping mistress.
***
In a large field at the other end of the village, Rob Thornton was locking up the Portakabin for the night. It had been a frustrating day, all told – paperwork to complete for the project, which was overdue, and the council was screaming at him to get the schedule back on track. The company had an obligation to get this first phase of houses up and finished as soon as possible so they could bring in some much needed revenue to complete the next phase of the development.
Rob recalled the labourers’ reaction when he ran over towards the source of the shouting, the day the trouble started. The cries he heard weren’t a sound you often heard from grown men. Sheer panic, that’s what it was. One of the guys, Brian, had left the site that day, never to return. He was approaching retirement anyway. Rob had had to go round and visit him at home to deliver his last wage packet.
He looked up at the full, round moon. He had seen way too much of life to be affected by any old wives’ tales. He strolled towards the pub where he stayed during the week. Home tomorrow, to his wife and kids. It had been a long and eventful week.
Emma woke gently the following morning to the sound of birds chirping in the trees. Before even opening her eyes, she indulged herself with a full-body stretch, which brought her senses to life. She could feel the warmth of the late-spring sunshine streaming through her windows, bathing her in a comforting glow, like a ray of hope. Already this little cottage felt like home. The pale yellow of the bedroom walls reflected the summer sunlight and Emma felt as though a seed of optimism had been planted within her. From somewhere deep inside, she found the strength to smile. She remembered she had new oak furniture arriving in a few days, so that was something to look forward to. That was a good thing, the self-help books said.
“I believe I shall start with the bedroom,” she said out loud.
Lily joined her on the bed to protest.
Meow.
“Oh, OK then. Breakfast first, I know. Come on then, Lily.”
Navigating her way through the boxes, Emma made her way to the kitchen. Just as she had fed the cat, the doorbell rang. A glance at the clock made her gasp. Eleven o’clock. She had slept for hours!
She had barely opened the door when she was verbally assaulted.
“Do I presume correctly that the silver Ford Ka is yours? It’s blocking my lane and I can’t get out. Kindly move it as soon as possible. I’m already late for a meeting.”
Emma stood still for a moment and stared at the man on her doorstep. She had expected a warmer welcome to the village, truth be told, but the look on the man’s face did not give her cause to start any chitchat so she grabbed her keys, slipped on her shoes and ran out of the door.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she mumbled, running down the steps. “I’ll move it straightaway.”
“Yes, please,” came the stern response.
Emma didn’t look up to meet the man’s face. She was far too embarrassed at his having caught her in her pyjamas this close to noon, and at forgetting to move her car last night after the removals men had left.
She quickly moved the car and ran back into the house, mortified. What a dreadful start. So much for peaceful respite from the world in a sleepy little village. Apparently, her new neighbours were just as rude as her previous ones from the city. What a dickhead!
Emma spent the rest of the day moving some boxes into the attic for storage and unpacking others. Having moved house several times, she had become adept at carefully labelling everything to ensure minimum stress at this stage. This also meant she could start to feel settled and organised, which suited her sensibilities, and she very rarely lost anything.
In an attempt to feel like she was making a fresh start, she had sold a lot of the existing furniture and given a significant amount of things to charity. The food mixer, given as a wedding gift, some music CDs which reminded her of her ex-husband and a coffee table had all found themselves new homes. She couldn’t bear the thought of being surrounded by things they had chosen as a couple, so she had kept as little as possible. Only two leather sofas and her beloved bookcases remained.
Unpacking books was never an odious chore. She found it satisfying on many levels. There was quite a selection of travel guides from various cities and countries she had visited. She liked to think her houseguests would be impressed by her being so well-travelled. City guides to Berlin, Rome and Paris snuggled up against phrasebooks and dictionaries. They proved that she was not the sort of girl who spent her holidays lying on a beach or in a pub before flying home again.
She was deep in among her Dickens and Hardy collections when there was a shrill screech from the bottom of the stairs. Her heart jumped in her chest; then she realised it was the old Bakelite telephone the previous tenant had left behind.
Must get that sorted out, Emma thought, noticing the cables that dangled down the steps, as she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Emma, it’s your mother. How are you, dear?”
“I’m okay, thanks. I …”
“Well, why didn’t you call and let us know you were all right, then? Honestly! You know your father and I worry about you, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do. It’s just …”
“I really wish you were more thoughtful sometimes.” There was a difficult pause at the other end.
“So, how did the move go?”
Emma’s heart sank. Her mother was well-meaning but she had a tendency to be rather overbearing. She also knew that her mother was still grieving over the breakdown of her marriage and felt that by contacting her daughter to offer advice on everything under the sun gave her some purpose.
Emma told her that the move had gone very well, thank you, and that both she and the cat were slowly settling in to their new surroundings without too much hassle.
“It’s so quiet and peaceful here, Mum. You’ll like it.”
There was a pause.
“Hmmm. It’s a shame Paul’s not with you then. Maybe it would have done some good, you know?”
“Mum…” Emma rolled her eyes towards the top of the stairs, settling on the cat who returned her stare.
It’s your mother
, Lily seemed to say.
Give her a break
.
“I know, I know.” Her mother was doing her best to be tactful, but it wasn’t easy for her. “So, have you heard from him at all?”
“No, Mum, and I don’t expect I ever will. And, you know, I’m okay with that. I need to move on.”
“Right. Okay then.” Another pause. “Well, I just wanted to check you were alright. Keep in touch, Dear, won’t you?”
“I will, yes. Bye.”
A wave of relief washed over Emma as she replaced the receiver. She loved her mother dearly but they didn’t always see eye to eye and it had caused some tension over the years. Still, she was grateful for her wisdom at times. It just took some patience, that’s all.
The mention of Paul had brought sadness back to the surface, and she hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the stairs. She was neither upstairs, nor downstairs. “This is where my life is right now,” she mused. “I am neither married nor single. I’m in a no-man’s land; in an in between kind of existence, swimming in a sea of who-the-hell-am-I. I have absolutely no idea what my future holds. What do I have to look forward to?”
Meow
.
Mrrrrr
. Lily cocked her head and gazed up at Emma.
“It’s okay, Lily-cat.” She stroked the furry head. At least Lily would never leave her feeling utterly neglected.
***
The doorbell wasn’t such a shock this time.
“Hi. I wanted to apologise for my rudeness earlier. It was totally uncalled for. My name’s Lewis, by the way. I’m your next-door neighbour, in case you hadn’t realised.”
Emma looked him up and down, this time without embarrassment. He had changed out of the suit he had worn earlier in the day and into faded jeans with a casual shirt. He was handsome, she noticed. The ice-blue eyes searched for a response from beneath a full head of dark brown hair. There was a little stubble, but nothing to hint at a predilection for the current facial hair trend which Emma hated so much.
He held out a hand and she shook it. His hand was warm; the handshake was firm but not too hard. A bunch of nerves tightened through her stomach as he let go.
His smile caught her unawares. It lit his face and the coolness of his eyes appeared to turn warmer for a second. Inside her chest, Emma’s heart did a little skip.
“Hi Lewis, I’m Emma,” she said, smiling back.
“I realise you’ve just moved in so, by way of an apology, I wondered if you’d let me buy you a drink and some food at the pub? That is, if you don’t have anything already organised?”
“Actually, I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet, so that would be lovely, thank you.” Emma smiled again.
“Great, I’ll pick you up at around seven o’clock ish?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Emma was still smiling long after the door closed. It seemed her new neighbour wasn’t such a dickhead after all. And he was good-looking too, which was an added bonus.
A dark feeling came over her, reminding her she wasn’t ready for any kind of commitment to anyone. Her heart no longer belonged to Paul, but it required some TLC before she could give it to anyone else. Lewis would have to remain in the ‘just good friends’ category. For now, at least.
***
Lewis returned to his house with uncertainty hovering in his mind. Damn, his new neighbour was gorgeous. There was something in her eyes which told of a certain fragility which he found attractive. Thank goodness she had forgiven him his rudeness from the morning. It was a relief, but he didn’t want to get involved with her, despite the attraction. Not after the last disaster.
Still, he could always use some new friends. Wasn’t that why he had moved here? To get away from the facade of his previous lifestyle and find some genuine, more down to earth people?