Authors: Elizabeth M. Hurst
Dawn broke later than usual the following morning, owing to the dreadful weather. Emma lay awake next to the sleeping Lewis, replaying the previous night’s drunken fumble over and over in her mind. How could she have allowed this to happen?
There was only one thing to be done. She rose carefully to avoid waking him, scribbled a short note and left.
The cloud cover seemed appropriate as she hung her head in shame on the walk back home. She wasn’t sure that even the heavy rain could wash away her iniquity.
The expression on the cat’s face spoke volumes. Her mistress had not been home for night-time cuddles and was also late with breakfast.
Full of apologies, Emma set about rectifying her appalling standard of service, then slumped onto the sofa with a deep sigh. She switched her phone off. A call from Lewis would be unwelcome. She wouldn’t have been able to think of what to say to him anyway.
She briefly entertained the idea that she may have ruined her only friendship in the village, but decided that the middle of a hangover was not the best time to consider such things. Instead, she trudged back through to the kitchen and boiled the kettle for a large mug of hot chocolate, her comfort in times of distress.
Heaving herself upstairs, she ran a bath and shrugged off yesterday’s clothes. She stank of a heady combination of stale perfume and sex.
She caught a glimpse of her naked form in the bathroom mirror, then wished she hadn’t. It had been many years since she had been what her mother would call slim and, although not very overweight, there were plenty of lumps and bumps that she would rather weren’t there.
Her gaze was distracted by something on the landing table, next to the vintage perfume bottle. She spun round to see it properly and gasped. A single stem of drooping, bell-shaped white flowers was sat upon a small handkerchief. Lily of the valley.
Surely Lewis wasn’t playing a trick on her? He wouldn’t have had time to jump out of bed and sprint to her house. Besides, he had no key and there were no signs of forced entry.
After her bath, Emma put the stem in the only vase she could find and placed it on her dressing table, facing the window and overlooking the garden and woodland at the back of the cottage. She was still deep in thought when the landline rang, making her jump.
“Miss McVeigh, thank goodness! I called your mobile but it went straight to voicemail.”
“Oh hi, Anthony.”
“I have some wonderful news about your ring. You remember I said I would speak with my wife, Claire? Well, she’s found out some very interesting things and, well, rather than discuss them in the shop, she suggested that I invite you round for tea at our house this afternoon. Say about 4 o’clock-ish?”
Predicting that her hangover would have sufficiently subsided by then, Emma agreed and replaced the receiver. It would be a perfect way to take her mind off the situation with Lewis.
The rain had stopped by the middle of the afternoon, but the clouds continued to threaten, and there was more forecast for the evening. The view from the doorstep of Anthony and Claire’s stretched out across a deep valley and it seemed the bad weather was coming in from that direction. The door opened behind Emma just as she shivered from the damp.
“Oh, do come in out of that weather!” Anthony exclaimed, taking her coat and hanging it on the stand in the hallway. “The living room is just through here.”
The interior of the house was much like the jewellery shop in the apparently haphazard arrangement of books and ornaments. The shelves were overflowing with all kinds of volumes, old and new. Emma saw books on local history and jewellery from different periods in history, as well as an assortment of travel guides.
“We like to visit a new country every time we go on holiday,” said Anthony. “Here’s your ring. I’ll go and fetch Claire. She’s very excited.”
He presented Emma with the ring in a small box. When she opened it, the sparkle almost took her breath away. He had polished it beyond recognition, and it shone in stark contrast to the small piece of black velvet cloth on which it now sat.
Emma plonked herself on the sofa and removed the ring from the box. It was hovering over the tip of her fingernail as she was about to try it on when there was a voice behind her.
“Before you do that, dear, you might want to know a little more about it.”
Claire Delaney was an attractive, homely lady. She brought a tray with tea, biscuits and cake and smiled broadly at Emma. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she said. She sat down next to Emma and picked up a large folder from the coffee table.
“I started tracing my family history several years ago, when I was put in charge of local history at the library,” she explained. “And, I’m very glad I did, because my mother died only a year later, so I was able to share with her some of the information I had learned before she passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma said.
“Don’t be. She had been ill for some time and it was something of a relief in the end. So, this is your house, yes?”
Emma peered at the old black and white photo depicting a youngish couple, frowning. The steps and front door were unmistakable.
“This photo was taken around 1912,” Claire said. “It’s my mother’s parents a year after they were married. It was their first house, and where my mother grew up.
“My father wasn’t a blacksmith, but my grandmother’s older brother was. Unfortunately, he died in a tragic accident at the forge up the road. He was already widowed and without children, so his sister inherited the cottage. Perhaps that’s why they don’t look terribly happy in the photo.”
“Oh, how sad.” Emma looked at the photo again.
“Going back further, there had been black- and whitesmiths in the family for generations. Census records helped me for some time, but they weren’t really useful until about 1841, which was when names were required to be recorded for the first time. Anyway, you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with your ring.”
As if to prolong the anticipation, Claire poured the tea.
“I remember my grandmother saying they found a ring at the house shortly after they moved in. Turned out it was some kind of family heirloom, been around for several generations. It was only wore once though, apparently. No one ever discovered why.”
“So,” Anthony chipped in, “we both did some sleuthing. As I said to you in the shop the other day, it’s an unusual piece. After I polished it, I was surprised that it appears not to have been worn much, if at all. A hallmark can be seen, which dates it to around the late eighteenth century. It was marked at the assay office in Birmingham. I can also tell you it’s actually gold-plated but not with the skill you would expect of a master jeweller. I think this is crafted by someone who was still learning their trade. Perhaps even an apprentice whitesmith.”
Claire’s eyes shone as she took up the story, and Emma listened in silence, hanging on her every word. “The style is very much of that period but, as Anthony said, this piece is likely to have been made for sentimental reasons, as opposed to commercial ones. It was fashioned out of love for someone. The gemstones are garnets, quite fashionable at the time, and widely available within the trade. They are said to represent constancy and loyalty. These days you might see them in friendship rings, but back then they might have been used in an engagement ring for those for whom diamonds were too expensive.
“Which brings me back to my research. Before my mother died, she told me of an old family story that she had heard from her grandmother. It involved some scandal of a young woman who hanged herself in the forge. Something about a lover. Her name was Grace, apparently, although I can find no record of her.”
A shiver ran up the length of Emma’s spine at the sound of the name and she felt faint. She was speechless.
***
Crooked fingers. No, not crooked. More like spindly. No, wrong again. Bones. That’s what they were. No flesh or muscle. Just bones.
Attached to them are the twisted radius and ulna and the lower humerus is visible beneath the tattered sleeve of an old nightgown of some sort. The fabric is yellowing and frayed at the edges. It’s been eaten away where moths have nibbled away at it over the years.
Rob pays more attention to this than he would normally, to delay the inevitable moment when he must meet the fiendish gaze of this monster. But do so he must.
The skull sits at a horrific angle, cocked to one side, about to fall off, it seems. A maniacal laugh echoes all around as the bony digits reach out, closing around his neck.
Rob sat up in bed, panting. It had been many years since he’d had such a vivid nightmare.
Dawn was breaking through the thin curtains of the rented room so he figured he’d best get up. He shuffled to the bathroom and stared in the small shaving mirror. He tried his best to gel his hair just the way he liked it but it wasn’t playing the game this morning. Fuck it. There was a lot to catch up on today, now they had the site to themselves once again.
The patter of rain on the window brought Lewis to his senses. For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, he knew even before he opened his eyes that Emma had already left, but he turned his head for a glimpse nonetheless.
He reached under the covers to the empty side of the bed. Cold. She had left a while ago, then. He sighed, then spotted the note on the bedside table.
Morning,
Sorry I had to dash.
Em.
No kiss. Was that significant? Perhaps. He wasn’t sure if his headache was as a result of the over-indulgence the previous night or of his thinking about the current situation. He rose to make a coffee and decided it was definitely the former.
He knew he shouldn’t have slept with her. He really hoped he hadn’t screwed up a friendship with her, or a very promising anything else for that matter.
As the kettle boiled, he stared out at his sodden garden. This weather had better clear up. All the jobs he had lined up at the moment were outdoors and he hated gardening in the rain. He also needed not to get too involved with Emma. He couldn’t risk all that hurt all over again. And from what she had told him, neither could she.
He recalled the softness of her naked body against his as he kissed and caressed her, feeling her body wrap itself around him as he entered her. It had all felt so right, so natural, so … Uncomplicated. He wasn’t used to that. So many girls from his past had proved to be high maintenance and emotionally needy. Despite her recent break-up and the obvious heartbreak, Emma was a breath of fresh air.
He took a quick shower to clear his head. A day’s work would sort him out, no doubt. A drop of rain would likely do him the world of good, especially if the landlady at The White Horse gave him a free lunch again.
He threw on a tatty old pair of jeans and made his way back to the pub.
“Morning, Lewis!”
Gwen always looked so chipper, he thought to himself.
“Morning. I was wondering if now would be a good time to finish off the job I started round the back, if Pete was about?”
“Well, actually, love, he’s not up yet.” Gwen tossed her bottle-blonde hair over her shoulder and giggled. “It was rather a late one last night, you see. Speaking of which, I saw you with your lady friend. Is this a girlfriend at last?”
“Oh, er …” He wasn’t prepared for questions about Emma just yet. Too awkward. “She’s new to the village, so I’m just showing her around really, you know.”
“Well, you seemed to be getting on famously over dinner. I was sneaking a peek from the kitchen now and then. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She winked at him and Lewis tried to hide his discomfort. “I see you left before the bar closed as well. Not like you.”
Her intonation seemed to beg an answer but he refused to engage with her banter. Gwen had flirted with him ever since the first time he walked in the pub when he moved to the village, and she made no secret of it in front of her husband either, which Lewis thought distinctly sluttish.
“Well, I’ll go and see what Pete’s up to,” she said, turning on her leopard print heels and running up the stairs.
Lewis shook his head. Gwen had a good heart, but she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.
A cough from the corner of the pub startled him. He whipped his head round to see a man choking on a piece of toast.
“My fault,” the guy said, after Lewis slapped him on the back. “I was just thinking how she seems to flirt with every man and gossip about every woman. Thank you.” He coughed for the last time and appeared to regain his composure.
“You’re welcome. Sorry if I disturbed your breakfast,” Lewis said.
“Oh, not at all. I’m done anyway. Gotta get to work.”
He took a large gulp of coffee and let out a satisfied belch.
“I’ve seen you in here before, I think. Perhaps you’ll let me buy you a drink later. You know, for not letting me choke to death.”
“Thanks. Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll be in here.”
“Rob Thornton. I’m the site manager over at Fosse Rise, the new development.” His handshake wasn’t as firm as Lewis expected.
“Lewis Carrington. Good to meet you, Rob. I won’t keep you if you want to get off.”
“Sure, yeah, well, I’ll see you later then.”
He grabbed his newspaper and shouted his thanks up the stairs before hurrying out into the overcast morning.
Pete came tumbling down the stairs, rolling a T-shirt over his large beer gut, only just restrained by an optimistically-sized pair of jeans.
“Lewis! Perfect day for it, mate. I’ve got some debris needs shifting into the skip out back if that’s OK? Gardening can be done when the weather’s better, eh? I wanna get the function room finished before the summer kicks off in earnest. You all right for fetching and carrying today?”
“Sure, no problems,” Lewis replied. “Just point me in the general direction.”
***
The rain had stopped but the heavy clouds meant that the humidity was high and the threat of further downpours was never far away.
Lewis stopped for a moment and mopped the sweat from his brow. How had his life come to this?
A painful memory resurfaced in his head. Annabelle, horizontal with her legs in the air, her skirt hitched up and around her waist and his father fucking her on his large, imposing leather-bound desk.
Acidic spittle gathered in his throat and he spat it out onto the ground. Whore! She had been broke when he persuaded his father to take her on as his PA. Freshly arrived into the UK from South Carolina, she needed a job to support her silicone-implants and cocktail-fuelled lifestyle and she found the Carrington family just to her liking. She and Lewis started dating in a matter of days, but Lewis didn’t have the head for business that his father expected and Annabelle clicked that his future was uncertain. It was the senior Carrington she really wanted; that was where the money lay.
Having said that, he had wondered why the previous assistant had left in such a hurry. Now he knew. His father had never cared about either him or his poor mother. As far as he knew, neither his father nor his spiteful sister Catherine ever visited Mrs Carrington. It was just as well. She didn’t know what was going on half the time and she needed calm and collected people around her. Lewis knew just how to sit with her, hold her hand and tell her stories. She would have wanted him to settle down with someone better than Annabelle. Despite her mental state, she would still have seen straight through her, he was certain.
Without warning, Emma’s face sprang to mind again. Now there was someone who was utterly grounded. She had her own share of problems, sure, but she wasn’t pretentious like Annabelle. She wasn’t expecting her Prince Charming to turn up with a fat bank balance and an expensive sports car. She wasn’t even looking for a Prince Charming right now.
A pang of regret stabbed his heart; she was emotionally vulnerable right now. He had allowed his sex drive to get the better of him while under the influence of alcohol. Hopefully, she wouldn’t hold it against him. She wasn’t exactly innocent though. Those beautiful sad eyes and her sensitivity were all part of her charm, and once he started taking off her clothes, she had just melted into him.
“Maybe I should paint Emma,” he said out loud, then shook his head and snorted. As if. After what happened last night, she probably wouldn’t want to see him again.