‘That’s my grandson,’ the woman said, pointing after the man on the motorbike.
‘I mistook him for a friend of mine,’ Grace explained to cover her embarrassment.
‘You’ve moved into Primrose Cottage then,’ the woman stated, nodding at Grace.
‘That’s right, yesterday. I’ve been doing necessary food shopping.’ Grace indicated the carrier bags and assumed the woman had overhead her conversation with Mrs Brownlow.
‘Just you and your sister, I know. Not much escapes my old eyes, dear.’
The woman’s eyes, Grace noticed, were an ice blue and magnified behind thick lenses in large spectacles. Although deep crow’s feet flared and etched her cheeks, her eyes were youthful and merry, and while the woman’s plump cheeks were not wrinkle free, they were in stark contrast to her wrinkled neck.
‘The cottage used to belong to our great aunt, Lillian Farrell. Perhaps you knew her?’ Grace waited tentatively for a reaction to the name Farrell.
The woman eyed Grace up and down. ‘Are your parents with you?’
‘No, unfortunately they have passed away,’ Grace said quietly, taken aback by the woman’s directness.
‘Oh!’ The woman considered this for a moment. ‘You inherited Lillian’s cottage you say?’ She stopped speaking and looked at Grace enquiringly. Grace nodded. ‘Then you and your sister must be Harry’s offspring. He’s dead too then,’ she said, matter-of-factly.
‘He was our grandfather. Did you know Lillian?’ The woman nodded in response.
Thrilled to have found someone who knew her relatives, Grace warmed to her. ‘I suppose you were too young to know her parents, but what about Harry my grandfather, did you know him well?’
‘I never met Harry, or the rest of them,’ she replied, her mouth looking as though she’d tasted something sour.
Disappointed, but determined to find out more, Grace enquired, ‘Have you always lived in Woodbury?’
‘I’ve lived and worked in Woodbury all my life. I’m in Tapscott Manor Nursing Home now.’
Before Grace could ask more, a woman in a dark blue nurse’s uniform marched up to them. ‘There you are, Doreen. I’ve been worried out of my mind. I won’t take you shopping again if you keep wandering off.’ The nurse took in Grace’s and Doreen’s closeness and deeming an apology necessary, she said, ‘Sorry’, and shook her head at Grace. ‘Come along, Doreen, let’s get you back.’
‘We’ve been chatting,’ Grace said, wishing the nurse hadn’t arrived just then. She turned to the woman she now knew as Doreen. ‘Maybe we’ll meet again.’
Doreen’s eyes, kind a few moments ago, stared back and seemed full of malice, her smile now a sneer. Grace slowly withdrew her hand while Doreen continued to stare at Grace as if committing every detail of her face to memory. Then she stood and straightened her coat and, ignoring Grace, she followed the nurse towards a nearby car. ‘All right, don’t fuss me,’ Doreen told the nurse.
Perturbed, Grace picked up her shopping bags and began the long walk home.
Chapter 4
Amelia wandered into the conservatory and watched Grace working in the garden, seemingly nonstop since her return from Woodbury. Dressed in baggy jeans and a pale grey sleeveless tee shirt, and with her ponytail poking out of the opening at the back of a baseball cap, she looked like a boy. Stout leather walking boots and their father’s old leather gloves, worn to protect her hands, helped support the illusion. Amelia saw something of their late mother in her posture, the same worried tenseness in her hunched shoulders. Grace looked pale and tired. Amelia had taken it for granted that Grace would sort out the garden, but on reflection Amelia wondered now if it was too much for her. She tapped on the window and called out, ‘Ready for a cup of tea yet?’
Grace scraped her boots on a rough doormat by the step, took them off and left them by the door, then came into the kitchen. After giving her hands a scrub in the kitchen sink she plonked herself at the table, glad to be sitting down.
‘I’ve made sandwiches,’ Amelia said and set about making tea. Grace leaned back in the chair and raised her arms to stretch, then relaxing her shoulders she rested her elbows on the table, chin in one hand. ‘Did you notice there was a full moon last night?’ she asked, after a minute or so had passed.
‘No, I slept like a log.’ Amelia lifted cling film from a plate of sandwiches and set it in front of Grace. Grace picked up a sandwich and then put it back down again.
‘Amelia …’ Grace said and then stopped, unsure how to continue.
Amelia sat down and, still concerned by her sister’s pallor, said, ‘What’s the matter, don’t you feel well?’
‘I kept hearing noises when I was in bed last night. I couldn’t get to sleep.’
‘The cottage is old. It is bound to have creaks and groans. You’ll get used to it in time,’ Amelia reassured Grace.
‘I know.’ Grace watched her sister tucking into her sandwiches, still unable to eat her own. ‘I saw someone in the garden last night. It was a young girl with a baby, I think. I thought she was lost and on her own, but then I saw a woman waiting for her by the trees.’ Grace waited for Amelia’s reaction.
‘You were probably dreaming,’ Amelia responded.
‘I just told you I couldn’t sleep. I definitely wasn’t dreaming,’ Grace replied.
‘Well, I’m sorry if I sound a tad sceptical but you do have an overactive imagination. As for this girl and woman you say you saw, well, it could have been shadows from the bushes or trees,’ Amelia said cynically, shaking her head.
Grace knew this wasn’t the case and wished her sister wasn’t so contemptuous. She took a bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. After a minute she spoke again. ‘I went outside. I spoke to the girl and then noticed the woman.’
‘Okay, perhaps they were gypsies then. Maybe there is a site nearby. We’ll ask around and find out,’ Amelia conceded.
Grace thought about this, and then dismissed the idea. ‘No, I think our garden is haunted, maybe the cottage too.’
‘Oh! For goodness sake,’ Amelia said, irritated, willing herself not to shiver. She didn’t want ghosts in her garden. All she wanted was peace and quiet to get on with her life. The boiling kettle switched itself off and she poured hot water into the teapot. Behind her Grace fetched milk from the refrigerator.
‘I didn’t imagine them,’ Grace emphasised.
‘But you won’t agree they could have been gypsies, oh no. You’re telling me we’ve got not one, mind you, but two ghosts, a girl and a woman intent on haunting us. This assumption is based on the fact you saw something in the garden in the middle of the night. It’s ridiculous. I suppose you’ll be telling me next you’ve found a skeleton in one of the cupboards.’ Amelia said, trying hard to sound indifferent but failing miserably.
Grace gripped the edge of the chair. Her hair had worked itself loose from an elasticated ribbon and long wisps played around her ears and neck. A shaft of sunlight piercing the window skimmed Grace’s shoulder and fell on a patch of flowers embroidered on the tablecloth. Minute particles swirled in the sunbeam creating a transparency to Grace’s skin. Amelia thought her sister looked a little like a ghost herself at that moment. Vexed, she picked up the teapot and began to pour. ‘It’s ludicrous,’ she said.
Grace spoke quietly. ‘I have found something. Not in a cupboard but in the garden and you won’t be so flippant when you see what it is.’ The teapot landed heavily onto the table and while Amelia frantically mopped up the spill, Grace pulled on her boots. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, and without giving Amelia time to object, Grace headed outside towards the trees.
Amelia followed, still wearing her sandals, and approached the trees with trepidation. A slight breeze rustled branches over her head and skipped dried leaves around her ankles. Pushing her way through a pile of discarded brambles she called out to Grace, ‘Where the hell are you?’ From behind a tree a few yards away Grace’s face emerged. Her hand beckoned Amelia to join her. Amelia’s sandals sank deep into soft soil which found its way under the soles of her feet. Arthritic roots stuck up out of the ground attempting to trip her up, and she was so intent on keeping upright that she failed to avoid a clump of nettles and a scattering of blisters appeared on her arm where it had brushed against them. She found Grace looking at a gravestone propped up against a tree, its surface tinged green with age and moss. Grace had already scraped away accumulated dirt and grime to reveal a crudely chiselled out initial, name and date. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Amelia read the inscription.
A Farrell – 1912
Chapter 5
After the initial shock had worn off, Amelia’s common sense set in. The gravestone had her initial and surname carved into it, but the date dismissed any possibility it had anything to do with her, unless it was a ghoulish joke. Neither was she convinced a body was buried underneath it, as Grace supposed. That was just too gruesome to contemplate. She’d made a pot of coffee hoping the caffeine would jolt Grace out of her apathy, but it hadn’t. Grace stared into space, sipping her coffee robotically. Amelia’s attempts at conversation were met with a brick wall and after about ten minutes, the silence began to unnerve Amelia. Nevertheless she kept on trying. ‘Shall we go for a walk to St Martin’s Church and check out the cemetery, find out where great aunt Lillian is buried?’ she suggested. Thankfully this appealed to Grace, and motivated into doing something positive, her spirits lifted.
During their walk the sun gradually dipped west, creating an apricot-coloured filling between meringue-like clouds. At the church gate, shadows from sycamore and silver birch cast filigree patterns on the grass verge and path, and an eerie stillness freeze-framed the scene.
‘Do we need permission go in?’ Grace whispered, pushing open the tall wrought iron gate.
‘We’re only looking,’ Amelia replied in a hush and cradling Grace’s elbow with her hand she spurred her on. She pointed to a distant wall at the outer edge of the cemetery. ‘Why don’t you start over there and work your way back to me?’
Amelia stood and watched Grace until she had reached the perimeter wall and began weaving in and out of the gravestones. Amelia started her search nearer to the church. Here magpies chatted in nearby hawthorn hedges and above her noisy crows nested in a tree. Buttoning up her cardigan to keep warm she began to walk along the path, stopping every now and then to read an inscription on a gravestone. The year 1837 appeared repeatedly and she saw how in the summer of that year, numerous people – babies, children, middle aged and elderly had died – and whatever it was that claimed their lives had had no preference as to gender. Footsteps on the path jolted her into the present and Amelia turned, expecting to see her sister. A man wearing a white dog collar, black slacks and sweater was hurrying towards her.
‘Hello!’ he called out as he neared.
‘Hello,’ Amelia returned, and to justify being there she pointed to Grace who was making her way back towards them. ‘My sister and I are having a look around. Should we have asked first?’
‘Not at all, I’m David Lanceley very pleased to meet you.’ The vicar took Amelia’s hand and shook it. ‘Over there is the vicarage. When you’ve finished, call in for a cup of tea. You’ll be most welcome.’ He pointed to a large house half hidden by a high brick wall covered in ivy.
‘I’m Amelia, and thank you.’ Amelia couldn’t take her eyes away from the vicar’s attractive face. At five feet seven inches in bare feet herself, it was nice to look up to a man for a change. Not only was David Lanceley tall, he was also strikingly good looking. Auburn hair, trimmed neatly above his collar, curled around his ears and framed his cheekbones. Dark blonde eyebrows and thick lashes were in stark contrast to his red hair, but rather than look insipid, which can often be the case with such colouring, they enhanced his pale green eyes. The golden setting sun created a halo of light around his head, and to Amelia the vicar looked more like an angel than a mere mortal. He smiled at her, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she realised she was still holding his hand.
‘I’d be glad of the company actually,’ he said, slowly disentangling himself from her grip.
‘We’d love to come. My sister, Grace, and I recently moved into the area and we would be interested to know more about Woodbury.’
‘I’ll look forward to your visit then. Shall we say in about ten minutes?’
‘Yes, all right, and thanks again.’ Amelia watched him carry on along the path towards the vicarage. In the space of a moment she wondered if he was married. Feeling light-hearted and girly all of a sudden, Amelia turned to continue her searching and came face to face with Grace.
‘When you’ve quite finished flirting with the vicar you may be interested to know that I’ve found it.’ Grace stood on the path, hands on hips, watching her.
Amelia blushed. ‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough,’ Grace replied, leading the way back along the path. She stopped beside a square granite headstone. Lillian Farrell’s name was carved into it, and underneath were the dates 1898–1991.
‘Great aunt Lillian was fourteen in 1912,’ Amelia stated, after doing a quick calculation.
‘I can’t find any other headstones marked with the name Farrell, but there are a lot of graves that are just mounds. Our gravestone could belong to any one of them.’ Grace hugged herself, feeling cold and disappointed. ‘Coming here hasn’t achieved much, has it?’
‘Great aunt Lillian lived in Woodbury all her life and she must have had friends in the village so maybe we can find out from them who A Farrell was,’ Amelia stated positively.
‘Will any still be alive though? Lillian must have been ancient.’ Grace suddenly remembered Doreen, the old lady she’d met, and she told Amelia about her.
‘We’ll speak to Doreen then, but in the meantime we may find out more from the vicar. Come on.’ Amelia led the way along the path to the vicarage. ‘We’ve had an invitation for tea.’
Grace looked astonished. ‘Gosh, you don’t waste any time, do you? I’ve never heard of anyone being picked up in a graveyard before.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Amelia sniffed feeling her face flush.