Ghosts of Winter (6 page)

“Dundee, except I’m afraid I didn’t have the blanched almonds for the top, so I suppose it’s just a fruit cake. I didn’t realise until I’d got it all mixed and then it was too late.”

“I’m sure it won’t miss them, it smells heavenly. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but I don’t have the camping stove set up yet.”

“Oh no, hun, I’ll leave you to it in a moment, I just wanted to say hello. What are you doing for washing?”

“There’s still running water, believe it or not. I thought I’d heat some up on the camping stove. The bathroom is first on the list of rooms to renovate, believe me.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask me in depth about my plans for the renovation, since there really weren’t any and I felt suddenly very ill-prepared.

“Well, if you ever want a real bathroom, or to use my washing machine, you’d be welcome.”

“Thank you so much,” I replied, truly grateful and feeling unworthy of such generosity.

“It’s easy to find my place. Out of your gates, turn right, follow the road along, eventually you’ll get to another gate. It says Winter Park Farm on the sign next to the gate. Turn in there and follow the track to the house.”

“Winter Park Farm?”

“Yes, pet. It was all part of the Winter estate centuries ago. But a lot of the land was sold off. I always respected the fact that the family never chose to sell the house itself.”

“It’s really amazing isn’t it? I only hope I can do the legacy justice.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will, hun. Do you know much of the history?”

“Some.” I hurriedly thought back over what the lawyer had told me. “It was built in the seventeen fifties—”

“That’s right, pet, by Lord Fitzsimmons Winter. Though later the Richmond family owned it, and then the Burns family, of course.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” I said with a smile. I wondered just how many tales Maggie would have to tell. I found I hoped I would one day have the time to listen.

“Oh, my family have always lived in these parts, so I know a thing or two.”

“When was it last lived in?” I asked curiously. “I think the lawyer said the nineteen forties?”

“That it was. They requisitioned it you know, as a home for wounded soldiers to recuperate during and just after the war. A good cause, of course, but the state they left it in, no wonder none of the family ever came back here. It was such a fine house before the Depression and the war.” Maggie looked wistfully around the hallway.

“I’m hoping it can be fine again. Auntie Edie saved up a lot of money to make sure I can restore everything.” I reassured her with more confidence than I’d known I had.

“I suppose she never stopped thinking about the old place,” Maggie said.

“That’s right. The lawyer told me it meant the world to her, even more after her mother died in the sixties. She always wanted to see it restored. I really hope I live up to her expectations.”

“You will, pet.” Maggie reached out and patted my arm. Her faith in me was unexpectedly soothing. “Are you all on your own here?”

“Yes, afraid so.”

“No boyfriend coming up to visit at weekends and give you a hand?”

“No. My girlfriend and I split up a few months ago.” I felt my throat tighten. They were difficult words to articulate, a detail of my life I still wasn’t used to. Whenever I thought about Francesca, my heart ached. I watched Maggie Potter’s reaction carefully. The hazel eyes showed no surprise or disapproval, only sympathy.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry, hun,” she said, patting my arm. I sensed prying, in a kindly way, was one of Maggie’s favourite pastimes. I wondered if she would discuss what she discovered about me with other neighbours, if there were any. If she did, what did it matter? I had no plans to be a belle of the local social scene anyway.

“That’s okay,” I forced myself to say, though I didn’t feel especially okay in that moment. “I’m hoping being here is a new start in lots of ways.” I sounded more assured than I felt, but I made myself smile through it. Maggie Potter, a widow in her seventies managing a farm all by herself, clearly incredibly capable and not at all afraid of the things the world threw at her, put me to shame. If she could cope with loss and hard work, chances were I could too.  To her I must have appeared brave, moving halfway up the country, taking on a project of this scale, all by myself. She couldn’t see the anxiety that twisted my heart or see the sadness I struggled with. Did she feel such emotions too? The notion came to me that maybe everyone felt the same things as me, and we were all just struggling to cope and putting on a brave face. The idea made me feel a little less alone and, to my surprise, more optimistic. If Maggie could find her way through life, there was no reason I couldn’t.

As though she’d noticed the change in my expression, Maggie moved towards the door, assuming, I suppose, I’d like to be left alone. I was not wholly sure I wanted her to leave, since such kindly treatment from someone who was a stranger to me was something I found reassuring. I knew once I had closed the door behind her I’d be left alone with my thoughts. But I could hardly demand that she stay and keep me company, especially when I was being such a terrible host, so I walked with her towards the door.

“Next time you call in I’ll be more organised. I’ll at least have a kettle and a couple of chairs so we can sit down to a cup of tea.”

“That’d be nice, pet. I reckon you’ll find a chair or two in the attic here. I heard that everything the family couldn’t take out of here got locked away up there. It’s a miracle the place wasn’t broken into more times, mind.”

“It was broken into?” I’d not noticed any signs, assuming the smashed windows to be simply decay over the decades.

“A few times. But with it being empty and all, even the kids lost interest. It’s a good job we’re not closer to the town, we’d probably have had a fire here by now, or those raves or whatever they call them. But no one wants to come out into the middle of nowhere just to break into an empty house. And no one’s ever wanted to develop it either. The world’s passed the old place by since the war.”

“Just as well, I guess,” I said, as we reached the door. “Thanks so much for the cake, and for calling ’round.”

“You’re welcome, hun. I expect we’ll be seeing each other again before long.”

“I’m sure.” I gave her my warmest smile as she opened the front door and let herself out.

“Take care of yourself rattling around in this big place on your own, pet.”

“I will. See you again soon.”

She turned her back on me and made her way down the stairs. I watched her climb, with no evidence of the stiffness I would have expected of a woman of her years, into the driver’s seat of her car. The engine rattled as she started it, and she accelerated hard away from the house.

My smile faded as the car disappeared from sight. I noticed Phoebe looking stonily past me, as though she wasn’t at all interested. “Looks like it’s just us then,” I said to her. “I’d share the cake, but you know, I wouldn’t want you to risk that figure.” I patted her cold arm and returned into the house.

I spent what remained of the afternoon cleaning the bathroom until it looked, though still a little uncared for, at least clean and functional. I scrubbed the sink, toilet, and bathtub until they shone in the light from the one electric bulb that hung, without a shade, in the middle of the ceiling. The water running from the old pipes was still distinctly rust-coloured, but I wouldn’t be drinking it—having brought several containers of bottled water with me—just washing in it. I guessed the plumbing of the whole house would have to be replaced at some stage. I’d have another look through the paperwork Auntie Edie had put together later and see what details I could glean. Now that I was here and able to see first-hand what needed to be done, the notes were more meaningful.

The bathroom useable, I set to work establishing my small camp in the entrance hall. Having spent one night there, it seemed like the logical place to want to sleep and eat. It didn’t strike me until after I had moved the camp bed to one side of the room in the shadow of the staircase, and set up the camping cooker and its butane cylinder, along with a folding stool and a small collapsible table, that it would have brought me more privacy to have organised my new bedroom in one of the other rooms, away from the front doors. Somehow I didn’t feel comfortable in those other larger rooms with their faded finery. I felt I had made my mark on the hallway, but the other rooms were still very much part of history, part of Winter Manor before my arrival. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I felt the thick, aged atmosphere of the house itself might keep me awake in the other rooms, whereas, with the front door allowing the air in and out and having already slept peacefully here for one night, I was quite comfortable in the hallway. I piled my bags, suitcases, and boxes containing my personal possessions and clothes beneath the staircase, mostly out of sight. I looked around at the small home I had established and almost laughed. I was pretty sure Winter Manor had never seen anything like it in its two-and-a-half centuries of existence.

Once it started to get dark, there wasn’t much more I could do that day, and in truth, I was beginning to feel exhausted. That didn’t bode especially well for the days to come when renovation work was taking place all over the property and I was supposed to control the entire project. Still, I had time to get used to it, and I was sure Anna’s input would help steer things in the right direction.

I recalled those vivid blue eyes accentuated by their designer frames, and my heart beat a little faster. Anna was an attractive woman, I had to acknowledge it. I found her an intriguing prospect too. The beautiful clothes had a certain distinct and stylish flare, the red car was showy, and she was certainly confident. Yet there was a wall—more like a sheet of ice—between her and the world. I’d felt it very strongly today. Sometimes it thawed a little, even cracked in places, but froze again with alarming speed. I wondered what she was hiding, or what she was afraid to show. Had she been hurt? Was her confidence all an act? It puzzled me to meet someone with such a warm smile and generous enthusiasm who was at once so reserved and distant. I wondered what it took to get behind those defences and if I would be lucky enough to manage it. I suspected friendship with Anna would be a privilege. I already knew she was intelligent, stylish, and dedicated; I imagined her to also be witty, charming, and loyal. The sort of person I would like in my life.

I cut the thoughts off before they had chance to develop any further. I was inventing a personality for a woman I’d only just met and who was working for me. Fantasizing about friendship—or anything else—was a very bad idea indeed. I didn’t need disappointments and setbacks at this stage. I needed to be sure of myself and stop depending on other people for my happiness.

Still, I wasn’t used to being alone. The isolation of Winter gripped tightly, and for a moment I felt like a lunatic in an isolated Victorian asylum, or the madwoman in the attic room. I was alone in a place where even if I screamed it wouldn’t be heard. A panicky tension fluttered through my stomach, and I took a deep, calming breath. I wasn’t going to scream, or even cry. This was nothing compared to losing my mother and ending my relationship with Francesca. Winter wanted me here, to help rescue it from the past and show it a bright future. If I could do that—and Auntie Edie had faith in my ability to do so—then I could at least find some optimism for my own existence too. Winter and I had both languished for a while, but we would face the future together. It would just take a little work.

Wanting to infuse the air with my tentative optimism I fished about in my boxes of possessions for my oil burner, a stubby candle, and my small case of essential oils. I selected purifying clary sage and added a few drops, along with some water, to the well in the top of the burner. I lit the small candle and slid it underneath, waiting for the heat to vaporise the oil and for the aroma to begin to fill the room. The little glowing candle and the wisps of aroma were dwarfed by the size of Winter, but I looked at the bright flame, breathed the scent, and knew I had to start small, one glimmer of light at a time. It was possible to bring this place back to life. If I had no other definite direction in my life, at least I had that to aim for.

Over the next days, which were pleasantly visitor free, I forced myself to become acquainted with the house, even if some days I felt it was trying to expel me from its chambers or frighten me away. A water pipe in the bathroom sprung a leak, which meant I couldn’t use the bathtub water supply until I called in a plumber. I tripped on the rotting carpet of the grand staircase and fell most of the way to the floor below, bruising my hip uncomfortably in the process. And as I was examining the damaged ceiling in the east wing, a huge chunk of damp plasterwork simply came loose and coated me in gritty powder.

I took everything the house threw at me with an unperturbed sense of calm. Whether it was the house trying to tell me something, a reminder of the terrible condition of the building and the daunting task I had taken on, or the less likely possibility of poltergeist activity, I had to keep going. At least the physical process of going room by room and noting what needed to be done, consulting with Auntie Edie’s own notes, and taking photographs with my digital camera of spots I particularly wanted to ask Anna about gave me something to push away any doubts. By the end of the week, I had a good idea of what needed to be done and in what order, plus a list of people to contact in order to achieve my goals.