The Silent Touch of Shadows

Published 2012 by Choc Lit Limited

Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

www.choclitpublishing.com

The right of Christina Courtenay to be identified as the Author of this Work has
 
been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the
 
public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90
 
Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library

ISBN-978-1-906931-76-6

Thank you for the wonderful Stocketts memories!

and

To Roger de la Stockette

May you find what you’re looking for and RIP one day

Acknowledgements

This story is based on a real house and a real ghost. I never saw him myself (and would probably have died of fright if I had!), but I did stay in the house and believed the owners when they told me about the supernatural phenomena they experienced on a regular basis. I would like to thank them very much for allowing me to use their experiences as a starting point for this novel.

For many months the members of Cecily Bomberg’s writers’ circle put up with me reading them excerpts from this story, so I thank them for their patience and input. At
 
that time, becoming a published author was just a dream for all of us, but they made me believe it could happen by taking my writing seriously, and I’m glad they
 
were proved
 
right!

As always, huge thanks go to the wonderful Choc Lit team and the other Choc Lit authors – it’s an enormous pleasure working with you all!

Thanks also, as ever, to all my friends in the Romantic Novelists’ Association for your unfailing support and encouragement, and to old and new friends in the
 
Historical Novel Society ditto.

And last, but not least, a big thank you to my family – I
 
couldn’t do this without you!

Prologue

In the huge inglenook of the ancient manor house, the remains of the log fire collapsed with a hiss into a heap of smouldering ashes. A coil of smoke floated up the chimney, disintegrating slowly.

Nothing else moved in the room. The shadows that waited there gave no sign of their presence, apart from an occasional sigh that could have been mistaken for the draught blowing in under the badly fitting window frames.

Even so, the air crackled with restless energy and expectation. An electric charge suddenly galvanised the dust motes into a frenzied whirl, sending them spiralling towards the ceiling before they plunged downwards again in a never-ending dance.

The time had come to try again.

The time had come for the silent touch of shadows.

Chapter One

Ashleigh Manor, Kent – Present Day

The driveway appeared quite unexpectedly after a sharp bend in the winding lane, taking Melissa by surprise. There were no signposts to advertise its presence and she almost missed the turning. Something made her slow down though and look to her right as they came around the corner. And there it was.

‘Ashleigh,’ she whispered to herself as she stared at the house through a pair of wrought-iron gates. Confusion filled her mind when she realised she recognised this place, and yet she was sure she had never been here before.

The old manor house nestled in a hollow, as if it had burrowed into the ground for comfort. Picture perfect, it was built of timber and orange-red bricks, with tiny leaded windows and tall chimney stacks. The colour gave an impression of warmth, reinforced by the sunlight reflected off the myriad of windowpanes. A shiver snaked up Melissa’s spine. The view was eerily familiar.

‘Is this where the old lady lives?’ Her twelve-year-old daughter Jolie sighed and removed the ear plugs of her iPod, then directed a look of suffering at her mother which Melissa ignored.

‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied, but really there was no doubt about it. She knew this was the right place and didn’t need to check the written directions. The sensation of
déjà vu
was so strong it made her frown. Perplexed, she continued to stare through the gate.

‘Do we have to stay long?’

It was Melissa’s turn to sigh. ‘I told you we’re invited for the whole weekend. Weren’t you listening? I’ve never met great-aunt Dorothy before, so it would be nice if we could at least make a good first impression. Come on, please stop sulking now. You’ll survive. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.’

Jolie made a face and muttered, ‘Fat chance,’ then turned up her music once more, oblivious to the beautiful countryside surrounding them. Melissa shook her head and climbed out of the car to open the gates. She had to admit to some apprehension herself, as her great-aunt’s invitation to come and stay for a weekend had been totally unexpected. Dorothy’s phone call a few days earlier was the first communication anyone in the family had had with her for over fifty years. Apparently Dorothy had fallen out with her sister Ruth, Melissa’s grandmother, and no one had heard from her since.

So why the sudden change of heart? And how had Dorothy found her after all this time? A recent electoral roll perhaps, or had she hired a sleuth?

The crisp air made Melissa pull the edges of her unbuttoned
jacket together, but she soon forgot the cold as she breathed in the earthy smells of the countryside. It was like stepping into a greenhouse where you instinctively fill your lungs to capacity from the oxygen-rich air, and Melissa couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Although nature was only just waking from its winter slumber, there was plenty of greenery around, which made a welcome change from London. Melissa stood for a moment simply admiring the view.

They continued up the drive and parked next to a yew hedge, which surrounded a part of the lawn and flower beds immediately in front of the house, creating a cottage garden within the main grounds. The hedge had been trimmed to velvety perfection and grew thick and deep. A profusion of snowdrops peeped out from underneath the bushes, looking as if they were wondering whether it was safe to come out yet.

Before Melissa had even switched off the engine, a woman emerged from the front door and came down the path towards a gate set in the hedge. ‘Welcome, my dears,’ she called out. An excited little white terrier with a patch of black over one eye trotted behind her. When he caught sight of them he started jumping up and down, barking furiously.

Melissa assumed the woman must be her great-aunt since no one else came out. They shook hands in a rather formal way, which made Melissa feel as though she ought to curtsey or something. Dorothy was all smiles, however, so she gathered it was just old-fashioned manners.

‘Hello, lovely to meet you,’ Melissa said.

‘And you, I’m so glad you could come.’ Dorothy turned to wag a finger at the terrier. ‘Now stop that, Russ, you’re too noisy,’ she ordered, but he wouldn’t settle down until he had been made a fuss of by his guests. ‘I’m sorry, he has no manners. He’s just so happy to have visitors. I think he’s hoping your daughter will play with him later.’

‘I’d love to, can we go now?’ The sulky expression had miraculously vanished the instant Jolie had caught sight of Russ. She bent down to scratch him behind the ears. ‘I love dogs,’ she added and giggled when the terrier tried to lick her chin.

Dorothy’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘Why don’t you come and see the house first, then you two can go off and explore for a while before lunch?’

‘Oh, all right then.’ Jolie reverted to her previous near-teenage pout and ignored the warning look Melissa shot her.

Dorothy chattered on about the weather and this obviously wasn’t the right time to ask awkward questions, so Melissa just nodded politely from time to time. Dorothy seemed amiable enough, although there was definitely a hint of steel in her gaze as if she was used to ruling the roost. Well, she would have had to be pretty tough in order to stand up to Grandma Ruth, Melissa thought. She remembered all too well the terror that old lady had inspired in anyone who displeased her.

While Dorothy held forth, Melissa studied her surreptitiously to see if there was any family resemblance, but couldn’t see any. Her great-aunt was tiny, with thick white hair and clear blue eyes, the complete opposite of Melissa’s late grandmother. Dressed in navy blue trousers and a cashmere sweater, with a matching silk scarf knotted loosely around her neck, Dorothy looked casual but chic. She certainly didn’t look her age, which Melissa guessed to be around seventy.

As they walked up the path to the porch, the sense of
déjà vu
returned and grew even stronger than when she’d first arrived. Melissa stopped to contemplate the house close up, searching for an answer to this phenomenon, but could find no logical explanation in the weathered brick walls.

‘Are you coming, my dear?’ Dorothy had turned to wait for her.

‘Yes, of course. I was just, umm
 
… admiring the façade.’ Confused by her strange reaction, Melissa forced herself to ignore it and move on. Before their arrival, she had been excited about the prospect of visiting a house that had apparently belonged to her ancestors for generations, and she was determined nothing should ruin her enjoyment of this weekend.

Before she had time to think about it more, they were whisked into the house through a solid oak front door, which squeaked in protest as it slammed shut behind them. Suppressing the irrational feeling of recognition, Melissa tried instead to gaze with interest at her surroundings. They had entered a low, dark hallway lit by two dim wall lights. A strong smell of floor-polish hung in the air, reminding Melissa of her grandmother’s house. In fact, polish seemed to have been rubbed into every surface; whether wood or metal, they all gleamed in the soft light. An old-fashioned bronze mirror distorted their images into comical shapes and Melissa saw Jolie peering into it from different angles to see what effect it would have on her features.

‘This is lovely!’ Melissa stopped and looked around at the smooth, plaster-covered walls, which had been painted white to contrast with the dark oak beams and planks around them. They looked ancient and solid and the sheer beauty of the workmanship was amazing.

‘In here, dear.’ Dorothy and Jolie disappeared further down the hall and her great-aunt’s voice floated back to her, muffled by the thick walls. Melissa tried to follow the others, but was suddenly overcome by emotion at the thought of all the generations of ancestors who had walked here before her. She felt as if she was being enveloped into a collective embrace by them all and had to swallow hard. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and made her way to the sitting room, where Jolie waited impatiently.