The Silent Touch of Shadows (11 page)

Melissa sighed and decided not to beat around the bush. ‘Do you think my bedroom might be haunted? Does Ashleigh Manor have a resident ghost?’

Dorothy’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. ‘Haunted? What makes you think that?’

‘I thought I heard a voice this morning. In fact, I’m pretty sure I did. And there have been other instances, things I can’t explain.’

Dorothy shrugged. ‘It’s possible. It is, after all, a very old house. I’ve never noticed anything odd, but then they say only certain people are sensitive to paranormal phenomena. Perhaps you’re one of them?’

‘I’d rather not be.’ Melissa shuddered. She’d been hoping Dorothy would give her some completely rational explanation for her experiences. She didn’t want to believe in ghosts and definitely didn’t want to share a house with them.

‘Even if there is something, shall we say unusual, I’ve never heard of anyone being harmed in this house. It’s certainly never bothered me and I’ve lived here all my life.’

‘So it’s not a poltergeist then. Well that’s something to be thankful for, at least,’ Melissa said sarcastically.

‘Do you want to change to another room, dear? I understand that ghostly phenomena are often connected with certain places.’

Melissa thought about it, then rejected the idea. ‘No, I
 
… I guess I have to get used to it if I am one of those people who are sensitive to such things. Besides, I really love that room, it’s perfect. I feel at home there.’

Dorothy looked out over the pond and smiled. ‘Do you know, I would love it if someone could prove ghosts exist. I’d find it comforting to know that our souls can live on. It gives one hope, don’t you think? Perhaps dear Charles is watching over us as we speak. And your mother.’

‘I suppose so.’ Seeing Dorothy so calm and matter-of-fact about this subject made Melissa feel silly for having over-reacted. She had always prided herself on being a practical woman, surely she could cope with a ghost playing pranks on her occasionally? As long as that was all it was.

But when she followed Dorothy inside and felt that strange apprehension seize her as soon as she neared the house, she wasn’t so sure.

The rustling of paper woke Jake and he realised he must have fallen asleep on the living-room sofa while reading the newspaper. He’d been doing extra shifts at work lately and this wasn’t the first time he’d nodded off early during his infrequent evenings off.

He sighed and closed his eyes again.
Not much point moving really, I may as well stay where I am.
He wriggled to try and get more comfortable, but instead he began to feel cramped and hemmed in. The sensation grew until he was sure all the air in his lungs was being squeezed out. He had to fight for every breath and, if he hadn’t known better, he would have said something or someone was jostling him. In fact, not just one or two people, but a whole crowd were now pushing and shoving him, keeping his arms pinned to his sides.

‘What the hell
 
…?’ he muttered.

Frowning, he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to co-operate. They stayed stubbornly shut and suddenly, on their insides, images appeared out of nowhere. It was like watching a DVD without access to a pause button, and what Jake saw was so horrible his heart began to hammer loudly.

He was indeed in the middle of a huge throng of people, and they were all hurling abuse at some unfortunate men on a make-shift scaffold. A young man was at the front, his hands tied behind him, and Jake gasped when he saw the man’s features. They bore an eerie resemblance to his own – the same slightly sharp nose and blue eyes, with straight hair falling across his brow, although this man’s was more of a reddish hue than Jake’s own golden blond.
A mere youth, not really a grown man!
Jake felt empathy tear through him at the sight of a youngster in such grim circumstances.

There was no time to register any more details, however, as someone in a black cape stepped forward and blocked the view. The official-looking man read out a decree, most of which Jake didn’t catch. It was impossible to hear much with the crowd baying for blood and pushing at him from all sides. The only words he heard clearly were
‘… Roland
 
… traitor to the crown
 
… executed by beheading
 
…’
Roland?
The name wasn’t one he recognised, and yet it was as if he watched these events through the eyes of someone who did, because he felt no surprise. His mouth formed a silent scream of ‘no’ at the cruel sentence being read out, but he still couldn’t open his eyes and he was forced to watch what happened next.

The strawberry-blond young man was lead towards a crude block, a squarish piece of wood with slightly uneven sides. Someone shoved him between the shoulder blades and he was made to kneel and put his head on the rough surface. Jake saw him fight his gaolers one last time to raise his terrified gaze to heaven, muttering something. He guessed it was a prayer, because there seemed no chance of halting the proceedings.

With one final, anguished look at the crowd, the young man closed his eyes and placed his head on the wooden block. He seemed calm now, but Jake could see that despite this bravado, the youth couldn’t keep the rest of his body from shaking. He was quite simply petrified.
And who wouldn’t be?

Although he wanted to intervene and stop this from happening, Jake knew there was no hope of doing so, and he couldn’t move in any case. He swallowed hard and resigned himself to the inevitable, the way the youth had already done. A huge man with his head covered by a dark hood stepped forward and lifted an axe with a wide blade into the air. The crowd quieted and held its collective breath. The only sound to be heard now was a muted chanting from a priest who was standing at the back of the scaffold.

The sharp blade flashed in the sunlight and came down with a sickening thud. Jake flinched, as if it had severed his own head from his shoulders, and he had to fight hard not to throw up at the sight before him. He knew the young man had been lucky in that the executioner had succeeded in his task with just one blow, but all he felt was nausea and a bone-chilling bleakness.

Invisible fingers plucked at his sleeve and a voice hissed, ‘Master, we must leave. We can’t stay here, it’s madness. They could take you next!’ He was aware of being pulled out of the crowd by someone with dark, straight hair, and followed blindly. Somehow he knew he’d been fortunate to escape the fate that had befallen the youth. It could have been him up there on the scaffold.

Slowly the images faded away and Jake was able to blink open his eyes. The modern living room came into focus all around him and he pushed himself upright, no longer feeling restrained. He couldn’t forget what he’d just seen though. Why was he dreaming of things like that? Was it a dream or some memory encoded in the cottage walls? He’d heard about such theories, but never believed them until now.

Or was it possible to relive the experience of some long-dead ancestor? Something embedded deeply in his DNA?
But in that case, why was I seeing it through someone else’s eyes?
There was no doubt in Jake’s mind that the youth on the scaffold was somehow related to him, yet Jake hadn’t been seeing things from his point of view. He swallowed hard and got off the sofa, too restless to stay still.

None of this makes sense!

Either way, he never wanted to see such horrors again.

Chapter Eight

‘So the high-and-mighty Sir Gilbert isn’t coming to your aid, eh?’

Sibell’s father smirked at her across the table and chewed noisily on a piece of coarse bread, before taking a large swig of ale and then burping repeatedly. He seemed in a particularly good mood for once and Sibell bit back a sharp retort. Instead she sent him a wide-eyed look, as if she had no idea what he was talking about, although she knew full well why he was gloating.

For several days after her visit to Idenhurst, he and her brothers had kept a close watch over her. It was as if they expected someone from the manor to come riding to her rescue, even though she’d taken Maude’s advice and pretended to agree to the marriage. Now that a week had passed, her father obviously felt able to relax, sure in the knowledge that she had failed to secure assistance.

‘Of course, he knows as well as I do that he has nothing to say in the matter. Still, he could have made a nuisance of himself if he’d so chosen,’ he continued. ‘Seems you misjudged him. He’s a sensible man, won’t meddle where he’s not wanted. And you are nothing to him any more.’ He chuckled.

‘I didn’t speak to Sir Gilbert, only Lady Maude,’ Sibell answered quietly. ‘It was she who sent for me after all. And I followed your instructions.’ She crossed her fingers under the table since this wasn’t strictly true.

Her father’s expression darkened at the mention of Lady Maude. ‘Meddlesome old crone. I don’t doubt she’d go pleading your cause with her husband if she felt so inclined. Just as well you said nothing, or else
 
…’ He left the threat hanging in the air between them and Sibell suppressed a shiver. She didn’t think he would ever do any harm to Lady Maude if he found out she’d been meddling, but one never knew with her father. He was so unpredictable and his temper was definitely spiralling out of control. She shuddered again.
No, he must never find out.

Thankfully, his improved mood meant that he also relaxed his vigilance. Sibell was at last able to go about her normal duties, both indoors and out, without a watchdog on her trail. After finishing her many tasks that morning, she took the opportunity to escape out of the back door while no one was looking, and headed for a small forested area nearby.

It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm and with hardly a breeze stirring the branches of the trees. Spring had always been Sibell’s favourite time of year and she noted with pleasure all the signs of its coming. There were trees with fat leaf buds ready to burst, fruit blossom, birds serenading each other and flowers peeking up through the thick layer of dead leaves on the ground. All these lifted her spirits and she decided to simply enjoy the moment, leaving her worries behind. It was impossible to stay dejected on such a day.

Although she knew it was dangerous to venture too far into the forest alone, she thought she’d be safe as long as she stayed within hearing distance of the house. Surely any outlaws would be targeting travellers on the roads, rather than ordinary local people going about their business, she thought. Besides, she was wearing an old cloak borrowed from one of the kitchen maids. Everyone knew servants had nothing worth stealing so she hoped she’d be mistaken for one and left in peace.

Underneath the beech trees she found primroses peeking out here and there, and a veritable carpet of wood anemones brightening up the forest floor as far as the eye could see. Sibell stopped to admire this lovely sight. Although she’d seen it many times before, she knew she would never tire of it. She leaned her back against the nearest tree and closed her eyes, savouring the moment. There was a promise in the air, a hint of wonderful things to come, that made her heart beat faster in expectation.

‘So, the little bird has flown the nest at last,’ a deep voice said behind her.

Sibell whirled round so fast her cloak caught on a nearby branch. She wrenched it free with trembling hands and stared at Sir Roger of Langford, who had materialised behind her like a wraith out of the ground. ‘I
 
… I
 
…’

‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you again.’ He laughed. ‘It seems to be my misfortune to scare the wits out of you whenever we meet. I promise, that is not my intention.’

‘Where did you come from? I didn’t hear your approach.’ Sibell strove to calm herself and pulled the cloak together in front of her. Yet again he’d caught her unawares.

‘You must have been truly engrossed then. I made no secret of my presence.’

Sibell wasn’t convinced. Anyone walking in the forest was bound to step on at least the occasional twig, but she’d heard nothing. ‘You are on foot today?’ she remarked suspiciously, wondering what could have brought him so near her home in stealth. Was he spying on her father?

‘Indeed. It is too beautiful a day to ride. I prefer to observe nature at close quarters and what better way than going for a walk? Isn’t that what you’re doing yourself?’

‘I, er
 
… I merely came to look for herbs.’

‘Ah, but of course.’ The look he gave her told her clearly that he knew she was prevaricating and Sibell thought it best to change the subject.

‘Didn’t Sir Gilbert warn you there are outlaws hereabouts?’

Sir Roger laughed again. ‘I thought we established last time we met that neither of us feared them. As you can see, I have brought my trusted sword just in case.’ He gave the weapon an affectionate pat, then grew serious. ‘However, a woman alone shouldn’t venture too far from home. It would be foolhardy, I think.’

‘I haven’t. I’m still close to the manor,’ she defended herself, although she could see now that had he been an outlaw, she would have had trouble escaping him. It occurred to her to wonder whether he was actually one of those desperate men himself. Was that why he was sneaking around in such a furtive manner? Was he on his way to a meeting with other outlaws, supporters of the Duke of York perhaps? She frowned. If he was, he was taking a huge risk, wandering about in broad daylight.