Ghost Song

by Mark L'Estrange

  “Of course, I am speaking as your late relative’s solicitor now, as I realise you have not engaged me in any official capacity. But I feel that it would be remiss of me not to give you the full facts, as our firm has had several dealings with the previous owners concerning the property over the years.”

  “I thanked him for his candour, but re-iterated that even if the property were a crumbling ruin that I still would not make any decisions without Jenifer at least having a chance to see it. Peterson seemed to understand this, and continued with our interview. I was signing so many different papers that, after a while, my hand started to throb. Things seemed far easier and more straightforward when Jane and I inherited our parents’ house. But still I persevered, as I reasoned with myself that once our meeting was over, everything would be settled to our mutual satisfaction.

  “As time wore on and the seemingly endless drafts and papers continued to be laid before me for ratification, the toll from my journey was starting to show itself, and I even had to stifle the odd yawn, with apologies to my host. Finally, when the mantle clock which sat on one of the bookshelves behind the solicitor struck the hour, Peterson turned in his chair as if to confirm the time, and before he had a chance to turn back to me there was a knock on his office door.

  “The solicitor bid his secretary to enter, which she duly did, and slipped me a quick scowl before reminding Peterson of the time.”

  “Yes of course, thank you Ruth, you may leave for the day, I’ll lock up.”

  “With that she bid him goodnight, and favoured me with an almost non-existent nod of her head. Once she had left us Peterson and I continued with our meeting, until the clock behind him informed us that another hour had passed. At this point the solicitor looked at his wristwatch and thought for a moment before announcing:

  “Mr Ward, due to the lateness of the hour may I suggest that you book into your hotel and we can finish this all off in the morning?”

  “He realised immediately from the expression on my face that he must have said something untoward. The fact was it had never occurred to me that I might need to arrange accommodation. I fully intended to stay at the manor, regardless of what condition the property was in. I explained my situation to Peterson, and he stroked his chin as he pondered my situation. After a moment or two Peterson placed his elbows on his desk and made a steeple with his fingers, before advising me that, in his opinion, it would be far more practical if I were to see me new property in daylight, rather than stumbling around it at night.

  “He confirmed for me that my late relative’s housekeepers, the Jarrows, lived on the estate, but that his understanding was that they both held down separate jobs in which, since my benefactor’s demise, they had increased their hours to include evenings, so neither of them would be home until late. Peterson also made it clear that he too had plans for the evening which he was already running late for, so he would also be unable to show me around.

  “I assured him that I did not wish to be a nuisance, but the fact of the matter was that, because I had not anticipated having to book a hotel or guest house, I did not have enough money in my wallet to afford to pay for a night’s lodgings, and due to the lateness of the hour all the banks in town would already be closed.

  “Peterson told me not to worry, and that he could sort everything out for me. With that he picked up the receiver of the phone on his desk and dialled a number into it, which he obviously knew by heart. I could hear the faint dialling tone from the other side, and after a few rings the call was answered.”

  “Jerry, Ralph Peterson here…look I need a favour, a client has just arrived in town, far later than anticipated, and he needs a room for the night and some supper…I knew you would, the only thing is the banks are all shut, but I’ll vouch for him that he’ll pay you first thing tomorrow, once they open…Wonderful, thanks, Jerry…His name is Jonathan Ward…Thanks again mate, I owe you one.”

  “Peterson looked very pleased with himself when he came off the line.”

  “There you are Mr Ward, everything has been taken care of. You will be staying at the ‘Wild Boar’, one of our finest hotels, and you can settle your bill in the morning once the banks open.”

  “Peterson escorted me out of his office and into the street. Night had crept over since I had first entered his office, and now the sky was completely black. We stood outside his main door as Peterson gave me directions to the hotel. The Boar had a car park, so the solicitor suggested that I drive there rather than leave my car out in the street overnight. I thanked him for all his help and we shook hands before we parted. As I crossed the street to my parked car the wind was starting to whip itself up, and I found myself having to dodge a couple of flying newspapers and a discarded carrier bag.

  “The journey to the hotel took less than ten minutes in the car, and on the way I noticed a local branch of my bank which I was extremely relieved to discover. Now at least I knew that I could pay my bill in the morning. I parked in the car park and collected my suitcase from the boot, before heading into the main reception area. The hotel, according to the poster in the foyer which was taken from an old newspaper headline, was in fact a converted coaching inn, dating back to the seventeenth century, and, judging from the décor, the owners had obviously tried to keep the overall feel of the place exactly how it must have been when originally built.

  “I made my way to the main reception area, and was just about to ring the bell when a corpulent man, with a ruddy face, and a big, bushy moustache appeared and introduced himself as my host.”

  “Ralph explained your predicament to me on the phone, Mr Ward. No need to worry, we’ll see you right for tonight.”

  “I was very grateful to hear his words, for I realised that had something gone astray in the arrangements between the hotel proprietor and Peterson, it would doubtless be too late by now to get back in touch with the solicitor to straighten things out. But as it was I was shown to a very comfortable double room, with a view of the high street from the window.

  “Once I had unpacked and laid out some clothes for the following day I made my way back down to the main bar for my supper, stopping off at the pay phone in the lobby to call Jenifer. The phone rang almost a dozen times and I was about to replace the receiver and try again later, when it was suddenly snatched up and I heard my wife’s sweet voice on the other end.

  “I filled Jenifer in on my horrendous journey down, and brought her right up to date regarding my meeting with Peterson and my subsequent change of plans for the night. Jenifer sounded more disappointed than I was by the fact that I hadn’t so much as set eyes on our new property, as of yet. I explained that due to the length of my meeting with the solicitor and the lateness of the hour, that at best I would only have been able to see the manor in shadow. But Jenifer informed me that had she have been with me she would have insisted on seeing the property that night, regardless of the hour, and I believed her. We talked until my change had run out, and I promised her that I would call again the following evening.

  “I sat down to a very welcome sumptuous dinner of thick soup, pork chops with real mashed potato, peas and onion gravy, followed by a sticky toffee pudding with custard made just the way I liked it. I washed this all down with two pints of local ale, which had a much stronger kick than what I was used to in London. After my long drive and the fact that I had not stopped anywhere for lunch, this meal tasted better than anything else I had ever eaten.

  “Once I had finished my dinner, I took myself up to bed and it was only a matter of minutes before I had drifted off in the arms of Morpheus. I slept right through the night and was woken the following morning by my landlord’s wife knocking on my door, informing me that it was eight o’clock. I quickly showered and changed before making my way back down to the reception.

  “As I was not able to pay my bill right away, I was not sure whether or not the landlord would want to keep hold of my belongings until I returned with some money. But I need not have worried, as he was as charmi
ng that morning as he had been the previous evening. He assured me that there was no rush to pay my bill, and insisted that I sit down to a full breakfast before I left for Peterson’s office.

  “After breakfast I packed my bags and drove out of the carpark, heading back into town towards the solicitor’s office. When I arrived, I was met once more by Peterson’s stern-faced receptionist, who informed me that her boss was with a client in town, and would not return to the office for another hour. I thanked her, politely, and used the time to visit the bank, before driving back to the hotel to pay my debts.

  I remember thinking at the time as I drove back and forth across the town, just how beautiful the day was. It was one of those crisp, sunny, autumnal mornings, where the strength and the brightness of the sun belies the cold wind which cuts through to your bone if you fail to protect yourself with enough layers.”

  Jonathan leaned forward on his elbows and placed his face in his hands, rubbing his skin with his rough palms, vigorously, as if trying to clear away something which was stuck to his face.

  Before anyone from the group around the table had a chance to ask him if everything was alright, he lifted his head once more.

  “If only I had known then what I know now, I would have turned my car around and headed straight back to London and my lovely wife!”

  Six

  “By the time I made it back to the solicitor’s office, I was relieved to see that Peterson had returned. This at least meant that I would not have to spend any time alone with his unwelcoming secretary.

  “Peterson smiled broadly as he ushered me into his office, apologising for the fact that he had forgotten to mention his earlier appointment yesterday before we parted. I assured him that it was of no matter, and we sat down to finish going through the last of the documents which I needed to sign.

  “Once we had finished, Peterson suggested that we use his car to drive out to my new property. He explained that the roads en route were a trifle awkward to negotiate for someone who was not used to them, and it was his opinion that it would be best for me to experience the route without having to concentrate on driving it.”

  “I spoke to Mr Jarrow this morning and explained the situation. He and his wife will meet us there to show you around the property, and when you are ready, Jarrow will drive you back into town to collect your car. You should hopefully be familiar enough with the route by then.”

  “Peterson’s suggestion did seem a little strange to me, as I would have thought that following him to the manor in my car would have been far more practical. But I acquiesced to his recommendation, primarily because he seemed quite set on the matter, and after all he had done for me I did not wish to appear ungrateful.

  “It took us about fifteen minutes to drive through the centre of town, after which we turned off the main road leaving the traffic and crowds behind us. Although Briers Market was a relatively small town, certainly compared to London, it still seemed to have its fair share of congestion. As we left the town behind us the roads became much narrower, and the white markings which normally ran through the centre were nowhere to be seen. The offices and shops gave way to houses and cottages, and the further away we drove, the greater, it appeared, was the distance between each dwelling. I began to lose myself in the magic of the scenery, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be memorising the route.

  “Peterson suddenly broke the silence of our journey, with an announcement which I wondered if he had been reluctant to broach after my conviction from the previous evening that I intended to hold on to the manor and not make any decisions regarding its sale, until after Jenifer had seen it.”

  “I feel that it is my duty to inform you, Mr Ward, that the client I was visiting this morning has asked me to make you aware that he is willing to make a very generous offer for your new property.”

  “Peterson kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead while he spoke, which in itself did not seem at all odd as the road was both narrow and full of potholes. But all the same I could not help wondering if, for some reason, he was doing it on purpose to avoid my gaze. I thanked him for the information, but reiterated my intentions from our previous meeting.”

  “I quite understand, Mr Ward, my other client only wished me to make you aware of the situation. He owns the land adjacent to your house, you understand, and he is eager to expand his holdings. Just something to bear in mind should the occasion arise.”

  “We drove on a little further until there was nothing on either side of us but trees and grass. As we motored along I noticed that the trees up ahead appeared to be closer together so that their branches leaned in to form a kind of tunnel over the road ahead. Once we were in the makeshift tunnel the road weaved first one way, then the other, and after a while it grew so dark that Peterson had to turn his headlights on so that we could see where we were going. When we emerged from the tunnel of trees the road began to climb steeply, causing Peterson to drop a gear in order to keep the car moving at a decent pace. At the crest of the hill the road veered off to the left, and out of sight, and as we approached the turn, Peterson slowed right down and began beeping his horn. I looked around to see who he was signalling to, but we appeared to be the only ones on the road.

  “The solicitor pulled over to one side, and pressed his horn once more. Just as I was about to enquire as to why he was acting in this manner, I heard another, much louder horn, responding. Peterson gave one more short pop on his, and seconds later a huge articulated lorry came around the corner. The driver acknowledged our perseverance with a wave of thanks, before driving past us. I looked down to my left, and saw to my horror that the road quickly gave way to a slope which led down a grass verge for some thirty feet to a line of trees. It concerned me how close Peterson had driven to the verge, but I then realised that if he had not pulled over so far that the passing vehicle would not have been able to squeeze through.

  “Before moving off again, Peterson gave another sharp honk. This time, as there was no response, he carefully edged his way around the bend until he could see that the way ahead was clear. The entire procedure seemed a little odd to me, so with curiosity taking hold I asked Peterson if there was any specific reasoning to the practice.”

  “This was one of the reasons I thought it best that I drive us to your new property. That bend and dip in the road has caused so many accidents over the years that the locals have come to refer to it as the ‘Widow-Maker’, if you can believe such a thing; gallows-humour, if you ask me.”

  “If it is that dangerous, why haven’t the local council intervened?”

  “They’ve tried various forms of signage, and convex mirrors on posts, but each attempt has eventually proved to be fruitless. The problem is, you see, that this road is a cut-through which leads onto the next town, so for tradesmen it is an essential link.”

  “We continued driving for a few minutes, and once again we came upon another tunnel of trees up ahead. This time however, as we entered the natural covering, Peterson indicated right and we turned between two large oaks, which led us on to what appeared to be a dirt track. Eventually we came to a clearing, and that was when I first saw Denby Manor looming on the horizon.

  “As we drew closer to the property I found myself to be somewhat awestruck by the sheer vastness of it. The manor certainly appeared larger in the flesh than it had on the scale drawing Peterson had provided me with. Up ahead I could see a man and a woman standing in front of a pair large iron gates which, I surmised, acted as the entrance to the inner enclosure of the manor house.

  “Doubtless recognising Peterson’s car the man raised his arm in acknowledgement and began to fiddle with the main gate, which he then opened to allow us access.”

  “That’s the Jarrows, who I told you about. They will be giving you the guided tour, and as I explained earlier Jarrow will escort you back into town to collect your car when you’re ready.”

  “Peterson drove in and parked his car on the gravel drive, directly in front of the hou
se. I hopped out of the car first, such was my excitement, and stood with my hands on my hips gazing up at my inheritance. I remember wishing more than ever that Jenifer could be with me so that we could explore the inside together. But I quelled any guilt I may have felt by reassuring myself that her not being able to join me was due to no fault of mine. Even so, I would still have loved to have her there with me.

  “We waited on the drive until the Jarrow’s caught up to us. Mrs Jarrow walked slightly ahead of her husband. She was a tall, thin, almost gaunt-looking woman, and the almost severe expression on her face made me wonder if she had ever worn a smile before in her life. Her husband, too, was tall and thin, and unlike his ramrod straight wife he walked with a slight stoop. His face was ruddy and somewhat raw, which I put down to a combination of someone who worked outside a lot of the time and who enjoyed a drop too much of the local brew.

  “When Peterson introduced them to me, I held out my hand to the couple. Jarrow doffed his flat cap as we shook and his wife almost had to stop herself from curtsying, which I found extremely odd. Naturally I did not know how my distant relative had treated them during their time in his employ, but I was certainly not comfortable with them treating me like the laird of the manor.

  “Once the introductions were complete, Peterson assured me that he would remain at my service and to contact him if I had any queries or problems, after which he said his goodbyes and drove away, leaving me in the sturdy hands of the Jarrows. Leading the way Jarrow opened the main door with a key from a bunch he had clasped in his hand. The heavy wooden door creaked open on rusty hinges, automatically making me feel as if I was stepping back in time to the Dickensian age.

  “Surprisingly, upon first impression the inside of the manor house was in no way as ramshackle as Peterson had led me to believe. Judging from some of his descriptions during our meetings I had come to believe that the building was held together with chewing gum and string. But as I gazed into the large entry hall, my mind could not help but conjure up pictures of masked balls and parties of yesteryear.