The Everdon Series- the Complete Set

by L C Kincaide

“I don’t think so. The old girl didn’t sound quite right yesterday, so I thought I’d have a look.”

  “You’re an auto mechanic too?”

  “That’s debatable.” He cast the engine a wary glance and took a smaller wrench to a nut. “I used to help my dad. He worked on cars, mainly restoring old engines.”

  “Restoration seems to run in your family.”

  “It does. We like to fix old things.” He scowled at the many components.

  “And your mom, does she fix things too?”

  “She was a seamstress, but given the chance, she would have been an ace designer.”

  “Where are your parents now?” She asked curious about his family.

  “Dad passed two years ago and mum lives with her sister in Spain.”

  “Sorry about your dad. Spain sounds nice.”

  “It is. I’ve been down for a visit. I noticed you’re staying for another night.” He grinned.

  “Not much gets by you.” She teased.

  “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

  “I was in the village. It’s lovely. And thanks for the recommendation. I had lunch in the pub, quite the place — very colorful.”

  “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “You didn’t tell me about your book on the manor’s restoration. I bought two copies, and I’d love for you to autograph them for me.”

  “Thank you, and I would be delighted.” He said pleased and modest.

  “Great! I’ll bring them down later.”

  “I’ll be sure to clean my hands first.” He grinned. “Dinner tonight? Unless you have other plans.”

  “Yes. That would be lovely.” She resisted blushing.

  “Would you mind handing me the torque wrench?”

  “Which one is it?” She eyed the assortment of tools.

  “The one with the long blue handle.”

  “Right.” She gave it to him and watched as he twisted at something among the nuts and bolts and gears. It slipped.

  “Bollocks!” He muttered. “Sorry.”

  She giggled. “Maybe I’ll leave you alone now.”

  “Probably the more sensible thing to do.” He chuckled. “See you at six?”

  “That would be brilliant!” She flashed him a smile on her way out.

  Coming around to the opposite corner of the building, Emma realized she was still grinning like an idiot. Oh, my God, girl! Get a grip on yourself! Just because he looked super classy in a suit and downright hunky in grime was no reason to go all mushy. Hadn’t she promised Rachel and herself to not do anything stupid? On the rebound, she didn’t need complications, nor did Adam for that matter. Besides, what point was there in having another guy in a different time zone?

  Staying an additional night was an impulse, something she ought to keep track of since impulsive decisions more often than not spelled trouble for her. And tonight had to be her last, didn’t it? What did she have left to do here? Tennis, tea, and a romp through the woods? The reason was Adam Kinsley, a gorgeous and nice guy who was giving her some much-needed attention. Realizing that helped her avoid falling into the trap of thinking herself special to him and fantasizing about a future together. Been there, done that.

  Recently.

  In another day, they’d say their goodbyes, and as lovely as the visit had been, they would return to their lives, at least she to hers.

  The first drops plopped down as she meandered along the path on the side of the house, and pulled out of her musings, she looked around for the nearest shelter. Oh, great! The hothouse! A second later, the sky opened and rain burst forth. Emma ran for the door. She could wait it out in the vestibule, but it was cramped and soon became oppressively humid, so she stepped into the hothouse proper. So far so good. Nobody was inside, so even if the ghost-lady dropped in, any screaming on her part would go unnoticed, so there was that. Still, she hoped the spirit would stay away. Befuddled old men wandering the halls in nightshirts were one thing, but a suicide was quite another — it made for an emotionally charged experience. And why did she kill herself in here, of all places? But why not? She didn’t have to venture too far to remember a murder in her own manor.

  The rain showed no signs of lessening as she wandered at the perimeter checking out the plants while keeping well away from the center where she had seen the vision. The woman must have tossed the rope over the beam and stepped off the fountain. What extreme circumstance had driven her to do that?

  Coming to the other side, goosebumps prickled her skin. There was no need to turn around to know what was there. Oh, Geez! Emma rubbed her arms against the sudden chill. The slow, rhythmic creaking from above didn’t help either. Did the ghost do this often, or had she dropped in for her benefit? Her answer came in a low moan. She turned slowly to find long-dead eyes fixed on her. A shudder rattled her from head to toe.

  “Is there something you want from me?” Emma chanced the question when she gathered her nerve.

  The ghostly woman’s figure blurred becoming translucent for a moment as she swayed at the end of the rope. Her head canted at an unnatural angle and her arms hung loosely at her sides. Though the eyes remained on hers, she made no response maybe finding it impossible to speak with the noose tightened around her neck even if she was in Spirit form.

  “I’m sorry it came to this for you.” Emma tried again. “I am listening. If you’ll come down, you can tell me what you want from me.” Was she really about to have a conversation with this Victorian ghost? Thank God no one was close enough to bear witness.

  The apparition faded at the edges in response then re-formed, and the rope uncoiled from the beam and drifted down to pool on the floor beside her. The ghost-lady lowered and came to rest with the tips of her shoes just skimming the tiles.

  Not freaky at all.

  She straightened her head with a sickening crackle of cervical bones long since turned to dust and met Emma’s eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have done this.” The words came forth in a hoarse whisper.

  “You must have been in a great deal of pain.” Emma tried soothing her.

  “Yes… but it was wrong.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Clara. Clara Massie.” She uttered pitiably. “How could I have left my boy? He needs me.” A ghostly tear glimmered on her cheek. “Who will take care of him now?”

  Had she left a child behind? Judging from her style of dress, the boy would be long dead too, yet she was a mother and still worried about him. Her grief was palpable. How on earth was she going to comfort this grieving mother’s spirit? Maybe if she could leave the confines of this realm she could find her son on the other side? It was worth a shot. He certainly wasn’t here.

  “Clara, I will do what I can. You don’t have to stay. There is nothing for you here anymore.”

  Clara watched her with that peculiar detached expression all the spirits so far seemed to have in common — here, but not quite here either. She sensed this one did not want to be here and who could blame her?

  “You will?” The milky gray eyes pleaded.

  Did she detect a glimmer of hope there? “Yes. He will be all right.” She went on not knowing how she could justify making that statement. “It’s all right, Clara. You can go on.” She kept her voice low, not that anyone was around. Only the rain drummed against the glass. Damn, but it was cold in here!

  After a moment of consideration, the ghost of Clara faded at the edges as her form blended into the drabness of the day taking the rope with her. The last thing Emma saw was a faint smile and her lips forming, “thank you.”

  She stared at the empty spot and sudden tears stung her eyes. A sob escaped her at the overwhelming pain Clara Massie had clung to for so long and hoped the tortured spirit would finally find peace. Again, she wondered who she
had been in life — a maid who was employed here at one time? Her dress was plain, but she wore no apron, or pinafore, as they called them, nor a cap. She could have been an attractive young woman, though given her current state and how she died, it was hard to be sure.

  The temperature in the hothouse gradually warmed and for that, she was grateful. If the spirit had gone, then Adam would have one less chore to attend to.

  Still shaken by the experience, Emma took a seat at a table in the back. Is this what she could expect from now on? Maybe in time she would get used to ghosts popping in and out of her life though she wasn’t quite there yet. This one had freaked her out, and it was exhausting. Blimey, as the locals were fond of saying.

  The day brightened, and the rain tapered off to a patter, so she left the hothouse and sprinted up the path to the side door. The familiarity around every corner was both comforting and spooky. She wasn’t expecting to run into anyone and stifled a scream when she crashed into Adam when he emerged from the service doorway. Still wearing his work clothes, he had just cleaned up and was on his way to check his email.

  “Blimey! Are you all right?” His hands held her shoulders and his gaze studied her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Would you believe me if I said I did?”

  “I don’t know.” He said taken aback by her reply. “It isn’t a possibility I’ve considered. Why? Did you see something peculiar?”

  Emma struggled with her response. Would he think her a whack-job if she told him? On what was probably her last day, she didn’t want to risk alienating the person who had been most kind to her.

  “All right, confess. You saw something, didn’t you?” He searched her eyes. “I promise to have an open mind.” He added when she still hesitated and led her to his office.

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” She started reluctantly.

  He closed the door behind them and indicated a chair, but she was too restless to sit. Watching her with curiosity as he leaned against his desk, his hands on the edge, his body language confirmed he was receptive, which helped. Gathering her thoughts, she hoped her next words would not ruin their friendship, but this ability had become a part of her life. She had to get used to it herself.

  “There was a ghost in the hothouse. It’s why you had the temperature fluctuations.”

  “I see.” His brows drew together, but he didn’t dismiss the idea.

  “It may be over now, but time will tell.”

  “That would be brilliant. I’ve been at my wits end trying to sort it out.”

  “I thought that might cheer you up.” She gave a half smile.

  “How were you able to see it?”

  Oh, where to start? “It’s a recent development from something that happened in our manor. It has always been haunted, at least for the past hundred years or so, since Amelia’s death. The last time I was there, a spirit had issues with me, so, long story short, I can see them now.”

  “Hmm.” His brows drew together again deciding whether to believe her.

  He hadn’t shrugged it off, and she felt hopeful.

  “So, this spirit was wandering in the hothouse?”

  “Hanging around would be more on point.” He sat straighter, and she continued. Maybe he didn’t consider her a flake. “She was a young woman, brunette and probably from the late Victorian times, possibly a maid, but I don’t think so. She hanged herself from a beam over the fountain.”

  He was listening, and she went on. “Poor Clara was so worried about her son.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but his jaw seemed to tense.

  “She told you her name?”

  “I asked. She didn’t exactly volunteer information. Her name was Clara Massie, and she regretted what she’d done. She had been worrying about her child and suffering for a very long time.”

  For a while he considered what she’d told him. “I’m gobsmacked.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Is that a good thing?” Emma asked uncertain. Her knowledge of the local lingo had its limitations.

  “Yes. It means I’m amazed.”

  Emma blew out a sigh of relief. “Good. Then you don’t think I’m a flake?”

  “No. Not at all.” He slipped off the desk and wandered to the bookcase. He perused the books absently before speaking.

  “I heard something about a death in the manor a long time ago, but never the specifics.” He shook his head. “I had no idea she killed herself. None whatsoever. Never mind here.” He seemed to be talking to himself.

  Emma watched him curious. This was not a reaction she had expected.

  He was about to add more when the phone rang rousing him. “Sorry.” He said turning back to his desk.

  “I should go.”

  He picked it up, but his eyes were on her, his expression troubled.

  She mouthed “later” and closed the door. Had she brought up bad memories? How could she? Clara died over a hundred years ago. What could her death have to do with him? Maybe it was the way he reacted to her knowing about the incident. They could talk about it more later.

  All the way to her room, Emma hoped she had not stirred up trouble with her ghost story. Sometimes everyone was better off leaving the past behind, providing it allowed that luxury.

  His reaction nevertheless puzzled her. Was Clara a name he recognized from somewhere? Was she somehow implicated with the Everdons to have hanged herself in their hothouse, or was it a matter of convenience? Just when she thought the creepiness was solely with her house, it crept up here as well. She was afraid to know which Everdon could have been associated with this tragedy. To escape those thoughts, she turned to her laptop surprised to find a message from Simcoe and Andrews, including an attachment. Given her busy day, the morning phone call had slipped her mind.

  She opened it and gasped at the size of the document. Mrs. Higgins wasn’t kidding; the thing was a monster stuffed with ancient details and more recent additions. Emma scrolled from the beginning. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad since she had an idea of what she wanted to find, which were the original terms of the Trust and who had the final word in all things. Unfortunately, her interest in these matters had never been a priority. As far as she was concerned, it had always run itself, which she could now see was nonsense. Someone issued instructions, and another person carried them out. At least she would learn where she fit in and scanned the pages for her name.

  An hour later, she was better informed and surprised — as of seven months ago, she had signing authority. In fact, her mother could no longer make decisions on her own with only her signature. This was news. When was mum going to mention this development? Was it possible she had tried? Emma moved on skimming over pages of dry, boring legalese. At some point, her eyelids drooped and making sure of the hour, forged ahead.

  What she sought had been instated a long time ago, and when scans of dogeared handwritten documents appeared, she sighed in relief — finally, she was getting close! With renewed energy, she pored over hundred-year-old copies until she arrived at great-great uncle Mason’s name. The discoveries nothing less than shocked her.

  ~*~

  Emma stared at the laptop for some time after the screen saver appeared, then wandered to the window on stiff legs. The details pertaining to her position surprised her, but the rest left her mind reeling and she had no idea what to think about it or how to deal with what she had learned. Was it possible Adam didn’t know the true nature of the Everdon and Kinsley families’ connection? No, he couldn’t or he would have said something early on when they met. His reaction to her mention of Clara Massie now made sense and once again — which shouldn’t come as a surprise, Mason was responsible.

  Conflicting emotions about her relation troubled her. He hadn’t been a bad man, but the consequences of his decisions had
left others floundering in their wake. She’d need to think through how to handle this situation, loath to be the next Everdon to mess things up for another, especially one she liked and with whom a fun and delightful evening lay ahead. She was not about to ruin it and vowed to push all else from her mind. Everything could wait one more day as long as she kept her feelings to herself. This kind of discovery was not something to blurt out. For now, the most monumental decision was which dress to wear. Done with pink and white, her new additions were sapphire and emerald. Her personality wasn’t suited to pastels which left her feeling blah. She always did well in blue and chose that dress and the more sensible heels.

  “You clean up very nicely, Mr. Kinsley.”

  “Thank you, Miss Emma.” He shot his sleeves, James Bond style sending Emma’s heart fluttering and extended his hand. “And you look positively ravishing.”

  “So, where are we off to this evening?” She collected herself.

  “It’s a surprise.” He said leading her to the front door and the waiting classic car.

  “I see you fixed it.”

  “Actually, I was counting on you to push it along.”

  Emma laughed and swatted his arm playfully. “It could take a while to get there considering my upper body strength.”

  He closed the door when she settled in and came around. “We can take turns.”

  “In that case, I hope we don’t have far to go.”

  “We don’t, just in case. I’m only joshing.” He laughed. “You’ll see it is a rather unique spot, one of my favorites. A bloke I know started it up two years ago and he’s booked for weeks ahead. He owed me one.” He winked.

  “I can’t wait.”

  The canvas top was up so her hair wouldn’t be a mess on arrival, and they wouldn’t have to shout over the wind to be heard. The engine growled along the country road where after a few miles, he turned onto a narrower lane.

  “Now don’t let first impressions misguide you.” He warned.