Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

  Then I remembered and spun around, my grasping hand on the tiles only just saving me from a nasty fall.

  I yanked the shower curtain back and used it to cover myself in one movement, then peered into the small bathroom as I fumbled around for the shampoo bottle. Not much of a weapon, but all I had to hand.

  I listened hard to silence as the steam cleared, then stared at empty tiles, mirror and closed door.

  There was no one there.

  12.

  Chaos had never felt so safe. Noise, people, dust, destruction, rubbish. If I couldn’t have Jayne and Lara, Keighley Building Services would do until the girls could get back to Haworth.

  I handed out mugs of strong, sweet tea and looked at what had been accomplished so far. The build team – Omar and Woody – had ripped out a couple of internal walls in the lobby, covering everything with rubble and curses.

  They had not yet managed to find a single level surface – on any plane – and had launched into a constant bicker with each other and the project manager, Vikram, about how to go about turning the drawn plans into reality.

  Sarah, or Sparkly as she seemed to be quite happy to be called, was the only female electrician within twenty miles and very proud of it. She was not taking the state of The Rookery’s wires very well; mainly because she was struggling to even find them, and she took every frustration out on poor Snoopy, her apprentice, real name Charlie Brown.

  Thick, stone walls were introducing themselves at most inopportune moments, and two hours in, nobody understood the original construction or subsequent alterations of the building.

  ‘Look at this,’ Omar said, gesturing at the architectural plans I’d had drawn up at great expense. I hung back, not wanting to get embroiled in yet another row.

  Vikram leaned in closer, a look of resignation on his face. He was a funny bloke; big features in a rugged face, and I suspected he’d get better looking as he got older and grew into his looks. But he definitely looked interesting. Tall and surprisingly strong – he’d heaved some pretty heavy loads out to the skip along with Omar and Woody – I was not quite sure where his lanky frame was hiding the muscle. I wondered what he looked like when he smiled – if he ever did. I’d seen no hint of one so far, not even in greeting.

  ‘Architect has us moving this wall ’ere, but its bloody stone. Then there’s this en-suite upstairs – I’ve got no idea how the plumbers are going to pipe it in.’

  ‘And the wiring will have to be completely redone,’ Sparkly put in. ‘And I can’t go off these plans, I’ll have to go through the whole place and find out for mesen which walls are stone and which I can work with.’

  This was beginning to sound expensive. I couldn’t just leave them to it. ‘But why are there so many issues? Surely the architects sorted all that out when they surveyed the place.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like they did survey it,’ Vikram said. ‘It looks like they’ve just gone off the plans that have been lodged with the Land Registry and not checked to see if they’re correct. And with a building this old ...’ He shrugged.

  ‘So what was the point of me paying them all that money?’

  Vikram shrugged again. ‘First off, you’ll have needed them for planning permission for the alterations, and to be honest, having architects come out to the property to survey it really would have cost a fortune.’

  ‘And we’d still probably have had to chuck it all out when the real work started,’ Omar interrupted.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll work out how to sort it, you don’t have to bother yourself,’ said Vikram.

  ‘My name’s Verity, and this is my home, business and livelihood. I will very definitely bother myself with it.’

  ‘All I meant was, we’ll work out how to sort it,’ said Vikram. ‘Verity. We’ve all grown up and spent our working lives in buildings like this. If we can’t understand the place and make it work, no one can.’

  I nodded, mollified. ‘That’s good to hear.’ Then, keen to ease the tension, I said, ‘So what do you think we should do about that wall?’ I pointed at Omar’s most urgent problem: the stone wall that bisected my proposed reception area.

  ‘Give us a minute, love. Verity,’ Vikram corrected, glancing up at me.

  I gave him a small smile and he held my gaze a moment, then returned his attention back to the plans and room.

  ‘Well, we can’t knock it down,’ he said at last. ‘It’s original and solid – it’s been there over a hundred and fifty years, and ain’t shifting without some serious resistance.’

  ‘So we need to work around it,’ Omar said.

  ‘How about instead of having your reception area against that front wall, you move it there.’ Vikram pointed to the left of the back wall. ‘Then that wall can stay and we can widen the doorway into an arch,’ more pointing, ‘and you’ve still got room for seating and stuff there and there. Would that work?’ He looked to Omar and Sparkly first for approval before turning back to me.

  I walked to the doorway in the problem wall and looked into the space that would have to house my guests’ breakfast room. ‘It’s a bit tight. I need five tables with chairs as well as a buffet table, and I don’t want everyone on top of each other.’ I looked at the far wall. ‘It might work if that’s moved back.’

  Vikram sighed, strode to the latest offending wall, knocked on it a couple of times then opened the door to examine the other side. ‘It’s timber and plasterboard,’ he said. ‘It can be done, but it’ll mean a smaller kitchen.’

  ‘I realise that. But I’ll only be cooking breakfasts, not three-course dinners as the restaurant did.’

  ‘Don’t forget we’ll be putting a bedroom in over there.’ Vikram pointed again.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ I took a deep breath and did my best to speak builder. ‘If this wall was moved back two feet, and with the new room and en-suite at that end, what would the dimensions of the new kitchen be?’

  ‘Omar?’ Vikram barked, clearly not amused to be challenged.

  ‘Well, if we put the new wall in here,’ Omar laid a batten on the floor, ‘and the wall for the new bedroom will come to— Hang on a minute.’ He nipped back into the lobby, presumably to check the plans, then reappeared and paced, thinking hard. ‘Here.’ He placed another batten, then turned and spread his arms. ‘This will be your kitchen.’

  I looked at the large space, then up at Vikram. ‘Perfect. We’ll do that, then. Can I leave it with you? I have a few errands to run.’

  Vikram nodded – still no smile – but Woody grinned at me as I escaped.

  It would take more than two months to be ready for guests, and I was ready to pull my hair out after two hours. I couldn’t do this alone.

  I fished my mobile out of my bag and dialled. ‘Jayne? Tell me again why this was a good idea ...’

  13.

  ‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,’ I muttered as I drove down West Lane. Builder’s vans and skips had taken over and there was nowhere to park. Not the best way to introduce myself to the neighbours.

  I drove on, crawling down the almost vertical Main Street, managing not to hit any of the winter tourists – even though a fair few of them didn’t realise it was a functioning road with actual traffic – and made my way back round to the top of the village. I’d have to park in the museum car park and unload the car later.

  I glanced over at the rear gable of The Rookery and walked in the other direction. I simply could not face Vikram and his army yet. Maybe later – when they knocked off for the day. His comment about not bothering myself tickled at my memory, but I shoved it away.

  I continued walking. Past the parsonage and into the graveyard. It seemed quiet, peaceful. The odd tourist was wandering around, but the bustle of village life was absent. Best of all: no builders.

  I sat and sighed, feeling my shoulders physically drop as I relaxed. Then I jumped as my phone beeped.

  Embarrassed, I fumbled it out of my bag, pulled off my glove, and checked the text. Antony. I
’m sorry about last night. I didn’t want to argue. I miss you. Call me xx

  I stared at it then switched the phone off. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Did he not realise how deeply he’d hurt me? How much I was still hurting? Every reminder of him and his betrayal just made it worse. I shoved away the memories of that night and what might have been, took a deep breath, and looked around me; searching for the calm that had descended on me when I first sat down; furious with myself that despite it all, I missed him too.

  The clop of horses’ hoofs broke into my reverie and I smiled – that was such a sound of the past. I realised I couldn’t hear any cars or any other noise denoting the twenty-first century, just the buzz of insects, the horses, and a cock crowing. Even the distant voices could have come from the age of the Brontës.

  I sniffed. No exhaust; no ozone; just damp fresh earth with a hint of something familiar. A distinctive smell I recognised. I’d smelled it the first morning I’d woken in my new home: wild garlic. In December? I dismissed the discrepancy as the bare trees above rattled their smaller branches in response to a gust of wind, and a rabbit shot across the path in front of me as if being chased by a ferret.

  The millstone grit slabs of stone themselves stayed stoic, whether laid on the ground or standing upright in rows. Each was a different shape, a different design, and heavily carved, but all were of a similar imposing size. Indifferent custodians of the dead.

  I shivered when I remembered 44,000 people were believed to have been buried in this vastly inadequate patch of earth; far too many of them children. I counted the names on the nearest upright stone. Twelve. Twelve people in one grave. I shuddered, remembering Lara’s question about how deep these graves must be. Had they dug it deeper every time there was a death in the family? How often in the past had this cemetery been scattered with rotting coffins as more room was cut out of the earth below?

  Was my dream man one of them? Were his bones commemorated by one of these stones? Had those forceful eyes rotted away into the earth beneath my feet?

  I caught a movement between the stones – a flash of white. Him? I stared. There it was again, but too far away to make sense of it. Then again, in the other direction.

  I shook my head. This was getting ridiculous; at best I was descending into a world of fantasy and ghosts, at worst I was losing my mind.

  Startled, I looked up as the rooks took wing as one, lifting from the skeletal treetops in reaction to some unseen threat.

  I shivered as I realised they had done so silently – with no cawing of warning or intention – before settling once more in their roosts. Somehow it felt a portent.

  I shook myself, ashamed of being so melodramatic, and I glanced around at the stone sculptures surrounding me. Well, no wonder my imagination is running away with me in here.

  I stood and belatedly realised my bench was in fact an altar grave. I silently apologised to the occupants and peered at the worn letters.

  After a few moments, I picked out cliff and my heart leaped. Heathcliff, really? I sank to my knees and activated the flashlight app on my phone, then shone it from the side to pick out the rest of the letters in the winter’s afternoon gloom.

  Not Heathcliff, Sutcliffe.

  I hung my head and snorted with laughter at my ridiculous assumption, then got back to my feet and went home.

  ***

  I shouldered open my front door, cursing at the shopping bag straps digging into my arms and shoulders, then swore more violently as Woody barged into me and sent me flying.

  He didn’t even stop to apologise, never mind help me up or pick up the food and wallpaper samples now scattered over the dusty, rubble-strewn floor.

  ‘What the hell?’ I shouted at Vikram as he rushed in to see what all the noise was about. ‘Your bloke just shoved me over! What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m sorry, love, I don’t know what’s got into him. One minute he was measuring up, the next he bolted.’

  I rubbed my elbow, then pushed up my sleeve to try and examine it, but couldn’t see.

  Vikram took hold of my arm. ‘That’ll bruise, you should get some ice on it.’

  I snatched my arm back. ‘One of your staff assaults me, and that’s all you have to say?’

  Vikram stared at me. ‘Don’t worry, love, I’m sure it was an accident, but I will deal with him, don’t doubt that. Are you hurt anywhere else?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’ I was mortified to hear my voice shake, and stepped forward, but winced and rubbed my hip. ‘Spoke too soon.’ I tried to smile. It was a poor attempt.

  ‘Get yourself upstairs and pour yourself a nip of summat. I’ll bring this lot up.’

  ‘What’s happened? Is everything all right?’ Sparkly appeared at the door to the stairs.

  ‘Where’s Woody buggered off to? What’s going on?’ Omar said, pushing past her.

  ‘I dunno, he just bolted, knocked Verity over.’

  ‘What? Are you okay?’ Sparkly asked.

  ‘What’s he done that for?’ Omar said. ‘What’s got into the lad?’

  ‘I’m fine, just a bit shaken,’ I answered Sparkly.

  ‘Dunno,’ Vikram repeated to Omar. ‘He never said a word, just ran. But he was as white as a sheet.’

  ‘I’ll go after him, find out what’s up.’

  Vikram nodded and bent to gather up my shopping as Sparkly led the way upstairs, asking new questions with every step.

  That nip of something Vikram had mentioned was getting more and more tempting, and I found myself praying the bottles had survived the tumble.

  14.

  I stared at the ceiling, alternately willing sleep to come, then doing my utmost to stay awake when I felt my eyelids falter. I desperately wanted my dream man to visit again, but at the same time he scared me. When my lids finally closed I remembered the caress in the shower this morning and snapped awake.

  If I wasn’t already going mad, it wouldn’t take much longer at this rate.

  I drifted awake, becoming aware that I must have succumbed, but with no idea how long ago. The mixture of relief and disappointment I felt at not having dreamt dissipated in a flash. Was that a footstep? And another?

  I tried to move, but once again was paralysed, helpless to do anything but listen and wait.

  There was no doubt now: footsteps climbed the stairs, growing louder and resonating deeper the closer they came.

  They were in my apartment now, approaching the room where I slept. I cast my mind back, wondering if I’d closed my bedroom door – I didn’t think I had.

  A floorboard creaked – that was in my room!

  I still could not even open my eyes, never mind move my limbs, and now my breath faltered too. I focused on expanding my chest then pushing the air back out, trying to dismiss the creaking footsteps as imagination.

  My breath caught and I forgot to expel it. My mattress had dipped as if someone had sat on the edge of my bed. My chest strained, but I still did not breathe, then I felt fingers brush my cheek and I let out the stale air with a yell and sat up.

  I scrambled to switch on the bedside light and stared around the room – eyes wide and breath now panting in and out of my abused lungs. No one. The room was empty.

  I bolted out of bed, showered with no further incident, dressed and was downstairs fifteen minutes later. I’d get breakfast from the closest café.

  ***

  When I got back to The Rookery, Vikram and the build team were waiting for me. The expected complaints didn’t come as I let them in, instead Vikram introduced the new face amongst them.

  ‘This is Gary, he’ll be working with Omar to replace Woody.’

  ‘Morning, Gary, pleased to meet you.’ I held up my hands full of coffee and bacon butty to indicate I couldn’t shake, but he wasn’t bothered.

  ‘Hiya, mush. That smells good.’

  Mush?

  Sparkly saw my expression and laughed. ‘And you thought “love” was bad! Best just to ignore them – I’ve been tryin
g to train them for years, I’d have better luck with pit bulls.’

  I smiled, still too shaken by this morning’s rude awakening to get upset about the pet name.

  ‘Pit bulls are very intelligent,’ I said with a smile and Sparkly gave a very loud, very throaty laugh that had the men grinning along.

  ‘So what happened to Woody?’ I asked.

  ‘He saw the Grey Lady,’ Sparkly said. ‘Freaked him out – he doesn’t believe in ghosts.’

  ‘Sparkly!’ Vikram admonished. ‘I thought we’d agreed—’

  Sparkly flapped her hand at him. ‘She’ll find out eventually, and it’s not as if she’s evil or anything. Woody’s just a wimp. Verity, are you okay?’ Her tone changed. ‘You’ve gone as white as Woody did.’

  ‘Just get to work, all of you,’ Vikram barked. He dragged a sawhorse closer. ‘Here, sit on this.’

  I nodded at him gratefully and perched on the paint-splattered trestle.

  ‘You’ve seen something too, haven’t you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, ignoring Grasper’s antics with the orbs, then to moderate the lie, added, ‘but I’ve felt things, and had dreams. What did Woody see?’

  ‘The Grey Lady – he’s not the only one, plenty have seen her over the years, here and in the row of cottages next door. She’s said to be Emily Brontë.’

  ‘Yes, the waitress in the White Lion said something about that.’ But if The Rookery is haunted by Emily Brontë, Who’s the man with the dark eyes? I thought but did not say.

  ‘Oh Tess, yeah, she loves all the ghost stories, does amateur ghost hunts and puts stuff on YouTube. There’s not much evidence it is Emily, to be honest, just that she’s only seen at this time of year, and she wears the right era clothing – big bonnet with a bow, full gown, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Why grey? That was a mourning colour wasn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Vikram screwed his mouth up. ‘People say there’s a grey haze around her, which is where the name comes from.’