Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Martha Earnshaw, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?’

  ‘Aye, I will.’

  Emily watched from the back of the church with her siblings. Charlotte and Branwell were in charge of taking the collection, and it was Emily and Anne’s duty to distribute then re-collect the prayer books and hymnals before and after every service; whatever the service may be: wedding, funeral, christening or Holy Communion. It was a nice change to attend a wedding, the most common service by far was the funeral.

  Emily was glad to see Harry wed before she left for her teaching post at Law Hill. She knew he’d been holding out to wed her, but had finally given up hope. A pity, she mused, if I am to have a husband, Harry may have been a tolerable one. But better to have a teaching life, than be a stonemason’s wife, that’s what Papa says. Maybe I’ll find a husband on the moors one day.

  Emily’s attention was brought back to the church as the congregation stood to sing. It was her favourite hymn, All Creatures of our God and King, and she joined in with gusto until Charlotte elbowed her in the side, and she lowered her voice to a more melodious tone.

  Martha looks lovely, Emily thought when the hymn was over. Not like her usual slovenly self at all. The bride wore a new cotton gown, especially made for the occasion. It would have taken the Earnshaws a couple of years to save up for the material, but was worth it. A lovely earthy pattern of dark red stripes on a gold background, it would likely be Martha’s best dress for the rest of her life, worn for every special occasion.

  I hope they’ve been able to leave plenty of spare material at the seams, Emily thought. If Martha’s anything like her mam, she’ll be needing to let it out plenty afore too long.

  Emily breathed deeply as the distinctive, fresh smell of wild garlic wafted over her. Garlic for courage and health, she thought and squinted at Martha’s bridal bouquet to see which other flowers she’d chosen; what her hopes for the future were.

  Gorse: endearing affection. Emily scowled, that wasn’t Martha at all. Maybe Harry had given her that. White heather for dreams to come true, honeysuckle for the bond of love, and of course pussy willow for motherhood. Hence all the garlic. Babies rarely saw their first birthday, and nearly half of those that did would not see their seventh.

  Papa’s certain it’s the wells. If water stinks that much outside, what does it do to us inside?

  Emily smiled at Harry as the couple passed, genuinely happy for her friend, then recoiled at the strength of Martha’s glare.

  The two had never got on, not even as girls, but Emily hadn’t paid too much attention. She didn’t care what the village girls thought of her.

  They had never hated each other though, but that’s what Emily saw in Martha’s face as she walked out of the church, her new husband on her arm: a deep, malevolent hatred. And something else too. Triumph?

  ***

  Verity jerked awake, her fists clenched, heart racing. But not for love, her heart was racing in anger.

  Her breathing calmed as she grew aware of her surroundings and century. The dream had seemed so real, and that was William who’d been getting married – for all he was called Harry in her dreams.

  Verity’s gut twisted at the thought. Jealousy? Am I seriously jealous from dreaming about a man I don’t know getting married over a hundred years ago?

  She threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed. This is getting ridiculous. Even more ridiculous when she caught herself hoping that Harry would visit her in the shower again.

  6.

  ‘It’s not good enough, Gary,’ Vikram said into the phone. ‘You and Omar swore to me you’d be fit for work this week.’

  He listened a moment, then, ‘Food poisoning, my arse. Alcohol poisoning more like. Just get here when you can – I don’t care how much your head hurts.’

  He hung up with a curse, then winced and apologised for his language when he saw Hannah.

  ‘Problem?’ I inquired.

  ‘The labourers have hangovers,’ he said. ‘It’ll slow us down some.’ He indicated the two men standing behind him with cups of tea. ‘Both Pramod and Darren are qualified plumbers, and now they’ll have to work together on one en-suite rather than getting on with two.’

  I shot an enquiring glance at Lara, then said, ‘Can we help? If it’s labourers you need, we’re more than happy to help out – we can fetch and carry with the best of them.’

  Lara laughed. ‘Yes, we’d been planning to visit the museum but it’s closed until after New Year. We have the day free if you can use us.’ She stared innocently at Vikram as he blushed.

  ‘Well ... if you’re sure ...’ He hesitated and looked to his colleagues, then shrugged. ‘If you two can help Pramod, I’ll help Darren. We’ll be laying pipe for the bathroom suites, and connecting everything up.’

  ‘Like the pipes game on your phone, Mum,’ Hannah butted in.

  ‘Well, something like that,’ Vikram said. ‘It shouldn’t be all day, with any luck, those two layabouts will drag themselves here at some point. They’ll need to earn some dosh for their next pub crawl! You’ll need safety gear though, hard hat, high-vis vest and steel toecaps.’ He paused and stroked his chin.

  ‘Steel toecaps? Do those come with heels?’

  Vikram stared at Lara, for a moment lost for words, then he seemed to decide she was joking. ‘I should have enough gear in the van, but I don’t think I’ll have anything to fit you, lass.’

  Hannah looked crestfallen.

  ‘Not to worry, Hans. It’ll be all dirty and dusty,’ Lara said. ‘You wouldn’t like it. Why don’t you go up to Auntie Verity’s rooms and do some colouring?’

  ‘I want to read,’ she replied, lips pouting in a sulk.

  ‘Okay, I’ll pop over to the hotel and get a book. Which one do you want?’

  ‘Gangsta Granny.’

  I raised my eyebrows at the title, then followed Vikram to the van as Lara and Hannah crossed the road to the White Lion.

  ‘I was sorry to intrude on Christmas Eve,’ Vikram said.

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t worry about it, you weren’t the one intruding.’

  ‘The ex?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  I gave a smile that I knew barely touched my cheeks. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. He won’t be back in a hurry.’

  ‘Is that a good thing?’

  ‘Definitely.’ This time my smile was genuine.

  He nodded and clambered into the back of his van, emerging with an armful of safety gear. ‘Boots’ll be a bit on the big side, you’ll have to stuff socks in them or summat.’

  ‘No problem, it’s not as if we’ll be walking far. Oh, you’ve got three hats, Hannah will be chuffed!’

  ‘Aye, three vests an’all. It’ll be too long for her, but at least she won’t feel left out.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve three nippers of my own, I know how they get.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you had children.’ I mentally kicked myself; his private life was none of my business.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t see enough of them, though.’

  We were interrupted by the return of Lara and Hannah, who immediately cheered up with the presentation of a hard hat and a fluorescent yellow vest, then we turned to go back inside.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Vikram said. ‘Sorry,’ he added with a glance at Lara. ‘Again.’

  ‘She’s heard worse,’ Lara said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He pointed. ‘The rooks again. I’ve not known them roost on the buildings before – they tend to stick to the graveyard, away from folk. Well, living folk, anyroad,’ he amended.

  ‘Yes, I was meaning to mention that to you. Can you put up netting or spikes, some
thing to keep them away? As soon as possible.’

  ‘Aye, no problem. It’ll have to be in the New Year though, when I’ve got a full team back.’

  ‘That should be okay – as long as it’s before guests start arriving.’

  He nodded. ‘You know, it’s said they’re lost souls.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d heard something about that.’

  ‘Aye, unable to find their way to peace, that’s why they congregate in graveyards.’

  I shivered and noticed Hannah step closer to her mother, pressing against Lara’s side. Vikram must have seen too.

  ‘Load of superstitious nonsense,’ he said, his tone brighter. ‘Shouldn’t have brought it up. Right, are you ladies ready to go to work?’

  ***

  ‘I am absolutely exhausted,’ Lara said, collapsing on to one of the camping chairs.

  ‘Hey, watch it, you’re filthy.’

  ‘I’ll clean it later.’

  I took pity on her. ‘Tell you what, grab a quick shower and change, and I’ll treat you and Hannah to lunch as a thank you for this morning.’

  ‘Done,’ Lara said. She held her hands out. ‘Drag me off this chair and I’ll do that.’

  I laughed, grabbed her hands and hauled her to her feet. ‘You’ve only done two hours’ work, and most of that was sitting and holding pipes in place!’

  ‘Harder than it looks,’ Lara said. ‘Right, Hans, are you coming with me or staying here with Auntie Verity?’

  Hannah cast a disdainful look over her mother’s dust-laden and generally grimy appearance and stuck her nose back into her book. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Lara and I grinned at each other, then went our separate ways in search of cleanliness.

  ‘Meet you in the Black Bull?’

  ‘Half an hour.’

  As it transpired, Hannah and I passed the Old White Lion just as Lara emerged.

  ‘You look like a new woman,’ I said.

  ‘Good job too. You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.’

  Giggling at Hannah’s eye roll, we linked arms and followed Hannah to the Black Bull and lunch.

  I stopped dead as soon as I stepped through the interior door.

  ‘Is that ... ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s the painting man,’ Hannah exclaimed and ran over to him. ‘Hello, have you painted my picture yet?’

  William Sutcliffe glanced down at her, stared a moment, then raised his eyes to mine. He lifted his hand to his flat cap and tweaked it, then regarded Hannah once more, tilting his head first one way then the other.

  ‘Not yet, lassie, but one day. Setting has to be right, though.’

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, he’s going to paint me!’

  ‘That’s lovely, Hans.’ She raised her eyebrow at William, and he shrugged.

  ‘She’s persuasive, that one.’

  Lara relaxed. ‘Yes, she certainly can be.’

  He turned his attention to me. ‘Ms Earnshaw.’ He touched his cap again.

  ‘Mr Sutcliffe.’

  ‘I’ll be seeing you later as agreed?’

  I nodded, then followed Lara and Hannah to a table.

  ‘Seeing him later?’ Lara asked.

  ‘He wants to come and see The Rookery,’ I reminded her. ‘To get an idea of where his pictures will hang.’

  ‘It seems a bit early for that.’ Lara pursed her lips, but amusement shone in her eyes.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Lara,’ I said, ‘can I ask you a serious question?’

  ‘Of course, what is it?’

  ‘How can he be a ghost if he’s flesh and blood?’

  ‘Why, Verity,’ Lara laughed, ‘he can’t be. You must have seen him on one of your trips here before you moved in, he’s made an impression on your subconscious and that’s why he’s popping up in your dreams.’

  ‘No. No, that’s not it, it’s more than that. Besides, if I’d seen him, I’d have remembered.’ I blushed at the lifting of Lara’s eyebrows, then recovered myself.

  ‘There are at least three ghosts, right? The Grey Lady and the two orbs.’

  Lara nodded.

  ‘Because of the dreams and what else has happened – Jayne being pushed, Christmas Eve when Antony was here, last night ...’ I tailed off then gathered my thoughts, grateful that Lara had the patience to wait for me. ‘Well, how can he be a ghost if he’s standing right there?’

  ‘He can’t.’

  ‘So what is he?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Lara said, and reached over to grasp my hand. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t. We don’t even know that the man you’ve been dreaming of is one of the orbs. At least we know the Grey Lady and the orbs don’t mean you harm.’

  ‘How do we know that?’

  ‘They still appeared after we’d cleansed and protected The Rookery. They’re not evil or demonic.’

  I stared at her in shock.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Verity. Those orbs were white light, and the sense around the Grey Lady was one of peace. They’re beings of light.’

  ‘But what do they want?’

  Lara opened her mouth then shut it again. She had no answer.

  I looked up in time to see William tip his cap to me again and leave the pub.

  7.

  William Sutcliffe eyed me from head to toe, then frowned at the birds overhead and pushed past me into The Rookery.

  ‘I’m going to dinner with Lara and Hannah when we’ve finished here,’ I said, then mentally berated myself. Why on earth was I explaining my outfit to this man? Although, I had to admit, I hadn’t chosen my V-neck dress for Lara ...

  ‘Uh huh,’ he said, scanning me once more, then he lifted his eyes to take in the building site that was still my foyer. ‘Still got a bit of work to be getting on with.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’re getting the en-suites sorted at the moment, then the plasterers and decorators can take over.’

  ‘It’ll take time for the plaster to dry.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s all in hand, the schedule’s been devised for an Easter opening.’

  He nodded. ‘Are you going to give me the tour then?’

  I bit my lip, wondering if he was being deliberately rude or if this was his habitual manner. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

  ‘These will be the public rooms,’ I began. ‘Lounge area there, reception desk, then breakfast room through there.’

  ‘And will you have pictures on all the walls?’

  ‘All but that one and the corner.’ I pointed. ‘Those will be covered with book shelves.’

  ‘I see.’ He looked at me expectantly.

  He was older than the man in my dreams, I suddenly realised, his skin more weathered and tanned. The eyes and the shock of curly dark hair were the same, though – apart from the threads of grey at his temples.

  He still hadn’t shaved, and the stubble was nearly long enough to be called a beard. I wondered if my dream man had the same need to shave so often, then realised I was staring.

  I tried to hide my blush by rushing towards the stairway. His smirk told me he had noticed my colour.

  ‘There will be one bedroom through here.’ I placed my hand on the wall. ‘They’ll knock through and partition it off from the existing kitchen, but it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.’

  ‘Double or single?’

  ‘Double with wetroom, and accessible for a wheelchair.’

  He nodded, then pushed past me to the stairs.

  ‘What will be down here?’ he asked, indicating the first corridor.

  ‘Housekeeping cupboards, then a single room at the end. Branwell’s Room.’

  He cocked an eyebrow in question.

  ‘I’m calling each room by the name of a Brontë sibling. Charlotte’s will be the room downstairs, Emily’s and Anne’s will be doubles on the next landing, then Elizabeth and Maria’s at the top.’

  ‘I thought you said five bedrooms.’<
br />
  ‘Yes, Elizabeth and Maria’s will be a twin.’

  He said nothing, but opened the door to Branwell’s Room and crossed to the window.

  We were at the front of the building, away from the parsonage, and looking out over the rolling, green hills of the Worth Valley.

  ‘You’ll be able to see at least six mills from here when it’s light,’ William said. ‘An image of the mill race and waterwheel would look well there, then a study of the mill floor on that wall.’

  ‘I was thinking more of Brontë landscapes.’

  ‘You can’t have the Brontës without the mills,’ he said. ‘The mills were a major part of life here when they lived. The whole village depended on them. It would add a bit more interest too, rather than the same old images you see everywhere. England’s dark satanic mills,’ he quoted. ‘William Blake, Jerusalem.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so – you’re the expert.’

  He nodded, pointed to the door, then brushed at his face, cursing cobwebs. He pushed up his sleeves: he meant business now, and I led the way to the next rooms, listening to his suggestions, not only on subject matter and placement, but lighting too.

  My initial shock at meeting him yesterday had morphed into a combination of suspicion, trepidation and ... fascination. Yes, that was the word; he fascinated me. Why was I dreaming about him? Or a version of him, anyway.

  ‘You know the place is haunted, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘What? Well, yes, I do as a matter of fact.’ I laughed.

  He held out his arm for me to inspect before I could elaborate.

  Cautiously, I stepped closer and gasped when I saw every hair on his arm was standing on end. I stretched out a finger to stroke the strands and was rooted to the spot by a rush of electricity.

  More energy lifted my chin – his finger, I dimly realised – and our eyes met.

  ‘That’s not static,’ he said, his voice hoarse and gruff.

  ‘No,’ I said – or tried to; my own voice was misbehaving and it came out as a whisper. ‘I don’t think it is.’

  His head lowered and my breathing accelerated. Very slowly, his lips inched closer, until his breathing was mine and mine his.