by Mina Carter
“Would you like to know anything else?” the woman asked.
“I’m not sure I can cope with hearing any more just yet,” Becky replied with a weak smile. “Thank you for your time, Mrs . . . ?”
“Hanham. Elise Hanham.”
“Thank you, Mrs Hanham. Can I call in another day and talk to you?”
“I’ll give you my address. I only come here one day a week. You’re lucky you caught me when you did. I was about to go home.”
Taking her leave of Mrs Hanham after getting her address and phone number, Becky strolled back out of the little museum and looked across at the Minster. On the grass beside it, small family groups were sat around enjoying the last gasp of summer.
After asking a passer-by for the way to a supermarket, Becky made her way towards the shop. The supermarket had a view across the small, shallow river to the garden of the museum. Becky thought the garden looked like a lovely place to be on a hot day and decided to go back with her family at the weekend so they could have a bit more of a look around.
With a couple of plastic bags of groceries to keep her going, Becky returned to her car, intending to go back to the house, but then decided to take a quick look at the Minster before she went.
Wimborne Minster wasn’t the largest religious building she’d seen, but it was larger than she would have expected in such a small town. It had its claim to British history too. King Ethelred of Wessex was buried there, as were the grandparents of Henry VII. She found out the chained library was only one of four remaining in the world.
Having had her fill of history, Becky returned to Frippe House.
Letting herself inside the house was a strange experience. It almost felt as if it wasn’t as empty as it should be. Maybe it was because of all she’d learned about the house’s past. A lot had happened there and the emotions of betrayal and despair seemed to be lingering in every inch of the place.
In the large kitchen, she put her supplies away. She was relieved she’d thought to get the electricity reconnected before coming down. The fridge was old and made some rather alarming noises when she switched it back on, but it still cooled.
Deciding she needed to sort out where she would sleep, Becky headed up the wooden staircase and wandered around each of the bedrooms, thinking about which ones Dan, Imy and her mother would use when they arrived. She decided to leave Alice’s alone for a while. For herself, she settled on a smaller bedroom that had a lovely view of the garden. Standing by the window, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared out absently, letting her mind roam over all she had learned. Mostly, she thought about Agatha. She wished her grandmother was still alive to fill in some of the gaps. Becky wanted to know how being seduced at such a young age had affected Agatha, also how she had gone about telling Alice what had happened with Roland.
Shaking herself, Becky left the bedroom and headed back downstairs to look around some of the rooms. She wanted to start sorting out what to keep and what to clear from the house. Now she couldn’t offload the place, she was thinking about how it should look for renting out. She headed first to the library, thinking she would clear a space where she could stack the books to be got rid of.
Starting with what looked like the oldest books, she took the first one in a set off the shelf and opened the front cover, reading the old print inside. It was Dickens’ Oliver Twist, printed in eighteen thirty-eight. The cover was a fairly plain red cloth. Becky had an inkling it might be worth a reasonable amount, maybe a few hundred?
Pulling out her phone, she did a quick online search, and sat down in a hurry. There was an almost identical one on a dealer’s site priced at twenty thousand pounds. She checked the bookshelf and confirmed it was the same three volume edition. That amount would see Dan through uni! If there were any more like it, there would be enough to pay for him to have a pretty good gap year too. At the moment, he was working full time to save up before continuing his education.
Very carefully, Becky replaced the book on the shelf and sat down to compose an email to the dealer, asking if someone could come and check through the library. After that, Becky didn’t dare touch any more of the old books and stuck to sorting through the newer ones only.
At the end of an hour, Becky had two distinct piles on the floor, and the one of books to keep was much larger than the pile of books to clear out. Sighing as she contemplated how many months of reading she now had ahead, she headed to the kitchen to make coffee and put a ready meal in the oven. It hadn’t occurred to her that there had been no sign of a microwave when she’d looked in the kitchen earlier.
Leaving the meal to heat, Becky took a pile of books up to the bedroom she would use so she could have a look which one to read later. An early night wouldn’t go amiss. With no television and slightly iffy internet signal on her phone, reading was all she had to do. The landline would be back on the next day, giving her internet access as soon as the equipment arrived.
After unpacking clothes a bit whilst in the bedroom, she stacked four books on the bedside table, not sure which one to start reading first, then went to look for fresh sheets for the bed. She didn’t have a clue how many years the bed had been left made up for and she wanted to be sure she was sleeping on clean bedding.
With earbuds in, she selected shuffle for the music on her phone and went off in search of a linen cupboard. She found it along the hall and sniffed the sheets inside, checking which smelled least stale. Maybe finding a launderette would be on her to-do list for the next day.
With her bed made and books ready and waiting to be perused, Becky returned to the kitchen and served up her meal. She ate still listening to music, then cleaned up quickly. After that, she decided to have a look around the garden. It would be light for a couple more hours, so she could take her time and find out just what she had been pushed into taking on.
Having found several bottles of wine in the large pantry, she poured herself a glass of red and took it with her to the garden. Apart from a few flower beds immediately around the house, the garden was all lawn, shrubs and trees. It could probably be kept tidy with a ride-on mower, not that Becky had any idea about using one. Maybe she could set Dan on that task when he arrived. She would have to go to the solicitors’ and see if any of the funds could be accessed sooner rather than later, so she could deal with some of the more immediate needs of the monstrosity.
Turning back to look at the house, Becky jumped and a shocked gasp escaped from her.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR A SECOND, she could have sworn she saw someone at one of the upstairs windows. Then logic kicked back in and she realised it was just the way the light was hitting the slightly warped old glass. Laughing at herself, she took a sip of wine. Scaring herself when she was going to be on her own here most of the week definitely was not the way to go.
Returning to the house to refill her wine glass, Becky locked the doors and headed to what would be her bedroom for the week. Knowing an old house was bound to have a lot of creaks and groans as it cooled through the evening, she put her earbuds back in and started to investigate the furniture in the bedroom. First she opened the massive wardrobe that she suspected would have to stay where it was, and found it held a collection of fur coats. Becky hated real fur and wondered where on earth to get rid of them. In the bottom of the wardrobe was a large flat box that she pulled out and opened. Inside was a collection of men’s toiletry paraphernalia; silver backed hair brushes, plain glass and silver bottles for oils and eau de colognes, boxes containing gold and silver tie pins and cufflinks, all of them hallmarked.
Putting the box away, Becky thought she would take the collection to a local jewellers and see if they were worth anything. Maybe she would save a few bits for Dan for when he was older.
Next she investigated the large chest of drawers. In the top drawer, she found silk scarves and handkerchiefs, shirt collars and cuffs and what looked to be some decidedly vintage underwear. The next drawer down was filled with perfectly folded shirts, most
of them a slightly yellowed white. Thinking she would only find more men’s clothes, she only intended to look quickly in the third drawer down. It didn’t contain clothes. The whole drawer was full of letters and papers, and curiosity gripped her.
Kneeling on the floor, Becky began to take some of the letters out. Many of them looked like they had been written by the same person, a woman called Emily, and all of them addressed to someone called George.
Intrigued, Becky drew out one bundle of the letters. Although far from a prude, the letter made her want to blush. Though worded very discretely, there was no doubting Emily’s intentions where George was concerned. Becky wondered if they had ever married. Popping back downstairs to the library, she grabbed the notepad she’d seen on the desk and ran back up the stairs, planning to take notes of all the facts she could establish about Emily and George.
The letters were all dated eighteen eighty-seven. Emily had certainly been smitten with her beau, addressing him in flourishing and intimate terms. Becky was relieved she hadn’t lived in a time when women had had to be very circumspect about telling someone they were sexy and a shag was definitely on the cards.
After a while, it began to look like Emily’s feelings hadn’t been returned with quite the same fervour. She was constantly importuning George to take pity on her and be nicer when they met. One letter made it clear he had basically ignored her at an evening party at somewhere called Crichel House. Becky made a note of the house name, intending to ask Mrs Hanham about it next time she saw her.
It looked like that had been the last straw for Emily. Her letters took on an increasingly bitter tone. The last one was just a curt note informing George that Emily had recently become engaged to a man called John Bankes, a minor member of a local bigwig family. The Bankes family had owned a house called Kingston Lacy that Becky vaguely recalled seeing signs for when she had gone into Wimborne earlier.
“Good for you, Emily,” Becky said softly, glad the poor woman had been able to move on eventually.
There was still several more letters in the bundle and she took the next one out of its envelope. This one had been written by George. It looked like George had come to regret pushing Emily away. Maybe he’d just liked the unobtainable. Once Emily was engaged and planning her wedding, he had apparently bombarded her with letters. It looked like a lot of them had been returned unopened. As far as Becky was concerned he deserved to be ignored for being such a dick. He’d missed out on his chance.
It occurred to Becky that these letters were just as interesting as any book. She took out another bundle of them. These had been passed between George and another man called Humphrey. Their friendship seemed to have been almost embarrassingly passionate. Becky remembered that men had been a lot more physical in their friendships with each other before the Oscar Wilde trial. Back then, men would openly walk out arm in arm. Afterwards, things had changed a lot.
Settling on the bed, Becky began to read through the letters, and she soon realised there had been more to the friendship than society would have accepted. In one of them, George mentioned a night the two men had spent in a hotel. Reading between the lines, it was obvious sex had been a part of that night. Had he been bisexual in a time when such a thing was unheard of? It wasn’t easy to get a handle on who George had been. From the letters from Emily, Becky had written him off as an arse, but the letters to and from Humphrey showed there had been a lot more to the man.
Before Becky realised it, it was well after midnight. She put the letters away, quickly changed into a nightshirt and climbed into bed. As her eyes closed, she began to see Frippe House as it might have been over a century before, full of lively people all trying to hide their intrigues behind the veneer of what was considered respectable. Becky switched off the lamp beside the bed and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Waking with a start, Becky had no idea where she was for several long seconds. Then she remembered and reached out to find the bedside lamp, wondering what had woken her. The house was silent, and the lack of streetlights outside was extremely disconcerting. Having lived in a town her whole life, the lack of the perpetual orange glow at night was too odd.
Sitting up, she pushed her hair back and frowned, certain a noise had disturbed her sleep. She wasn’t going to go and look round though. It had only been the house settling, she was sure. However, she was too alert to think about getting back to sleep just yet.
Picking up one of the books, she opened the cover and found a hand-written note on the front page. It was addressed to Alice from Alexander Kennet. He’d given her the book for her birthday, though it didn’t say which one. Checking the printing date, Becky realised it would have been Alice’s last birthday.
Plumping the pillows, she started to read the first page. Above her, a timber creaked in the attic. Maybe it had been colder overnight. With a sigh, she carried on reading, ignoring the continuing creaks from the house. They might sound strange, but she knew they were all perfectly normal. It was only coincidence the odd one every so often sounded like a footstep.
Not given to superstition, Becky’s mind wouldn’t jump to any crackpot conclusions. She knew the house was empty and she was content to dismiss any noises, knowing they would have a perfectly rational explanation.
As her eyes started to feel a bit heavier, she put the book aside and switched the light off to snuggle back under the covers. The wind must have got up. Becky could hear a kind of light moaning sound. If she really listened hard, she could swear it sounded more like a voice, but that was ridiculous. It was definitely just the wind. Over by the window, she could just make out the curtain moving a tiny bit in a draft. Outside, the first hints of dawn had arrived, making the room a fraction lighter than it had been when she first woke up. Becky made another mental note to have the windows checked for draft-proofing so the heating bills could be kept as low as possible. She doubted it would be able to have modern double-glazing fitted though.
She shivered a little. It was just a subconscious reaction to realising there was a draft, of course. Becky shook her head at herself and settled to watch the effects of the gradual dawn on the room. The wind had obviously settled as the draft had gone.
Realising she would never get back to sleep, she rose and went to the nearest bathroom to brush her teeth. The weak, early morning sunlight made little impact on the room, so she switched the light on. There was a shower fitted over the bath, and Becky turned the tap on, adjusting the temperature down to gauge how much it heated the water before getting under it. Moments later, she was standing under a glorious stream of steamy hot water coming from the large shower head. Shutting her eyes, she let the water stream down her body. It tickled over her skin, teasing her nipples.
Ever since Jeff had left, Becky had taken to masturbating fairly regularly. She was hardly old and still had needs. Her fingers slipped between her thighs and teased her clit. It had been several days since she’d done it last, so it didn’t take her long to come. She slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily.
With a shower and an orgasm under her belt, Becky felt ready to face the day. She planned to go back into Wimborne and call in at the solicitors to find out about the money side of things a bit more. Once she knew that, she could get on with sorting out builders.
She suddenly remembered she was meant to have called her mum back after going into town the day before. It had gone completely out of her head. But her mother wouldn’t be up yet. Imy might be though. The girl had always been an early riser, unlike her brother.
“Hi, Mum!” Imy greeted brightly. She’d probably been up for an hour at least already. “How’s the house? Gran said it’s got six bedrooms?”
“It does. It’s kind of nice, I guess. A bit big and drafty. I’ve got a lot to sort out before you get here. I’m going into town when things open to get a bit more info on everything.”
“So how was your night alone in the creepy old house?” Imy chuckled.
“Oh, you’ve got to rea
d the letters I found last night! They’re fascinating! There’s so much I’ve got to tell you all. I met a lady yesterday who knew all about why my grandmother fell out with her sister. There’s certainly been a few scandals here over the years.”
“Sounds fun! Can we come down before the weekend? Me and Gran could come today, and Dan can follow on Friday.”
“Actually, that would be really good,” Becky admitted. Although she could be perfectly rational about the bumps in the night, she didn’t really like being here all on her own. She just wasn’t used to it, and the house was very big, so there was more than enough room for them.
Making arrangements with Imy about when they would be driving down – the trip was only a one and a half hour drive – Becky thought she should sort out the bedrooms for her mum and Imy to use. Places wouldn’t be going into Wimborne for a couple of hours yet.
Going back to the cupboard where she found the sheets before, Becky opened it. It was empty. She frowned at the vacant shelves, the decided she must be looking in the wrong place. She moved to the next cupboard along the corridor. The bedding was all there. She was going to have to get used to not finding things quite where she remembered. The house was big and it would take a while to memorise where everything was.
Armed with the fresh bedding, she went to the bedroom next to hers and started to strip the bed. A sudden chill left her gasping for a moment. She looked round, trying to work out where the cold blast had come from. The wood panelling was all intact and the window was shut. Becky glanced at the fireplace and concluded it must have come from there. That didn’t explain why the air had been so cold though. She frowned at the fireplace for a moment, then decided she would investigate another time.
Once the bed was made up, she moved to the room she had picked out for her mum to sleep in. It was smaller than the others and decorated in white and soft pinks, so definitely a woman’s room. Her mum had always liked pink, which was why Becky had settled on that room for her.
