Haunted Summer

by Joanna Mansell

  HAUNTED SUMMER

  Joanna Mansell

  Going back was a definite mistake!

  Rose's first encounter with Nathan Hayward had been traumatic. She knew she should have reported him to the police for the way he'd treated her. It would have served him right if they'd thrown him in jail!

  Instead, she returned to North Devon and to Lyncombe Manor, the beautiful home where he lived, to get an apology from him.

  What she ended up getting was more and more involved in his life--and with Nathan himself. And that, she knew, was not a sensible thing to do.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ROSE pulled the car over to the side of the deserted country lane, studied the map spread out on the seat beside her, and then gave a deep sigh.

  'I think I'm lost,' she muttered gloomily.

  She peered out of the car window, and then gave another sigh. There wasn't even any sign of a house. Just trees, fields, birds and blue sky, as the road wound its way into a sunlit wooded valley.

  Rose found it hard to believe that she was only a few miles from the small but bustling seaside town on the North Devon coast, where she was staying. She felt as if she were in the middle of nowhere.

  'Oh, well, I suppose I'd better keep going,' she finally decided. Then she gave a small grimace. She didn't actually have much choice. The lane was too narrow for her to turn the car round and go back the way she had come. She drove on cautiously, keeping her speed well down in case she suddenly met something coming from the other direction. Not that that seemed very likely! She hadn't seen another car since she had turned on to this road. The sides of the valley became steeper, trapping the sunshine, which blazed hotly through the car windows. Rose ran her fingers through her mop of golden-brown hair, and wished she were sitting on the beach with a cooling breeze blowing off the sea. She could have left this trip until tomorrow, and spent today making the most of this sudden blaze of fine weather. Only, if she had done that, it might have jeopardised her chances of getting the job she was going for. Someone else could easily have got there before her. And she really needed to find work. She was beginning to run embarrassingly short of money.

  A faded signpost caught her attention, and she brought the car to a halt.

  'Lyncombe Manor' it said in rather uneven lettering, and Rose gave a grin of pure relief. She had found it! The instructions she had been given in the small shop, where she had seen the card giving details of the job, hadn't been completely useless after all.

  She drove on with fresh enthusiasm, the car windows wound down to let in the warm, sweet-scented air. There was one last sharp bend in the lane, and then it curved gently round to a house that Rose knew had to be Lyncombe Manor.

  She stopped the car and just gazed at the house with wide eyes. It was beautiful! Whitewashed walls, lattice windows set in a jumble of gables, tall chimneys, a slate roof patterned with lichen, and a riot of roses that sprawled over just about everything, throwing up great sprays of blooms and showering the gravel drive with drifts of fallen petals, white, pink, red, yellow, and a dozen shades in between.

  Rose parked the car a little way from the house; then she got out and slowly began to walk towards it. She wanted to approach it on foot so she could take in the details more thoroughly, letting her eyes feast on the picturesque old house in its idyllic setting.

  The front door and all the windows were closed, and she had the impression that no one was at home.

  She didn't mind that, though. It would give her a chance to look around before the owner returned.

  There was an open archway at the side of the house, and Rose couldn't resist going through it. It led into the grounds at the back of the house, which were wildly overgrown. The card in the shop had advertised for a gardener, and Rose decided that they definitely needed one! Whether they would consider her suitable was something that she still had to find out. She knew a lot about plants, and she was strong and healthy, but she knew that the fact that she was female might prove the sticking-point, especially if the owners of Lyncombe Manor were rather old-fashioned.

  She wandered a little further into the garden. On the left was a sunken area with a large pond, where a lot of ducks paddled happily around, and other water birds were pottering in and out of the rushes at the far end. The main area of lawn obviously hadn't been cut for ages and looked more like a meadow, while the flower-beds which ranged down both sides were smothered with weeds, although a surprising number of flowers were managing to push their way through and send up bright splashes of bloom. Half a dozen great trees, including a magnificent copper beech, provided welcome patches of shade, and Rose could picture how the garden would look when it was cleared and restored to its former glory. In fact, her fingers itched to make a start on it.

  'First things first,' she reminded herself drily. 'You haven't even got the job yet!'

  She wondered how long she would have to wait for someone to come back to the house. Perhaps they had just gone out for a couple of hours, and would be returning fairly soon. She didn't really mind if they weren't back until much later, though. She was perfectly happy to roam around in the hot sunshine, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of this place. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to find that it was already fairly late in the afternoon. She hadn't realised it had taken her so long to get here. It didn't matter, though. In fact, it meant that the owners would probably be back sooner than she had expected. With luck, they were already heading back home for tea.

  Rose thought that they probably wouldn't mind if she took a closer look at the house while she was waiting for them to return. She strolled towards the back of Lyncombe Manor, and found that it was built around a small cobbled courtyard. Like the rest of the house, it was an enchanting place, splashed with sunshine, yet with shady corners where tubs of ferns flourished in the cooler conditions.

  She peered through one of the windows, feeling a little guilty about being so blatantly nosy, but itching to know what the house looked like inside. The sun was reflecting off the glass, though, and she couldn't see anything very clearly. She backed away again and decided to sit for a while on the seat on the far side of the courtyard. She supposed it was a bit of a cheek, making herself at home like this, but people in this part of the world were always very welcoming and friendly. She didn't think the owners of the house would object at all if she just sat there in the sun for half an hour. Rose closed her eyes blissfully as the late afternoon sunshine beat down on her face. That meant she didn't see the door open on the far side of the courtyard.

  Nor did she see the man who stood there for several long seconds, staring at her. And because he moved absolutely silently, she didn't hear him walk over to her.

  The first she knew of his presence was when a hard hand clamped over her shoulder, making her yelp out loud in startled surprise. Her eyes flew open, and as her head shot up she found herself staring at a man who was clearly in the grip of a cold, intense anger.

  'On your feet!' he ordered curtly.

  Rose was so stunned by this violent end to the quiet peacefulness of the afternoon that she immediately obeyed. As soon as she was standing up, he whipped her round and began to march her forcibly towards the open doorway.

  'Hey!' she said sharply, finally managing to find her voice. 'What are you doing?'

  'You wanted to see inside the house?' the man said grimly. 'Well, you won't have to peer through the windows any more. I'm going to let you see it at much closer quarters.'

  'I know that was very rude of me, and I do apologise--' Rose began, her voice quite breathless now because they were moving at some speed.

  'I'm not interested in apologies,' he cut in shortly. 'But I am interested in teaching people like you a lesson that you won't quickly forget.'


  They were through the doorway now, and Rose found herself being frogmarched through the kitchen and then along a narrow passage with a stone-flagged floor.

  'People like me?' she echoed, beginning to feel pretty panic-stricken now. Who was this man—and what did he intend to do with her?

  'You're parasites,' he growled, his voice laced with pure contempt. 'Living off other people's lives, forcing your way into private houses, never damned well giving up ' They were halfway along the passageway now, and he abruptly stopped and opened a door on his right. 'You were determined to get in here somehow, weren't you?' he challenged her, his eyes alight again with that anger that was all the more frightening because of its coldness.

  'Well, you've made it. In fact, I'm even inviting you to stay for a while.'

  He released that painful grip on her shoulder. Before she had time to feel relieved that he had finally let go of her, he gave her a hard shove which sent her staggering through the doorway. There was a flight of stairs just inside, and Rose lost her balance and half tumbled down them. Bruised and shocked, she dragged herself back to her feet. Then she stared up at him as he lounged in the doorway, looking at her with an impersonal satisfaction that completely chilled her blood.

  'Are you totally crazy?' she somehow got out in a voice that was audibly shaking now.

  'No, not crazy,' he replied tightly. 'Just sick to death of intrusions into my private life. I don't know how you found me, but since you're here you're going to be given a privilege that I hope you'll appreciate. You're the first—and the last—reporter who will ever set foot inside this house.'

  'I'm not a reporter:' Rose denied frantically, but it was too late. He had already-slammed the door shut.

  Panic really began to set in after that. She scrambled up the steps and began hammering on the thick door, at the same time shouting at the top of her voice. She yelled at him to let her out, she threatened to sue him if he kept her locked in here, and finally ended up begging him to open it, but nothing worked. The door remained shut.

  Trembling with exertion and shock, Rose slowly drew back from the door and huddled in a small ball on the top step.

  'I don't believe this is happening,' she muttered in a quavering voice. 'I don't believe any of this is really happening.'

  But the cold stone step beneath her was real enough. And so was the closed and locked door.

  Shivering a little now with reaction, she lifted her head and slowly looked around. She guessed she was in some kind of cellar. It was lit by a single dim light bulb, and there seemed to be a lot of rubbish piled in one corner, as if someone had been having a clear-out and dumped most of the stuff down here.

  Goose-pimples ran over her skin again, and Rose realised it wasn't just from the shock of what had happened. It was quite cold down here. It was hard to believe there was warm sunshine still blazing down outside the house. After what seemed like a very long time, she finally felt strong enough to stand up. Her legs still felt fairly shaky, but she was beginning to feel very angry now, as well as scared. She had already worked out what had happened. That man had obviously thought she was a reporter snooping around—and he clearly didn't like reporters! All the same, his reaction had really been right over the top. Grabbing hold of her and throwing her into this cellar—no one in their right mind would do something like that, no matter how much they hated the Press!

  Anyway, why would a reporter be interested in this place? Was the man famous, or something? Rose certainly hadn't recognised him.

  'Never mind who he is,' she reminded herself. 'That isn't important right now. Just concentrate on getting out of here.'

  But getting out wasn't going to be easy. In fact, it didn't take her long to realise that it was downright impossible. She was going to have to stay here until that man came to his senses and let her out.

  And how long was that going to take? Rose had no idea. She huddled at the top of the steps again, and wished she were wearing a thick jumper instead of a thin T-shirt and cotton skirt.

  'He didn't even give me time to explain,' she muttered, scowling darkly now.

  'He just grabbed me and shoved me down here. He didn't even wait to see if I really was a reporter.'

  Now that she thought about it, she realised that she had smelt alcohol on his breath. ' Drunk and crazy,' she decided uneasily. And that was a pretty dangerous combination. Perhaps she was safer down here, behind this locked door!

  Time passed incredibly slowly. Rose finally left the top of the steps and went down into the cellar itself, hoping that there might be another door she had missed, some way she could get out of here. A thorough search revealed nothing, though. There was a lot of rubbish and a lot of dust, and that was it. Thrown in among the rubbish was a chair with a broken back. Rose pulled it out and then sat on it. It left dust marks all over her skirt, but she was already fairly grubby after her exploration of the cellar. Anyway,-a little dirt was the least of her worries. The only thing that interested her was, when was that man going to come back and unlock the door? And what was going to happen when he did?

  Since she couldn't answer any of those questions, she simply sat and stared at the wall. Her mood kept swinging wildly between fierce anger and sharp waves of fear. After a while, she couldn't sit still any longer, and she began to pace up and down.

  'It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic,' she muttered under her breath.

  'Otherwise I'd be climbing the walls by now!'

  What she hated almost more than anything was the sense of helplessness that she felt. She was entirely at the mercy of that man upstairs, and the worst thing of all was that she didn't know who—or what—he was. A madman, a rapist, a pervert—all sorts of frightening possibilities flashed through her mind.

  'You must have been out of your mind, coming to this remote spot in answer to an advert you saw in a shop window,' she told herself more than once.

  'Why on earth didn't you check up first? Try to find out something about the place—and its owner—before waltzing out here? Perhaps he only put that card in the shop because he hoped some young woman would be stupid enough to come out here on her own.'

  Yet, that didn't somehow add up. He had thought she was a reporter—that was why he had been so angry. If he had simply wanted to lure a woman out here for some unpleasant purpose that she didn't even want to think about, he wouldn't have bothered with all that speech about intrusions into his privacy, and reporters being parasites.

  Rose glanced at her watch and was amazed to find that it was now early evening. This was absolutely absurd, she decided angrily. How much longer was he going to keep her down here?

  She climbed the stairs and began thumping on the door again. 'Look, I'm not a reporter!' she yelled. 'I came about that job you advertised. Please, just open this door and let me out!'

  It was useless, though. She had known all along that it would be, but sheer frustration had made her try it. She wasn't even sure he could hear her through the thickness of the door.

  The rest of the evening ticked away relentlessly, until the hands of her watch had finally crept right round to midnight. Rose couldn't quite believe that she had been locked in the cellar of Lyncombe Manor all this time. She was here, though, so she supposed she had to believe it. And she was beginning to face the horrifying realisation that he intended to keep her locked in here all night.

  'He's mad as a hatter,' she whispered to herself. 'He has to be mad even to think of doing something like this!'

  She was sitting on a pile of old sacking now, which was marginally more comfortable than the broken chair. She was hungry and she was thirsty, but that didn't seem very important. It was still cold in the cellar, but she didn't notice it any more. There were far more pressing worries on her mind. After a while, she realised she was biting her nails, a habit which she had developed as a child whenever she was anxious or fearful She had grown out of it when she had reached her teens, and this was the first time she had done it in years. She made an effort t
o stop, but couldn't. There was something comforting about the childish habit.

  The small hours of the morning began to crawl by. Rose felt as if this night were going to stretch on forever. She curled up in a small ball on the rough sacking and tried to sleep for a while, but she was too cold and too much on edge to manage more than an occasional fitful doze. Once, she found herself wondering if he ever intended to let her out of here. That was such a terrifying thought, though, that she quickly pushed it to the very back of her mind and wouldn't allow herself to think about it again.

  Although no natural light reached the cellar, her watch finally told her that dawn was at last approaching. Rose roused herself out of the lethargy that had begun to creep over her, crawled up to the top of the steps and began hammering-mechanically on the door again. Unless he let her out of here soon— very soon—she was absolutely certain that she was going to start falling apart.

  A few minutes later, to her intense relief, she heard the sound of the door being unlocked. Just the prospect of freedom gave her new courage and energy. He wasn't going to find her huddled on the floor, looking cowed and close to a gibbering wreck. She even made an effort to run her fingers through her hair, to restore it to some kind of order.

  The door swung open, and the man stood there looking down at her with a slightly blank expression on his face.

  'You've been here all night?' he said, a little disbelievingly. Rose's violet eyes flared furiously. 'It's rather hard to walk through a locked door!'

  'I forgot you were down here.'

  'You forgot?' she repeated, on-a rising note of sheer anger. 'How on earth could you forget you'd locked someone in the cellar?'

  'Please don't shout,' he said in a tired voice. 'I've got a hell of a hangover this morning.'

  'Oh, I really am sorry to hear that,' Rose retorted. 'I do apologise if I'm making your headache worse.'

  'Look, I realise you're upset over this--'

  'Upset!' she yelled at him. 'That doesn't even begin to describe the way I feel right now!'