‘What sort of dreams?’
‘Really odd, so real and unsettling, Andrew. I kept seeing people I knew, but they were different …’ She shook her head. ‘Well, I think I was dreaming, but like I said, it was all so real.’ She sipped her tea.
‘Everyone was here, we’ve been getting ready to sell the vessels and go to the farm as planned, but it wasn’t us, at least I don’t think it was … I’m not sure.’ She didn’t know how to continue.
‘Do you remember when we all came to Paul, the first time, just after you purchased the inn, Bill?’ She looked at Bill and Andrew, both nodded. ‘Remember the locals told us it was haunted, that there had been pirates staying here, operating out of the Inn hundreds of years ago, and the whole village had been involved in smuggling, but then all of a sudden they disappeared one night, never to be seen again?’
‘Yes, they used to drop anchor in Mousehole, just like we do.’ Andrew said, ‘That’s why we chose this place. The caves and the secret tunnels to the village, being perfect for us and our needs.’ Andrew and Bill exchanged looks, Bill chuckled.
‘Similar profession, after all. History repeating itself, perhaps.’
‘That’s just it: in the room, history repeating itself. I can’t really explain it but the room was weird when I woke up, different furnishings and there were two oak chests. I looked in one. Andrew, there were women’s clothes in there, and a sword and dagger, and I remember my own clothes.’ She knew she was rambling, but she needed to tell him. ‘Andrew, they weren’t there. I looked for them but I had such a headache and everything was fuzzy. I found some clothes folded beside the bed and put them on but they weren’t mine. When I first came downstairs you all looked so weird as well. Sort of … like you but not. Your clothes were like pirates’ clothes but you didn’t seem to know.’ Bill and Andrew stared at her.
‘We thought you looked weird, Anne, your clothes were strange too.’ Matt came into the kitchen. ‘I told them your shoes were strange, sort of old.’
‘I thought I saw you upstairs talking with an old man, Anne, but I saw you go downstairs at the same time.’ Andrew said excitedly, ‘Matt, you were up there with her as well.’ They were quiet for a while.
‘I haven’t been upstairs since we called for the doctor.’ Matt said quietly.
‘You’re right,’ Bill said. ‘Come to think of it, when I purchased the inn, there was an old bloke in the bar told me some rot about pirates here, but you know Cornwall, it’s pirates everywhere. Anyway, their ghosts are supposed to be haunting the inn because they’d been double-crossed or something. Can’t really remember it all, but there was something about them selling their ships and going to a farm, just like you.’ He glanced at Anne and Andrew. ‘Forgotten about it until now but you know what? There was a female pirate who died in the inn, she was attacked and robbed or something. Anyway, she was meant to meet up with her sweetheart after they’d landed their haul here.’ It was coming back now. ‘But like I said, someone double-crossed them, stole their haul and their ships, and her pirate lover had to go somewhere, can’t recall why, and he never came back. Apparently she died waiting for him.’
Anne shivered. ‘Yes, yes, that’s it! I recall two ships anchored off Mousehole.’ She said, excitement in her voice. ‘There was a vicar at the church hiding the haul, and the pirates sold their ships so they could retire to a farm in Devon, just like us.’ Anne was wide-eyed as events came back to her. ‘I saw them, all of them, at the church and here, in the inn, and Andrew, you were with me. You and I were the pirates, Andrew.’ She was almost hysterical. ‘How can that be? We were all pirates.’
‘I don’t know, this is all too confusing.’ Andrew paced back and forth. ‘I’d say you were dreaming except that I’ve seen them with my own eyes; well, at least someone. Someone like Matt talking to you, Anne, when you were in bed, but then I saw you come down here at the same time. There was the old chap talking to you in the bedroom – how can you be in two different places at the same time?’
‘Your knock on the head might have caused you to hallucinate,’ said Bill, ‘but the rest of us can’t blame it on that. This whole place has felt strange all week.’ He wasn’t one for ghosts but now he wasn’t too sure. ‘I say we get out of here as soon as possible and head for Helston earlier than planned.’
‘I agree,’ said Andrew. ‘This place is finished for us anyway and we should sail on the next tide. We can get the buyers to meet us there. It’s much earlier than planned, but provided they’ve got the money and we’ve got what they want, there’s no reason to delay.’ He went to the door and shouted for his men to join him.
‘The doctor has been seen to, Andrew, so we need to make a move soon. I think he was a bit suspicious,’ the cook said. ‘Matt told him we were a sailing club enjoying a few nights away together, doing some sailing and having fun, the first time he came out to Anne. I’m not sure he still believed it this time, but he kept his suspicions to himself I’m sure. Still, it doesn’t really matter now, anyway.’
‘Agreed, we don’t want to get caught on the hop. Get everything aboard now and be ready to sail when I get back,’ said Andrew.
‘Where are you going?’ Anne asked, concern in her ebony eyes.
‘I’ve got to go and see Geoffrey to finalise the sale of the vessels and to tidy up some loose ends.’ He put his coat on.
‘Matt, make sure you help Anne get everything on board and wait for me here when you’re ready.’ He stopped and asked ‘Anyone else see a horse in the stables out back?’ They all looked at each other and chorused, ‘No.’
‘All right, just wondered. I must have imagined seeing one earlier. Bill, give me your car keys, I’ll be as quick as I can. You can get rid of the car later or leave it here. You decide when I get back. Right, I will love you and leave you.’ Andrew kissed Anne.
‘Make sure you are ready to leave as soon as I return. We’ve everything we need to start a new life, Anne, we’ll all be set-up for life.’ He headed for the door.
Anne’s face drained of colour as she watched him. ‘Andrew, please don’t go, I’ve got a bad feeling.’
‘Silly girl.’ He blew her a kiss and his men followed him out, intent upon their tasks. Anne went upstairs to their room, overcome with fear and dread. She began to pack her things and tried to put her fears to the back of her mind. After a while she felt in need of a little nap and lay down on the bed to rest, her tasks complete. The room grew darker and the moon shone through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling; a light, cooling breeze ruffled the curtains gently.
On waking Anne went to the window for some air and looked out. It was daylight. Standing beneath the window an old man waved at her, smiling. He had white hair and spectacles. Beside him she could see Matt, feeding a horse from a nosebag. He looked up and grinned at her. She smiled and blinked and then they were gone.
Her eyes felt sleepy and she thought she should rest again. As she was about to turn away from the window she felt a pair of arms encircle her and she looked up to see Andrew smiling at her.
‘You’re back,’ she cried. He kissed her hair. ‘What a lovely surprise!’
Andrew put his sword on the oak chest and walked to the window. ‘I couldn’t come sooner, Anne, I was delayed. I feared you’d give up and leave with the others.’
He removed his coat and Anne moved to help with his boots. They came off easily and she placed them beside his large chest.
‘Of course not, Andrew, I’ve never stopped waiting for you. I knew you’d come back for me.’ Anne smiled up at him. ‘The others might have gone without me but I knew you would be back.’
A horse whinnied and Andrew went to the window and looked out. ‘I see Matt and Thomas have remained true.’ He waved at the old man and the cabin boy holding the mare, who both waved back, happy to see the master was back with Anne at last.
Uncle Henry
Tricia Maw
‘Go on. I dare you!’ Libby’s baby blue eyes looked innocently at
Amy. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’
Amy glared at the older girl, her temper rising. Libby always brought out the worst in her. ‘No, of course I’m not. I just think it’s a crazy idea.’
‘You were the one who wanted to do something different for Halloween.’ Libby was remorseless. ‘What could be more exciting than ghost-hunting?’
Amy looked at the group seated round the table in the local pub and knew she wouldn’t get any help from them. Most of them were friends from school and they’d always kept in touch. But ever since Libby had come to live in the town she’d caused nothing but trouble. Not that she ever got caught. She was far too clever for that. True, it was Amy who’d suggested doing something different tomorrow night but it was Libby who’d come up with the plan.
‘Why don’t we hide in the Castle after it closes?’ she’d said. ‘It’s supposed to be haunted and what better time to see a ghost than Halloween? Of course’, she’d added hastily, ‘we couldn’t all hide. Maybe just one of us. Until midnight. While the rest of us wait outside – or better still, in here where it’s warmer.’
It was then that she’d looked at Amy. ‘You could do it. You’re the adventurous one. Go on. I dare you!’
Six pairs of eyes stared at her and she knew she couldn’t back out. A dare was a dare. ‘All right,’ she said angrily, ‘I’ll do it. I don’t believe in ghosts anyway. And I still think it’s a mad idea.’ She caught Libby’s malicious smile and knew she’d been set up.
The Castle, parts of which dated back to the twelfth century, dominated the small market town that had grown up alongside it. There was no problem getting in. It was open to visitors every day and Amy merely bought a ticket half an hour before the last admission. Libby came with her. ‘Just in case you need any help finding somewhere to hide.’ But Amy knew it was to make sure she went through with it.
It wasn’t difficult. The tour was almost over and they were in the huge kitchen that had once served the whole castle. The guide was explaining how the iron spit, big enough to take a whole ox, worked when Libby caught hold of Amy’s arm. ‘Through there,’ she hissed, indicating a door at the far end of the room. ‘I’ve just had a quick look. There’s a passage with some stairs at the end. It probably went to the servants’ quarters. You can hide there.’
Amy felt her heart thumping. She hesitated and saw a flicker of triumph in Libby’s eyes. Well, she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of being able to say that Amy was chicken. She moved towards the door and closed it quietly, leaning against it until her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through a small window. She pulled out the pocket torch she’d brought with her and made her way cautiously up the stairs to a long, dark landing, at the end of which was a door covered with green baize.
Amy waited here, pacing the room until she was sure the castle staff would have left for the night. Then she grew curious and pushed open the door to find herself at the bottom of yet another staircase. She was obviously in one of the towers. The thick stone walls and worn steps wound upwards for what seemed like miles. Cursing Libby for getting her involved in such a crazy idea, Amy eventually stumbled out onto a small landing. The air was colder here. She must be very near the top of the tower. Flicking her torch she saw a heavy wooden door set into the stone wall. Not caring what was on the other side she turned the iron handle and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Instantly, she knew she’d made a mistake. Instead of the empty room she’d been expecting it was comfortably furnished. Lamps flickered on the walls and a coal fire blazed in the hearth. In an armchair by the hearth an elderly man sat reading a book.
Well, Amy thought resignedly, at least Libby couldn’t say she hadn’t tried.
He looked up as she came into the room and rose to his feet. ‘Come in, my dear. Come over here. You look frozen. This place is never heated properly.’ He led her over to the fire and she sank gratefully into the other chair, holding out her hands to the warmth.
‘Lost your way, have you? I’m not surprised. Do it myself occasionally. I’ve always thought there are too many rooms.’ His black button eyes twinkled at Amy through rimless glasses. ‘Henry Warburton.’ He held out his hand. ‘Call me Uncle Henry. Everybody does.’
Amy introduced herself. She wondered who he was. Certainly not the caretaker since he showed no anger or alarm at her presence. Perhaps he was a retired member of staff spending his remaining years in a grace and favour apartment. ‘I’m sorry for intruding …’ she began, but he waved away her apology.
‘I was about to go in search of some refreshment,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would care to share it with me. The staff generally leave something for me in the kitchen.’
Amy murmured her thanks. She was ravenously hungry and the heat from the fire made her feel sleepy.
He reappeared ten minutes later carrying a tray covered with a white cloth and a large dark-green bottle wedged under one arm. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t manage the ice-bucket,’ he apologised, ‘but it should be cold enough.’ The cork popped and he handed her a glass of champagne. ‘It’s Krug ’86.’ He beamed at her. ‘A particularly good year.’
Amy sipped the champagne and watched as he served the food. She wished she’d brought her camera. Libby would never believe what had happened. She could hardly pretend Uncle Henry was a ghost. He was much too pink and cuddly. The bubbles tickled her nose and she giggled to herself.
He refilled their glasses and looked solemnly at her. ‘The Queen. God bless her.’ He raised his glass.
The meal was fantastic. Succulent slices of smoked salmon followed by cold pheasant, and just when she thought she couldn’t possibly eat another mouthful, a dish of delicious ice-cream.
He was an entertaining host and Amy enjoyed listening to his stories but eventually she found it difficult to keep her eyes open. ‘I’ll just close my eyes for a second,’ she told herself, ‘then I must go and meet the others.’
When she woke the room was cold and dark and there was no sign of Uncle Henry. She opened the door and hurried back down the stone steps. But instead of the dark landing she’d come along earlier, it was now blazing with light and at the far end two security guards came towards her. Stubbornly she stuck to her story but it was obvious they didn’t believe her. ‘That part of the castle has been shut up for years,’ the larger of the two guards said. ‘And I’ve never heard of anyone called Uncle Henry.’
‘If you’ll take me back there, I’ll prove it to you,’ Amy insisted, convinced this was another of Libby’s tricks. ‘I had dinner with him last night. I’m sure he’s still there.’
‘If you’re wrong,’ the guard said, ‘we may have to call the police.’
Amy wasn’t worried. Uncle Henry would support her.
As they climbed the main staircase she stopped and looked at one of the portraits lining the walls. ‘I told you I wasn’t lying! That’s Uncle Henry.’
The two guards looked at one another, then at the portrait and finally at Amy. ‘That’s Lord Henry Warburton,’ the larger guard said. ‘He was a cousin of the sixth earl. He died in 1901. The same year as Queen Victoria.’
The Cemetery of the Two
Princesses
Marie Laval
Algiers, October 1960
I grew up in Suffren, a small fishing town near Algiers. Even though it’s been many years since I left, I only have to squeeze my eyes shut to picture the cloudless sky and bright shards of sunlight bouncing off the turquoise sea, and hear the distant echoes of children’s voices in the dusty streets. Sometimes I can even smell fried peppers, lamb tajine, or fish stew – all the delicious aromas that escaped from my neighbours’ open windows swirled into the marine breeze and mixed together with the scent of pink laurels and freshly laundered sheets drying between the white flat-roofed houses.
My mother and I lived with my abuela, my Spanish grandmother, in a small house on the edge of town. After school, my mother liked to sit in the garden and tell me some of the stories my fat
her had gathered during his many journeys. She would open his old Michelin guide and show me photographs of the barren Alpha plains which were renowned for mirages, the Atlas Mountains and their vertiginous gorges, and the Sahara with its lush oases and fortified villages. Like the many smells drifting from my neighbours’ kitchens, the stories my mother told were sweet and heart-warming. My abuela had stories too, but hers were very different. They were about curses, djinns and the evil eye, and about desert demons that ride the sirocco to bring madness and death. That’s not surprising really, since she was a sorceress.
As well as being a sorceress, my grandmother was also a dressmaker, and one day she asked my mother and I to go to Algiers and buy some fabric for a bridesmaid’s dress on the market. When we got off the bus, my mother first took me to a tiny cemetery tucked away in the heart of the Kasbah, where she liked to sit with my father when they were courting. There were only two graves – two small graves painted entirely in white, with a border of blue Delft tiles all around. Ancient fig trees formed a thick canopy through which sun rays fell to the ground like arrows of light.
My mother told me two princesses were buried there.
‘Were they killed by pirates?’ I asked.
‘No. They died of sadness.’
Abuela said that sadness was a curse that could stop your heart. She knew a lot about curses, being a sorceress. She had herbs, incense sticks, and sachets of magic dust, and women young and old came to her for help. Even though I wasn’t supposed to, I often sat on the terrace and listened through the kitchen’s open window when she had visitors.
To a young bride terrified of her mother-in-law, she advised piling a handful of stones in the doorway and saying magic words to build an invisible wall. Salty water poured down the sink first thing in the morning kept nightmares and insomnia at bay. And housewives worried about djinns should rub garlic on their doors, sprinkle salt in every corner of the house and never, ever sweep the floor after sunset. She had answers to every question and remedies for every ailment imaginable, from heartburn to stutters, from lazy eyes to sunstroke, from lovesickness to constipation.
Shiver Page 8
