by Nell Dixon
She sucked in a breath and waited for her heartbeat to stop racing. "It scared me half to death." Realising she still had John's sweater bunched in her fists, she released him. "Sorry. Not like me to be nervy."
He bent and picked the fallen mop up from the floor. "Hmm, maybe that little accident was intentional."
"You mean we could have triggered one of the booby-traps?"
"Maybe." His forehead creased into a frown as he replaced the mop and sheet inside the cupboard. "It's a new mop, and I don't think this cupboard is usually used to store cleaning supplies."
Fae gave a shaky laugh. "I did say there was a distinct lack of cleaning going on around here."
He strolled over to the window and looked out through the metal bars, which had been fashionable back in Victorian times to prevent accidents. "There's a mist coming down from the hills. It's almost dark now outside."
Fae crossed the room to join him. "It makes this place feel more cut off than ever. It's certainly got atmosphere, I'll give it that. I just hope the live links back to the studio in London hold out tonight."
"Fingers crossed! I wonder if the medium has arrived yet. Tim said it should be that bloke from Manchester who worked with us in the Midlands."
"Victor? He's really popular with the viewers, but he always freaks me out a bit. He's frighteningly accurate."
"Yeah, him. He is a clairvoyant. He's supposed to freak people out." He smiled at her.
Fae focused on the dark, frost-covered grounds outside, which were almost lost in swirls of white mist. "I wonder if he'll pick up anything ghostly while he's here?"
John slipped his arm around her waist and gently hugged her closer to him.
She relaxed a little and revelled in the welcome warmth coming from his body. "Oh!"
"What is it?"
She felt him tense immediately at her gasp of surprise. "Outside. That's twice today I've thought I've seen someone moving about near that clump of trees on the far side of the lawn."
He pressed his nose closer to the window and peered into the gloom. "I can't see anything now. Maybe it was a deer. Giles said they get into the grounds."
"Perhaps." She shivered. The nursery was rapidly turning into an icebox.
"We'd better go back and get ready for dinner. It should be an interesting meal, especially if Victor's arrived. Giles can tell us more about the alleged ghost." There was a note of laughter in John's voice. Fae knew he was as sceptical about there being a ghost at Fingelly Manor as she was.
"Yes, I'll be very interested in hearing what he has to say. This place may be creepy and run-down, but I suspect we're here on a wild goose chase if we want to find a spook."
Almost as soon as the words had left her lips, the nursery door—which they had left open when they entered the room—slammed shut.
"What the…" John released her and ran over to the door to tug at the handle. "The door is jammed."
"What? It can't be. How did it slam like that? There's no wind or draught up here. Did someone come along and close it for a joke?" The uncomfortable feeling that had bothered her since her arrival intensified once more. She stared up at John.
"Don't worry. I'll get us out of here." He kissed her gently on the lips, replacing her fears with a warm sense of security.
"It's probably another one of Giles's tricks." She reached for the door handle. John's hand was cool beneath her touch as they both applied pressure to get the door to open.
At their combined force, it sprang free of the frame, leaving them to stare out into a dark and deserted hallway.
"No one out here." John sounded puzzled.
Fae wriggled the handle up and down. "It seems fine now. There's no lock to get jammed or anything."
"It felt as if someone was holding it closed from the other side, but there's no one here, and we surely would have heard footsteps."
Fae's pulse jumped. Maybe there was something in Giles's story of a ghost, after all.
The heavy sound of footsteps coming up the stairs towards them made Fae instinctively draw back into the nursery. She released a breath when an elderly woman carrying a brass coal scuttle came into sight.
"Evening." John greeted the woman with his usual affability.
The woman nodded in acknowledgement. Fae stepped back a pace to allow the woman into the nursery.
"I'm glad there'll be a fire in here tonight. It might warm the room up." Fae rubbed the tops of her arms as the woman began to place kindling in the hearth of the small cast iron fireplace.
The woman didn't respond but continued about her task. Fae raised her eyebrows at John.
"Have you ever seen any evidence of an apparition in the Manor House?" he asked as the woman struck a match and lit the fire.
The woman straightened and turned as the tiny lick of flame took hold of the paper and sticks in the hearth. Her eyes gleamed like tiny black currants sunk in the creases of her wizened face.
"Aye, that I have. Ye'll be finding out for yourselves, soon enough." She nodded sagely and returned to her work, adding more wood to the growing blaze.
John exchanged glances with Fae. "What kind of things have you seen or heard?"
The woman gathered her scuttle, seemingly content with the fire. She faced John, and Fae swallowed at the woman's cold demeanour.
"That's for me to know, and you to discover. But I'll tell you this, Fingelly Manor is cursed, and the laird knows it." She squeezed past them without waiting for a reply and shuffled away back into the inky darkness of the stairwell before either Fae or John could respond.
Chapter Three
"O… kay. Crazy old family retainer alert." Fae stared into the stairwell. The rational part of her brain told her the elderly woman could be in on Giles's scheme. After all, she was in his employ. Even so, the woman's words had sent a chill right through her.
"Interesting!" John scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful.
"Dinner is certainly going to be an exciting meal." Fae shivered in the cold air of the hallway.
"That it is. You and I will have to do a little more digging, I think." His eyes lit up with mischief, and her heart soared. This was the John she'd grown to love. Ghost or no ghost, it seemed Fingelly Manor might bring her and John closer together again, after all.
****
Fae changed as quickly as she could into the clothes she intended to wear for filming. The elderly firelighter had obviously been in the bedroom, and a meagre fire glowed in the hearth. The flames did little to dissipate the chill in the vast room that she was sharing with Mags, her makeup artist.
"Cor, it's enough to freeze the you-know-whats off a brass monkey out there." Mags nipped into the room, her plump figure swathed in scarves and with a bright yellow knitted cap perched on top of her wild auburn curls.
"When did you get here, Mags?" Fae shimmied into her jeans and looked around for her boots.
"A few minutes ago, duckie. I had a quick cuppa with Victor in the kitchen before I came up here." She placed her vanity case on top of the dressing table. "Are you ready to have yer slap on? You look as white as anything you’re likely to find here at the moment."
"That's because I'm freezing to death. Some Valentine's night this is turning out to be."
Mags began to open her pots and potions, ready to apply Fae's makeup. "No roses off your Flash then?"
Fae suppressed a sigh and ignored the tiny spear of pain in her heart. She'd been hoping a romantic Valentine's evening would have given them chance to talk about their future. "I dare say he'll have something for me when we leave here."
Mags snickered as she began to prepare Fae's skin. "I'm sure he will, Duckie."
Fae had her Valentine's card for John already written and hidden away in her overnight bag. She'd planned to give it to him before dinner, but thanks to the incident in the nursery, there wouldn't be time.
"Victor's not very happy being here tonight, either." Mags informed her as she applied Fae's eyeliner. "He had a hot date of his
own all planned, he did."
"Victor? Victor, who looks like one of the undead, Victor?" Fae guessed Victor had to be at least seventy-years-old, and that was being kind. He always wore a black suit, and the folds of his neck hung tortoise-like over the collar of his shirt. His voice sounded like dead leaves being blown across parchment, and the viewers of Ghost UK loved him.
"Ooo, yeah. The ladies love Victor." Mags replaced the eyeliner in her case.
"Well, it just shows you never can tell." Fae held still while Mags added mascara to her lashes.
"'Ere, what's His Lairdship like, then? Reckon I could be in with a chance? Mind you, he'd have to install central heating first, before I came to live here."
"I'll let you decide for yourself, Mags. He is single, though — divorced, I believe."
Mags stroked pale pink lipstick across Fae's lips. "If he's single and got a pulse, then I'm in with a chance. I like a bit of tartan."
Fae caught her friend's gaze in the dressing table mirror. "You know, you may want to rethink that statement when you meet him."
Less than an hour later, Fae bit back a smile as she recalled her advice to Mags. Giles greeted them at the door of the dining room. In the gap between the top of his long socks and the hem of his dark green tartan kilt, the bare flesh of his legs gleamed, white and shiny.
"Fae, so good of you to join us for dinner." He advanced upon her, bearing a glass of whisky.
"Um, Giles, this is Margaret, our makeup artist. Mags, this is Giles, Laird of Fingelly Manor." She ducked back a step before Giles could kiss her cheek.
Mags fluffed her auburn curls and smiled at Giles's flustered expression. "Charmed, I'm sure. Oh, whisky, wonderful! You must have read my mind." She accepted the glass from Giles and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Now, do come and tell me about your home. It looks fascinating."
Smothering her giggles, Fae slipped off to the opposite side of the room, where John and Tim were deep in conversation next to the stone fireplace.
Tim bent his head closer to hers and murmured into her ear, "Fae, Flash just told me about the things you discovered today."
"What do you want us to do about it? Filming starts in a few hours' time." Personally, she would have quite liked Giles's cheap tricks to be shown up live on air, but she knew that could be risky if he had friends in high places.
"I'm going to have a word in His Lairdship's ear after dinner." Tim frowned into his whisky glass.
John handed Fae a drink from the silver tray standing on the small side table beside the fireplace. "I know you don't care much for whisky, but His Lairdship appears to have added water with a liberal hand." His voice was as low as Tim's.
"That's good. I'd hate to be inebriated on camera. Cheers!" She raised her glass and clinked it against John and Tim's tumblers.
"Who else is coming to dinner?" John asked, glancing around the room.
"The rest of the crew have opted to eat in the kitchen. They pleaded last-minute technical things. I believe the only person left to arrive now is Victor." Tim glanced at his watch.
As if on cue, the door to the dining room opened, and Victor shuffled in, as immaculate as ever in his black suit. "Good evening, everyone. I do hope I haven't kept you waiting?"
"No, not at all." Giles strode forward to shake Victor's hand. Mags tagged along at his side as if determined to keep her prey within reach.
"Dinner is served, sir." An elderly man dressed in a rusty black dinner suit entered, bearing a large covered tray, which he placed on the sideboard.
Giles immediately began to direct people to their places. He took his place at head of the table with Fae seated below him, opposite John. Victor sat to her right with Mags, while Tim was next to John on the opposite side of the table. Mags looked a little put out that she wasn't closer to Giles. Fae would have happily traded places with her rather than sit next to her host.
As the waiter began to deposit bowls of turgid green soup in front of the dinner guests, Fae wondered if he was the husband of the woman who had laid the fires.
"I'm delighted you could all join me for dinner," Giles said. He placed a hand on Fae's arm. "I've admired your presenting skills since you joined the show last year."
She suppressed the urge to shake her arm free from his touch. "Thank you. That's very kind."
"I take it you're a fan of the show then, Giles? Is that what decided you to call us for help with your poltergeist?" Tim asked.
Fae noticed the manservant's lip curl upwards at Tim's question.
"I'd heard good things about your investigative skills. I understand you're using infrared and night vision cameras tonight?"
Tim pursed his lips. "We use the latest technology, from motion sensors to special cameras. We have a reputation to maintain with the public that any supernatural activity they see is genuine and bona fide." He gave Giles a meaningful look.
A faint dark red flush showed along Giles's cheekbones.
"Tell us more about the phenomena you've experienced here." Victor dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. "Tim tells me you feel that certain rooms were particularly active."
Everyone turned their attention toward Giles. Fae's breath caught in her throat. She itched to know the story behind Giles's so-called poltergeist. After the conversation she and John had overheard and the evidence of his trickery, she was highly sceptical of there being any kind of supernatural activity in the house. She resolutely shoved the incident in the nursery to the back of her mind.
"Fingelly Manor is very old. The earliest parts of the building date back to the thirteen hundreds, and my ancestors have added, modernised, and improved over the centuries." Giles paused and took a sip from his glass.
The servant began to collect the empty soup bowls.
"The unnatural activity in the house was first noted back in the eighteen hundreds. There was an unfortunate incident involving one of my ancestors and a young maid working in the house. The girl in question died."
"Has this anything to do with the curse?" John asked.
The sudden clatter of dishes on the sideboard caused everyone to turn in the direction of the manservant before returning their attention to Giles.
"Some of the more ignorant villagers do say there is a curse on the male heirs of Fingelly Manor, yes." Giles's face took on an unhealthy sheen.
"What kind of curse?" Fae asked.
Giles shuffled in his seat. "It's alleged that the girl, when dying, placed a curse on all the male heirs of Fingelly. None of us would be happy, and we all would die alone before the age of forty."
Mags's eyes widened. "Did it come true?"
"My father killed himself on the eve of his fortieth birthday after my mother left him. My grandfather was killed during the Second World War at age thirty-five, and my great-grandfather died in the First World War."
The ensuing moment of silence was broken by the click of the dining room door as the servant, bearing the remains of their first course, left the room.
"And the ghostly apparition is considered to be whom? The poor girl or her faithless lover?" Victor rasped.
Tiny beads of sweat glinted on Giles's forehead in the dusty light from the great chandelier above the table. He mopped his brow with his napkin. "We don't know. Some claim to have seen the maid walking around the grounds at sunset, wringing her hands. Others claim to have seen my ancestor stalking about the upper floors near the nursery wing."
"Perhaps later on we might discover who is here." The corners of Victor's mouth tilted upwards in a small smile as if he knew some secret that wasn't to be shared with the rest of the table.
"And what kind of activity have you seen or heard?" John asked.
The servant reappeared at the doorway, wheeling a small trolley full of dishes.
Giles waved his hands vaguely. "The usual kinds of things. Wailing noises, things moving around. Doors opening and closing by themselves. Footsteps on the landing and stairs when there's no one there."
> "And you've seen and heard these things yourself?" Fae asked. Her pulse quickened with excitement. Maybe there was something at Fingelly, after all. Giles certainly looked scared of something.
"The staff have seen and heard much more than me."
Fae glanced at the manservant who continued to placidly pass around dinner plates containing their main course.
"But you haven't seen much?" she persisted.
She saw Giles’s gaze lock with that of his servant. "No," he replied as all the lights went out.
Chapter Four
Confusion reigned for a few moments when the room plunged into darkness. Mags screamed, and Fae heard Giles and Tim cursing.
"Everyone okay?" John shone a small light around the table from his trusty pocket flashlight. "I suspect my colleagues have blown one of the fuses."
Fae relaxed her shoulders, easing some of the tension that had built during the last few minutes. John was probably right. The electrics in the manor were in a bad way and long overdue to be replaced. It had been touch and go if they would be able to go ahead and film. Only the promise of a diesel generator on standby in case of emergency had saved the shoot.
"Flash, can you go see what's happening once the lights are back up?" Tim asked. "We can't afford to have the shoot going down once we're live."
Looking and listening for supernatural elements would be nerve-wracking enough when filming began, without worrying about technical disasters, as well. Fae loved the fear of the unknown and the thrill of the unexpected, but she could do without technical problems.
She'd been so lucky to secure a place as a presenter on the show a year earlier when she'd won a public vote. Thanks to John and his film of her audition piece set in her future brother-in-law's tiny Welsh village, she'd convinced the public and staff of Ghost UK that she was the best person for the job. Competition had been fierce and she knew if she made mistakes her contract wouldn’t be renewed.
The light above the table flickered and sprang back into life. John removed his napkin from his lap and stood. "I'll go check on the guys." He handed his small torch to Fae. "Just in case." He winked at her and left the room.
