by Abbie Frost
Then he looks at Hannah and his face is all sad. She wants to run to him, but Mummy grabs her, squeezing too tight until it hurts and she shouts for her to stop. Then the wind is blowing Hannah’s hair. But it’s not the wind it’s Mummy’s breath as she shouts and screams.
‘Get away, Jack. Stay away. Don’t come near us. Don’t ever come near us again.’
And then she’s crying very quietly as Daddy walks away and slams the door. Mummy’s hand has gone all white where she’s holding her phone and she won’t let Hannah go, even when Hannah starts to struggle.
They go to the front door and Mummy locks it tight, using all the locks, even the other special one with the shiny chain. Then they watch from the window as Daddy’s car drives away.
‘Don’t worry, my baby,’ Mummy says. ‘He’s gone now.’
But Hannah doesn’t want Daddy to go.
Then Mummy talks on the phone for ages, and Hannah has to wait for ever to get a proper cuddle and a kiss. ‘It’s all right, little one, he’s never coming back.’
Hannah cries harder and harder and Mummy’s face is all wet too. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’ Hannah feels sick inside, because she loves Daddy and now he’s gone.
And it’s all her fault.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hannah slumped on the floor beside the wardrobe, her knees shaking, and that awful smell filling the room around her. In her mouth, her clothes, her eyes.
How long she had been sitting there she couldn’t tell.
She wiped her face on her top and, using the wardrobe for support, dragged herself to her feet. That had been a real memory, probably her very first. The trauma of losing her dad – the dad she adored – had scorched itself into her mind. But why had it lain dormant for so many years until now?
Her parents’ marriage had broken down and that traumatic moment must have been the final argument that tore it to pieces. Maybe he had an affair, and that row had been caused by its discovery. She knew first-hand just how nasty fights could become in the death-throes of a relationship.
But it had scarred her in ways she could only now begin to understand.
Her legs felt weak as she stood looking at the clothes in the wardrobe – a row of formal suits and jackets. The smell still here, but weaker now: a man’s aftershave or cologne.
She rifled through a musty formal dinner jacket, a business suit in charcoal grey with a thin stripe, a pair of shoes, shiny black and coated in a light layer of dust.
But there was no stash of letters or photographs, as she’d hoped. Reaching up and running a hand over the shelf above the jackets, she came away with nothing but a dust-coated palm.
She wasn’t willing to give up yet, had to keep her mind occupied, to stop herself dwelling on the past. Her father was long dead and buried, so there was no chance she could reconcile with him. No matter how unfair her mother had been in keeping them apart.
Her hands felt their way into the pockets of the dinner jacket. It was when she came to the dark grey suit that she felt a lump in an inside pocket, felt a stirring of guilt at this search through a dead man’s clothes.
And yet, her hand worked its way inside and pulled out a small silver case. It was heavy, expensive. And when she flipped it open, she found business cards.
There was no writing, just an illustration, on the back of the first card. A skilfully executed sketch of The Guesthouse, drawn from the garden, looking onto the front of the building. All the cards had the same picture, so presumably the man who owned them was Lady Jane Fallon’s husband.
She turned the first one over.
The rain beat against the glass window at her side, and she could only stare down at the piece of card in her hand.
The card, and the words on it. The card, and the words on it. Reading them over and over again, her brain refusing to understand:
John Roper.
Architect.
His name was on the cards – on all of them – her dad the architect. Although her mother had always called him Jack, Hannah knew that was a nickname for John. It couldn’t be true.
Then she saw the inscription inside the lid of the silver case:
For Jack with love from Jane
And she watched the case fall to the floor, spilling business cards across the carpet.
It was true. This was her father’s old home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She staggered back down the corridor, relieved no one else was around. She had only hesitated for a moment before taking the silver case and the cards – after all, her dad would have wanted her to have them. No wonder he had never come back to England; he was a Lord, living in a place like this.
When she got to her own room she sat on the window seat and stared out. Darkness had settled over the hills and the sky, smothering the moon and the stars with a wall of driving rain.
Sandeep had said that the man he met at this house – the most recent Lord Fallon – had introduced himself as John, which meant Sandeep had actually met her father. Her stomach fluttered.
She needed to talk to Sandeep again, tell him who she was – who her father was – and see his reaction. Even Liam might be able to help when he returned.
All her late-night searches on Cloud BNB, poring over images of houses near the village. Not knowing that this holiday would lead her right to her father’s home, to his secret life. Everyone in the village would surely remember him, the husband of Lady Fallon. After the police interviewed her tomorrow, she’d head straight there, whatever the weather.
And Rosa, she might also know something. Hannah forced herself to stay calm and went downstairs into the kitchen, where Rosa and Chloe were eating soup in silence. Rosa gestured to the Aga. ‘Do try some if you’re hungry.’
Hannah suddenly felt very hungry, so she ladled out a bowlful, cut herself some bread and came to sit opposite them.
After a few mouthfuls, she said, ‘This is delicious. What did you put in it?’
Rosa glanced up and gave her a tiny smile. ‘It’s an old family recipe actually, very healthy too.’ She went back to her soup.
It tasted like hedge-clippings, but Hannah finished it all and made appreciative noises. She waited until they had all pushed away their bowls, then pulled out the silver case and let it rest on the table.
‘Look at this. I found it upstairs in one of the rooms, inside an old jacket – it must have belonged to the last owner.’
Chloe’s eyes widened. When Hannah flipped open the case to show the sketch on the top card, Chloe leaned in closer and reached out a hand. ‘Wow, cool. It’s this house, isn’t it?’
Hannah handed one of the cards to her. Rosa went over to the Aga and stirred the remains of the soup.
Hannah pointed at the card. ‘Turn it over.’
‘John Roper.’ Chloe frowned. ‘Who’s he? I thought this house belonged to Lord Fallon.’
The feeling of excitement was irresistible and Hannah knew it showed in her voice. ‘The final owner of this house was Lady Fallon, who must have been the last of the Fallon family. It looks like she married a man called John or Jack Roper, then, when they both died, the house was sold to Preserve the Past.’
‘Cool.’ Chloe pushed the card across the table.
Rosa had been noisily tipping the remaining soup away, rinsing the pot and putting it into the dishwasher. Now she turned to them, one hand massaging her forehead.
‘I’ve got a splitting headache, so I’m going up for a rest. Chloe, if I don’t see you, remember that you need to be in bed by nine thirty sharp. Don’t make me have to come down for you.’
Hannah stood up. ‘Before you go, can I just ask you something? Did you or Liam ever meet Lady Fallon or her husband? Or know anything about them?’
Rubbing her temples, Rosa shook her head. ‘No. Liam’s practice was in the next village.’
Chloe frowned thoughtfully. ‘But didn’t Dad say he knew everyone important in the area? He was always in those fancy clubs, wasn’t he?’
A sharp laugh. ‘You should know by now that your father is a liar and most of what he says is just to boost his ego. He’s never been that important.’
Chloe swallowed, her face reddening, and Hannah grabbed her hand. ‘I never told you my last name, but do you know what it is?’
Chloe shook her head and Hannah picked up the card from the table. ‘Roper. It’s Roper. My name is Hannah Roper. Jack Roper was my father.’
Chloe’s mouth fell open and Rosa stopped at the door. ‘So this house … it could be yours?’ Chloe grinned.
‘Unfortunately not, because I’m not related to the Fallons. My mum was Jack Roper’s first wife and Lady Fallon was his second.’
‘So you didn’t know your father lived here,’ Chloe said, ‘because your parents broke up?’
Hannah nodded and squeezed her hand. ‘But it was all right. Me and Mum got on fine. I found out where my dad had lived – that it was in this area – and I wanted to see it for myself, but I never expected to chance upon his actual house.’
Rosa’s voice cut through the room. ‘Come on, Chloe. You can watch TV if you want. I’ll use my earplugs and mask.’
Chloe scowled. ‘But you told me I could stay until nine thirty. I want to talk to Hannah.’
Rosa’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. ‘You’ve talked enough, I don’t want you listening to any more fantasies.’ She raised a hand to stop Chloe from interrupting. ‘It’s ridiculous. You have no idea if this girl’s name really is Roper – she’s a complete stranger for God’s sake – and even if it is, she could have produced the cards herself. There’s no proof she found them in the house.’
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ Hannah felt her jaw clench.
‘I have no idea, to trick a gullible child, perhaps. Or because you’re a fantasist, a con artist, desperate to impress that young man you’ve been making eyes at. I don’t know, and I don’t care. But my daughter won’t be involved.’
Hannah was stunned into silence and, after a moment, Chloe stood up. She looked back as they left the room, then Rosa slammed the door behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hannah sat at the kitchen table and stared at the silver case, her mind going back over Rosa’s outburst. What could have sparked her anger?
She stood up and sighed, rubbed tiredness from her eyes. She needed a good night’s sleep, but first she would find Sandeep. Walking into the drawing room, she found only Mo, sitting beside the fire, flicking through a book. There were a few others piled by his chair. Old dusty volumes that he must have found in the library.
She sat on the sofa, taking in his tired expression, his forced smile. ‘Lucy didn’t mean to upset you earlier,’ she said. ‘She’s just in a mood. It’s probably work, or this place starting to get to her.’
Mo shifted in his seat. ‘It’s not that.’ He turned the page of his book, the fire crackled, and Hannah wondered if she should go. Wished she hadn’t spoken.
But then Mo closed the book and looked at her. ‘I’m worried,’ he said. ‘About my dad. I really think I need to get him home.’ His fingers drummed on the cover of the book. ‘But we have to wait for the bloody police and I checked the weather forecast on the TV. It’s only going to get worse.’ He pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared out the window. ‘There’s a big storm – a huge one – rolling in off the Atlantic tomorrow. Gale-force winds, constant rain. You thought the weather was bad already? Storms around here can be brutal.’
‘Didn’t your dad want to stay for a bit?’
‘He says he’s fine, but I can tell he’s not. He won’t admit it, but it isn’t just his physical health. It’s all these memories about the house. He keeps torturing himself, going back over the same old ground. Lucy’s right: we should have left ages ago.’
They fell back into silence, and the wind pressed against the French windows. Eventually Hannah pointed at the stack of books on the table. ‘What you reading?’
‘I found them in the library, probably left by the last owners. There’s some juicy stuff about the area and its history. Quite grim, some of it.’
‘Anything about this actual house?’
He passed her the book he was holding. ‘Have a read of that. Check out the index.’
She flicked through and found a page about the Fallon family. There was a photo of The Guesthouse, its long driveway cutting through acres of fields, the same cold stone walls looking just as foreboding. She shivered and began to read.
When the potato famine struck in the 1840s, huge numbers of the locals died from starvation, as ninety percent of the crops they relied upon were struck by blight. The Fallon family themselves remained in England throughout this period and ignored the plight of their tenants, even evicting families who couldn’t keep up with the rent.
Here we include a section of a pamphlet from the time, found in the ruins of a church on the outskirts of Fallon village in 1843:
Crying and wailing sounded across all the hills of Ireland and nowhere was more tragic than County Mayo. No village more drowned in sorrow than Fallon, where so many children died that they can be heard crying in every gust of wind that blows across the land.
Hannah stopped reading and put down the book. Her throat felt dry. Mo reached out a hand. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Did you read that bit from the pamphlet?’
‘Yeah.’ He frowned. ‘Pretty upsetting stuff.’ He waved a hand to take in the room and the rest of the house. ‘The crying children bit certainly fits with Dad’s old ghost stories about this place.’
Hannah looked into his eyes. ‘Are they just stories, though?’ When he blinked and took off his glasses to clean them on his shirt she went on. ‘The crying child, I mean. I’ve heard it, Mo. Actually heard it. More than once, too.’
‘Come on, Hannah.’ He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t that have been Chloe? I mean, she’s having a tough time at the—’
‘I thought that at first, I really did, but it wasn’t her. She’s heard it too. And your dad – and Rob – they’ve both heard it too.’
‘I don’t want to sound like a dick.’ He smiled and put his glasses back on. ‘But maybe all these stories have set you off, you know. Maybe they’re what got you thinking about ghosts, about crying children. Made you—’
‘So I imagined it all. Is that what you mean?’
There was an angry silence and Mo got up to walk over to the window, running a hand through his hair. ‘No, of course not. Look, I’m sorry … it’s just all this stuff with my dad.’
He turned back to her and tried to smile. ‘Tell you what. Next time you hear it, come and get me. I’m up for a bit of ghost-hunting.’
She knew she would have reacted in the same way if someone had told her that story, but still she felt humiliated. Dropping her eyes to the book again, she clenched her hands, tried to read but couldn’t focus on the words. Was too aware of him still standing by the window, staring out into the dark, occasionally stroking his chin in thought. After a moment she decided she might as well tell him the rest now. She had nothing to lose – he already thought she was deluded.
‘I was upstairs earlier,’ she said. ‘And I got into the other little room at the end of the empty wing.’
He turned to face her, smiling again. ‘Nice, but don’t tell Lucy or she’ll have a fit. Mrs Health and Safety.’ There was a touch of mockery in his voice. When Hannah didn’t respond he said, ‘OK, OK, spill it. What did you find?’
‘Just a load of old clothes – they must have belonged to the last owner.’
He came back to sit opposite her again. ‘No hidden treasure then?’
Hannah dug into her pocket and pulled out the silver case. ‘No, but guess what I found in one of the suit jackets in the wardrobe?’ She tossed the case over to him. ‘I think even Lucy would say it was worth a bit of risk.’
He ran his finger over the embossed silver design, like a presenter on Antiques Roadshow, and pursed his lips. ‘Solid silver.’
/>
As he flicked it open she raised a hand. ‘Before you look, I should tell you my whole name: it’s Hannah Roper.’
He skimmed through the cards, raising his eyebrows when she told him who she thought Jack Roper might be. ‘Wow, that’s amazing. You actually belong here.’ He grinned and gestured to the house.
‘Not really, I’m not related to the Fallons. My mum was Jack’s first wife, and she was only the daughter of a postman.’
Mo’s smile grew wider and he reached out to take her hand. ‘Well, I always thought you looked like a Lady.’
Hannah laughed and moved away, her face flushed, and there was a long silent moment. Then he coughed with embarrassment.
As Hannah sat wondering what had just happened he went to crouch by the grate and threw a couple of logs on the fire. Unable to look at him she stared into the flames, thinking of Ben, thinking of Ben’s brother back at the funeral. Rosa had obviously noticed something between her and Mo, but she couldn’t allow herself to get involved. Not yet, not for a long, long time.
The French windows rattled harder, the first signs that the storm was nearly upon them. Two nights without sleep were taking their toll and she stifled a yawn, shook herself and stood up.
‘I need some coffee. What about you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ He picked up his book again and turned the page, a shadow of what looked like regret in his eyes.
She was surprised to find Sandeep in the kitchen, hunched on a chair beside the Aga, drinking his usual green tea.
‘Feeling any better?’ she asked.
He put down his cup. ‘I don’t know what my son has been saying, but I’m fine. Those bloody sleeping pills, that’s all. Making me feel groggy.’
Hannah poured herself a coffee and said nothing. Surely one sleeping pill at night shouldn’t affect him so badly. She dragged over a chair, pulled out the case and handed it to him.
As she explained what it was and what it meant, he didn’t look at her. Just opened the case and stared at the card in his hand, turning it over to see the picture, then back to the wording, tracing the name with his finger. When he eventually spoke, his voice had that suspicious note in it again, just as it had when they first met.
