Evie blushes and buries her face in Horace’s fur, muffling her reply.
Janice bends down so that her face is close to Evie’s. ‘Evie, well, that’s a beautiful name.’
I don’t have the heart to tell her we don’t allow pets. I should have made it clear on the website. I have a sudden unpleasant vision of a Noah’s Ark of pets descending on us this week. It’s not that I don’t like animals, it’s just easier to say no from a hygiene and allergies point of view. Is Ruby allergic to dogs? I’ll check with Selena.
‘Well, Mrs Lowly, you’re in Honeysuckle.’
She stands up, putting a hand to her back. I’d probably put her at sixty-five, seventy at a push. I’m not very good with ages. ‘Call me Janice, please. Mrs Lowly will always be my mother-in-law!’ She chuckles. Perhaps she’ll be a recurring guest, with a sister in the village. I like the thought of getting to know her better.
‘Great. Well, Janice, your room is just up the stairs, second on the left. I’ll show you.’ She has one small suitcase and a large shoulder bag. I offer to take the case but she waves me away.
‘It’s not heavy.’ She follows me up the stairs, Evie close at our heels. ‘Lovely place you’ve got here,’ she says, taking in the pale grey walls, the biscuit-coloured carpet, the gilt-edged mirrors and French-style furniture.
‘Thank you. We refurbished it. You’re our first guest,’ I say, discounting Selena.
‘But you’re from around here, aren’t you? I detect a Welsh accent. Although it’s not as broad as the locals’. My sister’s is especially thick.’
I laugh. ‘Years of living in London watered it down. Although my friends there don’t think so. They think I’m proper Welsh.’
She stops at the top of the stairs, panting, her gaze going to the arched window at the opposite end of the landing, which overlooks the mountains. ‘Beautiful view.’
‘Yes. We were very lucky to find this house.’
She turns to me. Her eyes are a startling bright blue. Spanish blue, I think it’s called. ‘Something bad happened here,’ she says.
‘Pardon?’ I couldn’t have heard right. My eyes flicker to Evie, my sensitive worrier, but she’s still enraptured by Horace, who is squatting by Janice’s large feet.
‘This house has a bad energy.’
She’s one of those.Adrian’s mum is too. She’s into anything mystical: angels, auras, energies, spirits. I have no time for it. ‘Are you saying you don’t want to stay here?’ I’m trying to keep my voice even but there is an edge to it. I won’t let her spook Evie. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
Her face relaxes again. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I can pick up on energies, that’s all. Do you know the history of the house?’
I shake my head. ‘It was built in the late nineteenth century, 1875, I think the deeds say. It was standing empty for a long time before we bought it.’
‘Get it for a steal, did you?’
I blanch at the forthright question. ‘Well, um, I suppose. Although we had to spend a lot doing it up.’
‘Hmm.’ Her eyes dart around the landing and she runs her hand along the wooden balustrade. ‘My sister will know more. She’s lived here for the last forty years. I couldn’t wait to move away. I left at eighteen when I married Roy. Although I remember the rumours …’ She shoots a glance at Evie. ‘I’ll tell you another time. When there’re no little ears flapping.’
I stand outside Honeysuckle, key in hand. When I turn Evie has legged it downstairs and Horace is in Janice’s arms again. She’s standing behind me but looking towards the staircase that leads to the attic where we sleep. ‘I heard it happened up there,’ she says, her face contorted. How do I tell her I don’t want to listen to idle gossip without sounding rude? She’s a paying guest, and we need to keep her happy.
‘What happened?’ I say, in an effort to be polite.
‘Someone died …’
I turn the key and push open the door. ‘Here we are then,’ I say pointedly, relieved that Evie is out of earshot. I hope Janice isn’t going to say this room has a bad vibe too, especially as it overlooks part of the churchyard. If I’d known, I would have put her in Freesia on the other side of the house. She breezes past me, Horace jumping out of her arms to land on the small double bed.
‘Ooh, this is nice,’ she says, all talk of energies and death seemingly forgotten. Horace is making snuffling sounds as he pushes at the duvet with his nose. Janice strides to the window and pulls back the curtains to get a better view. It’s started to rain. Over her shoulder I can see the church’s spire and the weather-beaten, ornate tombs jutting out of the ground, many cracked and leaning at odd angles.
‘I know it overlooks the graveyard …’ I wonder if I should offer her a different room.
She swivels round to face me, her expression serious. ‘Oh, my dear. I’m not worried about that.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Believe me, the dead can’t hurt you. It’s only the living who can.’
Later, after I’ve vacuumed the stairs, dusted the large French cabinet in the hallway, and dabbed away a smear on the rectangular mirror, the next guests arrive. I can’t wait for Nancy to start tomorrow.
I hear voices and the crunch of gravel before the bell rings, reverberating through the house. My mother appears from nowhere to answer the door, wrestling it back with force on to the dark night. Somebody nearby must have started a bonfire as smoke drifts in with the guests. They announce themselves as Peter and Susie Greyson. I’ve put them in Hyacinth, a family room with a view of the garden. I shove the duster into the back pocket of my jeans and go to join them.
