Birds scattered from their perches, the stillness of the manor broken for the hard thump of five heartbeats. His eyes scanned the gardens looking for what had caused it. No one could have run up, knocked the mug and then ran off again in the short time it took for William to turn to the noise.
It must’ve been the wind, except the trees around him hardly moved in the breeze. Maybe he’d just not put it down properly. Whatever the reason was, he didn’t even bother picking up the pieces as he rushed back into the manor, shut the door and locked it behind him.
William was in his right mind to call the police, but that idea quickly disappeared. Wasting their time on a crime involving a coat was ridiculous. If he called, and the police looked into his record, it wouldn’t exactly go down well either. What would he say? He could mention that he thought someone was lurking in his gardens, but where was the proof?
They would put him down as mad, as many before had.
A thought crossed his mind. He might not need to involve the police… yet, but he did know where Edward would’ve gone. Stonewell. Which meant William would deal with it himself.
Edward said he lived in the village, so that’s where William would go. Plus, he wanted some space from Hanbury. Not to mention he needed to get supplies anyway. This was killing two birds with one stone.
He dragged himself upstairs, took one of the shortest showers of his life and redressed.
A knitted jumper did well to keep out the morning chill, so William put it back on above a plain, long-sleeved black t-shirt and a slim-fit pair of dark navy jeans. All that was missing was his round-framed glasses. They were reading glasses, but since his vision was playing tricks on him, it wouldn’t hurt to wear them for a bit.
He caught his reflection in a large ornate mirror on the hallway beyond the bedroom. He looked as though he dressed for his first day at some prestigious yet snobby university, not a mission to get back what was stolen from him.
Hanbury Manor yawned out around him as William made it out the front door. It seemed to wish him luck in his journey, or beg him not to leave at all. Either way, he was going.
Although he’d attempted to convince himself that last night was nothing but a night terror, it still didn’t prevent him from jumping at the noise. Nor did it keep him from rushing to put distance between himself and the manor as he raced out the front door and up the long, tree-lined driveway.
His pace quickened when he felt the tickle of eyes on the back of his neck. William refused to turn around to look until he was far enough away that the surrounding landscape gobbled the manor up entirely.
Stonewell was the type of village that belonged in a Christmas Hallmark movie. It reminded William of that one film where the English woman and American woman swapped places during the holidays, whilst both respectively falling in love with a charming man. It was a shame thecharmingmen here were lousy cheats and liars. All that was missing in Stonewell were snow-covered streets, flashing lights and the belly-warming echo of carols coming from the single pub in the village’s centre.
William almost felt excited to experience such a place during the holidays. Although work on the manor wouldn’t have started by this coming Christmas, he hoped that by next year, it would be in a position to move in. That’s if he decided not to sell-up.
As it stood, nothing good had come from arriving here… yet.
The wind ripped down the streets at his back, forcing him forward. Chimes rang to his side, drawing his attention to a neat row of different coloured cottages built beside one another.
Someone was out in their front garden, watching William’s every move.
He felt uncomfortable beneath the weight of this attention. Even more so thanks to the lack of a smile that the man didn’t offer him.
William could’ve turned away and kept walking, but something made him raise a hand and wave. The greeting wasn’t returned.
“Morning,” William attempted, offering as kind a smile as he could muster. When the man didn’t reply, William filled the awkward silence with more ramblings. “Crazy storm last night, wasn’t it?”
What in the love of small talk was that?
The man looked down, head shaking, focusing on his task of sweeping leaves off his perfectly manicured lawn. It was as if William wasn’t worth a breath.
“Wow. Tough crowd,” William mumbled to himself, moving on, keen to get away from the scrutiny. It was soon apparent that the first man wasn’t the only one to cast him unwelcoming looks. Faces popped between curtains, and people stood smoking on doorsteps. Even a postwoman walked past, head down, pretending William didn’t exist.
It wasn’t even midday, and William already needed a stiff drink. Instead of moving directly to the village shop, William changed course for the pub. From the time on his phone, he knew it was 11:36 a.m. But Dutch courage was exactly what he needed, even into his short five minute visit to Stonewell.
This was the first time his phone had signal since he arrived at Hanbury, and William expected at least a text from someone. But there was nothing. Even his emails were lacklustre. The only thing of interest was a message from his architecture firm in London asking for some approval on a recent kitchen redesign for the manor. William didn’t want to think about the manor right now, so he steered himself towards the Fox Burrow Inn while pocketing his phone.
A bell rang above him, announcing his arrival. For the time of day, the pub was relatively full. Many heads turned his way as he stepped into the warmth of the fire-lit space with its red-leather seats and ale-stained tables scattered around the room.
When he reached the bar and ordered a pint of Guinness and black, he knew the conversation around him had quietened because of him.
“You’re the boy who owns Hanbury Manor, right?”
A chill crept over William’s neck as he turned and looked at the first person brave enough to address him. The pub reached new levels of silence, every patron not bothering to be less obvious as they listened in.
The man standing before William was of stout build, with a billowing belly and red-vein-covered cheeks. William could imagine that the man’s eyes would have once been his best feature because they were more silver than blue. Except now, wiry brows framed them, wild and untamed, much like the full beard damp with the froth of beer he was drinking.
