Talek descended the stairs faster than he had climbed them, with Mr Headway hurrying behind. He was annoyed with himself for being foolish enough to view the property in the first place. He had come here because of the location and views, but now realised, with mounting horror, that it may appear very different to Miss Kellow. He could imagine her breathlessly telling her father about the encounter when she returned home. ‘Why would an eligible man, whose present home and business are located so far away, be interested in our neighbouring property?’ she would say. ‘Why, he wishes to get to know me better, Father! He has taken an interest in me!’ Talek groaned at the thought, as he skirted the bend in the staircase and descended the remaining steps at speed.
She would be wrong, of course, he thought, yet despite his keenness to leave, he could not avoid the unpalatable fact that he had felt something when he had seen her. It must have been the shock, he concluded, as he jumped down the last two steps. It made no sense that he, who disliked her character traits so much, felt a shiver of pleasure — no discomfort at seeing her again. Yet did he come here because of her? Subconsciously, perhaps? He headed for the door with long, measured strides and a deep furrowed frown. The revelation that a pretty face of a woman he barely knew might have influenced his choice to view the property would make him a fool.
‘Utter nonsense, of course,’ he argued under his breath. He could only hope she would conclude that too. His powerlessness to convince her that this was not the case irked him immensely. To bring up the subject would only point to his guilt and makehim look like a fool. Talek had been made to look like a fool by a woman before and he had no intention of repeating the experience.
He paused at the door and looked up at the ceiling above his head, picturing the room he had just fled. He had been ill-prepared for the meeting and although not intentionally, Miss Kellow had already turned him into a fool, because that was how he felt, foolish and dim-witted. At least now that he had decided not to purchase the house, he thought as he flung open the door, he could see no reason why they would meet again, planned or unplanned.
Confused by his sudden wish to leave, Mr Headway followed him to the waiting carriage and watched him climb in with hurried promises that he would soon find something else for him to see. Talek tilted his head in farewell and told him it was not necessary as he had no wish to view any more properties in the area. He did not tell him that the faster he left the better for all concerned. As the carriage rattled away, he promised himself he would not look up at her window and silently congratulated himself when he didn’t. He settled back into his seat, confident that the memory of Miss Kellow’s startled face would soon fade. He just hoped that it would not take too long.
Chapter Four
Grace watched Talek Danning leave through the window, his figure blurring behind the rain-stained glass that had not been cleaned for a quarter of a century. The house agent followed shortly afterwards, stiffly sitting in his open trap, clutching his papers to his chest as the breeze tried to snatch them away. Grace stepped back into the shadows of the room. Was it bad luck or fortunate that Mr Danning had found her first? Whichever it was, she had the distinct feeling that any opinion he held of her before finding her hiding like a criminal, was now damaged beyond repair.
Grace shivered. A chill had entered the house and for the first time she noticed the damp walls and clawing odour of stale air. Had he noticed this? He hadn’t fallen in love with the house as Grace had once done. Stubbornly, she continued to explore the house for a further hour, but her enthusiasm for the old building had waned as her romantic imagination had deserted her along with the departure of the house agent and his guest. Instead of welcoming rooms, she saw the crumbling plaster, the fingers of black mould reaching from the damp corners and the abandoned, dusty cobwebs hanging like rags from the window frames. The silence began to fray her nerves and prick at her skin, making her jump at every unexpected sound. She was alone, yet she didn’t feel it. Ghosts, Grace thought. They are everywhere and watching me. She decided to leave, descending the stairs far quicker than she had climbed them. She strode through the hall and headed for the kitchens to make her escape through the same window she had entered. She turned the corner at speed and came to a sudden stop. A figure of a woman, dressed in black, stood in the dark corridor barring her way.
She was old, yet tall and thin, with a long, narrow face and blue veined hands as pale as alabaster. If the old woman wassurprised to see Grace she did not show it. Instead she lifted her chin and looked at her through the rounded spectacles perched on her nose. She said nothing, but Grace had the distinct feeling that she was being studied.
‘The house agent has left,’ Grace said, attempting to appear as if she had the right to be there. The woman did not answer. ‘There is no one to show you the house. I am afraid you will have to leave and make another appointment.’
The woman approached, her eyes never leaving Grace’s face. This woman was not here to buy the house. She looked too at home, yet her face was too harsh and her clothes too plain to have lived a prosperous life that could afford such a property. Years of hard work and discontent was plainly etched on her face.
‘Who are you?’ Grace asked, curious. The woman came to a halt opposite her. Their eyes were level and for the first time Grace could see interest glinting in the depths of the other woman. It unnerved her. ‘Why are you here?’ she added, her confidence waning.
The woman’s gaze raked over her auburn hair. ‘I’m here for the same reason as you are . . . to see the house before it is sold.’
Grace felt instantly chastised. This woman knew she had no right to be here. Grace braced herself. ‘How did you get in?’
‘I have my own keys. I was the housekeeper here.’ Her gaze briefly lifted to the damp walls. ‘Before it was sold and left to rot.’
Grace’s interest was piqued. She would know her mother and what life at Bosvenna Manor was like all those years ago. The opportunity to discover her mother’s past outweighed the woman’s unfriendliness.
‘You must know my mother, Janey Kellow. Her maiden name was Carhart.’ The woman’s gaze returned to Grace’s hair, but she said nothing, her stern face devoid of any warmth. Gracewould not be put off. ‘She was a lady’s maid. She was not here very long. She tells me very little about it. Did you know her?’
The woman gave a slight, sharp nod of her head, as if it pained her to do so. It was all the encouragement Grace needed.
‘She left to marry my father. He is called Daniel Kellow. They now run Kellow Dairy, not far from here. I am the oldest, then there is Ben, my brother, and Ann and Mary, my sisters. Mary is married and away from home.’ She knew that she was wittering on, but the old woman was not the friendliest of sorts. Why was she staring so? ‘I could show you around, if you like.’
Her suggestion brought the woman to life.
‘I know every corner, every crack, every knot in every floorboard. There is nothing you can teach me about this house that I do not already know.’
The rebuff scalded Grace. No wonder her mother did not enjoy her time here. For the first time, Grace understood her mother’s reluctance to recall the past. Meeting the woman answered all her questions.
‘Then I will leave you to look around on your own,’ replied Grace, crisply. ‘If you will excuse me, I will be on my way.’ Grace attempted to pass her.
‘You are Carhart’s eldest?’
‘Yes. Why?’
The old woman’s eyes narrowed, but the interest remained. ‘I knew your grandmother. I was there. I heard it all. It was the reason your mother left.’
Grace frowned. The woman was confused, speaking words that made no sense, yet Grace found herself rooted to the spot.
‘Heard what? I don’t understand what you are telling me?’
The woman began to walk away, her long even strides rustling beneath the black crepe of her dress. Grace followed.
‘Tell me,’ she called out. ‘What do you mean you were there and “heard it all”?’
