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Annie hung up and rang Will, who answered on the first ring. ‘Will, your dad’s collapsed; he’s on his way to Westmorland General in an ambulance with Lily.’
‘How serious is it, Annie—did Lily say?’
‘She doesn’t know; I said we’d be there soon.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘I’ll be ready; drive carefully, Will.’
She got dressed, grabbed her phone and some money then waited on the front doorstep for Will. His BMW turned into the street and she ran down the steps and climbed inside. Will’s normally tanned face looked pale.
‘Has she rung back?’
Annie shook her head. ‘No, but it will take a while for them to get there. If you put your foot down we’ll not be that far behind them. He’ll be okay, Will; he’s like you, made of tough stuff.’
‘I hope so, Annie. I’d hate anything to happen to him now, especially before the wedding.’
Annie blinked back tears. She adored Tom and didn’t know what she would do if the unthinkable happened.
They drove in silence, Will with his foot to the pedal. The roads weren’t busy and they made it to the hospital in good time. They went to the Accident and Emergency Department, where Lily was standing in the corner, her face pale and her arms wrapped around herself. Will ran over to her and hugged her; she hugged him back. Eventually they separated and Lily threw her arms around Annie.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly… I don’t know what to do. One minute he was fine, the next he collapsed on the kitchen floor. I heard a loud crash and thought he’d dropped a plate. I got such a shock to see him lying there.’
‘Has anyone spoken to you yet? Did the paramedics have any idea what it was?’
‘They said it could have been a stroke or a heart attack… The doctor said he’d come out as soon as possible.’
Lily burst into tears and Will stepped forward to hug her again. Annie looked at him and once more thanked her lucky stars that she had him, then she turned to go and see if she could find someone to speak to and find out what was happening.
1
July 1782
Betsy Baker listened to her mother groaning from her small bed behind the curtain in the front room and smiled. She did nothing but complain about the weather, the neighbours, what was for tea, what Betsy was doing and on and on. Since she could remember, her mother had liked to use her fists on her; any excuse would result in a clip around the ear. If she didn’t do her chores or was late to come in when she had been playing out, her punishment would be a sly punch in the ribs. Her mother had always been a drinker and how hard she would hit depended on how drunk she was.
Now that Betsy was much older and dared to hit her back, the punches were few and far between; instead, her mother preferred to use her vicious tongue to lash out at her, but Betsy was almost twenty-one and old enough to leave. If only she had somewhere to go, but her mother kept her there, always playing on her poor health. Betsy wanted a life of her own and a man, she wanted to live somewhere that wasn’t damp and dingy or smelt of stale ale. She wanted to be free to do whatever she pleased with whoever she wanted. Her father had died when she was only five; she missed him, he would sing to her and tell her stories and she knew that he had loved her a lot more than her mother ever had.
Now, thanks to Betsy, her mother really did have poor health. Several nights ago Betsy had heard talk in the village of a powder called arsenic that could be bought from the chemist. Joss Brown, who lived at the farm not too far away, had been telling the rest of the men in the pub that he had bought some to kill off the rats that were overrunning his hay barns. Betsy worked behind the bar of The Queen’s Head, where the men would gather each evening. Her mother hated her working in a pub but it gave Betsy a chance to get out of the cramped, cold cottage. She had been flirting with Joss for weeks now. She was always quiet around the other men but she liked Joss, or she should say that she liked the big cottage that he lived in with his two sons. It was part of the farm that his mother and father owned. Joss was a widower; his wife had died last year and he had kept to himself ever since, but three times a week he would come into the pub for some ale and conversation. Betsy would do anything to escape from her mother and although she disliked children and did not want to have any herself, she would be able to put up with the horrible things until something or someone better came along.
This morning she had gone to the chemist and asked for some arsenic powder to kill the rats which had suddenly appeared in their house. The chemist had handed some over to her and told her to be very careful with it and she was. She had taken it straight home and put it into an old tin at the back of the larder, after first sprinkling some into her mother’s broth. She thought that life would be much easier without her. Not half an hour later her mother had begun to complain of terrible stomach pain and feeling ill. She had taken to her bed and lay there all afternoon, moaning and groaning. Betsy had taken her a cup of tea with even more of the powder in and then left to go to the pub. Her mother had begged her to call the doctor and she had said she would go and fetch him, but she had no intention of doing that. She wanted to leave her to it while she went to work, hoping that by the time she came home the woman would be dead and then she would call the doctor.
As Betsy was walking through the front door of the pub she walked into Joss, who was on his way out.
‘Sorry, Joss, I’m running late. I never saw you there. Are you leaving so soon? It’s only early.’
‘Good evening, Betsy. It’s been a grand day, hasn’t it?’
Betsy nodded in agreement; if her mother was dead when she went home it would indeed be a grand day.
‘Yes, Joss, it has been a wonderful day. Why don’t you come back inside for one more drink—I like to see you and who will I speak to all night if you go home now?’
She could see the redness creeping up his cheeks and he was looking at her as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time. He noticed her long black hair, ice-blue eyes and her ample bosom.
‘I want to come back in, I really do, but my father isn’t well and I said I would milk the cows and take my boys back home. They’re up at the farm with my mother.’
Betsy reached out and let her fingers brush along his bare arm. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Joss. I hope he is better by the morning and then you can come back and talk to me tomorrow night. That is, if you would want to?’
Joss shivered at her touch and she smiled.
‘I’ll be here waiting for you. Do not forget that, Joss Brown.’
She turned away from him and entered the pub but she felt his eyes behind her. He was standing watching her until she let the heavy wooden door shut and he could no longer see her. Betsy was having a grand old day. If everything went to plan, Joss would call round to offer his assistance, she could cry and tell him she couldn’t bear to live in her cold, damp house, which still smelt of death. She hoped he would offer her a room at his cottage in exchange for some cooking and cleaning. Then she would work on him until he was besotted with her and ask for her hand in marriage.
The pub was busy and Betsy worked hard all evening. Old Jack Thomas would not leave her alone. For an old man he was like an octopus and whenever she passed him he would grab a handful of her behind. She’d laughed at him and slapped his arm away, telling him to behave himself or she would have him thrown from the pub. The other men had laughed. The talk in there had been good-humoured, the warmth from the sun today having a good effect on everyone’s mood.
When it was time to go home she felt her stomach begin to churn. She hadn’t seen a dead person before and hoped her mother didn’t look like something from a nightmare. She put her cloak over her shoulders and declined an offer from one of the younger men in the pub to walk her home. She didn’t want any gossip to get back to Joss and this was such a small village it would; there was no doubt of that. Her house was not a two-minute walk from the pub and she was home in no time, even though she had trailed her feet, uneasy about what she was about to find. She stood outside for a minute, trying to calm her shaking hands, then Betsy pushed the front door open and stepped inside, listening for any sound. It was so quiet; she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard such peace in this house.
‘Mother, I’m home now. How are you feeling—do you still want me to fetch the doctor?’ There were no candles burning as there would be every other night. The house was filled with darkness. Betsy’s heart was beating fast with fear and excitement at what she might find behind the tatty, moth-eaten curtain that separated the living room from her mother’s bedroom. She felt her way into the small kitchen, along the shelf above the stove for a candle and matches; she struck a match and the orange flame lit up the room briefly. She held the flame to the wick before it went out; it soon caught and the candle began to burn.
Not realising how much her hand was shaking until she lifted the candlestick up, she looked in the direction of the curtain; her feet did not want to move but she forced them to take a step forward one at a time until her outstretched hand was touching the coarse material.
She drew it back and screamed; not for one minute had she expected her mother to look as she did. Her face was frozen in an expression of contorted agony. Her head was turned towards the curtain, her eyes were wide open, staring at Betsy, accusing her of murder, and there was blood around her mouth—so much blood. Betsy had no idea what she had expected to see but it had not been this and she carried on screaming until the neighbours came running to see what was the matter. She was led away by Mrs Whitman from next door, who had taken one look at her mother’s body and gasped, crossing herself.
‘Come, child—there is nothing you can do for her now.’
Betsy let her lead her by the hand to her house next door; this one was full of light and did not smell like her house had. A bleary-eyed teenage boy came down the stairs and Mrs Whitman ordered him to run and fetch Dr Johnson.
Chapter Two (#ulink_25946269-fdc5-5f56-b81a-3f3a2718ba21)
The bell rang to tell them visiting time was over and Annie bent down to kiss Tom’s cheek. He was so pale and had aged since he’d been admitted three days ago but at least he was alive. Will also bent down and kissed his dad, who grinned at the pair of them. His speech slurred, he spoke slowly. ‘He really is a big softie underneath that cool exterior.’
Annie nodded. ‘He is adorable, but you had us all worried, Tom. Don’t go doing anything like that again.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
They turned and hugged Lily then left them to it. Closing the door to the private room behind them, Annie and Will left the hospital hand in hand. Neither of them spoke until they got outside.
‘You know he was really lucky, it hasn’t affected his speech too much and he can still walk and move his arms. I think he’ll need someone to help at home, though; it’s not fair to expect Lily to look after the house and my dad; he can afford to pay someone.’
‘Oh, I don’t know; plenty of people don’t really have a choice, Will. They just have to get on with it and I don’t mind popping in every day on my way home from work.’
‘I know, but my dad isn’t most people; he could afford a housekeeper or a nurse to help out. Even if it’s only until he’s back on his feet. I’ll speak to Lily. I bet she refuses point-blank but it would make sense. I just wish we lived a bit nearer to them.’
‘We could always go and stop with them for a little while.’
‘Yes, we could, but it’s not as if either of us are around much; we both work long hours and opposite shifts. What would you think about moving somewhere up there—a bit closer for you for work and nearer to my dad?’
‘I’d love to, Will, but it depends on what we can afford. I love your house; it’s perfect and buying something similar in the Lakes would cost a lot more than we can afford.’
Will pulled her close and kissed her. He loved the way she was so practical with money. She never expected anything like a lot of people would, given his dad’s wealth.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too. Now, come on, take me home. I need a long soak in the bath and my pyjamas.’
‘You also need me to scrub your back.’
‘True, but I need a glass of wine and some chocolate more at this very minute.’
Will opened the car door for her and she got in. It had been a long day. She’d started work at eight so had been up since six, then she’d worked a ten-hour shift, which had been busy, and then gone straight to the hospital to meet Will. She sank back into the soft leather seat of Will’s BMW and closed her eyes.
He looked across at her and smiled; he was going to start looking for a house that Annie would fall in love with and was much nearer for her to get to work and nearer to his dad. He didn’t mind being the one to have the longer commute; he enjoyed driving. It gave him time to think things through; a few of his cases had been solved on long car journeys when he’d had the time to really think about them. All he wanted was to make Annie happy, give her the life she deserved. He’d heard from his dad’s friend about a farm cottage that had been empty for twenty years; it was going up for auction and tomorrow he would make an appointment to view it. It was on the outskirts of Hawkshead and not as close as he’d like, but it was a beautiful village and there was the car ferry which ran most days so Annie could get across to Bowness. They’d gone to the quaint village for a wander round the last time they had a weekend off together and Annie had said how much she’d love to live somewhere like that, so it would be perfect for both of them. When he finally pulled up outside his cottage he gently shook Annie, who was asleep.
‘Come on, sleepyhead. I’ll run your bath while you see if you can find any chocolate in the cupboards.’
****
The silver CD player on the bedside table played soothing classical music that filled the small room. The bed was comfortable, he had his music and the view from the window was impressive; his room looked out onto the landscaped front gardens and the water fountain. He couldn’t really complain; it was like living in a hotel free of charge, every need tended to. The only thing which spoilt his view were the metal bars across the outside of the window and the locked metal door to stop him leaving his room whenever he felt like it, but that was okay. Since the day he’d come to the secure hospital he’d kept his head down, he’d always been polite and quiet—oh, so quiet. He’d spent six months in the medical ward where they had treated his severe facial burns until he was well enough to go up to a secure ward.
Henry turned from watching the nurses who were just finishing their shift walking down the path to the main gates and the guard house. He caught his reflection in the mirror and for a second he didn’t recognise himself. His dark hair had been burnt off in the fire and his scalp badly scarred. The skin was pink, shiny and puckered, the scars running down one side of his face. He had never been a vain person, not particularly thinking he was handsome, yet he still didn’t like the face that stared back at him. Of course a hat and some dark sunglasses would cover the worst of it, should he ever be allowed back out into the real world, which he doubted would ever be possible; he was too much of a risk towards women the judge had said at his trial, and Henry couldn’t argue with him. There had been a lot of anger towards women, which was how he’d ended up in this predicament.
The nurses never looked at him, not directly, except for Megan, with the pink streak in her hair and the tattoos running up one arm. She was young enough to be his daughter and she would often sit on the end of his bed, talking to him about the weather or asking him how he was feeling. She would tell him her latest boyfriend troubles, which Henry wasn’t the least bit interested in, but if he’d thought he lived a lonely life before he came here then it had got a whole lot worse now he was locked up and treated like a freak. He knew that Megan was morbidly fascinated by him; she was probably dying to know why he’d done what he did, but she would never ask. She was forbidden from talking to him about his crimes. That was saved for Dr Grace Marshall, who had been there to see the drama unfold and watch him get caught so he did have a sneaking respect for her because she’d almost seen him in action. He didn’t think he would ever kill her because she was far too valuable and he did enjoy their little chats, even if everything he told her was a distorted version of the truth. Henry wasn’t stupid and he only told her what he thought she should know.
He had a bit of a soft spot for Nurse Megan, though; he wouldn’t call it a crush because that was ridiculous, but he did like the attention she paid to him and he was working on her: feeding her snippets of his life before it had come to this in exchange for information about how the hospital worked, what she did on a typical day, how many guards were in the guard house and patrolling the grounds. Because Henry had no intention of staying locked up in this place for the rest of his life. Once he was well enough he had a couple of old acquaintances that he needed to visit and a plan he wanted to put in place. When he had first been admitted and the pain had been excruciating and his days were nothing more than a morphine-induced haze it had been the thought of meeting Annie Graham and Will Ashworth once again which had kept him going. It had given him the will to survive, against all odds.
The bolts on the door slid back and, bang on time, Megan entered with his lunch. He was supposed to eat with the other men on this wing but they were violent towards him, which was both a laugh and an insult. His crimes were no worse than any of the ones they had committed but for some reason they didn’t like him, so he stayed in his room until he was collected by the nurses and guards each day and taken for his solitary walk around the grounds in what he called the giant bird cage. He enjoyed his hour of exercise and fresh air; the feeling of the sun, wind and rain on his face was one he would never take for granted ever again. Even in the torrential rain he would go out and walk, never missing a day. His guards hated him even more in the bad weather and would shelter against the wall of the building or in one of the many doorways. Henry always promised them that he would behave and he did because he didn’t want to jeopardise anything until the time was right for him to leave and not come back. It would be a bad day when Henry left; the weather would be terrible so as to hinder any searches that were made for him and his scent would be washed away by torrential rain. Unless, of course, he could get Megan to help him and he thought that he might be able to do just that. It would be a shame to kill her but needs must and she reminded him a lot of a girl he’d known briefly a couple of years ago. He would never forget Jenna White—she had been his first kill.
Chapter Three (#ulink_9ed1caa1-8607-5faf-8395-451cf83cdc77)
Annie was glad to finish work; she’d been stuck all afternoon directing traffic in the glaring sun for the Windermere air show. It had gone fast but it was too hot to work, especially in the direct sun with frustrated motorists driving at you from every direction and not one of them understanding what a stop sign meant. A woman with a car full of grey-haired friends had almost taken her out and she had to stop herself from calling her a ‘fucking idiot’. This would not have gone down very well with the public and probably would have resulted in a complaint to her sergeant, even though it was deserved.
The small station was empty when she got back; everyone was out enjoying the show, even Inspector Cathy Hayes, who always managed to worm her way out of as many public gatherings as she could. Annie was relieved because it meant she had time for a quick shower and could get changed in peace then drive to the car ferry to meet Will on the opposite side of Lake Windermere at the Queen’s Head in Hawkshead village. He had promised to buy her tea and a cold glass of wine and the thought of it had kept her going all afternoon.
She dried herself and got dressed in a pair of grey linen trousers, which were much cooler than her thick black combat pants, and a pale green blouse. She clipped her hair up and did a five-minute make-up job. Her nose was sunburnt so she covered it as best she could and left the station.
A door banged along the corridor. Annie paused; she knew the station was empty – it must be the resident ghost. She smiled to herself; although she hadn’t seen this one because it was very shy and kept itself to itself, it did like to bang doors and let her know it was around. She wasn’t threatened by it or afraid because she knew it meant no harm; it was just going about its daily business and wasn’t interested in her. Sometimes it was like that; not all ghosts were hanging around because they were stuck in this life or didn’t know how to move on. Some stayed because they wanted to.
She knew all of this because after sustaining a serious head injury two years ago that had been given to her by her now dead husband, she had started to see ghosts. Which had totally freaked her out at first but after a while she had come to realise that it was a special gift and one which had helped her to overcome a serial killer by helping a lovely ghost called Alice. She thought about poor little nine-year-old Sophie, who had desperately needed Annie’s help to be set free from the Shadow Man who had taken her away from her family and kept her in the shadows for twenty years. She had come to Annie for help and fighting the Shadow Man had been the scariest thing Annie had done up to now. Her friend Father John had tried to send him back to hell but had almost failed and it had been Annie who had stood her ground in sending him back, setting Sophie free in the process and reuniting her with her dead mum. Annie was lucky she wasn’t plagued by dead people all the time but if they needed her help they would come to her. Will had been scared by it at first but he and Jake, her best friend, had come to accept that Annie was now psychic and not mentally unstable and it was just a part of her life.
She walked to the door and shouted down the corridor, ‘Bye, you’re on your own now but someone will be in later and I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.’ Another door banged in answer and Annie smiled to herself. She would like to actually meet whoever it was when they plucked up the courage to show themselves.
She got into her convertible red Mini and put the roof down. It was stuffy inside and she wanted to freshen up and besides she only got to do this about six times a year with all the rain there usually was. The roads were still busy and it took her much longer to get to the car ferry than normal. There was a queue but she managed to squeeze into the last spot on the boat which had just loaded. She paid her £4.50 and looked out across the water at the view. It was beautiful; there were lots of boats out sailing on the calm blue lake. The trees, houses and hills which surrounded the lake blended in seamlessly. The ferry was full of families and the sound of laughter as excited children were led from their cars by parents to take in the views.
Annie closed her eyes. She didn’t think there was anything nicer than the sound of children’s laughter and wondered to herself if she and Will would ever have any kids. Will was forty-five so he wasn’t too old to be a dad and she was only thirty-four but it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. She had always thought she didn’t want kids, especially with Mike. It wouldn’t have been fair to subject them to his violent outbursts. It was a relief that she had managed to escape from him when she had. Lately, every time she saw a woman pushing a pram or a man carrying a toddler through the busy streets of Bowness she would picture Will with a cute kid in his arms and her heart would ache just a tiny bit. Maybe once they were married and settled down she would broach the subject with him and see how he felt. Of course if he didn’t want kids that was fine as well but she thought that he would make such an amazing dad it would be a shame not to give him the opportunity.
The ferry docked on the opposite side of the lake with a loud groan and a squeal of metal against stone and then it stopped suddenly. The barriers lifted and she turned the Mini’s engine back on—last on, last off. There was a long line of cars waiting to board the ferry and go back to the other side. She drove off and waved at the ticket collector. Then she drove the short distance towards Hawkshead and the man of her dreams, who had texted her to say he was waiting for her at the pub and had managed to get a table out the front. She parked in the car park, emptying her purse of ten pence pieces, feeding them into the machine. She got a ticket and then hurried to go and meet Will.
The early evening sun was still warm and the village was full of people wandering around. Annie walked towards the pub and felt her heart fill with joy at the sight of Will and the ice-cold glass of wine on the table in front of him. He looked up from the menu and grinned at her, his blue eyes crinkled full of mischief. He looked so like his dad. Annie squeezed past a loud American couple who were blocking the way and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. He turned and kissed her on the lips and it was her turn to grin.
‘Phew, am I glad to see you—what a day.’
She sat on the wooden bench next to him and picked up the glass, taking a large gulp. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘What is—me or the wine?’
‘You, of course, and the wine.’
He nudged her softly in the side. ‘You liar—you meant the wine. I don’t know about you but I’m starving and I’m having the biggest steak and chips they can drag out of the fridge.’
Annie looked at the menu and nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll have steak and a jacket potato, please.’
Will stood up and made his way to the bar to order. Annie sipped her wine as she people-watched. She could spend all evening people-watching. The American couple sat next to an older couple on the bench opposite and had struck up a conversation about how beautiful the village was and Annie agreed with them, it truly was. She could see the church, which was on a steep hill above the village square and she thought about Father John. She hadn’t seen him for a while; she should really go and pay him a visit. Now that he’d taken over the church in Bowness permanently she wanted to ask him about the wedding. When she’d saved his life last year he’d told her he owed her one and would marry her and Will on the house. She wasn’t after a cheap wedding but she would very much like him to marry them both.
Will reappeared and sat back down. ‘I’ve got a surprise to show you after, but it will have to wait until we’ve finished eating.’
‘You know I don’t like surprises—can’t you just tell me what it is now?’
‘No, sorry, I can’t. For once you will have to be patient and anyway I will have to take you to it.’
Annie scrunched up her face. No idea what he was talking about but she didn’t care; she could manage to wait an hour. They talked about Tom, Lily, the wedding, anything and everything, until the food arrived and Annie’s stomach let out a groan at the size of the plate. Then they ate in complete silence, until the American woman leant over and asked her what she was eating because it looked divine. When they were both finished they left the pub and walked hand in hand back towards the car park.
‘What do you want to do—follow me or leave your car here and I’ll bring you up to get it tomorrow?’
‘I’ll come with you and you don’t need to bring me back up. Cathy is working in Barrow until dinner time; I’ll ask her to pick me up on her way back up to Windermere and she can drop me off here.’
‘Sounds like a plan. Come on, you’re going to love this – I hope.’
They climbed into his car and he drove the opposite way that they would normally come down the small road which led through the village until they passed a big farmhouse and lots of barns. He carried on driving for a couple of minutes and then turned off at an old broken gate onto an overgrown gravel drive. It was bumpy and the hedges were so overgrown it was impossible to see where they were going. Will drove slowly until the drive opened onto a large house which was unloved and in desperate need of repair, but it was love at first sight for Annie.
‘Oh, my, what an amazing house. Whose is it?’
Will stopped the car under a huge drooping lilac tree and picked up her hand. ‘Well, that depends on how much you like it because if you do like it then we could.’
She looked at him. ‘How?’
‘Well, you said you’d like to live in this area and it belongs to my dad’s friend who owns the farm we passed. He wants to sell it and was going to put it up for auction but he said if we like it then we can have first refusal; it will save him the hassle of trying to sell it.’
Tears glistened in her eyes and for the first time in months she felt speechless. ‘But how could we afford it?’
Will began to laugh. ‘This is cheeky, I know, but your house sale should complete soon, so that would be almost enough to pay for it. We can sell mine and then use that money to renovate it. But, to be truthful, you really don’t need to worry if we can afford it; all I care about is if you love it enough to want to spend the time renovating it and then living in it. The rest will work itself out.’
Will didn’t want to sound pretentious but he could more than afford it without using Annie’s money but she would want to contribute and he didn’t want to take her independence away from her.
‘Will, I love it. Have you been inside? How bad is it?’
‘I had a look around before I went to the pub and, believe it or not, considering it’s been empty for over twenty years it’s not in too bad a shape. The roof is sound and the structure; it needs new windows and doors, damp-proofing, and there are a lot of small rooms downstairs that could be knocked through to make it more open-plan and spacious, but see what you think.’
They got out of the car and Annie squealed. The garden was overgrown but amongst the weeds and brambles were cornflowers, lavender, roses and wild foxgloves. Will took hold of her hand and led her towards the front door, which had its own porch built around it. The trellis on either side was rotten and the creamy white rambling rose that covered it was holding it all together but it could all be replaced.
