Turn Left at the Daffodils. Elizabeth Elgin

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      ‘What have I missed?’ Evie put three glasses on the tabletop.

      ‘Nuthin except that it’s probably civvies in the big house and that the lord was given four weeks’ notice to get out,’ Nan shrugged.

      ‘So what did he call himself when he was at home?’ Evie pushed a half of bitter in the man’s direction.

      ‘Thanks, Missus, and cheers!’ He took a sip then poured the contents of the glass into his tankard, shaking out every last drop. ‘He was -still is, I suppose – Lord Mead-Storrow. Took it all very well, so talk had it.’

      ‘You’ve got to feel sorry for him,’ Evie sighed. ‘It must have been a beautiful place to live before it was commandeered. Wonder how many staff it took to run the place?’

      ‘Not staff, girl. Servants. That’s what the aristocracy employs. And they had to get out an’ all. Find other jobs. ’Twas the farmers I was sorry for, though they’ve been allowed to harvest growing crops. Last of the wheat and barley was cut a couple of weeks ago. Only root crops left, now. Turnips and sugar beet…’

      ‘Rotten, innit, when the government can take your ’ouse or your car or your railings and gates without so much as a by-your-leave. Did they give Lord Wotsit another place to go to?’ Nan frowned.

      ‘I doubt it. He’s got a house in London and another estate in Scotland. Him won’t be all that bothered. So what’s them civilians doing at Heronflete and why do they need such a big place to do it in? Must be something of national importance.’

      ‘Do you want to know something?’ Evie grinned. ‘There are a few guards and ATS personnel billeted in the gate lodges and a couple of RASC bods there, and the cookhouse staff, and having said that, you know as much as we do! I don’t know whether it’s one of the Services or civilians in the big house. Maybe we’ll find out in time, but right now we’re as puzzled as you are.’

      And that, Evie thought, should have been the end of the matter and the old man should have picked up his tankard and joined the drinkers at another table, but still he lingered.

      ‘I think you two should be warned,’ he said softly.

      ‘What about?’

      ‘About,’ he tapped his nose with a forefinger, ‘things…’

      ‘What things?’ To her credit, Nan was instantly on her feet. ‘Another glass, grandad?’

      ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

      ‘So what things?’ Nan was quickly back. ‘About Heronflete, you mean?’

      ‘About Heronflete Priory as has been in the Mead-Storrow family for generations. Before my grandad’s time, even. It was my grandad as told me. About Cecilia.’

      ‘And who was she when she was at home?’ Nan urged, eyes bright.

      ‘We-e-ll, nobody’s quite sure who she was, but it was on St Cecilia’s day that they found her.’ He paused, looking from one to the other. ‘So they gave her that name. Had to have a name, see, to bury her decent…’

      ‘You mean someone found a dead body at Heronflete?’ Now Evie was curious.

      ‘Nah. At the Priory. When they was pulling it down. Them Storrows was rich, so they decided on one of them houses that look like a castle. Knocked down what was left of the priory so they could build another place, grander than the one they were living in – the one that’s there, now.’

      ‘But where did they find the body? Came across a grave, did they?’ Nan’s eyes were rounder than ever.

      ‘Grave? Oh, my word no! Came across a skeleton. Shackled hand and foot. Walled up.’

      ‘Oh, my lor’. A nun, was it?’

      ‘Had to be. Men wasn’t allowed in priories. That poor woman must’ve been there for hundreds of years – before King Henry the Eighth looted the place, then had the roof pulled off. Must’ve caused great consternation, at the time. Lord Storrow’s ancestor got into a right state about it. Thought the terrible way the woman had died would bring bad luck to his smart new house. So he got a priest in, talk has it, and had the spot where she was found blessed, then gave the skeleton a Christian burial.

      ‘You can see the grave, still. About a hundred yards from the house, with a little stone there. A bit worn now, I believe, but you can still make out the name.’

      ‘That was a very decent thing to do. She’d have been ’appy about havin’ a decent grave. But we won’t be allowed to go and look at it. We can’t get up to Heronflete without a pass.’ Nan remembered the soldiers. ‘Nice to hear a story with a happy ending.’

      ‘Ar, but it wasn’t – a happy ending, I mean. That nun wasn’t taking it lying down. Her didn’t want to rest! Well, would you have done if you’d died the way she did? To this very day, she reminds folk about it, makes sure they don’t forget.’

      ‘Now don’t tell me she comes back a-haunting,’ Evie giggled, ‘because I won’t believe it. I have never seen a ghost and I’ve never met anyone who has!’

      ‘Then you should’ve spoken to the estate workers around Heronflete. People saw her…’

      ‘How many – and were they sober at the time?’

      ‘Folks saw her, that’s all I know. A figure in black, and not near the grave, either. Near the stables. People figured that it was in the vicinity of the stables that she died, when you saw plans of what the priory looked like, and took into account where it was set down.’

      ‘Well, I hope it isn’t true grandad, ’cause our friend works at the stableyard. It’s where they keep the transports, now.’

      ‘We-e-ll, chances of seeing Cecilia are rare. Only on two dates have folk come across her. In April – when people felt that’s when she might have been walled up – and on St Cecilia’s day, the time when her was set free, you might say.’

      ‘And when is that?’ Evie was still smiling, completely unconvinced.

      ‘In November, if you must know. When the nights are dark early.’

      ‘When in November?’ Nan’s tongue made little clicking noises and she gulped at her drink.

      ‘The twenty-second. Leastways, that’s what my grandad told me.’

      ‘The twenty-second!’ Nan got to her feet, pulling on her cap, wriggling her fingers into her gloves. ‘Come on, Evie. I’m goin’. Don’t want to hear nuthin’ more about ghosts!’ She slung her respirator, and made for the door.

      ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Biting back a smile, Evie got to her feet. ‘Telling such fibs! G’night Mr-er…Nice to have met you.’

      ‘An’ you too, Missus. But I wasn’t fibbing. Honest I wasn’t!’

      And then he began to chuckle.

      ‘Wait on! Don’t be upset,’ Evie soothed when she caught up with the indignant СКАЧАТЬ