“Are you all right?” Kyle asked. “You went pale all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, exhaling the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “It’s nothing but an old building.”
“It would be fun to examine the church,” Kyle said.
“Would you really do that?”
“Why not? People go wreck diving all the time. There’s something wonderfully creepy about swimming through doorways covered in seaweed and decorated with barnacles. And everyone always thinks they’ll find something everyone else has missed.”
“Like what?”
“Like buried treasure,” Kyle said, grinning at me.
As we stepped out of the woods and onto the bank, I was surprised to see Brittany. She was wearing a warm jacket with a faux-fur-trimmed hood, her gaze fixed on the tower as she took a puff of her fag.
“Oh, hey,” she said when she saw us. She flicked the butt into the water and turned to leave.
“Did you hear a strange noise last night?” Kyle asked, clearly teasing her. “It sounded like the tolling of a bell.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Brittany said. “It was the creaking of a branch.”
“Just one particular branch?” Kyle asked, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.
Brittany glared at him. “Yeah. On the hanging tree. It creaks from the weight of the body.”
“Was someone hanged at Lockwood Hall?” I asked, a shiver of apprehension racing up my spine.
Brittany rolled her eyes at my obvious ignorance. “Yes. Alys. A-L-Y-S,” she spelled out.
“Who’s Alys?” I asked. “And how do you know that’s how her name was spelled?”
“The resident ghost, of course,” Brittany said. I might have thought she was joking, except she looked very serious, almost frightened. “Every great house has a ghost,” she added acidly, clearly mocking someone, most likely her parents. “And I’ve seen the name. Written in her own hand.”
“Really? Where?” Kyle asked, but Brittany didn’t bother to reply. She turned on her heel and walked away, her khaki coat blending with the colors of the forest.
“I think I’m ready to go back,” I said, feeling as if someone had just walked over my grave. “Are you coming?”
“I think I’ll hang out here for a bit,” Kyle said, his gaze dreamy. “I feel an idea coming on.”
“Then don’t let me interrupt,” I said, and made my way back to the house. I felt an idea coming on myself but needed to do a bit of sleuthing first.
Chapter 6
Having divested myself of my jacket and muddy boots, I headed to the morning room in search of a hot drink. The chill, damp air of the forest had seeped into my bones, leaving me feeling uncomfortably cold despite my thick jersey. I made a cup of coffee and took it through to the sitting room, where a fire blazed in the grate. I chose the chair closest to the hearth and settled in, nursing my cup of coffee until I felt a pleasant warmth spread through my limbs. I was glad to be alone, taking the time to think back on the conversation with Brittany; however, when Lisa popped in to bring several water bottles for the sideboard, I was glad to see her.
“Did you take that walk?” she asked.
“Yes. I actually ran into Brittany.”
“She loves to bunk off, especially when I ask her to load the dishwasher,” Lisa said.
For some reason, I found it amusing that this old Tudor pile had a dishwasher, probably the industrial kind, but such was the march of progress. Ancient on the outside, modern and comfortable on the inside. I couldn’t help wondering what the original occupants would have made of their home were they able to see it now. Thinking of original occupants brought me right back to Alys.
“Lisa, Brittany said something about a ghost that haunts Lockwood Hall. I’d love to hear more about her,” I said, hoping Lisa had time for a chat.
“It’s not a pleasant story,” Lisa said as she added another log to the fire, turning her back to me.
“Ghost stories rarely are. Happy people don’t generally hang around for centuries after death, making mischief and never missing an opportunity to scare the living,” I said, going for a light, humorous tone since something in Lisa’s demeanor told me she wasn’t comfortable with the subject.
Lisa turned around, her gaze serious. “Alys lived in Ashcombe Village in the sixteen hundreds. She didn’t come to a good end.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t really know the details. By the time Uncle Jeffrey told me about her, he was a bit gaga.” She twirled her finger next to her temple in the universal sign of insanity. “From what I gathered, she was hanged, just there.” Lisa pointed toward an ancient oak just beyond the window, its branches long and thick, the bright leaves of autumn dulled by a swirling shroud of mist.
“Why?” I asked. I could almost see a ghostly shape swinging from the branch, pale feet suspended above the leaf-strewn earth.
“Witchcraft.”
“Have you ever seen her?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.
“Once or twice, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Could have been just a shadow or a reflection of a billowing curtain in the mirror. Brittany is a bit obsessed with her, though. I think Alys’s death fits in nicely with Brittany’s fatalistic view of the world.”
“In what way?” I asked, needing to understand what Lisa meant.
Lisa sighed. “It’s not an easy thing, being a teenager in this day and age. Brittany equates social media with the witch hunts of the Middle Ages.”
“Sorry. You lost me,” I said. Maybe if I had a teenage child of my own, this would
