“I wouldn’t want to put him out,” I said.
“No bother. He can leave you there and collect you on the way back. Would that work?”
“Oh, yes,” I said enthusiastically, glad I wouldn’t have to Uber it.
“Are you still looking for information on Alys?” Lisa asked. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added a generous helping of cream. She seemed in no hurry to return to the kitchen.
“I saw her name in the cellar yesterday,” I confessed. “It threw me.”
“Why?” Lisa asked, taking a sip.
“I couldn’t help seeing her there, in the dark, scratching out her name on the wall, all the while knowing she was about to die. I suppose she felt the need to leave something of herself behind, some tangible proof that she’d existed.”
“Oh, she existed all right,” Lisa said with a smirk. “She seems to have a hold on this place, and on you,” Lisa added. “Well, I suppose it’s as good an idea for a story as any. Good luck.” She set the empty cup on a small tray, collected the empty plates from the table, and left the room without another word.
I was just finishing my breakfast when Alastair put his head round the door. “I’ll be leaving in half an hour. Will you be ready to go?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “I’ll meet you outside.”
Alastair nodded and disappeared.
It was a pleasant day for a drive, the gentle sun streaming through the changing leaves creating a golden canopy above the lane. “Thank you for taking me,” I said. “I hope it’s not out of your way.”
“Not at all. And it’s nice to have a bit of company. I make this trip at least once a week, sometimes more often.”
“Do you like living in the country?” I asked.
“I do, but I’m more of a city dweller by nature, I think. But Lisa is thrilled. This land has been in her family for generations.”
“That must be something, having such family history.”
“I wouldn’t know. I come from a long line of fishing folk. What about you?”
I grinned. I certainly did not have illustrious roots. “My great-great-great grandparents met aboard a ship to Botany Bay.”
“No kidding?” Alastair said, taking his eyes off the road to look at me. “What were they sent down for?”
“Theft. They both came from small villages that depended largely on mining and fishing for their survival. It wasn’t an easy life, from what I understand.”
“No, I don’t suppose it was. So, how come you don’t speak with an Australian accent?” Alastair asked.
“My dad was British. He met Mum on holiday, and she followed him back to England.”
“You said was,” Alastair said, seizing on the most important word.
“He died when I was sixteen. Heart attack. And Mum died in November.”
“I’m sorry,” Alastair said. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No. I have several cousins, but they all live in Sidney. I’ve never even met them, not properly, anyway. We’ve connected on social media.”
Alastair scoffed. “I don’t think much of social media myself, but I suppose it has its uses. Most of our guests learn about the retreat through Facebook. It’s good for business.” He didn’t mention its impact on his daughter, and I saw no reason to bring up what Lisa had shared with me.
“I quite like it,” I said. “It’s a useful platform for promoting my work.”
Alastair nodded. He pulled off the main road and onto a narrow lane. The trees gave way to open space dominated by a cemetery that looked like something out of a Gothic film, with its ancient gravestones and wrought-iron gates.
“It’s just there,” Alastair said unnecessarily. I could hardly miss it. “It’s not as large as you might think, given the number of generations that lived and died in Ashcombe.”
“I see they moved the headstones as well,” I said, amazed that the worn grave markers had survived the transition.
“Yes. Problem is, many names have been obliterated over time, so they had no way of tracking who they actually reburied. I do hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I’m looking for Alys Bailey’s grave.”
“Good Lord. No wonder Lisa’s nose is out of joint,” he added under his breath.
“Why should Lisa care if I write about a woman who lived four hundred years ago?” I asked, confused by Alastair’s reaction.
“Well, it’s her family history, isn’t it?” Alastair said. “Her ancestors were responsible for Alys’s death.”
“Given this country’s history, everyone has ancestors who were responsible for someone’s death, directly or indirectly. Lisa can hardly be blamed for something that happened so long ago.”
“Still, she’s sensitive about it. You see, someone posted about a Lockwood Hall ghost, and then the questions began, and the sightings. I won’t lie, having a resident ghost is good for business, but Lisa doesn’t like talking about it.”
“Do you think the house is really haunted?” I asked. Brittany seemed to think so, or maybe she’d simply been trying to wind me up.
“I think all old houses have an atmosphere. It’s hard not to think of all the people who’ve lived and died there. But no, I don’t believe the house is haunted. I think people like being frightened, hence the continued success of horror films. It’s also a way to convince themselves that the soul lives on. It’s not easy to accept that once you’re dead, you’re really gone. They want to believe that something of them remains, even if that part is seeking closure or vengeance, or whatever they think keeps a person tethered to this world.” Alastair pulled up to the gates and stopped. “I should be back in about an hour, two at the outside,” he said. “You have my mobile number. Ring me if you
