“Come on, just a quick chat. He might have known the area in the ’70s and ’80s—he certainly looks old enough.” They came to the door and the man shuffled out a little further to meet them. As the brittle morning light fell on their faces, she saw him frown abruptly, his gnarled hands clenching over the end of his walking stick. He was clearly ancient, his thin, creased skin speckled with moles and liver spots, encasing a head that had lost all but some of its hair, and he had oversized nose and ears, in the way of elderly men. His shoulders were rounded, almost seeming to push at the back of his balding head, and he wore a hearing aid, the beige nub of plastic sitting neatly within his ear.
“Hello,” Heather said again, deciding to front it out. “We’re from up the hill. Just having a wander about really. This is a beautiful piece of land.”
For a long moment, the old man didn’t respond—Heather had the strangest sensation they had frozen him solid with surprise—and then he seemed to jerk into life. He shuffled out the door, his head tipped to one side still so that he was peering up at them through one slightly bloodshot eye.
“It is, it is, and you’ve chosen a beautiful morning to explore it on.” His voice was friendly, warmed slightly with a hint of the local accent. “The woods really sing when the sun is out.”
“Do you know much about the area? About the old house on the hill?” Heather smiled. “I’m interested in local history, you see. I like to learn a little bit wherever I go.”
The man paused then, squinting at them in the bright light. There was something about the way he looked at her, as though he saw through her lies without even trying, that brought all Heather’s misgivings back in a rush. Then, dragging himself and the stick with obvious effort, he moved to one side and indicated the darkened hallway.
“Ladies, you’ve come to the right place, and it just so happens that Linda put a brew on before she left. Join an old man for a cup of tea?”
Heather glanced at Nikki, saw the tiniest shrug of her shoulder, and turned back to the old man.
“We’d love to, thank you.”
He shuffled back inside and they followed him down the shadowy hallway. Heather caught sight of various black and white photographs in frames hanging on the walls and an old, chintzy style wallpaper, and then they were turning right into a large living room. There were prints and paintings on the walls, and a large set of windows looking out across a wild lawn leading down into the woods.
“This is a lovely house,” said Nikki, who went over to the window to look out. “It must be a very peaceful place to live.”
“It is, it is at that. I’m Bert, by the way—it’ll be nice to have some company this morning. Linda, bless her heart, likes to tell me all the cleaning lady gossip but half the time I don’t know what she’s harpin’ on about.”
They both introduced themselves, and Heather felt a little flurry of unreality; standing in a stranger’s home, her mother’s house—and her ghosts—far behind her. The feeling was compounded when she turned to sit on the nearest sofa and spotted an enormous black dog in the corner of the room. He was huge and shaggy, with a long wolfish face like an Alsatian, and he was sprawled on top of a dog bed that was much too small for him. Heather looked back to Bert to ask about the dog—what sort was he, what was his name, would he be likely to eat them both—but the old man had pottered back down the corridor. Instead, she looked at Nikki, who was peering at the prints on the walls.
“Isn’t that a photo of the House?”
Heather looked where Nikki was nodding, and saw it; a very similar image to the ones whytewitch had had in her album, only this looked much older. A long row of men and women in a variety of servant’s uniforms stood outside, lined up on the gravel path, and standing slightly awkwardly next to them, a handful of people dressed in old fashioned clothes. Heather guessed it was from the ’20s or ’30s, judging by the fashions and the rear end of an extremely antiquated car peeking into shot.
“Before it was invaded by the great unwashed,” murmured Heather. A moment later, Bert reappeared at the door carrying a tea tray loaded with a teapot and cups. Nikki jumped up and helped him to wrestle it onto the low coffee table. When they were settled, with cups of tea warming up chilled hands, Bert leaned forward, his voice suddenly much more direct.
“What is it you wanted to know?”
Heather sipped her tea and shrugged. “There was a commune here in the ’70s, wasn’t there? Did you know the place then?”
The old man nodded slowly, not looking at them, as if confirming something to himself.
“Oh aye, yes, I knew it. It was lively, very lively. I remember when it was at its peak, when things were really jumping.” He smiled again, baring his long teeth.
“Do you know who was living in the big house at the time?” Nikki smiled to lessen the baldness of her question. “It’s just interesting to think of the history of the place, you know, while we’re staying there.”
“In the big house, are you?” said Bert, and Heather had the strangest idea that he knew that was a lie. Nevertheless, she nodded. He rubbed his thumb over the handle of his tea cup, back and forth, back and forth. “I don’t rightly recall. It belonged to the same family for generations, but they dwindled, as big families sometimes do.” His free hand clutched at his knee convulsively, and something about the movement made Heather shiver;
