Parliament of Rooks Read online

  3.

  ‘Oh good thinking, Verity,’ Jayne said, sitting down on the padded bench next to me and pouring a glass from the bottle of Prosecco on the table in the bar of the Old White Lion Hotel.

  ‘Well, it’s a celebration,’ I said. ‘It’s not every day you finalise a divorce, complete on a haunted guesthouse, and move to a village where you don’t know anybody.’

  ‘Cheers to that,’ Jayne said with a smile at my attempt at a joke, and we clinked glasses.

  ‘What are we toasting?’ Lara asked as she sat down.

  ‘Verity leaving her cheating husband, upping sticks and moving to the middle of nowhere,’ Jayne said.

  ‘Don’t forget the bit about the ghosts,’ I added.

  ‘Pour me a large one,’ Lara said. ‘I’ll drink to that!’

  ‘Pour your own, you lazy cow,’ Jayne said. Lara stuck her tongue out at her and did just that.

  ‘Can I have a glass, Mummy?’ Hannah asked, and Jayne spluttered over her next sip.

  ‘No, you can’t have wine, Hans. Water, squash or apple juice.’

  ‘Coke!’

  ‘Not at teatime, you won’t sleep. Water, squash or apple juice.’

  ‘Aww, please, we’re celebrating, Auntie Verity said so. Please?’

  ‘Water, squash or apple juice.’

  Hannah sat back, arms folded in a sulk.

  ‘Let me know when you’ve decided,’ Lara said, then turned back to us. ‘So how does it feel, Verity?’

  ‘What? My cheating husband or the haunted guesthouse?’

  ‘Cheating ex-husband,’ Jayne said.

  ‘True.’ I raised my glass in a toast once more and took a long gulp, blinking back unexpected tears. I’d thought I’d already shed all those.

  ‘Did he ever give you an explanation?’ Lara asked.

  I shook my head, thinking back to the day I’d found Antony’s emails and messages not to another woman, but to many, going back years. ‘He didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong – once the initial shock of being found out had worn off, anyway. Apparently virtual cheating doesn’t count. Despite the intimate pictures, the webcam sessions, the fact that he proposed to at least one of them, and declared his undying love to a few more. He just can’t understand why I’m so hurt or feel so betrayed.’

  ‘Idiot,’ Jayne said.

  ‘Bastard,’ Lara countered.

  ‘Mummy!’ Hannah admonished.

  ‘Sorry, Hans, quite right.’

  ‘Well, at least the judge understood,’ Jayne said.

  I said nothing, and sipped my wine. Finding out what Antony had been doing for so long had turned my world upside down. We’d been together for years, I’d thought we would always be together. It had turned out that I didn’t know him at all.

  ‘Have you decided yet?’ Lara asked Hannah, and I gave her a grateful glance for changing the subject.

  ‘Juice.’

  ‘Juice what?’

  ‘Juice, please.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get us another bottle as well, ladies. Might as well make a night of it.’

  ‘You’re a bad influence, Lara,’ Jayne scolded.

  ‘Rubbish, you were both thinking it.’

  I looked at Jayne and laughed. Lara’s observation was spot on.

  ‘This is supposed to be a working trip, not a girls’ weekend,’ Jayne complained.

  ‘The work starts tomorrow,’ Lara said. ‘Tonight is the celebration. Relax and enjoy yourself, Jayne.’

  ‘I hope Grasper’s okay over there. Those light things were freaky.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Lara said. ‘Dogs aren’t allowed in here, there’s no way he can sleep in the car, and the orbs were friendly, they were playing with him.’

  ‘Let me see it again,’ I said, and Lara dug out her phone.

  We watched as Grasper jumped at a ball of light, then spun in a full circle as it teased him before shooting off. I could almost see the indecision on the terrier’s face – torn between chasing the one and playing with the other. The second orb hovered around his head then shot to his tail, where it followed the wildly wagging appendage as best it could – not an easy task as Grasper was also circling madly, trying to catch it. I realised I could see the orbs more clearly each time I watched the video.

  Then the first rejoined the fun and Grasper was truly lost. Snapping at one then the other, he settled for watching them, tongue hanging out in a sappy grin. He only joined in their whirling dance when one approached him.

  A moment later, they were gone, and Grasper settled down on the floor, exhausted but happy, looking up at Jayne with his usual level of adoration.

  ‘Whoever they are, they’re friendly,’ Lara said. ‘Grasper would react very differently if they were dark forces.’

  ‘Dark forces? What nonsense!’ Jayne said in exasperation. ‘They’re flies or something, that’s all. Not spirits or ghosts, and certainly not demons!’

  ‘They’re not flies, Jayne. Look at them, they’re circular balls of light. Have you never watched Most Haunted or Ghost Adventures? They’re orbs – spirits.’

  ‘You’re freaking me out,’ I said before Jayne and Lara descended into a bickering spat. ‘I’m going to be on my own there most of the time – at least until I open. I don’t want ghosts around.’

  ‘Ghosts? Oh, you must be the lady who bought Weavers.’

  We looked up at the waitress – blonde, pretty and young; it seemed very strange hearing her talking about ghosts.

  ‘Yes. I’m Verity Earnshaw,’ I said. ‘I’m turning it into a guesthouse, and should be opening in April.’

  ‘Earnshaw? Well, you’ll fit right in round here then.’ The girl laughed. ‘I’m Tess, welcome to Haworth.’

  ‘You know about the ghosts?’ Lara asked.

  ‘Village is full of them, but I only know about one at Weavers, the Grey Lady. She’s not seen very often, but the sightings are consistent – she’s a bit of a celebrity round here. People reckon she’s Emily Brontë.’

  ‘Are you seriously trying to tell us that Verity’s guesthouse is haunted by a Brontë sister?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘No one knows for sure, but she only appears around December 19th, the date of Emily’s death.’

  ‘Next week,’ Lara said, glancing at me.

  ‘Yeah, she’s said to climb up a flight of stairs that are no longer there – the wall that adjoins the row of weaver’s cottages. But she’s always smiling and has never done any harm,’ Tess added quickly, no doubt in reaction to me. I felt cold and horrified, and presumably had paled considerably.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jayne tried to reassure me. ‘It’s fanciful tales, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong. There’s plenty of ghosts round here,’ Tess said. ‘Nothing fanciful about them – you should go on the ghost tour, find out all sorts of tales you will.’

  ‘Verity, relax,’ Lara said. ‘It’s Emily Brontë – how wonderful is that? That’s why she played with Grasper, she loved animals and even had a dog herself called the same, that’s where Jayne got Grasper’s name from.’

  Jayne nodded in agreement.

  ‘And I told you,’ Lara continued, ‘those orbs are friendly. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Orbs?’ the girl asked. ‘What orbs? What did you see?’

  Lara showed her the video, which she watched in silence.

  ‘Well, I’ve never seen owt like that before,’ Tess said. ‘Will you show me mam? She’s behind the bar – if there are any stories, she’ll know.’

  She didn’t wait for an answer but shouted across the bar, her Yorkshire accent broadening further.

  ‘Ey up,’ her mam said after viewing the clip. ‘Now there’s a thing.’ She turned and went back to the bar, and the three of us looked at each other in confusion.

  ‘Don’t worry. She takes a while to warm up to strangers. If she knew anything, she’d have said. But she’
ll find out, you can be sure of that. Are you ready to order?’

  Subdued, we ordered food and wine – and an apple juice for Hannah. When we were alone again, Lara reached over and grasped my forearm.

  ‘Don’t worry, Verity. You’ll have Grasper with you tonight, and I’ll cleanse the whole building for you in the morning. You’ll be fine.’

  I shuddered. Spirits were unknown and unknowable, and I hated the idea of strangers in my new home. Then I grinned at the absurdity of that thought. In a few months, I’d be running a guesthouse – constantly inviting strangers into my home. I raised my glass and took a long gulp, realising I was committed. The Rookery was my home and would soon be my livelihood. I had nothing else. I was stuck here, ghosts or no ghosts.

  4.

  The camp bed creaked as I turned over, and I startled awake, the image of a man clear in my mind. Dark-haired with black eyes and sun-baked skin. I shivered, rolled over again, and went back to sleep.

  He beckoned to me and I joined him, walking across the car park behind my guesthouse, wincing as my bare feet found stones and the debris of tourists.

  Towards the parsonage then down Church Lane to the graveyard, I followed the enigmatic figure in shirt and breeks – barefoot like myself.

  I chided myself at every step, yet could not halt my feet. He pulled at me, beseeched me, drew me in, yet never touched me.

  Past the early graves, the slabs of stone flat against the earth and butted up to each other so closely, Nature had no chance to exert a living presence. Some altar graves, then the newer, tall, carved monoliths standing sentinel and guarding the valley below.

  I hesitated, shivering again as the man I followed disappeared into fog. What was I thinking?

  I took a couple of hesitant steps backwards, but was too late; the fog was quick, falling down the hillside, enveloping me until I could see naught but grey and white swirls of cloud.

  Then light, and I moved towards it, the misty tendrils releasing me, and I saw him again.

  Standing with the sun behind him, shining on him, he spread his arms wide as if to show me something. I looked past him and gasped at the majesty of the moors: grim, yes, but also beautiful in their barrenness.

  But no, not barren. Buzzards, hawks, even red kites circled above. I spotted a kestrel, hovering in place despite the wind, then diving down on to its prey.

  I looked closely at the ground, a mixture of heather and tough, tussocky grass, and spotted rabbits playing, then scattering as a young fox cub bounded into their midst – too young and unskilled to do anything but scare them away. That would soon change.

  The man pointed, and I twirled to see a herd of deer run past on the hillside below me. I grinned in utter delight, clasping my hands together, and watched the hardy beasts until the last flash of white from their hindquarters disappeared. I turned back to the man.

  He beckoned again and I stepped forward, but he turned and walked away. I followed, hardly thinking about what I was doing, back into the swirling, enveloping fog, then jerked to a standstill as it cleared and I found myself perched on a rocky ledge at the edge of a precipice, the man’s hand on my arm to steady me.

  I opened my mouth to berate him, to tell him to be more careful, but he gestured to the valley below, and my complaints died in my throat.

  The moors stretched out in all directions, a seemingly endless and full palette of browns and greens, yellows and oranges, maroons and purples, all swirled together as if by the hand of a great master in a grand passion of artistic creativity.

  I pulled my gaze down and looked over the valley, only now seeing the towering, elongated chimney stacks belching black smoke to mingle with the clean moorland mist.

  All that burning coal to produce the steam needed to run enough jennies, mules and looms to clothe gentlemen and ladies alike in the finest worsted wools.

  I counted what now looked like vents from Hell as I pictured the children crawling about under that relentless machinery, literally risking life and limb with every crash and rattle of iron, every yard of yarn. A dozen, no, more – eighteen – factories of slavery and torture littered the valley, and I realised they must provide work for the occupants of near every house I could see.

  The small slate roofs jumbled together in clusters, mimicking the outcroppings of ancient rock that interrupted the swathes of colour on the moorland above.

  How many people lived and worked in those tiny cottages? Streets swimming with filth, children close to starvation, disease rampant.

  I shook the dreary thoughts away; the vista was so beautiful, why did I feel sad?

  I gasped as the man pulled me, and mist eddied around us once again until we were on the edge of the moors and I recognised the parsonage by the church – although something was wrong. The parsonage was missing a gable; the museum buildings at the back, as well as the car park, were not there. Neither were there any trees in the churchyard, and all the memorial stones were flat. Everything seemed very ... bleak.

  Six children walked up the lane and I smiled, charmed by their fussy Victorian clothing, the smallest girls looking the cutest of all in bonnets, clogs and aprons over full skirts.

  I looked more carefully and realised they were all close in age; no more than a year or two between each, and they were not all girls – a boy walked in the middle, herding and shepherding his charges along. Well, trying to; his sisters did not appear to appreciate his efforts.

  It struck me who they were, and I turned to my companion to confirm my suspicion of the identity of the family, but he was entranced by the large black rook perched on his wrist.

  It took flight, was buffeted by the wind, but soon righted itself and swooped low to the gaggle of children.

  One of the smaller girls – Emily, I decided; there was only one younger who would be Anne – raised her face to the bird in delight and stretched out her arm.

  The rook alighted on its new perch, shuffled and flapped its wings, then settled.

  The children stepped back from Emily in amazement, either scared of frightening the creature away or of its sharp, curved beak, but Emily took the visit in her stride. She lifted her arm close to her face to whisper a few words to the bird, then looked up at us and waved with her free hand.

  The man waved back, and a smile – the first expression I had seen from him – broke across his harsh features, softening them, animating them, and my heart thumped hard at the sight of the crinkles around his eyes, the love and sheer delight reflected in his pupils, and the shape his mouth formed.

  I gasped at the crushing pain in my chest and clawed my way to a sitting position, blinking in utter confusion at my surroundings. Then I realised I’d been dreaming.

  The sense of crushing disappointment was accompanied by a strange smell – one I could not place, but knew belonged to the moors – and I felt in the bed next to me for Antony.

  Reality coalesced as I touched no husband nor soft, luxurious bedding; merely a sleeping bag and the frame of a camp bed. A moment of sadness, then I remembered the man from my dream and identified the still-lingering smell as wild garlic.

  Heathcliff, I thought, smiling. I just met Heathcliff.

  I hugged myself tightly, and realised a wide smile – a smile to match his – stretched across my face, despite the absurdity. I was in Brontë Country after all; I’m sure plenty of women dreamed of meeting Heathcliff when they visited this village.

  Feeling lighter and more positive than I had for many years, I disentangled myself from my sleeping bag, eager to get on with the day.

  5.

  ‘Coo-ee, Verity, are you here?’

  I made my way downstairs to greet my friends. ‘Goodness, you’re early, couldn’t you sleep?’

  Jayne gave me a funny look. ‘Verity, it’s nine thirty, we were expecting you for breakfast an hour ago, are you okay?’

  ‘What? Nine thirty?’ I fished my phone out of my pocket to check and saw I’d missed three calls
from them.

  ‘Goodness, I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time and I didn’t hear your calls.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Lara asked. ‘You look a bit flushed.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ I blushed a deeper red – I’d been fantasising about Dream-Heathcliff. ‘I slept really well, got up early and took Grasper out, then started cleaning. I only meant to do half an hour, then meet you for breakfast. I guess I got carried away.’

  ‘Well, find somewhere to sit,’ Lara said. ‘We brought breakfast to you – a bacon butty and coffee, hope that’s okay.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I said, realising I’d built up quite an appetite. I had no furniture yet, so used the windowsill as a table.

  ‘Verity,’ Jayne said slowly, ‘aren’t the workmen coming in on Monday?’

  I nodded, my mouth full of bacon and soft, white, fluffy bap.

  ‘Then why are you cleaning now? There doesn’t seem to be much point.’

  ‘I was working in my quarters, trying to make them a bit more habitable – I’m not having too much work done up there and it would be good to set up a sleeping area and be able to use the kitchen and bathroom. The basic fittings are still here from the previous owners, and they’ll do until I can afford to upgrade.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll give you a hand – we’ll soon have it right when the three of us get going on it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I looked around, startled, just noticing the quiet. ‘Where’s Grasper gone?’

  ‘Hannah’s taken him out again,’ Jayne said. ‘How was he last night? No more weird stuff?’

  ‘He was fine, Jayne, no trouble at all, and nothing weird, don’t worry.’

  ‘And what about you, how did you get on?’ Lara asked.

  ‘I went straight to sleep, I was shattered,’ I said. ‘No ghosts, no ghouls, orbs, nothing.’

  ‘Did you dream?’

  ‘I did actually – very vividly,’ I said, then stopped. I didn’t want to share the dream man with them.

  I changed the subject to forestall what looked like the makings of another question I didn’t want to answer. ‘Weren’t you going to do a cleansing or something, Lara?’