Grace’s gaze lifted to an embroidered picture hanging from the wall and cautiously approached it. Her breath caught in her throat. It was dusty and damaged by mould, with the sewer’s initials neatly embroidered in the corner. Grace smiled and tentatively touched the faded threads that spelt out her mother’s maiden initials. Yes, this was definitely her mother’s room. Why didn’t her mother want to share this past life with her? She closed her eyes and imagined her mother embroidering it by the light of a candle, eagerly anticipating the next time she would meet up with her father, when shared promises, passionate kisses and embraces marked their journey of falling in love.

Grace’s eyes flew open. She had heard something. It sounded like footsteps in the hall. And was that a man’s voice? Grace returned to the corridor to make her escape. They could not find her here. She was trespassing and, more worryingly than that, she was disobeying her parents who would surely find out. She had to leave, now, before she was caught.

* * *

The minute Talek had arrived at Bosvenna Manor he knew the place was not for him. The location near to Bodmin Moor had first attracted him. The advert’s details had further snared his attention, claiming it had fine views that reached to the horizon and beyond. Views Amelia had said that she longed for. A cursory glance told him that the typescript was a little over generous in its boastfulness, reaching as far as the surrounding gardens would have been a more accurate description. However, the gardens were very generous in size, albeit overgrown and harshly neglected.

Views aside, in reality there was little sense in its purchase. It was miles from his work and it would need a great deal more funds to make it liveable. Before the wheels of the trap had creaked to a halt, Talek had noticed that the guttering was inadequate, the windows required attention and a large area of the roof was in desperate need of replacing.

Mr Headway, the house agent, hurried forward and cheerfully greeted him, before he had time to dismount from his carriage. The excitable man was a few years younger than Talek, but had a tendency to roundness and a harsh receding hairline, giving him the appearance of being many years older. His nervous eagerness resulted in Talek resigning himself to waste the next hour in Mr Headway’s company to avoid disappointing him. After all, it was not the house agent’s fault that Mr Headway senior had misrepresented the property to him. Besides, despite his growing reputation, Talek did not have the heart to refuse this man’s opportunity to practice his property selling skills.

Inside, the house was no better. The musty smell of damp infiltrated his airways and warned him to go no further, but he ignored it. Mr Headway’s nerves ensured that the tour of the rooms was a speedy affair and Talek obediently followed in his wake, thankful it would soon be over. On several occasions, his sharp hearing caught the sound of creaking floorboards and the scurrying feet of a rodent somewhere above, but neither concerned him. The house was old and empty, making it an ideal haven for wild animals to make their nests in the spring.

Talek climbed the stairs. They were another disadvantage, he thought. There were too many for his needs and too ostentatious for his taste. What was he thinking when he chose this house? Was it his vanity or his sister’s enchantment of the nearby moors that drew him to it? What little patience he had was fast disappearing and he declined, rather too abruptly, when Mr Headway offered to show him the servants’ quarters. He would stomach the grander rooms, but there was little point wasting more of his time here by including a tour of the servants’ living quarters too.

Mr Headway laughed nervously, perspiration beading on his top lip. They had paused on the first floor corridor, before an open door to yet another room.

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Mr Headway, bowing slightly. ‘Silly me. Not a man of your standing. Perhaps the view from this room will interest you. I was told the views are important to you.’ He beckoned his client towards what might have once been a study. Empty, built-in shelves lined the walls that would have sucked all the light from the room if it had not been for the splendid window facing south. Mr Headway shuffled from foot to foot like an eager puppy, keen to please. Talek nodded and followed him into the room.

Mr Headway eagerly watched Talek approach the large window. ‘Splendid view, is it not?’

Talek had to admit that it was, even if it was mostly of the tired, neglected gardens below. Talek solemnly surveyed the grounds trying to imagine what his sister would say. It didn’t matter anyway, he realised. This place required too much time and commitment, none of which he had to give.

Something caught his eye. The faded curtain to his side had moved. It had been so slight that he had almost missed it. A draught, perhaps? His engineering mind wanted to find the cause and provide a solution. Surreptitiously, he let his eyes wander along the window frames while Mr Headway wittered on behind him.

‘Most of the land was sold off years ago. I forget the reason why. Probably debts, or was there a tragedy? I seem to recall . . . Is anything amiss, Mr Danning?’

‘I believe there is a draught coming from somewhere.’

Mr Headway laughed nervously. ‘I am afraid these old houses are prone to draughts at times. Shall we move on?’

Talek declined. ‘And who owns the land now?’

‘Kellow Dairy has acquired some of the tenanted farmland. The milk produced is used for their products. Come, Mr Danning, let me show you the drawing room which boasts two open fires.’

Mr Headway’s figure disappeared through the door, but Talek was reluctant to follow. He should never have come here. He had too much to do at home and he didn’t particularly relish the idea of being a close neighbour to the redhead from the moors. Another movement of the fabric caught his eye again. It was slight, a mere tremor, but he had seen it all the same. This time he was certain it was not caused by a draught. He narrowed his eyes and noticed, for the first time, a dark shadow within its folds. Talek reached out and slowly drew the drape aside. Staring back at him, startled and wide-eyed, was Grace Kellow.

‘Mr Danning, are you coming?’ called Mr Headway from the corridor.

Miss Kellow did not move. It was as if she was frozen at the point of seeing some horror unfolding. Talek realised the horror was him. Mr Headway called to him again. Talek’s reply was sharper than he intended.

‘No, Mr Headway, I am not.’ What was he to do? Expose this woman for the trespasser that she was or pretend he had not found her? The infernal man was returning.

‘Is there anything you like the look of, Mr Danning?’ asked Mr Headway from the doorway, his hands wringing in anticipation.

‘No,’ replied Talek, letting the drape fall back into place, before she could be seen. He turned slowly to face the despondent young man. ‘I see nothing here that attracts me,’ he added in a clear tone so there would be no misunderstanding. ‘I see no point in wasting your time further.’ He heard a soft gasp beside him, but fought the urge to glance in Miss Kellow’s direction. Instead, he strode determinedly from the room and headed for the stairs without looking back.

Talek descended the stairs faster than he had climbed them, with Mr Headway hurrying behind. He was annoyed with himself for being foolish enough to view the property in the first place. He had come here because of the location and views, but now realised, with mounting horror, that it may appear very different to Miss Kellow. He could imagine her breathlessly telling her father about the encounter when she returned home. ‘Why would an eligible man, whose present home and business are located so far away, be interested in our neighbouring property?’ she would say. ‘Why, he wishes to get to know me better, Father! He has taken an interest in me!’ Talek groaned at the thought, as he skirted the bend in the staircase and descended the remaining steps at speed.

She would be wrong, of course, he thought, yet despite his keenness to leave, he could not avoid the unpalatable fact that he had felt something when he had seen her. It must have been the shock, he concluded, as he jumped down the last two steps. It made no sense that he, who disliked her character traits so much, felt a shiver of pleasure — no discomfort at seeing her again. Yet did he come here because of her? Subconsciously, perhaps? He headed for the door with long, measured strides and a deep furrowed frown. The revelation that a pretty face of a woman he barely knew might have influenced his choice to view the property would make him a fool.

‘Utter nonsense, of course,’ he argued under his breath. He could only hope she would conclude that too. His powerlessness to convince her that this was not the case irked him immensely. To bring up the subject would only point to his guilt and make him look like a fool. Talek had been made to look like a fool by a woman before and he had no intention of repeating the experience.

He paused at the door and looked up at the ceiling above his head, picturing the room he had just fled. He had been ill-prepared for the meeting and although not intentionally, Miss Kellow had already turned him into a fool, because that was how he felt, foolish and dim-witted. At least now that he had decided not to purchase the house, he thought as he flung open the door, he could see no reason why they would meet again, planned or unplanned.

Confused by his sudden wish to leave, Mr Headway followed him to the waiting carriage and watched him climb in with hurried promises that he would soon find something else for him to see. Talek tilted his head in farewell and told him it was not necessary as he had no wish to view any more properties in the area. He did not tell him that the faster he left the better for all concerned. As the carriage rattled away, he promised himself he would not look up at her window and silently congratulated himself when he didn’t. He settled back into his seat, confident that the memory of Miss Kellow’s startled face would soon fade. He just hoped that it would not take too long.

Chapter Four

Grace watched Talek Danning leave through the window, his figure blurring behind the rain-stained glass that had not been cleaned for a quarter of a century. The house agent followed shortly afterwards, stiffly sitting in his open trap, clutching his papers to his chest as the breeze tried to snatch them away. Grace stepped back into the shadows of the room. Was it bad luck or fortunate that Mr Danning had found her first? Whichever it was, she had the distinct feeling that any opinion he held of her before finding her hiding like a criminal, was now damaged beyond repair.

Grace shivered. A chill had entered the house and for the first time she noticed the damp walls and clawing odour of stale air. Had he noticed this? He hadn’t fallen in love with the house as Grace had once done. Stubbornly, she continued to explore the house for a further hour, but her enthusiasm for the old building had waned as her romantic imagination had deserted her along with the departure of the house agent and his guest. Instead of welcoming rooms, she saw the crumbling plaster, the fingers of black mould reaching from the damp corners and the abandoned, dusty cobwebs hanging like rags from the window frames. The silence began to fray her nerves and prick at her skin, making her jump at every unexpected sound. She was alone, yet she didn’t feel it. Ghosts, Grace thought. They are everywhere and watching me. She decided to leave, descending the stairs far quicker than she had climbed them. She strode through the hall and headed for the kitchens to make her escape through the same window she had entered. She turned the corner at speed and came to a sudden stop. A figure of a woman, dressed in black, stood in the dark corridor barring her way.

She was old, yet tall and thin, with a long, narrow face and blue veined hands as pale as alabaster. If the old woman was surprised to see Grace she did not show it. Instead she lifted her chin and looked at her through the rounded spectacles perched on her nose. She said nothing, but Grace had the distinct feeling that she was being studied.

‘The house agent has left,’ Grace said, attempting to appear as if she had the right to be there. The woman did not answer. ‘There is no one to show you the house. I am afraid you will have to leave and make another appointment.’

The woman approached, her eyes never leaving Grace’s face. This woman was not here to buy the house. She looked too at home, yet her face was too harsh and her clothes too plain to have lived a prosperous life that could afford such a property. Years of hard work and discontent was plainly etched on her face.

‘Who are you?’ Grace asked, curious. The woman came to a halt opposite her. Their eyes were level and for the first time Grace could see interest glinting in the depths of the other woman. It unnerved her. ‘Why are you here?’ she added, her confidence waning.

The woman’s gaze raked over her auburn hair. ‘I’m here for the same reason as you are . . . to see the house before it is sold.’

Grace felt instantly chastised. This woman knew she had no right to be here. Grace braced herself. ‘How did you get in?’

‘I have my own keys. I was the housekeeper here.’ Her gaze briefly lifted to the damp walls. ‘Before it was sold and left to rot.’

Grace’s interest was piqued. She would know her mother and what life at Bosvenna Manor was like all those years ago. The opportunity to discover her mother’s past outweighed the woman’s unfriendliness.

‘You must know my mother, Janey Kellow. Her maiden name was Carhart.’ The woman’s gaze returned to Grace’s hair, but she said nothing, her stern face devoid of any warmth. Grace would not be put off. ‘She was a lady’s maid. She was not here very long. She tells me very little about it. Did you know her?’

The woman gave a slight, sharp nod of her head, as if it pained her to do so. It was all the encouragement Grace needed.

‘She left to marry my father. He is called Daniel Kellow. They now run Kellow Dairy, not far from here. I am the oldest, then there is Ben, my brother, and Ann and Mary, my sisters. Mary is married and away from home.’ She knew that she was wittering on, but the old woman was not the friendliest of sorts. Why was she staring so? ‘I could show you around, if you like.’

Her suggestion brought the woman to life.

‘I know every corner, every crack, every knot in every floorboard. There is nothing you can teach me about this house that I do not already know.’

The rebuff scalded Grace. No wonder her mother did not enjoy her time here. For the first time, Grace understood her mother’s reluctance to recall the past. Meeting the woman answered all her questions.

‘Then I will leave you to look around on your own,’ replied Grace, crisply. ‘If you will excuse me, I will be on my way.’ Grace attempted to pass her.

‘You are Carhart’s eldest?’

‘Yes. Why?’

The old woman’s eyes narrowed, but the interest remained. ‘I knew your grandmother. I was there. I heard it all. It was the reason your mother left.’