Spellbinding Spirit (Greenview Manor Tales #5)

4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sebastian

T he coffee shop in Fellside is tiny but warm and has wooden beams low enough to make me duck as I head to the table in the corner. I’ve picked this spot-on purpose because it’s near the heater, and I figure Cat will appreciate it after her trek north. I’ve barely sat down when I spot her shaking rain off her umbrella through the steamed-up window. She pushes open the door with a determined shove, her coat appearing damp and her scarf all twisted, and my chest does that annoying thing where it tightens just a little.

“Sebastian,” she says before giving me one of her signature smiles. I pull her into a hug and it feels good to have her close again. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her because we’ve both been busy in our jobs.

“You look so professional in your uniform,” she giggles and pulls on my tie.

“Don’t worry I’m still the same idiot underneath,” I grin as she shrugs off her coat and settles opposite me. “Tea?”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she sighs, wrapping her hands around the mug I slide towards her. “I need this. The train was like a fridge, the taxi driver was a grumpy arse, and then the rain decided to personally attack me. I swear that Fellside’s testing me.”

“Consider it an adventure,” I say, leaning back. “You’ve made it this far. Congratulations.”

“Barely.” She laughs, soft and warm, and I realise how much I’ve missed hearing it in person. We talk every week, text every day, but it’s not the same. Not even close.

“How was the first shift?” she asks, blowing on her tea. “Feel like a proper boss now?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Not bad. Being the one in charge of the whole reception team and not just the night shift feels weird, but no major disasters. Yet.”

“Give it time,” she teases. “Still, I’m proud of you Sebastian. You’ve worked hard for this.”

She says it so earnestly that I feel my cheeks heat up. I clear my throat, gesturing to her bag. “Speaking of work, you’re here for a reason aren’t you? Tell me about this big investigation of yours.”

Her face lights up and she pulls out her notebook. It’s a bit battered with loose papers sticking out the edges, but she handles it like it’s something precious. “Right, so you know the story about Sally the maid?”

“Vaguely,” I say. “But remind me. I’ve heard so many ghost stories about Greenview that they all blur together.”

Cat sighs, and for a moment the playful edge in her voice is gone, replaced by something softer. “Sally worked at the manor during the war, the First World War. She was young, eighteen, and in love with a local lad called George, who worked in the stables at Greenview Manor until he was called up to join the war effort. He went missing in action. When she got the news, she... she couldn’t handle it. Apparently she received the letter on Valentine’s Day, a day that meant a lot to her, although nobody knew exactly why.” Cat hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. “She took her own life in the servant’s quarters.”

I let out a low whistle, leaning forward. “That’s devastating.”

“It is,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “I can’t stop thinking about her. How alone she must’ve felt. And people say she’s still there waiting for George to come back. It just… it makes me sad, you know?”

Her voice catches a little and I feel a pang of something. Empathy, maybe. Or guilt because I’ve never really thought about the stories we hear like that. Ghosts are just curiosities to me, shadows and whispers in the night. But to Cat they’re people.

“You’re taking this seriously then,” I say quietly.

“Of course I am,” she replies, sitting up straighter. “I don’t go into these things looking to prove people wrong or make a spectacle out of it. I go into all the investigations with an open mind. And if Sally’s there, if she’s really there, I want to try to help. Even if it’s just to understand what’s keeping her here. Besides, even if there is no ghost the story of Sally and George is still real and heart-breaking.”

I nod, fiddling with the handle of my mug. “Fair enough. So what’s the plan?”

Her smile returns, a little brighter now. “Well I’ve got all the gear—EMF meters, motion detectors, recorders… the works. I thought we’d start in the servants’ quarters in the attic, where she... you know. See if we can pick up anything unusual.”

“We?” I raise an eyebrow. “Since when am I a part of this?”

“Since you volunteered five minutes ago,” she says, smirking.

“Did I?”

“Yes. You said, ‘Cat, I’d love to carry all your equipment and make you tea while you hunt for ghosts.’”

“Sounds like something I’d say.” I grin despite myself. “But for the record I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You don’t have to,” she says, her voice light but her gaze steady. “I know you believe in me.”

It’s such a simple thing to say but it knocks me sideways. I cover it by taking a sip of tea, pretending her words don’t mean anything. “Well,” I chuckle after a beat, “as long as you’re not expecting me to hold a séance or anything. I draw the line at chanting.”

Cat laughs and the weight in the room lifts just like that. “No chanting, I promise. But you might have to stand in a dark room by yourself for a bit.”

“Oh brilliant,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That sounds completely normal.”

Her grin widens, and for a second I forget about the investigation, about Sally, about everything except the way she looks at me. Like I’m someone worth having around.

The attic rooms at Greenview Manor feel different from the rest of the hotel. Downstairs everything is polished wood and carefully curated grandeur, but the attic is bare and unused. The air has a chill to it and the faint smell of dust lingers, like the place hasn’t quite shaken off the past. Housekeeping store mattresses, duvets and other spare stock up here. I know staff tend to not come up here on their own and I’ve always thought that was silly. I guess I will find out soon enough if I was right or if staff have a reason to be scared.

“This is it,” Cat says, her voice echoing slightly as we step into the room where Sally is supposedly seen most often. It’s small with sloping ceilings and a single window that looks out onto the grounds. The wallpaper is faded, the patterns barely visible anymore, and the floorboards creak underfoot. There’s a chair in the corner, placed oddly as if someone had been sitting there and just... left. Plastic covered mattresses are piled high next to the door.

“You’re sure about this one?” I ask, setting down the case of equipment I’ve been lugging around.

Cat nods, pulling her notebook from her bag. “This is the room. There’s plenty of reports from people who’ve said they’ve seen a figure standing by the window or felt someone brush past them when the door was closed.”

I glance at the window. It’s small and warped with age, the glass cloudy, but I can see the dark sky outside. “Not exactly inviting, is it?”

“That’s why we’re here,” she says, her tone matter of fact. She crouches to open the equipment case and pulls out a small motion detector. “Let’s get set up.” Cat wanted to get everything ready today and give it a bit of a test run. But we won’t stay long. We both need a good night’s sleep so we can tackle a full investigation tomorrow.

It doesn’t take long to turn the room into a mini ghost-hunting lab. Cat works with quiet efficiency, placing the motion detector near the chair and setting up a digital recorder on the small side table. I help by sticking reflective tape in the corners of the room for the thermal imaging camera, though I’m not entirely sure what it’s supposed to capture aside from us.

Finally I pull two of the mattresses down and get a couple of the duvets. If I have to sit here all night I’d like to be comfy.

Cat frowns and mutters something about the EMF meter not calibrating properly. I watch her as she fiddles with it, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You know,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, “you’re pretty good at this. Like a proper ghosthunter. Who do we call…” I sing the lyrics of the famous song.

She glances up, giggling. “ Thanks , Sebastian, but I’m not a ghost hunter I’m a paranormal investigator. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Well, Ms Paranormal Investigator, tell me what to do. I'm all yours to command,” I grin.

She laughs and there’s a warmth in her eyes that lingers for a moment before asking me to unpack more tech stuff.

Not all of the attic is accessible. One section just down the corridor is blocked off because it’s part of a private flat where a staff member lives. The door to that area is locked and Cat glances at it from the room we are in.

“Shame we can’t check in there,” she says. “Sometimes these stories bleed into other spaces.”

“What, you think Sally’s popping in for tea with our head gardener?” I joke.

Cat gives me a mock glare. “You laugh but it’s possible. Spirits don’t always stay put. They go where the energy is.”

I shake my head, smiling. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

She blushes faintly, which isn’t something I see often. It makes me feel like I’ve just uncovered rare treasure.

The room that’s supposedly Sally’s hotspot is at the far end of the attic, well away from the flat. Beneath it is an unused guest room which means we don’t have to tiptoe around or worry about scaring anyone with our experiments.

Once everything’s set up Cat insists on running a preliminary EVP session, or electronic voice phenomenon as she explains for my benefits. “We just ask questions,” she explains, placing the recorder on the mattress. “See if anything answers.”

“Right.” I take a seat next to it, feeling slightly ridiculous. “Do I need to... address her directly? Like, ‘Hello, Sally, I’m Sebastian and I’ll be your paranormal investigator this evening’?”

Cat rolls her eyes but laughs. “You can if you want but maybe keep it simple.”

She presses record and the room goes still. Even the creaking of the old floorboards seems to stop, as if the house is holding its breath.

“Sally,” Cat says, her voice calm and gentle. “If you’re here we’d like to talk to you. My name’s Cat and this is my friend Sebastian. We don’t mean you any harm.”

There’s a long silence which is only broken by the faint hum of the recorder.

“Can you tell us if George is with you?” Cat asks softly.

I glance at her. There’s a kindness in the way she speaks, as if she’s not talking to a ghost but a friend. For a moment I forget to be sceptical.

Nothing happens. No footsteps, no whispers, no sudden cold spots. Just silence. After a few more questions, Cat switches off the recorder.

“Anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’ll play it back later. Sometimes you don’t hear responses until after.”

At one point the motion detector goes off, but it turns out to be a moth that’s flown in through the window.

“Spooky,” I say, holding up the tiny culprit.

Cat laughs, though it’s clear she’s disappointed. “At least we know the equipment’s working.”

As it is getting later, we are getting ready to leave. Cat wants to take the voice recorder with her so she can listen to it in the morning, but the rest of the stuff will stay here for tomorrow night.

By the time we finish it’s close to eleven and the attic has taken on a different feel. The shadows seem deeper, the air heavier. As we step back into the corridor Cat pauses, her hand on the doorframe.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers.

I stop, straining to listen. At first there’s nothing, but then—a faint sound like a sigh coming from the far end of the attic.

“Probably the wind,” I say, though my voice is quieter than I mean it to be.

“Maybe,” Cat murmurs, but she doesn’t look convinced.

We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving, then the sound comes again. It’s so faint that it could be anything. A draught, the old house settling, or... something else.

“Come on,” I say, gently tugging her sleeve. “We’ve done enough for tonight.”

She nods, but as we head down the stairs, I catch her glancing back over her shoulder, mumbling, “Why always when I leave?”