Epilogue
Spring brought warmth and colour to the gardens of St Sidwell Manor. Delicate green leaves opened on the beech hedges and lime trees, and daffodils turned their vivid yellow trumpets to the sun. Weeping willows trailed their leafy tentacles in the water and ducks glided upon it as serene as sailing boats in a gentle wind. But something unexpected happened that took everyone by surprise. Heaps of forget-me-nots appeared suddenly in the wood where Felix Pengower had died. After Pixie left back in January, Bruce had called the police and, after going through the required formalities, the child’s bones had been buried alongside his family in the chapel on the estate. Tom had cleared the brambles that covered the priest hole and filled it in with earth, and Olivia and Tabitha had bought a small memorial stone with Felix’s name engraved on it to mark the place where he had died. It wasn’t his grave any longer, but they both felt strongly that they wanted to honour it.
One morning in May, Olivia had gone for a walk there and been struck by the vision of flowers. There they were, radiant in the dawn light, as beautiful as they were miraculous. The place where Felix had died had been found at last and embellished with the full force of nature’s extraordinary imagination. The tiny blue flowers were such a deep blue and growing so abundantly that Elsa hadn’t known what to make of them. In all the years she had worked at St Sidwell Manor, she had never seen anything like it.
Word had got around and people from the town had asked to come and view them. They’d stood at Felix’s memorial stone, scratching their heads and marvelling at the miraculous sight. Even the vicar had come and confirmed that it was, without doubt, something spiritual. A local photographer had taken pictures, which were published in a national newspaper and for a while those photographs had trended on social media, much to Tabitha and Zach’s excitement. They’d suddenly found themselves in the centre of a delightful furore. Their schoolfriends had been more enthusiastic than ever to come and stay.
Olivia had been busy with the team of local gardeners she had found on the internet, cutting back, weeding and planting, and the place began to re-experience something of the beauty of Cordelia Pengower’s lively creativity. After years of neglect the flora had seemed to thrive on the attention, shooting up from the earth with all the energy and colour of those bygone days. How intrepid is nature , Olivia had thought, marvelling at its power of rebirth. Nothing is ever really lost.
Bruce’s health improved. He took an active role in the farm, getting up before dawn to milk the cows and relishing his new life outside the office. He was home every day for lunch, which Olivia enjoyed, and was full of enthusiasm. Moving to Cornwall was the best thing he’d ever done, he told her, and he laughed in his good-natured way about the ghosts. He hadn’t noticed much of a difference in the feel of the house besides the temperature. According to him, it had always felt good.
However, to his astonishment, Pixie was right about his ancestry. He discovered, after some research, that Cordelia and Pascoe’s son was called Ruan Bray. Ruan Bray had had a daughter called Jenifri, who’d married a man called Jonas Talwyn. They, in turn, had had a son called Edgar. Edgar Talwyn was born in 1944 and had emigrated to Australia, where he married and had had a son: Bruce. That made Pascoe Bray Bruce’s great-great grandfather. How about that? Bruce couldn’t work out how Pixie had found that out. One thing was for certain, it wasn’t from sliding back in time!
Elsa was happy to remain in the house with Tom. She had never really wanted to be anywhere else. It was her life’s work and her home – and Tom wanted to keep an eye on his mother as well as doing odd jobs around the house when he wasn’t busy on the farm. Olivia had found a young couple to clean and cook, but only after inviting almost the entire town to a drinks party to show them how the energy in the place had changed, and how the ghost that had haunted it had moved away.
Victor Pollard had been the first to arrive and the last to leave and had subsequently inveigled his way back on numerous occasions to read Cordelia Pengower’s letter, which Tabitha had innocently told him about, and to look around the historic building that was full of priest holes and other treasures. Having anticipated his visits to be a great bore, Olivia had discovered that not only did he and Bruce have much in common in terms of their interest in history, but Olivia was beginning to enjoy his company too. He was passionate and knowledgeable, and it was uplifting to have a cheerful person around the house.
Olivia hired a building company to put in a planning application to open up the attic to make a children’s floor, and she settled happily into her studio overlooking the newly restored box garden. She’d agreed to a new project illustrating a children’s story about litter and a riverbank and the animals’ quest to clean it up. It felt good to be working again.
Tabitha kept in touch with Pixie. She texted her often and, when term ended in July, she dyed her hair pink for the school holidays. Olivia was horrified, but Bruce and Zach thought it funny. Tabitha sent Pixie a selfie, and Pixie replied that it was a prettier shade than her own and really suited her. Tabitha would have to dye it back for the new school term in September, but for now she enjoyed her new identity, and it made her feel close to Pixie, who she missed.
Tabitha’s favourite place was the churchyard. She would wander among the graves and ponder on life and death and spirits. Pixie had encouraged her to learn as much as she could about the paranormal through books, and Tabitha had taken her advice and borrowed from the local library in town, and also ordered esoteric literature from Watkins Books in London, which Pixie had recommended. The spirits of Cordelia and Felix might have departed, but Tabitha’s interest in the unseen world was only just beginning.
Sometimes, as she sat on the bench against the church wall, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye: a dance, a leap, a skip, a mischievous attempt to get her attention, perhaps. There would be many who would dismiss those sightings as tricks of light, but Tabitha knew very well what they were. She’d been aware of something there the first time she’d visited the church with Zach and her father back in December. Maybe, if she honed her ability, she might one day be adept enough to engage with the spirit who was so clearly trying to get her attention. She knew it wasn’t an earthbound spirit, for Pixie would have picked up on it when she’d visited and released it. No, this was a cheerful spirit who simply wanted to play.
Tabitha hadn’t forgotten what Pixie had advised her to do. She closed her eyes and emptied her mind by focusing on her senses. She became aware of the breeze on her face, the scent of the sea in her nostrils, the aliveness in her body and the gentle beating of her heart. She sank into the moment, into the vast, timeless space of her mind. Then she asked for the spirit to make itself known.
Pixie thought of Cavill often. She knew it was mad to pine after a man who’d lived a hundred years before. Who she’d never see again – at least, not in this life. Yet her heart would not give up its attachment. In the evenings when she was in bed and alone, she opened the book he’d given her, and remembered the birds they had watched together, on the bank of the estuary and in the wood. She could picture his face so clearly. The tenderness in his eyes, the mischief in his smile, the affection that fused them in an unbreakable bond. She thought often of Hermione – the real Hermione – and wondered what had become of her. Had she and Cavill had children? Had they remained at St Sidwell, or had they moved away? She could have done some research, but there was no point; she had to move on with her life. This life. And commit to it fully.
But one question niggled – one question that could never be answered. When Pixie had left, had Cavill noticed a difference in Hermione? She hoped, jealously, that he had. That he’d found something missing. A spark, a connection, something that was unique in Pixie that she’d taken with her when she’d slid back. Had he looked into the eyes of his beloved and found them wanting? She would never know.
Pixie kept herself busy. She’d had a lot of work, clearing earthbound spirits, laying crystals, and other psychic work. She hadn’t had to slide since St Sidwell, and she was relieved. It took a lot of energy, and emotion. She wasn’t sure she wanted to slide again for a while.
Then, in September, she returned home one afternoon to find a letter among the bills. She rarely received letters. People emailed or texted – and even they were rare for she had few friends. Actually, she had only one: Ulysses. This letter was handwritten. Intuitively, she knew who it was from, even though she didn’t recognise the writing. She stared at it for a long, long time, deciding finally to wait until Ulysses was home before she opened it.
Ulysses returned at the end of the day having been in Manchester, interviewing an up-and-coming pop star for a music magazine. From the pleased look on his face, the interview had gone exceedingly well. Jean-Michel’s time was up.
Pixie opened the letter. It was only a few lines.
Dear Penelope, it’s time we talked. Please call me. Mum.
Penelope! No one called her that but her mother.
‘I have a job for you,’ said Ulysses, flopping onto the sofa and looking at his phone. ‘A linguini. And before you object—’
‘Where?’ Pixie interrupted keenly. Right now, she’d slide anywhere just to avoid her mother.
Ulysses was surprised. ‘Oh, okay. I thought you were going to fight it. You know, the usual, I’m not ready for this …’
‘Where?’ she repeated.
‘New York?’ He winced. ‘I know you’re going to say—’
‘Great. I’m going. When?’
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘As soon as we can go.’
‘Tomorrow. I want to go tomorrow,’ she said, tearing up the letter.
Ulysses watched her drop the pieces of paper into the bin. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Pixie tightly. ‘At least, it’s nothing now.’
‘Right.’ Ulysses noticed her sudden pallor, but he decided not to mention it. If Pixie wanted to share the contents of the letter, she would, in her own time.
‘So, tell them yes!’ Pixie insisted.
‘I will.’
‘I’ve never been to New York.’
‘Well, you’re going now. And, by the way, I think you’re going to love this one.’