Chapter 10
Without doubt, Rowan Vale was one of the prettiest villages I’d ever seen.
Having visited the HoneyStone Television offices with Melissa on several occasions, I was used to Cotswolds charm, and our own Buckinghamshire town was beautiful, but there was something special about this place.
Maybe it was because there were no cars.
The air was clean and fresh, and the river that ran through the village was crystal clear.
The trees were wearing their autumn finery, dressed in stunning shades of orange, gold, brown and red, and the sky was as blue as a summer’s day, even though the cold nipped my nose and ears, reminding me all too well that we were at the end of October.
Many of the buildings were draped in autumn garlands and there were pumpkins for sale everywhere – even outside shops that didn’t sell food of any kind. They were certainly going all out for Halloween.
What I found particularly fascinating about Rowan Vale was the fact that it was run as a living history village.
There was a fun area called Churchside which had been turned into the Swinging Sixties Street, with a 1960s hairdressing salon, a toy shop, a fish and chip shop, a newsagent’s, a record shop and a boutique.
There was also a little cottage that had been left decorated and furnished in the style of the 1960s.
It was amazing how authentic it all looked, but according to the guidebook that had been left in our cottage, it hadn’t just been styled that way in recent years but had remained as it was all these decades.
Melissa had wanted me to pay particular attention to the river area, as she was keen for me to ‘bump into’ Harmony Hill.
There was no sign of anyone who looked remotely like the film star, though.
Melissa had shown me Harmony’s photo on her phone, and I knew I’d have recognised her if I’d seen her.
She’d been very pretty, and it seemed an awful tragedy that she’d died so young, and so far from home.
I had hoped to get close enough to a ghost for a friendly chat, but I was to be disappointed. If there were any ghosts in this village, they clearly didn’t hang out at the Swinging Sixties Street.
Around the village green stood the Victorian Street.
There was an old-fashioned sweet shop, a chemist, a photography studio, a grocer’s, a butcher’s, and a curiosity shop.
Even though it was half-term, not all the shops were open.
There were a few sporting ‘Half-Day Closing’ signs on their doors.
The photography studio wasn’t one of them, though, and I saw a couple of people go inside to have their photo taken by Jasper Edgecumbe, the photographer, who apparently had a whole rack of authentic-looking costumes for his customers to choose from, and presented them with a sepia photograph of themselves dressed as Victorians at the end of the session.
I thought about the Victorian gentleman and about the rather fierce-looking woman in nightclothes, who for some reason had made me think of Mrs Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, who resided at Harling Hall.
I wondered if they ever visited the Victorian Street.
I’d have to watch out for them and hopefully avoid them, because I didn’t think they’d be very pleased to see me again.
Although, I thought gloomily, if I didn’t bump into any other ghosts, I might have to go back to the Hall and throw myself on their mercy – even if it meant admitting to Callie and Brodie that it was I who could see ghosts, not my sister.
The Curiosity Shop interested me. There was a variety of odd-looking items in the windows, and I thought it would be worth investigating just for the fun of it.
I’d always wanted to visit one of those shops, and I thought that surely one situated in a place like this would have some interesting artefacts?
There was, disappointingly, a ‘Half-Day Closing’ sign on the door, but before I could walk away it opened and a kindly looking man stood there, smiling at me.
‘Were you wanting to come in?’ he asked politely.
‘Oh, no. Not if you’re closed,’ I said hastily. ‘I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.’
‘No trouble at all. This sign has been left up since yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘No wonder I haven’t had any customers today! Come in, please.’
Thanking him, I went inside. The shop was as cluttered and chaotic as I’d expected, although I suspected that the shopkeeper knew where everything was, despite all appearances to the contrary.
I was relieved when he didn’t try to steer me towards anything in particular. I always found that uncomfortable in shops. I just wanted to browse in my own good time, thank you very much!
Luckily, this man seemed to get that. After assuring me that I was welcome to touch any items that caught my fancy, and that I only had to ask if I spotted something I couldn’t reach, he headed back behind the counter and was soon so engrossed in a newspaper that I thought it would probably annoy him if he had to put it down to serve me.
He was a studious looking chap, wearing brown cords and a claret-coloured waistcoat over a white shirt. He had thinning, light brown hair and a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose. I guessed he was possibly in his forties.
Turning away from him, I began to explore.
There were shelves and cabinets overflowing with all manner of antique and vintage curios, and further stuff sitting on the tops of the cabinets or even on the floor.
I had to manoeuvre my way through the soft toys, warming pans, and propped-up paintings with great care, stopping to admire the rows of seashells, old fossils, china cups and saucers, leather-bound books, embroidery samplers, and empty bell jars as I went.
I’d had no intention of buying anything, but because the shopkeeper had gone to such effort to welcome me inside, I felt obliged to, somehow.
Scanning the shelves, I noticed a chipped cup sitting on the highest one, without a saucer or any of its companions.
It reminded me immediately of the chipped cup in Beauty and the Beast, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for it, as stupid as that sounds.
In that moment, I really wanted to take it home with me and keep it safe.
At least, I thought hopefully, it might be cheap, and I could say I’d bought something.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘but how much is that cup?’
He glanced up, frowning. ‘What cup?’
‘That chipped one, with the flowers on it.’
‘Ah!’ He graciously put down his newspaper and edged his way carefully over to where I was standing, then reached up and brought it down for me.
‘Honestly, the things you find in here… This is from a 1939 tea set,’ he told me.
‘We don’t know what happened to the rest of it.
It’s a good one. Royal Doulton. Shame about the chip.
’ He grinned to himself, as if he knew something I didn’t. ‘You like it? Even though it’s broken?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe because it’s broken.’
He eyed me steadily for a moment then smiled. ‘Have it,’ he said. ‘I’ll never sell it. Don’t know why it’s here really.’
‘It must be worth something,’ I said, shocked. ‘If it’s Royal Doulton…’
‘Chipped Royal Doulton, and part of a tea set that’s nowhere to be seen. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Quite sure.’ He nodded at the jet heart on its silver chain that I wore around my neck. ‘How beautiful. Whitby jet if I’m not mistaken. You’re a fan of jet then?’
‘My dad gave it to me,’ I said quietly, ‘not long before he died.’
‘Ah. I see.’
He didn’t really see, but I didn’t try to put him in the picture.
‘Perhaps,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘you’d be interested in something else I have in my possession.’
Pulling a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, he carefully wiped the lenses of his glasses, then peered into a glass cabinet nearby.
‘Ah,’ he said smiling as he slid open the cabinet door. ‘Here we are. The Whitby Mourning Brooch.’
He plucked it from its shelf and held it in his open hand so I could look at it. It was a small brooch, made from carved jet, just like my pendant. I couldn’t stop staring at it. I wasn’t sure about the whole ‘mourning brooch’ bit, but it was good to hear that it was genuine Whitby jet.
‘Do you know how old it is?’
‘It’s late Edwardian,’ he told me. ‘Whitby jet had already had its heyday by then, and there were cheap imitations flooding the market, but this is the real stuff.’
‘I suppose it’s very expensive then,’ I said, remembering how little I had in my bank account and almost relieved that it was probably beyond my means.
‘Bit nibbled away at the edges in parts,’ he said, running his finger around it. ‘And to be honest, there’s not much call for brooches these days.’
I laughed. ‘Should you be telling me this?’
He shook his head. ‘I believe in honesty. I’m not going to tell you something’s worth more than it is. Odd that you’re so taken with it. Like I said, not many are interested in brooches, full stop, let alone black ones. Some might consider it a bit gloomy. Not you?’
I shook my head as I stared at the brooch in his hand, noting the leaves and grapes that were carved into the jet.
‘It symbolises faith,’ he explained, obviously sensing my curiosity. ‘The grapes are representing Christ, you see? The hope of eternal life. When you’ve lost someone you love, it’s the best you can hope for, isn’t it? That they’ll have eternal life.’
‘I suppose it depends what form eternity takes,’ I said, absent-mindedly fingering the pendant I’d been given by Dad and wondering how he was getting on.
At least he had his country estate to roam around, and even though it had long had new owners, he was no doubt having a very comfortable afterlife, if I knew him.
I was feeling a real pull towards that brooch, and I knew I had to have it, for whatever reason.
‘How much?’ I asked.
He hesitated, then to my amazement he pushed it into my hand and closed my fingers around it. ‘It’s yours. No charge.’
‘I can’t possibly take it for nothing,’ I said, feeling guilty and a bit baffled as to why he’d be so generous.
‘I work on instinct,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve a feeling you and this brooch were meant for each other. I’d rather it went with you than sat on that shelf the way it has for all these years.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, smiling at him in grateful delight. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘I knew it was perfect for you the minute I saw you,’ he said, beaming at me.
We took the items to the counter and he carefully wrapped them in tissue paper then put them in a bag for me.
As he showed me to the door, it occurred to me suddenly that I hadn’t intended to buy anything here, and technically I hadn’t, but nevertheless I was leaving with two items that I hadn’t wanted and didn’t need – and both of them for nothing.
‘You’re a very odd shopkeeper,’ I told him, as he opened the door for me.
‘It’s a very odd village,’ he told me, handing me the bag. ‘Thank you for your custom.’
What custom? I’d practically robbed him. ‘Thank you for being so… generous.’
He laughed. ‘Not often I’m called that. I’ll tell the family when I go home. Have a nice afternoon.’
‘You, too.’
I left the shop with the bag in my hand, feeling for some reason as if I’d accomplished something significant, even though I couldn’t imagine what.
I hadn’t seen a single ghost all day, and I knew Melissa wouldn’t be pleased with me.
If I didn’t come up with something soon, she’d drag me back to that house, The Monastery, and there was no way I was going there again. I’d better keep looking.
Despite my best intentions, I spent well over an hour admiring the old mill, with its water wheel, and wandering round the museum inside, gazing at old photographs and items that had been found in the area over the centuries.
There was lots of information on the Wyrd Stones, and I read about the legend of the witch who’d enchanted a king, causing him to fall in love with her and reject his wife and children.
When he’d come to his senses, he’d ordered the witch be put to death, but she’d turned his queen and their offspring to stone, as well as the courtiers who’d formed a ring around them in an effort to protect them.
This was believed to be the origins of The King’s Court stone circle we’d just seen.
The King, having been forced to watch as his family and courtiers were destroyed, had then been turned to stone himself, and left to stand alone in a clearing away from the others – doomed to be by himself for the rest of eternity. This was the Penitent King monolith.
It was fascinating, and I wasn’t surprised so many rowan trees had been planted in the area to protect the village from such a thing ever happening again. Not that I believed in witches, of course. Then again, there were a lot of people who didn’t believe in ghosts…
‘Hello again!’
I could barely breathe, let alone reply. It was Mia.