Chapter 29
GRACE
However, Grace wasn’t one to dwell on the past or worry too much about things that had gone before. Her motto was always to look on the bright side and make the best of things, and since she was now a ghost herself, she’d jolly well learn to like it.
She’d wasted no time in investigating the village and meeting up with its other ghostly residents.
By and large she thought she’d struck lucky.
If she was to be dropped into a brand-new community with no say in the matter, then she was relieved to discover that the community itself was rather a pleasant one.
And how incredible that dear little Rowan Vale was now a major tourist attraction!
She couldn’t believe how much it had improved since the day she’d arrived there.
Of course, it had been turned into a living history village five years before she’d even moved to the estate, but Sir Jeremy’s vision hadn’t come close to fruition at the time of her death.
Carrots had informed her that Jeremy’s son, Sir Frederick Davenport, hadn’t carried out many improvements to the village, but Sir Edward, who’d been a little child of around five in her time, had done a lot to expand Rowan Vale and turned it into something much more like the thriving estate that she could see now.
And, joy of joys, there was a woman owner of the Harling Estate. The magnificent Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst of the WPSU and Mrs Millicent Fawcett of the NUWSS would have been thrilled.
It seemed, though, that Carrots didn’t share her enthusiasm.
She had learned, in recent days, that Carrots didn’t seem to have much enthusiasm about anything, although he’d done his level best to hide it from her.
At home he was as sweet and accommodating as he’d always been, but it turned out that he was hiding a huge secret.
Carrots had changed. Drastically.
It was chatting to the other ghosts that revealed the truth. Some of the older ones were far more tactful and polite, but the younger ones had no such sensibility…
She hadn’t been able to resist wandering into Mrs Herron’s Teashop one afternoon.
The smell of delicious food coming from within as well as from Blighty’s Bakery next door was too much to bear, and she’d decided that a little sit down at an empty table wouldn’t do any harm.
At least she could look at the cakes and pastries on display behind the counter, even if she’d never again have the pleasure of tasting them.
The sight of the most extraordinary cakes she’d ever seen proved far more distressing than she’d realised.
‘Oh, my,’ she murmured to herself. ‘How I would love a slice of that delicious looking Victoria sponge. Oh, and a St Clement’s cake! How absolutely splendid.’ Her nose twitched and she closed her eyes, inhaling the almost unbearably wonderful smells coming from the kitchen.
‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’
Grace’s eyes snapped open as she realised someone was addressing her.
A young woman with dark hair and merry eyes was sitting opposite her, smiling widely.
Beside her sat a blonde girl with the most clownish of make-up on her face.
Grace raised an eyebrow as she noticed that the girl was also wearing an indecently short skirt.
Things had certainly changed since her day.
‘It will get better, promise,’ the dark-haired woman said.
She held out a hand and Grace shook it. ‘Polly Herron. Pleased to meet you. Honestly, the worst thing about being a ghost is not being able to eat the food, but I swear the cravings do quieten down eventually. It’s funny, these days I feel just as satisfied with a good sniff of cake as I used to do with eating a big slice of it. ’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Grace said wryly. ‘Although it has to be said, you have no idea of my propensity for cake.’
‘True,’ the woman acknowledged. ‘This is Millie, by the way, and that woman behind the counter,’ she added, nodding over at a dark-haired living lady who was busy serving a couple of middle-aged women, ‘is my great-niece, Shona. She runs the place, just like I used to, back in the day. You must be Mrs Alexander.’
‘Indeed I am,’ Grace said with a returning smile. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you both, I’m sure. There do seem to be an awful lot of male ghosts around here, so it’s a particular pleasure to encounter fellow females.’
‘My boyfriend’s male,’ Millie announced.
Grace blinked. ‘Well, er, yes I suppose he would be, my dear.’
Polly rolled her eyes. ‘Our Millie’s in the throes of first love,’ she explained, giving her young friend an affectionate pat on the arm. ‘She can’t resist any opportunity to mention that she has a boyfriend.’
‘I’m very pleased for you, child,’ Grace told Millie.
‘There is nothing more wonderful than the early days of new love.’ She sighed, remembering those long-ago times.
‘Dear Carrots was such a romantic, you know. He proposed to me when we were in a rowing boat on the river at Cambridge. When I said yes, he was so overcome he dropped one of the oars and then another boat ran into us.’ She tilted her head, remembering the chaos that had ensued.
‘Most unfortunate. Still,’ she added brightly, ‘it all turned out well in the end.’
Polly and Millie exchanged disbelieving stares.
‘Silas Alexander, a romantic?’ Polly shook her head. ‘Well, I never.’
Millie giggled. ‘That must have been a hundred years ago, though. He’s not like that now.’
Grace was about to gently chastise her for being so rude when she realised with a shock that it had been far longer than a hundred years ago. Good heavens!
‘Oh, but he is,’ she assured the girl. ‘Extremely romantic. I’m a lucky woman.’
Millie’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Silas?’
‘Er, how are you finding living at the vicarage, Grace?’ Polly said hastily. ‘Has it changed much since you were last here?’
Grace laughed. ‘Oh, you have no idea! I was so confused. As far as I was concerned, I’d just left that afternoon to have tea with a friend, and when I next saw the place, my wallpaper had been replaced, none of my furniture was in situ, and there was a woman vicar in place of dear Carrots.’
‘Do you know where you went?’ Millie asked eagerly. ‘After you died, I mean? What’s out there really?’
‘I’m so sorry, dear,’ Grace said. ‘I’m afraid I have no memory of it at all.
’ She frowned suddenly. ‘I do, however, have a nagging sense that I’m supposed to do something.
That I’m here for a reason. But I can’t for the life of me recall what it is.
’ She brightened suddenly. ‘I expect I’m just being fanciful.
So much to take in, you see. So many new things to learn. ’
‘I know,’ Polly agreed. ‘Quite a big change. What do you think to Amelia then?’
‘Well, I’m still getting to know her, but I must say she seems perfectly charming.
Such a pity she can’t see or hear me as I’m sure we could have some wonderful chats.
And how marvellous to have a female vicar at last!
I would never have believed it could ever happen, yet here we are.
A miraculous turn of events, isn’t it? I was absolutely thrilled when I discovered that. ’
‘Blimey,’ Millie said, clearly astonished, ‘bet old Silas didn’t like that! He’s furious about there being a woman vicar, and he hates Amelia. He’s moaned nonstop about her for years.’
Grace surveyed the girl with surprise. Was she playing a joke?
‘Silas would never do such a thing,’ she said firmly.
‘I’m sure he’s embraced change as we always have.
He was always very progressive, you know.
The parishioners in our old parish in Cambridgeshire adored him in the early days.
’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘There used to be a fight between the local ladies each week, as they wanted to arrange the church flowers to please him. Then again, he was rather a handsome man.’
Millie seemed unable to say anything in reply to this but ‘Silas?’ in the same incredulous tone.
‘I’m sure he was,’ Polly said, flashing her friend a warning look. ‘In his younger days anyway.’
‘He had the most beautiful red hair,’ Grace said fondly, ‘and the bluest of blue eyes you ever did see. All the girls wanted him, but he only had eyes for me.’
‘Aw.’ Polly patted her hand. ‘That’s so lovely, Mrs Alexander.’
‘Grace,’ Grace reminded her.
Millie’s mouth, she noticed, was still gaping open, as if she simply couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Then suddenly her mouth snapped shut and she sat up straight, a wide smile on her face as she waved to someone.
Grace turned and for a moment her world seemed to tilt on its axis. Sensations of hope, love, delight, realisation and despair ran through her, leaving her quite disoriented.
‘You all right, love?’ Polly whispered, and Grace blinked, pulling herself together.
‘Quite all right, thank you,’ she said with a smile, then turned to face the newcomer who’d just sat opposite her at the table. ‘I take it, by the way Millie is hanging onto your arm, that you are her beau?’
The soldier grinned. ‘I am that. My name’s Bill. Bill Fairfax. Pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand and she shook it, her own hand feeling small in his. She gazed at the cuff of his khaki woollen jacket and swallowed.
‘I’m delighted to meet you, too,’ she told him, admiring his fair hair, the sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks, and the green eyes that twinkled with mischief.
Pull yourself together, Grace, she told herself sternly. This will never do.
‘Bill’s my boyfriend,’ Millie announced.
‘Yes, love, I think we’ve all got that,’ Polly said with a laugh. ‘Bill, this is Mrs Grace Alexander. The Reverend’s wife.’
‘Yeah, I remember you from the library,’ Bill said, nodding at Grace. ‘Can’t believe you’re married to old Silas Alexander. Can’t believe he was married to anyone! How did you put up with the old misery guts, eh?’
‘Bill!’ Polly snapped. ‘Behave yourself or you’ll get a clip round the ear!’
‘Well, he’s not wrong, is he?’ Millie said defensively. ‘The Reverend’s never got a kind word to say to any of us, so why should we pretend we think he’s lovely? I’m sure that if Grace here has been married to him for so long, she must already know what an old windbag he is.’
Grace stared at them all: Millie’s face determined, with her jutting chin and a glint of defiance in her eyes; Bill’s face open and friendly, but clearly in full agreement with his girlfriend; Polly looking awkward and embarrassed but making no real attempt to contradict Millie’s statement.
‘Is that what you really think of my husband?’ Grace asked. She wasn’t angry with them – everyone had a right to speak their mind in her opinion – but she was bewildered by how they’d got such a false impression of Silas. She would never recognise him from Millie’s description.
‘What else can we think?’ Bill asked reasonably. ‘He never joins in with anything we do. He doesn’t speak to us unless it’s to criticise us or tell us we’re all sinners. He moans and grumbles nonstop and we’re all fed up with him, if you want the truth. Sorry.’
Grace looked at Polly, hopeful still that this woman at least would refute the soldier’s statement.
To her dismay, Polly simply sighed and said, ‘I’m afraid he’s right, Grace. Not that he should have put it the way he did, and as for Millie… But the gist of it’s true. Silas isn’t the most sociable person, and he can be a bit… unkind.’
‘Unkind?’ Grace whispered the word, hardly able to take it all in. ‘But he was never unkind. He was a gentleman, a sweetheart. My sweetheart.’
‘I suppose,’ Polly said sympathetically, ‘that he changed as he got older. You’ve been away a long time after all. People do change, don’t they?’
They did. But surely not that much?
Grace dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief she had stuffed up her sleeve.
Not that there were any tears. That was another thing.
When Silas had told her the truth of her return to the village, she’d believed she was crying.
But her cheeks had remained dry, and it seemed no tears could ever fall from her eyes. How odd everything was.
‘Well,’ she said, as much to herself as to any of her companions, ‘we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’
Because the Reverend Silas Alexander they’d just described wasn’t the man she’d known and loved for most of her life. And if he’d really changed that much, she needed to know why.