MAGDALENA'S GHOST: THE HAUNTING OF THE HOUSE IN GALLOWS LANE (2 page)

It didn’t take long for Anton to see how unhappy Lucy was looking. He tousled her short cropped chestnut hair and looked down at her elfin-shaped face which housed two very large hazel eyes. He tipped her chin towards him. “I’m sorry love, but that house has been up for sale and it’s obvious that it never sold. It looks as if it wants some work doing on it, and if I can find out who owns it, I think we might be able to bag a bargain.”

“But I didn’t know we were looking for a house,” she responded sulkily.

“We weren’t, but having come across that one, it’s started me thinking. Whoever owns it must be glad to get rid of it, surely. It must be a liability to them and it’s obvious that no-one’s looking after it.”

“But what about the old woman I saw?” her voice threatening to reach higher notes than normal.

“There’s no old woman Luce, you must be mistaken.”

“But I saw her, I know I did!” She was adamant.

Anton wrapped his strong arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Just think about it Luce, if we bought it I could do it up whilst we live in the van in the grounds.”

He very quickly became aware of the look on her face, and astutely changed tactics.

“On second thoughts, we could probably make one or two rooms in the house habitable for the winter and just use the van in the summer.” The likes of which didn’t exactly appeal to her either.

“What about the flat?” she asked in dismay. She was confused. Anton was moving too fast for her and she couldn’t get her head round what he was planning. And whatever it was she didn’t like the sound of it too much.

“The lease comes to an end soon, so we could continue to rent a month at a time until we complete the transaction on the house.”

“But you don’t know how much it would cost – how do we know we could afford it?” she gasped, her eyes opening as big as golf balls.

“I know we can, just call it gut-feeling. We have enough saved to cover a deposit and more. And I have an estimate in my head as to what I think I should offer for it.”

“But we haven’t even seen inside!” She was quickly becoming fearful that she was about to lose this argument, and suspected that Anton had temporarily lost his marbles.

“I’ve seen enough Luce. I had a good look around and peered through some of the windows. The roof is sound enough and those outbuildings offer a lot of potential. They would make good holiday lets, or alternative accommodation. We could even open a B&B and extend the accommodation by converting the outbuildings. I can do a lot of the work myself at week-ends and evenings, and there’s enough land to grow our own produce on and to have a few chickens – we would almost be entirely self-sufficient. That roof’s ideal for solar panels and I’ve got loads more ideas. We could get a loan on the basis of the value of the house once it is refurbished and modernised, plus the potential for business. We would probably qualify for a grant too because of the tourist attraction value.”

Lucy was speechless. She could see that he was losing himself in a world of fantasy. He was fast-forwarding so furiously that he couldn’t keep up with himself, or his thoughts. Anton was normally always the strong arm she could lean on, she had total faith and confidence in anything he did for the two of them, and she was normally happy for him to make most of the decisions. He was her rock, but this time she wasn’t convinced. And she wasn’t sure she fancied a B&B, or holiday lets in this rather unfriendly hamlet. And although they had talked about it before, she’d never had to think of it seriously – until now. And she wasn’t sure that she was too keen on the idea. Talking about it and actually doing it, were two very different things in her opinion. Although she had to admit that her little job at the hotel, near to where they lived at Kirkby-Lonsdale, didn’t pay much; but it did give her the benefit of part-time flexible hours. And as Anton believed that he should be the provider, it suited her fine. She was home in time to cook dinner and to have their little flat all nice and cosy for when he came home from work, and she was never under any pressure – so life was nice and easy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spoil it. And although she wasn’t afraid of hard work, her relationship with Anton was perfect the way it was. They had all that they wanted as far as she was concerned – and they were happy.

The conversation didn’t go any further, because the man returned with their sandwiches. He put them down on the table and returned to the bar.

“Do you think there’s only him here?” asked Lucy, nodding towards him disapprovingly.

“It’s hard to say! We’re in at the early doors, so maybe none of the staff have arrived yet.”

“Nor have the customers,” she grunted.

He gave her a quick cuddle of reassurance. “Don’t worry Luce I have it all under control.”

She grunted again as she picked up her sandwich and scrutinised it. Anton’s blue eyes twinkled wickedly as he picked up his sandwich, parted it slightly, and operated it with both hands to behave like a pair of teeth, which caused Lucy to burst into a fit of laughter. Needless to say, her mirth caught the attention of the barman and his one other customer, who both stood by silently and stared. However, Anton loved to see her pretty face light up when she smiled, or laughed, and he adored her for it. He knew his ideas would excite her once she came round to his way of thinking, and she would – he was determined.

He stood up, and without saying a word walked over to the bar and asked for half a pint of lager. He stretched his lean body across the counter-top casually, and addressed the barman at the same time as the old man.

“Can you tell me anything about the empty house up in Gallows Lane?”

The barman stopped drawing the lager for a second, and the old man seemed to show a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” the barman asked gruffly.

“I’m interested in buying it.”

The barman remained silent as he filled the glass with lager. He slid it across the counter to him and gave him a cold stare. Anton was not one to give up easy, so he paid the man, sipped at his drink and spoke again.

“I can see it was up for sale once, but it’s empty, so presumably it was never sold?”

“Go look somewhere else!” he snapped, turning away abruptly and trying to look busy behind the bar.

Anton picked up his glass and walked round to where the old man was standing. He noticed he was nursing an inch of beer in the bottom of his.

“I’ll have the same again for this chap,” he called across the bar. But he was being given the silent treatment. He then turned to the old man. “Sorry mate, I don’t know your name?”

But if he was expecting to find out, the old man wasn’t forthcoming; but he accepted the drink willingly.

“I take it you live around here?” Anton asked, as he made a further attempt to converse.

“What’s it to you?” The old man lifted the glass to his lips, gulped down a large amount of the beer, and eyed Anton shiftily.

Anton was flummoxed for a second. He wasn’t really expecting an answer. Now he’d got him talking, he intended to take full advantage. “So you’ll know who owns the old house?”

“Maybe!” he replied flatly.

“So, how do I get in touch with them?”

“You’d be wise to leave it alone.”

Anton’s curiosity was now aroused and he was feeling like a dog with a bone, he didn’t intend to give it up.

“Is that because it’s in such poor condition?”

The old man studied Anton and sipped at his drink.

“It’s a wicked house. No good will come of it. Best left alone.” He spoke more vehemently this time.

“Well I intend to make it a less wicked house. What do you think about that?”

The old man didn’t answer.

“Well I don’t believe in wicked houses, and if you can’t, or won’t, tell me whose house it is, I’ll find out elsewhere.” Anton drank back the lager and put his empty glass on the bar top. But as he turned to walk away the old man spoke again, and stopped Anton in his tracks.

“I’ve got the keys.”

Anton spun round and stared at him in astonishment. He couldn’t believe his luck. Had he heard him right, or was he hearing things?

“You’ve got the keys?” he asked in amazement, his face a picture of delight.

The old man dug his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys on a large key ring. He dangled them under Anton’s nose. “Here, take them. Take a look at it. You won’t like what you see.”

Lucy had been taking it all in, and at that point she stood up and walked across to the bar.

“Hey, what about the old woman who’s in there, I’ve seen her?”

The old man clung onto the keys as if to retract them, just as Anton was about to grasp them from his hand.

“What old woman?” His voice trembled and his face turned ashen.

“The one I saw down the hallway when I looked through the glass in the door.”

Anton didn’t normally get mad at Lucy, but he was rather wishing she’d kept her lovely mouth firmly shut. “Ignore her, she’s very imaginative,” he said, reaching for the keys again.

“No I’m not imaginative – I saw her! She was very old and dressed in rags, and she peered at me from the bottom of the hallway.” Lucy had assumed a rebellious stance and Anton didn’t like it.

He looked across at her and gave her an instructive look, which she ignored. She was now on her high-horse and couldn’t be stopped.

“Does she live there alone?” She intended to get an answer.

By now the barman was standing to attention and watching all that was going on. He too looked quite ashen and he shifted his feet uncomfortably.

The old man almost threw the bunch of keys into Anton’s willing hand. He knew they weren’t going to give up easily, and he wanted to get them away and out of the place altogether.

Anton held the keys with a feeling of satisfaction. He had not only achieved what he had come for, but far more than he’d expected, and he couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to the house to explore.

But Lucy had no intentions of going into that house if someone was living in it – or maybe squatting in it. She hadn’t thought of her being a squatter before now. However, she thought she would have one more try.

“So, are you going to tell me who that old woman is?”

“There is no old woman,” he called back gruffly. “At least not anymore,” he muttered in a hushed voice, much too quiet for Lucy or Anton to hear. If they had heard the old man’s comments, Lucy may well have put her foot down and refused to go back there.

The woman stood inside the porch waiting rather impatiently for someone to answer the door, but no-one came. “Shut up Prissy!” she hissed at the howling cat. She began to shiver as the cold gripped, it was late November and she had been on the road all day. She was tired and irritable, and the cat had done what it had to do in its basket and wasn’t happy – nor was the taxi driver she recalled. So all in all, there were some unhappy faces that day. She squinted through the dirty glass pane in the top half of the door and saw the old woman at the bottom of the hallway peering back curiously.

“Open up Mother, it’s me – Beryl.”

“What do
you
want?” asked a faint voice from the distance.

“I want to come in. Now stop dithering and open the door.”

The old woman hesitated, and then shuffled towards the door. She put her face up to the glass and stared. “Oh it
is
you,” she muttered.

Beryl could hear the sliding of three bolts, and a key turning in the lock. The door creaked open, but only to the width the safety chain allowed.

“What do you want?” she hissed. Then her eyes looked down on three large suitcases, before her poor hearing was disturbed by the sound of a screeching cat. She turned her gaze to the ginger and white animal in the basket, and slammed the door shut again. On went the bolts once more and she turned to shuffle back down the hallway.

Beryl put the basket down and forced open the letterbox which had clearly been taped down. She lifted the flap and shouted down the hallway: “Mother, come back, I’ve travelled a long way to see you. I’ve come to stay.”

The old woman stopped dead in her tracks.

“Who says?” she said, as she turned her head back towards the door, her voice strengthening as she spoke.

Beryl realised she would have to change her tactics if she didn’t want to remain glued to the porch platform. “I’ve come to stay with you for a few days. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

The old woman hesitated before choosing to go back and open the door. She opened it cautiously, a little at a time.

“Is Billy with you?” she asked hopefully.

“Beryl pushed the door open and forced her way in, almost knocking the old woman over in the process. She put the cat basket on the hall floor and dragged her suitcases in one at a time.

“Billy isn’t coming – he’s never coming back you silly old fool.”

The old woman looked bewildered and her face saddened. She stood and watched her daughter pull the suitcases on their castors, along the hallway and over to the bottom of the stairs. She started to drag them up the stairs one by one, as if she had every right to and as if the old woman didn’t exist. The cat by now had gone quiet, and the old woman glared at it.

“I’m allergic to cats,” she whimpered. But no-one was listening. She hobbled back to the scullery and sat down in the old rocking chair which was placed in front of an old black Yorkshire range. But there was no fire burning in the grate, it was just black and cold. She pulled a blanket around her frail body in order to keep warm and began to rock slowly, drifting back into her solitary world of sadness and heartache.

“I’m allergic to cats,” she mumbled to herself. “Are we having a cup of tea?” Her voice trailed off to a quiet murmur as she rocked the chair gently. A faint smile spread across her features, as she repeated over and over again: “Billy’s coming home soon.”

And then a tear trickled slowly down her cheek.