Selena stood in the conservatory, her hair tied in a knot, brush in hand, and gazed at the painting she had started several days before. It was a perfect image of a black and white cow standing in an open field; in the distance, there were more fields, yellow and ochre, rising towards a blustery sky. A heavy storm was brewing; clouds hanging low, dark as bruises. Selena was pleased with the composition. She’d leave it a while and go back to it with fresh eyes.
She gazed through the glass panelled windows into the back garden. It was illuminated with sunshine. It was already a hot morning, the twelfth of May, and there were bright bluebells lodged between stones, a pink flowering apple tree and, beyond, the fields of Hilltop Farm. Selena looked around: the view was idyllic. Sloe Cottage was an inspirational place to live: strange, yet somehow inspiring, as if she was almost connected to the people who had lived there before, who had been immersed in the harsh beauty of rural Somerset.
Then the brush twitched in her hand and she plunged it into pale paint and began to sketch in a figure. To one side of the cow, she drew the outline of a woman sitting on a stool. She was bent over, milking, deep in thought. Selena painted in the outline of a long skirt, an apron, a cap on her head and a kerchief across her shoulders. She wondered, as she began to compose the milkmaid, why she had chosen the clothing, where she had seen the image before, but it was clear in her artist’s mind’s eye and she transferred it to the canvas.
Selena paused, thinking; she would make the milkmaid lost in thought, as if her mind was tugged elsewhere, not on her labours. Her cheek rested against the cow’s hindquarters, but her expression was troubled about the mouth, as if her life brimmed with problems that she could not resolve. Exactly, Selena thought: she was a peasant woman whose life revolved around making ends meet. She had little power and her troubles were caused by others, by those who ordered her simple life and made it even harder.
Selena added detail to the figure, the dull cream dress, the soiled apron, the modest cap, the sad eyes, a hint of pale red hair below the bonnet. She was amazed how easily the figure fitted the picture, as if it had always been intended there. Selena wondered where the poor girl might shelter when the rains began to pelt down; there was no barn. She would paint Sloe Cottage in the background, but it would be smaller, the roof thatched, the garden full of the mixed green shades of various herbs. She would add the well and the dark shadow of a barbed blackthorn tree where the window would have been.
Selena felt the warmth of breath on her neck, a light exhalation. It was as if someone was standing behind her, watching her at work. She stood still for a moment; someone was a few inches from her, she could feel it. Her skin became cold. Selena held her breath. She felt a person leaning close, the prickle of proximity, of another body. Selena exhaled lightly, waiting. It was there, still. She shivered and felt her body tense.
For some reason she couldn’t explain, Selena raised her voice and spoke out, shakily. ‘I hope you like the picture.’
Then the person was gone. Selena whirled round and stared into the empty conservatory. Despite the warm sunshine streaming through the glass, Selena’s skin was still ice cold and she was trembling.
Her phone buzzed: she examined the caller ID before answering as she had done with every call she’d received since Sunday afternoon, and she was glad it was not David. She held the phone to her ear. ‘Laura.’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting your work.’
‘Not at all.’ Selena was relieved to hear the rattle of a friendly voice.
‘Only I’m off to Taunton shopping – the Thursday market is really good. And I thought you might like to come with me.’
‘Oh, yes please.’ Selena jumped at the chance to go out; the presence of an unseen observer had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. The painting would wait: the milkmaid was poised on her stool and Selena knew exactly how it would look when she finished.
‘I’ll be at your gate in ten minutes,’ Laura said.
‘Great,’ Selena replied. ‘I’ll grab a jacket and my bag.’
An hour later, Selena and Laura were wandering around the market stalls set up in front of the sumptuous wisteria-clad Castle Hotel, once an old Norman fortress. Laura was raving about the organic fruit and vegetables she bought each week, the delicious range of cheeses and a stall which sold gluten-free bread and cakes. ‘You’d never tell their produce was gluten-free, Selena. The sponges are so light and the bread is to die for. I have to buy gluten-free for my dad because if he eats wheat, he gets a horrible bloated stomach.’ Laura tucked an arm through Selena’s. ‘Of course, I end up eating it all, but, ah, what the hell.’ She laughed.
‘Oh, look.’ Selena paused to gaze at a stall selling crystals. She reached out, touching a pendant necklace with a smooth green stone.
The stallholder was a tall woman wearing a silk headscarf and a long dress. She pointed a finger. ‘Does that stone draw you to it?’
Selena was a little surprised. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. It’s a gorgeous deep green colour, and so smooth. What is it?’
‘Malachite,’ the woman replied simply.
‘You should buy it,’ Laura said. ‘If it’s drawn you to it, there must be a reason. Nothing is drawing me to it, but maybe that’s because I’m completely skint, so I can’t splurge on myself. I’m so hoping a job will come up at Ashcombe Primary soon – I can’t exist forever on supply work.’
The stallholder inclined her wrapped head. ‘The stone is malachite; the chain is sterling silver. It’s thirty-six pounds, but I’ll sell it to you for thirty.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Selena held it up, enjoying the gleaming light that bounced from the polished stone.
‘What is malachite good for?’ Laura asked.
‘It absorbs negative energies and pollutants,’ the woman replied. ‘Malachite also clears and activates the chakras and attunes the wearer to spiritual guidance. It opens the heart to unconditional love.’
‘Oh, that’s just perfect for you,’ Laura clapped her hands.
‘It drew you to it. I noticed how quickly you picked it up.’ The stallholder stared at Selena, frowning. ‘Malachite wards off evil. It is worn over the heart to rebalance and to keep it open to new experiences.’
Selena plunged her hand into her bag and brought out her purse. ‘Thirty pounds?’ She handed over her card. ‘Do you take cards?’
‘Of course. Shall I wrap the pendant?’
‘Oh, no – she’ll wear it now,’ Laura said. ‘Won’t you, Selena?’
‘I think I’d better – my heart needs all the balancing it can get,’ Selena smiled, wrapping the pendant around her neck and fiddling with the clip. ‘There. How is that?’
‘Lovely,’ Laura breathed.
‘May it bring you joy and keep all negative energy from you,’ the stallholder said in a quiet monotone as she handed the bank card back to Selena. ‘Have a wonderful day.’
Then Laura grasped the sleeve of Selena’s jacket and started to tug. ‘Look at the stall over there – it’s all the natural creams and lotions, and there’s Joely.’
They reached a stall which smelled of sweet oils and heady scents, where Joely and another woman, who was tall and wore a long coat, were selling pots of cream to a woman with a toddler in her arms.
The woman took her purchase and hurried away and Joely turned her smile on Laura and Selena. ‘Hello. Great to see you both.’
Selena was looking at rows of little muslin bags that held herbal teas. ‘Do you have anything that will help me to sleep?’
‘Oh, aren’t you sleeping well?’ Joely raised an eyebrow in concern.
‘I’m fine – but it’s an old house and I’m all alone. It does feel a little strange there sometimes, so I thought a warm drink before I turn in…’
‘I have some chamomile and some valerian.’ Joely offered her the small pouches. ‘Try both and see what you think. If you like them, I’ll bring you some more round.’
Laura picked up a simple pot of cream. ‘I’ll take some of this for my wrinkles if I may, Joely. I’m thirty-four and I swear I look at least ten years older…’
‘You look lovely, Laura,’ Joely said. ‘But this stuff is really good – it’s avocado, calendula and clary sage. It’s the one I use myself.’ Then she turned to the woman who was helping her behind the stall. ‘Lucy, will you be okay by yourself for half an hour?’
‘Of course,’ her friend replied.
Joely reached behind the stall for her handbag. ‘Do you fancy a quick drink? I haven’t had lunch, so a liquid one might just do me for today.’
‘What a lovely idea,’ Laura said. ‘Why don’t we go to the Gallows?’
Selena gasped. ‘Go to the Gallows?’
‘Don’t panic,’ Laura grinned. ‘It’s an old pub round the corner. It does the most amazing cheese and onion pies.’
The Stonegallows Inn was a white-fronted building that had been completely renovated inside to include cream-painted wood surfaces and gold flock wallpaper. The jukebox played a selection of lively pop and the bar staff were all young men and women wearing black polo shirts with a noose logo above the name of the pub. The only other reference to its gloomy history was a silver plaque proclaiming that the inn had been a site for executions from 1575 until 1810.
Selena, Laura and Joely huddled round a square table, each with half a pint of cider and a cheese and onion pasty. Selena fingered the malachite pendant around her neck. ‘So, I wonder who was executed on this site all those years ago?’
‘You can be sure they were poor and probably innocent,’ Joely said cynically.
Laura shivered. ‘It’ll be to do with Judge Deed, I expect. He had loads of people hanged at the end of the 1600s here in Taunton. They rebelled against James the Second – wasn’t it the Monmouth Rebellion? I think the Crown took a dim view of rebels in those days.’
‘The Pitchfork Rebellion, 1685, the Revolt of the West.’ Joely grinned. ‘Matty was talking about it the other day – he loves local history. He was going on about the Battle of Sedgemoor – he said twenty-seven Royalists were killed there and they were all buried in the church at Westonzoyland, near Bridgwater.’
‘It’s strange…’ Selena shook her head. ‘All the hangings that took place here on this site, yet the pub doesn’t feel at all spooky.’
Laura reached for her cider. ‘Perhaps all of the ghosts have been chased away by the drinkers.’
‘Unlike your house, Selena.’ Joely frowned. ‘There’s a really weird feeling in Sloe Cottage.’
‘Don’t tell her that – she has to live there.’ Laura sat up straight.
‘You’re not telling me you haven’t felt it?’ Joely said. ‘I mean, there’s a sense of sadness, or, I don’t know, unfinished business.’
‘It’s real things that scare me.’ Laura gave a high laugh, trying to make light of Joely’s comments. ‘The other night, when Claire blew a fuse and the lights went out, I was terrified.’
‘Joely has a point – there is definitely a sense of something or someone…’ Selena’s eyes gleamed. ‘I have felt, you know, a presence, someone else in the house.’
Laura shuddered. ‘Oh don’t – you’ll give me nightmares.’
‘It’s more pronounced in the old part of the cottage, where there are shadows and creaks, although I felt someone watching me in the conservatory. It was quite chilling.’ Selena leaned back in her seat. ‘And the front garden has a strange atmosphere near the old well. I suppose it’s just my imagination.’
‘Well, I think houses hold their history,’ Joely said. ‘I think there’s some sort of memory of the people who have lived there before, a trace of them having been there, left in the fabric of the house. Perhaps that’s why we live in a caravan!’
‘Like DNA?’ Laura suggested.
Selena agreed. ‘Like the people who have spent whole lives in a house, and an essence of them remains behind. You know, a house feels happy if people were happy when they lived there…’
‘And that’s why Sloe Cottage feels so sad,’ Joely said.
‘Do you think something horrible happened there?’ Laura’s eyes were wide.
‘Something unfinished, that’s why there’s a restless spirit?’ Joely replied.
‘Perhaps. There is a feeling of being… not alone – sometimes, which is quite scary.’ Selena reached for her glass for the first time and forced a grin. ‘It’s definitely inspiring my moody paintings though, my imagination is really fired up – I’m creating all sorts of shadowy shapes, stormy skies and unforgiving country scenes.’ She saw Laura’s anxious expression. ‘I’ll be fine. And Claire’s really pleased. She’s put the paintings I’ve sent her on the website and there’s loads of interest already.’
‘But are you sure you’re all right there, by yourself?’ Laura’s eyes glowed with concern behind her glasses.
‘Maybe that’s why you bought the malachite necklace?’ Joely asked. ‘For protection?’
‘I’m all right most of the time, honestly. I just concentrate on painting.’ Selena deliberately changed the subject, trying to appear more casual. The topic of a ghostly presence in Sloe Cottage worried her more than she wanted to believe. She smiled. ‘The protection I really need is from my ex, back in Manchester. He rang me at the weekend and I picked up the phone without thinking.’
‘The man who…’ Laura paused, choosing her words carefully. She wasn’t sure if Joely knew about the miscarriage. ‘… Who you came here to get away from?’
‘That’s right.’ Selena’s fingers touched the gleaming stone around her neck. ‘If he rings me again, I’m going to talk to him directly and tell him to leave me alone. I won’t run away from him, not now.’
‘Good for you,’ Joely offered an approving smile. She lifted her glass. ‘To being strong.’
Selena and Laura raised their glasses and they chorused, ‘To being strong.’
Selena took a sip of cider and breathed out slowly. ‘I can’t help but wonder, though, what happened to the people who lived at Sloe Cottage all those years ago. I find myself thinking of it more and more. I’m sure there must be a story behind all the – what’s the word everyone keeps using? – the eeriness.’