Selena was looking through the stack of paintings in the conservatory, pleased with what she had achieved: there were so many landscapes and vistas, each one bringing back memories of her time in Somerset. Her favourite was the stark painting of the blackthorn tree glimpsed through the window. She recalled the time she was painting it by the fireside, the writing that had appeared in the condensation on the window, the crude letters spelling the name Grace. Selena wondered what Grace’s story was, why she was so restless.
She glanced at her most recent picture of the Exmoor landscape, finished now, still on the easel; she was satisfied with it and she was keen to start another project. Outside, the back garden was in shadow; it was past ten o’clock and she thought that she ought to go to bed, but she felt edgy and wide awake. Selena was strangely claustrophobic indoors; the air was sticky. It was a humid night and she wanted to be outside. Then it came to her; she could paint the blackthorn tree again, in detail under the moonlight; she’d take her digital camera and snap some pictures close-up to inspire her. It would be cool and calm in the front garden, and she longed to breathe the fresh night air.
Selena took off her shoes by the front door and wandered outside in bare feet, enjoying the sensation of damp grass between her toes. The garden was bathed in pale light, smelling sweet and fresh; the circle of the moon hung overhead, the colour of wax. Selena gazed up at little stars like pinholes in the sky, clustered in groups, and she inhaled, enjoying the cool air against her skin. She could hear the chattering well, a soft bubbling from deep below the earth’s surface. Selena recalled Ian or Lesley having said something about it being Welsh water, flowing all the way down from the Brecons. Then her mind wandered to the Cotters, the people who lived in the cottage years ago, when it had been Slaugh Cottage. Grace Cotter must have walked in the garden, touched the same walls with her hands, warmed them in front of the same hearth. Selena wondered again what became of her, and she shuddered. She moved her thoughts to Nick. Tomorrow was Saturday and they would meet in the morning and share the outcome of the latest research, the artefacts they had discovered in the loft, before going to Laura’s for lunch. Her pulse quickened at the thought.
The garden was quiet, no sound except the low screech of an owl. Somewhere in a hedgerow, an animal scuttled, the rushing of a hare. Selena looked through the lens of her camera: despite the darkness, the images were clear. She photographed the well, the outline captured in a shaft of moonlight, then she whirled round and took some pictures of the blackthorn tree, the branches stretched upwards, leaves spread like a garland. She took more, close up. Black shadowy bark against silver light, the greys of foliage, the hint of deep red against the spiky thorns.
Her feet were wet now and she was feeling cold. Selena decided she’d go back to the house, make a cup of soothing chamomile tea, review her pictures and then go to bed. She was determined that there would be no ghosts in her room tonight; she would sleep well.
Back in the kitchen, she sipped tea and looked through the large number of photos she had taken outside. They had come out just as she’d hoped; there was a starkness about them, matt black against silver. The well was particularly stunning, bathed in moonlight, and the blackthorn tree had an eerie beauty.
Then Selena stopped, holding her breath. She went back to the previous picture, the blackthorn tree at a distance, staring at it, frowning. The tree was curled over, as if bowed in prayer. She augmented the picture, looking at the details. Coiled in the blackthorn tree was what looked like a trailing mist, but on closer inspection Selena could make out the shape of a slender woman with long pale hair, wearing a white shift. Selena enlarged the picture again and stared at the transparent spectre, her arms stretched upwards in supplication and her mouth open.
Selena put the camera down and gasped. The intense scent of lavender surrounded her and, without knowing why, tears tumbled down her cheeks as she was gripped by an overwhelming sadness.
Selena woke on Saturday morning, feeling refreshed after a shower, more settled after the troubling events of the previous evening. As she sat at the breakfast table with a cup of tea, staring at the pictures on her phone, she was more convinced than ever. It was definitely not an optical illusion; hidden in the shadows of the tree was the misty shape of a woman with a sad face. Selena sighed; last night, as she’d gazed at the photo, she had been filled with an incredible feeling of regret and loss, as if something tragic had taken place. She wondered what could have happened all those years ago to leave such a strong imprint of the past in Sloe Cottage.
She spent the next two hours in the conservatory; her intention was to paint the blackthorn at night, but the image of the ghostly woman in the tree was scorched on her mind and she found herself painting the shape, trying her hardest to communicate the sadness of the scene. It was coming together well: the sharp outline of the tree, the yellow moon, the woman trapped within criss-crossed branches. Then she noticed that a voice message had come in from Laura: she had been too engrossed in her painting to take the call. She listened to excited garbled words about her father’s new discoveries as he researched the parish register. She was just about to listen to the message again when she heard a knock at the front door. Selena ran through the hall eagerly and threw it open.
‘Nick.’
‘So nice to see you.’ He handed her a bunch of sweet peas, the stems wrapped in foil. ‘My mother sent you these – I called in to see her and she insisted that I shouldn’t arrive here empty-handed.’
Selena took the flowers. ‘Thank you – and do thank Lesley. I’ll put them in a vase later – there’s a lovely cream one somewhere. The flowers will be perfect in the window.’ She ushered him into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a cup of Earl Grey?’
‘Yes please. Can I see your latest paintings?’
‘Help yourself.’ Selena bustled in the kitchen as Nick wandered through into the conservatory.
She heard him exclaim. ‘Is this a new one, the blackthorn tree again?’
‘It is…’ she called.
‘And – is that the shape of our ghost sitting in the branches?’
Selena put two cups on the table. ‘Come and see.’ He was by her side and she passed her camera to him, the photo of the blackthorn tree ready. ‘I took this last night when I was outside. What do you think?’
Nick inhaled. ‘That’s quite incredible.’
‘And I felt an overpowering sadness, as if that was how she felt too.’ Selena’s words came out in a rush. ‘Do you think she’s trapped there? What if her body is buried beneath the tree? Do you think she’s trying to escape?’
‘Or perhaps it’s a place of refuge for her,’ Nick said. ‘I’m not sure what to think, especially after the report that Colleen sent me about the things we found in the attic.’
Selena couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and grasping his hand. ‘What did she say?’
‘Well, first of all the blanket. The fabric is very fragile now, but Colleen is sure that the date is 1683 and the letter looks more like a G than a C.’
‘Grace?’
‘It could be. But Colleen was certain about the date, so it would almost certainly have been one of the Cotters who put the old wooden box in the attic. I wonder why they hid it – or if it was a storage place?’
‘But why hide those particular things?’
‘The other two items are huge clues.’ Nick squeezed her hand. ‘The little rag thing is some sort of primitive doll. Colleen said it might have been a child’s plaything, but it also might have been a poppet.’
Selena stared. ‘Poppet meaning sweet and cute, as in “Hello, my poppet”, or poppet as in a doll made to represent a person, for casting spells on?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I’m not sure we’ll ever know, except for what Colleen said about the third item. She’s done quite a bit of research on it and she’s come up with some incredible findings.’
‘Do you mean the piece of rope?’
‘She says it was a piece of knotted rope or string, one and a half metres long, with cockerel’s feathers woven into it. They were basically shredded dust, but Colleen managed to identify them and she has some interesting facts about the significance of it too.’ Nick raised an eyebrow. ‘It was a witch’s ladder.’
‘A witch’s ladder? What was that?’ Selena asked.
‘Colleen has several theories, based on her research of the seventeen hundreds. One is that a witch would make a ladder to stop cows being able to give milk – a sort of curse on a neighbour’s farm, so that the cows’ udders dry up.’
‘Why would someone do that?’ Selena was alarmed at the thought.
‘A charm or spell of some kind, I suppose.’
Selena leaned forward, her hand still in Nick’s. ‘And what else did Colleen say?’
‘The witch’s ladder isn’t about someone flying or climbing up it – it was coiled in a roof space and left there deliberately to cause some one's death.’
‘My goodness.’ Selena caught her breath. ‘So, are you saying our Grace was actually a witch?’
‘The truth is, no one really knows the answer,’ Nick said. ‘She may not necessarily have been a witch at all, but the evidence does point that way. Hiding those objects in the chimney could have been a spell to cause harm to someone she had a grudge against. It certainly looks like one of the inhabitants in the cottage was quite handy with some sort of magical powers.’
‘There’s something else I ought to mention…’ Selena was thoughtful. ‘I’ve smelled lavender around the house a few times, from the moment I first arrived. It was really strong last night.’
‘What’s the significance of lavender in terms of natural healing?’ Nick asked.
‘It’s a calming plant – relaxing, a remedy for pain.’
Nick spoke softly:
‘Here’s flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun
And with him rises weeping.’
‘What is that from?’ Selena asked.
‘The Winter’s Tale.’ Nick smiled. ‘The Cotters would have lived some seventy years after Shakespeare was writing his plays, but it goes to show how important herbs and flowers were to people in those days, and how significant a part they played in their lives.’
‘There’s still evidence of their importance now,’ Selena replied. ‘Just ask Joely.’
‘Definitely. So – what do we now know about our Grace Cotter?’
‘Two things,’ Selena counted on her fingers. ‘One, the supernatural stuff that is difficult to believe is real: doors opening, her name written on the glass, the scent of lavender, the woman I saw outside and in the photo of the blackthorn tree. It all points to some sort of spirit presence.’
‘And the other?’
‘Hard facts. The stuff we found in your mother’s box file – names, dates – and the evidence from your colleague, the archaeologist – the witch’s ladder, the little doll.’
‘It doesn’t look good for Grace – evidence of witchcraft, grudges and ladders, the misty photo of a spirit that lives in the witch’s tree.’
‘Rob called it that too – he told me the thorns were used to prick wax images of those that they cursed.’
‘Or, quite simply, the whole thing is just superstition. Grace may have been simply a victim of prejudice,’ Nick said. ‘If we’re being logical, we know that witches don’t exist.’
‘Or ghosts?’ Selena raised an eyebrow.
‘What you saw last night seems real enough. I worry about you living here…’ Nick began.
‘I’m calmer this morning.’ Selena said. ‘Things are becoming clear. When I saw her in the tree, I felt an overwhelming sadness. I’m not afraid now, not really. I just want to find out, to help if I can. It’s as if she’s asking me…’
‘I know what you mean. We’re getting close to knowing who she is,’ Nick agreed. ‘So, we’re off to Laura’s for lunch – and Rob may have some answers for us about the Cotters.’
Selena was suddenly excited. ‘I had a message from her this morning, just before you came. Apparently, he’s spent hours already on the internet, looking at the parish registers and records.’
‘Did she say anything specific?’
‘Rob wants to tell us all about it himself. Laura says he’s become a little bit obsessed with it – he’s found out the Cotters’ dates, and who they are related to and what happened to them all. He says we’re in for some exciting reading.’
‘Then shall we go?’ Nick took her hand. ‘I’m really looking forward to lunch at Laura’s.’
Selena met his eyes, her own shining. ‘And we’re going out to dinner again tonight?’
‘We are,’ Nick replied. ‘And I’m looking forward to that even more.’
Selena returned his smile. With his hand in hers, she was starting to feel like they were on the brink of being a couple, that something wonderful was about to happen between them. As she walked through the living room, she sighed and the heady scent of lavender stayed in her nostrils.