Property of a Lady

‘I reckon your friends have taken on quite a task with this place,’ said the builder.

Michael reckoned so as well. ‘I think they inherited it out of the blue,’ he said. ‘They had no idea it was even in their family.’

‘So I hear. It’s being said those scoundrelly old solicitors lost the deeds for the best part of forty years. Grimley and Shrike they were called. They had offices on the edge of the High Street. It’s a health food shop now, but I remember it being Grimley and Shrike when I was a boy. Like something out of Dickens they were.’

‘I did hear something about the deeds being mislaid,’ said Michael.

‘That’s putting it politely,’ said the builder cheerfully. ‘If you ask me, it’s surprising old man Shrike didn’t mislay himself along with the deeds. I never knew him, of course, but my father did a job at the offices – thirty years ago it must be. He said old Shrike used to wear one of those old-fashioned high wing collars, and you could hardly see his desk for all the files. Deed boxes stacked halfway up to the ceiling, cobwebs in every corner, and cigarette ash over everything. He died at his desk one day, just fell down while he was drafting somebody’s will and stayed there until the office boy found him. Great old character, by all accounts. Rotten solicitor though, so they say. Ah well. Come and see what we’re doing upstairs.’

‘Dr Harper mentioned something about turning part of the attics into one large room,’ said Michael as they stood at the foot of the stairs. Jack had thought, from the layout plans supplied by the surveyor, that the attics might be made into a combined bedroom and playroom for Ellie.

‘We’re starting on that tomorrow,’ said the builder. ‘Wait a bit, I’ll show you the plans if you like.’ He fished a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket and spread them out on a window sill.

‘See that line of wall there?’ He jabbed at the plans with a pencil. ‘Well, unless the surveyor got the layout wrong – and I’ve known that happen more than once, trust me! – Dr Harper’s idea is that if we knock that out it’ll make for one big L-shaped room.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Michael, to whom the plans were almost entirely incomprehensible, but understanding the general principle, which was that Ellie would have a rooftop hideaway. She would love it; she would have shelves of books under the windows and brightly-coloured pictures on the walls, and Liz would probably find a jazzy bedspread and curtains. When Michael stayed here, he and Ellie would sit in her rooftop room and discuss what further adventures Wilberforce might have.

‘And we’ll run the wiring up there and put in a radiator, although it’ll be snug enough with being immediately under the roof.’

‘You seem to be getting on well.’

‘Interesting old place,’ said the builder, pocketing his pencil and rolling up the plans. ‘Wouldn’t be everybody’s choice, of course.’

He sent Michael a sideways look, and Michael said, ‘I expect there are a few local ghost stories about it.’

‘Always are with an old empty house,’ said the builder, matter-of-factly. ‘And this one’s been empty ever since I can remember. But they tell how William Lee, who died more than a hundred years ago, haunts the place.’ He grinned. ‘Folk used to say he’d walk through the rooms and what used to be the orchard, although nobody seems to know why.’

Almost against his will, Michael said, ‘Have you ever seen anything?’

‘I have not. My brother, though, he reckons he saw William once. But then my brother sees pink elephants dancing with elves when he’s been at the sauce.’ He lifted his elbow in a descriptive gesture. ‘Lot of rubbish, ghosts,’ he said roundly. ‘But any old empty house has to have a few tales told about it, don’t it, squire?’

Michael agreed it did and went out into the timeless rain.





SEVEN