Property of a Lady

‘It would indeed,’ said Michael, and he left a deposit and his name.

When he got back there was an email from Nell, attaching an article she had found about William Lee. ‘You’ll see,’ she had written, ‘that his death conforms to all the traditions of hauntings. And his description of the “burglar” is eerily like the man you saw. I’ve found another piece of jigsaw as well – it’s interesting but probably not relevant, so I’ll save it until you’re here. Beth and I have decorated the shop; Beth thinks it looks pretty cool, and I hope it looks like something out of Dickens. Our Open Day is on Monday, and there’s a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie with your name on it.’

Michael would certainly look in for the mulled wine and the mince pie, and he would book the promised lunch for the three of them for Tuesday or Wednesday. He remembered to phone the Black Boar to confirm his reservation and the reservations for Jack and Liz, tried to reach Jack yet again, then gave up.

He drove to Marston Lacy two days later, the framed print, wrapped by the shop, carefully stowed in the back of the car.

Nell’s shop did indeed look like something out of Dickens. Michael stood in the street for a moment, enjoying the scarlet and gold decorations and the glinting candlelight reflecting on the spun-glass stars and globes. The inside looked fairly full of people, and it looked as if quite a number were buying as well.

When he went in, the warm scent of cloves and cinnamon from the huge tureen of mulled wine greeted him. There was a buzz of conversation from the people, and music was playing quietly but pleasantly. After a moment Michael identified it as Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite.

Nell was absorbed in discussing something with two of the guests, but Beth saw him and came over. She was wearing a garnet-coloured dress, which gave her a Victorian look of her own.

‘I’m allowed to speak to people and offer them a mince pie,’ she confided. ‘But I mustn’t get in the way, ’cos it’s a grown-up party. I didn’t think you counted as a grown-up, however.’

‘I don’t think I do.’

‘Was that rude?’ asked Beth, anxiously.

‘Not a bit.’

‘Have a mince pie? How’s Wilberforce?’ said Beth hopefully.

‘I’d love a mince pie, and Wilberforce has been very bad,’ said Michael, and he saw her face light up with glee, suddenly turning her into a gamine. For the first time he was aware of a pang for the dead Brad West who would never see his daughter grow up. He said, ‘I’ve typed out Wilberforce’s new adventure for you.’

‘Oh, brilliant. Could I have it tonight, d’you suppose? On account of I’m going to a party on my own tomorrow.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘It’s a party with a girl at school in my class,’ explained Beth. ‘And four of us are staying at her house all night. We might have a midnight feast, only I mustn’t tell Mum about it.’

‘I won’t say a word,’ promised Michael. ‘But I’ll want to know what you had to eat.’

‘Um, OK. Shush, here’s Mum now.’


Each time Michael saw Nell the sight pleased him all over again. Today she was more formally dressed than he had yet seen her: her outfit was the colour of horse chestnuts, and with it she wore a pendant of beaten copper and earrings to match. The colours brought out the red lights in her hair.

She smiled at him. ‘I’m so glad you made it. Is Beth looking after you?’

‘She is, and I’ve had two mince pies and I’m about to head for the mulled wine,’ said Michael promptly. ‘And Beth says she’s going to a party tomorrow night, and your notice on the door says you’re closing the shop on Tuesday, so will you both have lunch with me on Wednesday?’

Beth looked at her mother and Nell said, ‘We’d like that.’

‘How long does today’s party go on?’ asked Michael, glancing at the shop, which by now was quite full.

‘Until six.’