Sara Foster - Beneath the Shadows

When she had finished, she moved to the little alcove set into the lounge wall, where, in addition to a small glass duck and sprigs of dried heather, there was another row of books: crossword dictionaries, field guides for bird-watching, and a few gardening encyclopedias. They all went into the box with the others.

She paused as she came across a slim hardback covered by a dull grey dust jacket with raggedy edges, a black and white picture on the front of it. She read the title: Ghosts of the Moors . The photograph featured a tall stone cross in the foreground and a shadowy stone bridge visible in the distance, across a strip of moorland. The photo looked like it had been taken in twilight, so that the bridge was dimly lit, the low-lying hills behind it little more than shadows.

She opened the book and began to read the introduction:

The North Yorkshire moors. A place of many souls: those unborn, those departed, and the few who dwell in the scattered villages and wander the old monks’ paths. People come and go, their lives ebbing and flowing like the river that cleaves its way through the valley. Yet, beneath their feet, the moors themselves are timeless – soaked in the love, grief, happiness and despair that saturates the air and weeps down past the heather into the thickly layered earth. This place is one that ghosts wander to and through, since the untended, patient land embraces both the living and the dead, as the seasons spin perpetual circles within time’s sticky web…

Grace shuddered, and turned the page, thumbing through the rest at random. It was full of short chapters, with titles like ‘The hob on the hill’, ‘The witches’ knoll’, and ‘The knights of Freeborough’. Towards the back, she came across ‘The barghest’. She read the first few sentences: A fearsome hound with razor-sharp teeth and claws. Seen shortly before the death of a local.

She remembered the dream she’d had on her first night back. She could vividly picture that contorted face, smell its hot, meaty, panting breath. The death of a local. Grace hastily closed the book and put it inside the charity box. She would be rid of that one as soon as possible.

‘Just checking in,’ Annabel said brightly the next morning when Grace answered the phone. ‘What’s new in no-man’s-land then?’

Grace laughed despite herself. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear I’m making some progress – and I’m getting the kitchen wall knocked down this week.’

‘So you’re going ahead with renovating?’

‘Yes – I’m not sure how much I’ll do, but I’m really tempted to try and rent it as a holiday let, and it will work much better with one big room downstairs.’

‘Sounds good,’ Annabel said, then her tone changed. ‘Hang on, are we going to be living in a dust box all Christmas?’

‘Don’t worry, Ben says he’ll have it all sorted by then. It might not be too pretty, mind you.’

‘Ben said so, did he? And who, tell me, is Ben?’

‘He lives up the road – I told you he was coming over on Sunday about the work. He’s done a great job on the plans.’

‘Grace, please tell me you’ve checked his credentials out properly?’

Grace immediately felt defensive. ‘He showed me heaps of drawings. It’s obvious he knows what he’s talking about.’

‘GRACE!’ Annabel shrieked down the phone. ‘For God’s sake – he’s about to knock down a wall in your home. Unless you want the whole ceiling to come crashing in, then I suggest you ask to see some references. Honestly, what are you thinking?’

Grace was relieved she hadn’t told Annabel that it was Ben they’d seen in the pub last Saturday, being unceremoniously told to leave. However, she knew her sister had a point. She had agreed to let Ben do the job without being thorough. She had been grateful to find someone so easily, someone who talked like they knew what they were doing, and who could be left to get on with it.

‘Grace, are you listening to me?’ Annabel was saying. ‘Before you let that man into your cottage with a large hammer, I want you to ask him for some background information. References, qualifications, experience – and I mean relevant experience. Promise me?’

Grace knew Annabel would never leave her alone until she’d agreed – or, worse still, would phone their parents. So there was little option but to say, ‘Fine, I promise.’

Ben was at the door soon after breakfast. Grace waited as he wandered around downstairs making notes, then began to study the wall that divided kitchen and lounge. Millie sat on the floor, inspecting him closely.

‘As I suspected, solid stone,’ he said. ‘I’ll check upstairs, but I don’t think it’s load-bearing. I can always put a beam in for extra support if needs be.’ He looked at the furniture. ‘Anywhere we can move this to?’

Grace thought for a moment. ‘I suppose we could stack it in the cellar.’

‘Well, you can leave that to me. If you clear those shelves in the corner and pack away everything in the kitchen, then I’ll cover it all up and get cracking. I plan to have the wall down by Thursday, and spend Friday clearing up. It might not be pretty over Christmas but you’ll have a lot bigger area, and you’ll be able to think more about what you might do with it next… Does that sound good to you?’

As he waited for her reply, Grace knew it was now or never. ‘Ben, I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you this earlier… Do you have any references or qualifications you can show me?’

He looked surprised rather than offended. ‘I’m really sorry, Grace, but I don’t have anything with me. You know that I’m house-sitting, and I’m a long way from home right now. I can reassure you that I once worked as a labourer, even though it’s been a while, and I’m a qualified architect. However, I can’t actually prove anything without troubling people to go into my empty house and send me documents.’ He sighed. ‘I completely understand why you’re asking, but it might take me a while to get these things to you… particularly with Christmas around the corner. Would you rather find somebody else? I understand if you want to – it might be better for your peace of mind?’

Grace’s thoughts raced as he stood waiting for her answer. What should she do? The possibility of going back to square one appalled her, particularly when everything had fallen so easily into place. It was Annabel who was worried, after all. Ben might be reticent, but Grace felt she could trust him with the cottage – he had already done far more than she had asked, for no apparent reason other than to help her out.

‘I’d still like you to do it,’ she said decisively.

‘Okay then.’ Ben picked up his coat. ‘You’re putting your faith in me, I appreciate that, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

As he spoke, Millie pulled herself up against the sofa and tried to reach Ben’s papers. ‘No Millie,’ Grace said, hurrying over, but Millie ignored her and snatched them, flinging them aside and watching as they floated to the ground.

Grace began picking them up, and Ben joined in. As they got to their feet, Grace handed over those she’d collected, and caught Ben’s eye. They were standing far too close, and he was looking at her so directly that a shiver ran through her.

‘Do you have any more questions before we get started?’ His voice was a deep susurrant burr.

Grace stepped back. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Then I’ll be over tomorrow.’ He moved past her, heading for the door.

Grace saw him out and went back to Millie. As they began to play together, she found that, now he’d gone, numerous questions were running through her mind, but few were to do with the cottage.