Haunting Grace (5 page)

“Oh don’t be so silly, go with him, Grace. You’ll love Harry’s stories.”

Grace doubted that most sincerely, but followed the pub owner to the door and out into the courtyard at the front of the pub.

“This used to be a stable yard, you know. The Inn was a posting house, years ago.”

Grace nodded, politely but silently wished she were back in her hotel room with her book. The elderly man unzipped his fleece and handed it to her.

“Here, put this on. It’s cold out here for a lady.”

“I couldn’t possibly. You will freeze.”

“Take the coat, girl. I’m a tough old man. A bit of a breeze ain’t gonna kill me.”

Grace smiled and took the coat. “Thank you, I do feel cold.”

He motioned to a chair, propped up against a small round table. Obviously meant for summer use, but Grace obliged.

“So where are you from?”

“A long way from here,” Grace replied.

“Aww, I see. A lady of mystery,” he said smiling across the table at her. “Well I hope you enjoy your time in our ancient city.”

“Oh, I will... I mean, I am. Thank you. It is wonderful here. York is the most beautiful place.”

“That it is, Grace. But we do have our fair share of the unexplainable. I’m guessing you’ve been having a bit of trouble in that area or you wouldn’t be sat here with me now.”

Graced stared at him, her mouth open in shock. How could he know what had been going on? Was this just one big conspiracy, a joke, played on a newcomer?

“No need to look so surprised, girl. I know the hotel you are at. Everyone who stays in room twenty three complains and wants to be moved. I am surprised you’ve lasted as long as you have. The hotel must have been fully booked. The owner doesn’t usually use that room for guests.”

Grace relaxed a little and reached for her glass on the table. She had been hasty and jumped to an irrational conclusion. She took a large sip of the wine and sighed as it slid down the back of her throat.

“Do you know much about this ghost then?” Grace asked, thinking that Harry was going to tell her what he knew whether she asked or not.

“A bit. Why do you want me to tell you what I know?”

She hadn’t expected that response and she took another large sip of her wine. This man knew people very well, but still, she liked him.

“I guess... I am asking you to tell me,” Grace replied surprising herself. She hadn’t wanted to discuss Robert Hamilton with anyone but Harry had got her attention and she was intrigued to know what he was going to say.

The side of his lips quirked and he smiled gently at her. “If you keep gulping that wine down you aren’t gonna remember anything I tell you by the morning. Relax, it’s ok. I’m not gonna scare you.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just finding all this a little creepy.”

“I can’t argue that it’s not creepy but I’ve lived with it for so long now that it doesn’t bother me much.”

“Do you have problems with the ghost too then?”

“Do I ever! Drove me almost to insanity when I first took this place over, did Robert Hamilton. He owned the pub when it was a posting house back in the 1660s. It’s like we live in the same place and run the pub but on different levels of time. Mostly it seems to work for us. But sometimes the lines blur and our times mix, and then for brief moments, he is here and the pub is his, and I am here and the pub is mine. I have come to terms with it better than he has. A nasty temper has Mr Hamilton when he is riled. Fierce protector of this establishment, he is.”

Grace could feel the bile in the pit of her stomach rise as the old man told his tale. It all sounded so plausible, yet her logical mind told her he was a fantasist and a dreamer with too much time on his hands. But what if he was right? What if all the different time lines existed around one continuous circle and everyone who had ever lived in this pub were here with them right now, just hidden by an invisible barrier? What if all past worlds had never actually passed but continued to exist around us and all each new generation did was to build upon the last one? Grace shuddered at the thought. No, she had drunk too much wine. It was time to get herself away from this nonsense.

“Harry, thank you for our lovely chat, but I am so tired and think that perhaps I have had a tiny bit too much wine. Will you let Kate know that I have gone back to the hotel, oh, and would you give this to her please? Just tell her it’s for Lisa.” Grace reached inside her bag and put the wrapped book on the table.

“Of course I will. Can I see you back to your hotel, Grace?”

“No... no... really, I will be fine. A bit of fresh air and a good night’s sleep is all I need. Thanks again for a great chat, Harry. It is very nice to know you.”

“And it is very nice to know you, young Grace. I hope you will come back and see me again. I have something I would like to show you.”

********

There were no dreams for Grace that night, just deep and peaceful sleep and Saturday morning arrived with all the promise of a beautiful winter’s day.

She chose to have her breakfast in a quaint little cafe, just around the corner from the hotel. The city was a bustle of weekend tourists and shoppers. Resolved to spend a quiet day alone, Grace headed away from the hustle and towards the art gallery. A water fountain stood in front of the building. Mesmerised by the jets of water, she sat down on a bench and just watched as people came and went around her. The Kings Manor House stood to the side of the art gallery and, fascinated by the building, she made her way slowly over to it.

How easy it would be to accept Harry’s theory, she thought as she studied the ancient brickwork. It was almost possible to feel the history oozing from the building. There was an almost magnetic tension around the place that held her, transfixed. The whole city was much the same. Every square inch of the place was soaked in history, traumatic, violent and bloody history. If only these walls could talk, she thought.

The sun was setting by the time she found herself back in the inner city. Most of the weekend shoppers had left and the number of tourists was starting to dwindle. A peaceful calm settled around the Minster as Grace headed back to the hotel. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to grab a sandwich and take it back to her room for dinner or make her way up to one of the pubs. She didn’t much fancy the idea of bumping into Harry again. Grace liked him; he seemed a nice man with a very friendly way about him. But she hadn’t yet decided what to think about his theory. It all seemed too bizarre for words, yet when she thought about it there were some things that made sense. Logic told her it was all rubbish, just the ramblings of an old man. Yet he seemed so grounded, so sensible. Grace’s mind swam with it all. The man in her dreams, the portrait, the man on Stonegate. If it weren’t for Harry and Kate, Grace would have put it all down to neurosis.  Jack had always maintained she was mad. She needed time, time to get her head straight and time to think. It had been a traumatic week, the most traumatic she had ever known, and now here she was trying to reason whether ghosts were real or imagined.

Having bought herself a sandwich filled with warm roast pork and apple sauce she found a bench in St Helen’s square, outside the Swarovski shop, and sat quietly reading and eating her dinner until the air became too cold and the light too dim to continue. Sliding her book neatly back into her bag, she headed home to her hotel room.

Flicking the switch on the kettle, she dropped two lumps of sugar, a spoon of coffee and two spoons of creamer into a cup. She could feel his eyes upon her as she made her coffee. But she refused to meet his look. Her resolve was firmly set. No more talking to portraits, no more confused dreams and definitely no more late night chats, with anyone or anything about ghosts.

Leaving the kettle to boil, Grace prepared for bed. She draped her fleecy pyjamas over the warm radiator in the room and headed for the shower, leaving the kettle to boil. She was tired and looked forward to snuggling into bed with her book. She had closed it in the square just as Amber, the heroine of the story, had discovered that she was pregnant. The young girl was desperately hoping that Bruce, the hero, would finally ask her to marry him. Grace hoped that Bruce would do the honourable thing, but she doubted he would. Nonetheless, she was looking forward to finding out what was to become of Amber and her baby.

The warm pyjamas felt soft against her skin as she slid onto the cool cotton sheet and pulled the fluffy duvet up to her chin. I could do with a hot water bottle, she thought, shivering despite the warmth of the pyjamas. She took a sip of the coffee and opened the book. Her eyes blurred and she rubbed them in an attempt to clear the haze. Unable to focus on the words she closed the book. Setting it on the bedside table beside a picture of her daughter - pain suddenly tore at her heart. She longed so much to hold her child and to share the bond that a mother should have with her daughter. With trembling fingers she lifted the photograph to her lips. Her eyes strayed to the portrait in front of her.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she whispered to him as her eyes filled with tears and, tired of holding them back, she relented to their flow.

She smelt the sweet smokiness of burning wood and heard the gentle crackle of flames in the distance of her dream. The room was in complete darkness but she knew he was there, beside her. She reached out to touch him and felt the curve of his shoulders. He turned and wrapped his arms around her pulling her, into his embrace. Tiny bubbles bounced in the pit of her stomach as she nestled into him, her back curved against his chest, her body pressed against the entire length of him. He reached for her hand and enclosed his large palm over it. His lips brushed against her head lightly as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Cocooned in his embrace, secure in his arms, her heart safe in his hands, she smiled into darkness.

“I love you Grace.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

“Please don’t leave me again,” she cried as the dream slipped from her clutch and dawn crushed the magic of the night.

Her eyes flew open and she turned immediately to face the place beside her where he had been. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach reminded her that she was alone. Of course she was alone. She lived alone. That had been her choice. Sitting up, her eyes once more filled with tears as she looked at the portrait.

“If you can’t be with me, why are you doing this to me? Please, just go away and let me live my life.”

Grace jumped as a cold blast of wind howled in through the window. It slammed against the frame and then the window burst open again as another icy blast blew in. Shivering, she slid out of bed and closed the latch on the window.

“Damn thing, you scared me half to death. How did you get open?”

Glancing down at the radiator below the window, she bent and turned the thermostat up. The room was cold and she had seen a forecast in yesterday’s paper suggesting that the city was in for a severely cold spell.

A thin dressing gown lay on the end of the bed; hardly practical for winter use but had been all she could fit in her suitcase at the time. Wrapping it around her she made the decision to spend the day clothes shopping. She wasn’t going to be much use to anyone if she caught her death of cold. The memory of her dream filled her mind as she recalled the glorious warmth and happiness she had felt with the protective arms of Robert Hamilton around her.

“How beautiful it must be to feel loved,” she whispered to the portrait. “You were a lucky man to have had real love in your life and your wife was a lucky lady to have you.”

Sliding the photograph of her daughter into her purse and her book into her bag she wandered out of the hotel and into the cold winter wind.