Lady Arabella



  Lady Arabella

  W. H. Cann

  W.H. Cann asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work

  Copyright 2005 W.H. Cann

  Published by W.H. Cann

  This Edition December 2014

  Originally Published under the Pen Name Sam Clark

  Cover Illustration W.H. Cann

  Copyright 2013 W.H. Cann

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organisations are entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Contents

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter One

  Two people stood in the guest house porch while they pulled their hoods up and tightened the cords around their necks. The man nodded to his wife and they rushed down the garden path, across the road and headed for the ‘Abbey Inn’. It was only a relatively short distance, but the couple were still drenched by the time they entered the front porch.

  They removed their hoods, shook their coats, and when they entered the main bar they were greeted by the distinct aroma of burning wood, which they found both pleasant and welcoming. It always reminded William of the times he stayed at his uncle’s farm as a young child, and had often thought of becoming a farmer when he grew up, but by the time he was sixteen, his ambitions had changed.

  William made his way to the bar while his wife found an empty table near the hearth where she could get warm and dry off quickly. Eloise removed her coat trying not to splash the people seated nearby, and hung it on the free standing coat hanger in the corner. She then sat on the cushioned bench fixed to the wall, crossed her legs, and gazed around distractedly, admiring the paintings and the interior of the inn.

  The ‘Abbey Inn’ was over four hundred years old, had three-foot thick walls, small windows and exposed beams. The inn had been extended to the rear, but little else had been done to alter the building in any way. Eloise adored it, regarding it as the perfect ‘Inn’. She hated seeing old buildings modernised, believing the character and essence of the place was destroyed in the process. Fortunately, her husband, William, felt the same.

  Sitting in the corner of the ‘Abbey Inn’ reminded her of the first time she met William; it brought a smile to her face.

  Eloise was eating lunch in a sixteenth century inn in a small Yorkshire village, having arrived a day early for an archaeological dig being undertaken at the nearby abbey. She had met the other archaeologists and volunteers who had arrived, and was keen to meet the two who had not: Joseph Stevens and especially William Cairnby, whom she heard specialised in the history of English abbeys, which was also a particular interest of hers.

  She glanced up and saw a good looking man enter the inn, then overheard him ordering a ploughman’s lunch. When she looked up a second time, he seemed to have disappeared. She sighed lightly, sipped her drink, and decided to visit the ladies’. When she returned to the bar, she literally bumped into the man almost spilling his drink.

  “I am sorry, Miss, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he said smiling, his voice kind and mellow.

  Eloise looked into his eyes and was captivated. “No, no, it was my fault,” she stammered. When she realised she was staring at him, she lowered her gaze quickly and felt her cheeks warming.

  “Well, no harm was done,” he said putting his drink on the bar and wiping his hands, “so let’s forget about it.”

  She smiled warmly, lost for words.

  William saw the sparkle in her eye, but also saw beauty and intelligence. Her full lips slightly parted in a bright smile added to that beauty. It was then that he recognised who she was.

  She looked at him curiously when his eyes widened.

  “Dr. Eloise Richards, well now, I’m delighted to meet you at last.”

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “My apologies Miss Richards; William Cairnby . . .”

  “Dr. William Cairnby, the Archaeologist?”

  William smiled and nodded. “I’m here for the dig at Bouchart Abbey, as are you, I believe.”

  Eloise’s heart skipped a beat and she felt her pulse increase. “I’m delighted to meet you as well, Dr. Cairnby,” she said, hardly able to contain her excitement.

  “Please, William will be fine.”

  “Then you must call me Eloise,” she said smiling.

  “Would you consider me too bold if I offered to buy you a drink?”

  “Not at all; and thank you.”

  Two years later they were married, and in two months they would be celebrating their third wedding anniversary. Eloise gazed at her husband at the bar, her smile still lighting up her face. She had never been as happy as she was now.

  The man standing at the bar moved to give William more room, smiled and returned to his conversation with the young woman sitting on the bar stool to his right. William ordered a Scotch and a glass of red wine, and while he waited for his drinks, looked around the inn, which was surprisingly busy for such a foul night. He assumed most were locals, and then recognised two couples who were staying in the same guest house.

  The mention of a ghost caught William’s attention, so he eavesdropped on the conversation without making it obvious. Unfortunately, the barman reappeared with his drinks, so he was unable to hear the rest of the story. He carefully made his way to the corner, sat down opposite his wife and handed her the glass of wine.

  “Thanks William, I need this,” she said. “Who’d have thought we’d have such a storm tonight; it wasn’t forecast.”

  “No it wasn’t. Heavy rain and strong winds, but it was supposed to have passed over by now. It seems like it’s in for the rest of the night too.”

  “As long it passes over by morning, otherwise we won’t be doing much in the abbey grounds tomorrow, and we’ve already lost one day.”

  “I know, but it’s not as if we’re working to any deadlines.”

  “True, but this is the most beneficial time of the year to undertake our work.”

  “That’s providing this rain doesn’t saturate the ground too much. The last thing we want is to have to make arrangements to come back another time.”

  “Would it be a serious problem if we had to?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure Davis wouldn’t have any reasons to object, unless something else turns up in the meantime.”

  William glanced at the bar occasionally while they chatted, having become interested in the conversation between the man and young woman, and watched as the barman stood in front of them, looking a trifle annoyed. He managed to hear a little of what was said.

  Dave, the barman, sighed. “Are you still talking about ghosts and that abbey, Michael?”

  “Of course I am. Everyone around here knows the abbey’s haunted. They may not admit it, but it’s the truth.”

  Dave laughed. “No one believes it or you, Michael, and no one ever will. Now if you don’t mind, please stop talking about it, you’re annoying my customers.”

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on Dave. I’m going anyway. Can’t stay here drinking and talking all evening, things to be done.” He drained the last few mouthfuls of his ale and handed his glass to the barman.

  The barman was relieved, but still smiled. He liked Michael, even if he did find his continual story telling about ghosts quite bothersome. Unfortunately for him, some of the visitors Michael spoke to appeared genuinely interested in them, and whose curiosity seemed to encoura
ge him.

  The woman Michael was talking to was indifferent to what he was telling her, but she enjoyed the conversation none-the-less. She was, however, a little disappointed when the barman told him to stop. She still smiled and thanked Michael as he walked away, and then turned to face Dave. “You could have let him finish, he was just getting to the interesting bit,” she said, her voice betraying her disappointment.

  “He’s a likeable chap, Andrea, but he does tend to go on too long if encouraged too much.”

  “Maybe so, but at least he’s not talking about football all evening. I get tired of men who talk about nothing but sport all the time.”

  Dave laughed. “You’re not into sport then?”

  “I like jogging, but that’s all really. No, I prefer intellectual interests, something to make you think.”

  “Well in that case, you might want to visit the abbey sometime during the next few days. I’ve heard there are some archaeologists coming to do some fieldwork, and should be around for several days.”

  “Sounds interesting; I must just do that.”

  William got up and approached Michael as he headed for the door, hoping to catch him before he left. “Excuse me,” he said.

  Michael stopped, his hand poised over the door handle.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing you speaking about ghosts at the abbey. Would you mind telling me about it, if you don’t think I’m being presumptuous?”

  When the man stared at him, his eyes narrowed under a deep frown, William guessed he was curious and cautious at William’s reasons for asking. “I’m one of the archaeologists visiting the abbey to do some research, and I have a particular interest in medieval sites that have a more colourful history, especially if there are tales of ghosts associated with them.”

  Michael appeared to relax. “Very well, but it’ll cost you.”

  William smiled. “Would a pint or a whisky be sufficient?”

  “A pint will do nicely.”

  The two sat on the bar stools, and William ordered another pint, much to the annoyance of the barman who thought he had seen the back of Michael for the night. Michael waited patiently for his drink, and when Dave placed it on the bar in front of him, he ignored the frown aimed at him, picked it up and drank half without pause. After wiping his mouth, he began retelling the story.

  “The mysterious fact surrounding this ghost story is that people have been vanishing without trace. Most believe they just left and returned home unexpectedly, but I’m convinced otherwise.”

  “Is there any truth behind the disappearances?”

  “I believe there is, but I think I’m alone in this. The abbey is haunted by evil spirits. I know ‘cos I’ve seen one.”

  Michael paused and took another gulp of his drink. He was among a small group of people who believed the old tales passed down by the Barton’s, whose family had been caretakers of the abbey and its grounds for ten generations. He was also one of a smaller group of people who had actually seen a ghost in the abbey grounds.

  “It is said that at certain times of the year when the weather conditions are atrocious, such as tonight, the spirits rise and abduct people who dare venture into the abbey grounds.”

  William was intrigued by what he was hearing, and was keen to learn more. “Is there anything else to tell?”

  “No, that’s all I know, but I wish there was more. I . . .”

  William looked intently into Michael’s eyes and saw the truth. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time already. Thank you for speaking to me.”

  Michael looked at William curiously, nodded once and left the inn.

  William turned to face the bar and ordered another drink.

  “Now why did you have to go and do that?” asked the barman, who was shaking his head gently.

  “As I said to Michael, I’m an archaeologist and historian with an interest in anything supernatural surrounding historic sites, especially abbeys.”

  Dave nodded. “So you’re here for the dig.”

  “It’s more of an investigation and research than a full blown dig. The story of ghosts does suggest a link to historical data recently uncovered, but it is vague and sketchy to say the least.” He paid Dave for the drinks, picked up the glasses and returned to his wife. As he sat and took a few sips, his wife smiled. She had overhead a little of what was said, but not enough to form an opinion.

  “Did he have anything interesting to tell?” asked Eloise.

  “As a matter of fact, yes he did, but it’s probably an exaggeration of some old folk tale. On second thoughts, it does seem to add weight to one of the stories behind the abbey’s demise.” He then retold his wife all he had heard, and when finished, gazed at her while waiting for her to respond.

  “It’s different to the norm, but I think you’re correct on both counts.”

  “Well, Michael’s convinced it’s all true. So much so, he’s become rather unpopular with the owner of the pub and several of the locals.”

  Eloise sipped her wine while thinking about what was said. She put her glass down, crossed her arms and said: “Do you think there’s any truth behind the killings?”

  “What killings?”

  “The ones that were supposed to have occurred at the abbey back in the sixteenth century, and are reputed to have led to its demise.”

  “I don’t know. There’s always an element of truth to such tales, but one never knows how far the truth has been exaggerated or fabricated. Professor Harding is still sceptical whether the letter written by Sir Pitern is genuine or not, so we cannot put any credence on it for the time being.” As William thought about the letter, the current weather conditions, and what he had been told, one particular thing Michael said came to mind.

  ‘I tell you for sure, this storm isn’t natural. It’s a freak this one; happens occasionally and is a bad omen. I’ll also tell you this; the spirits will roam for sure tonight, and woe-betide any who dare venture near the abbey ruins.’

  Eloise nodded, but there was something about it that made her believe there was a thread of truth in there somewhere. “Well, that Michael seemed convinced, and what about the caretakers, the Barton’s, they would have no real reason to exaggerate such stories.”

  “Other than to encourage visitors to the site,” said William smiling. “It has been done before.”

  “Yes, but we proved they were false. I’m not so sure about this one though.”

  William was thinking the same. “You feel it too, don’t you?” Eloise looked at him curiously. “A sense of foreboding, a presence and a general feeling that there’s something supernatural about all that is happening.”

  “Now you mention it, yes.” She shivered unexpectedly, and felt as if someone had breathed cold air over her neck. “Perhaps we will find out a little of the truth tomorrow.”

  “We might indeed. So, do you fancy another drink before we return to the guest house?”

  “Please. It’s not as if there’s much else to do this evening.”

  William took the empty glasses to the bar and waited for the barman to appear. “Same again please.”

  Dave looked at him intently for a few moments before picking up the wine glass and refilling it. “You should still be careful listening to Michael. He may mean no harm, but his lies can get you into trouble around here.”

  “Are you sure they’re lies?”

  The barman stared at him coldly and then sighed. “I guess not, but there’s very little truth in them. A long time ago, about twenty years I guess, a man died in the abbey grounds. When the caretaker went to remove the body, it had disappeared. That’s when the rumours of disappearances started, but what was not revealed, was that the body was recovered two days later, and from where it had actually been first discovered. The man drowned after getting drunk and falling into the stream.”

  “What of the tales of ghostly apparitions?”

  The barman laughed. “That has nothing to do with bodies disappearing. It is said the ghost of
Lady Arabella, who lived several hundred years ago, roams the graveyard, but it has not been seen for decades.”

  “Lady Arabella was the daughter of Sir Eldred Pitern, who was reported to have been a traitor. That would explain much. Oh well, it’ll be pure historical evidence gathering tomorrow then, although I was hoping to investigate some paranormal activity.”

  “Perhaps she’ll bless you with her presence.”

  “One can hope,” said William as he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a ten pound note to pay the barman.

  “It’s alright; you can have these on me. I should have warned you about Michael as soon as you came in.”

  “Thanks, but part of being an archaeologist and historian is to sift through all of the information, whether it is reputable or suspect, and discover the truth. It’s what makes it so much more interesting.”

  “I guess so. If there is any truth in the tales, I’d love to know. Perhaps I might even have to apologise to Michael.” He shuddered at the thought.

  “I’ll let you know if we uncover anything.”

  The barman smiled, hoping not to learn anything new.

  When William returned to his wife, he told her everything the barman had said. “So, I doubt we’ll be seeing any ghosts while we’re here.”

  “Well, it would have only interfered with our work if we did,” said Eloise.

  “You’re not disappointed are you?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Of course not; there’ll be enough for us to do without chasing after imaginary ghosts.”

  Chapter Two