Page 3 of The Grey Lady of the Manor

A family of swifts suddenly screeched past the open doorway, and a smell of freshly-cut hay wafted in. How could anyone believe in ghosts on such a fine summer’s day? Winter was the time for tall tales, shivers, and shadows.

“Pray, continue, Mistress.”

“The restless spirit was quieted by the burial of the skull in a cavity beneath the floor, and a new smith was installed. Whether the fellow was cursed by the ghost of the previous incumbent or just careless, no one knows, but the forge burned down soon afterward. Only the old blacksmith’s skull survived.”

“That might have been ill-fortune—nothing more.” It was what Letty preferred to believe. The story was strumming on her nerves, making her feel like a badly played lute. Despite the brightness and comfort of the day, she was once again feeling ill at ease.

“Wishing to allay the villagers’ fears, the Knights Hospitaller took charge of the skull. I never knew where they’d put it—no one showed it to me when I lived here as a child. Mayhap they thought I had known enough of tragedy.”

Letty nodded soberly. Mistress Smythe had lost her mother at her birth and had never known her father.

“And now the skull is broken.”

“Look not so pale. Now that we have discovered it, I shall mend it, and have Allan bury it next to the Hospitaller graveyard. Now that there’s no chaplain—or even a chapel—there is no one to object to its presence. I imagine that being buried next to consecrated ground will be a satisfactory conclusion to the dead man’s tale.”

“Are you not afraid of fire?” If a ghost could destroy a smithy, it could just as easily destroy a farmstead.

“Of course, I am—after the events of last year in which my husband and I nearly perished. But that fire was caused by mortal hands. We are always cautious here. I wish that I hadn’t told you the tale now—I’ve made you fret still further.”

Letty got to her feet. “Nay, Mistress. I’m quite recovered. Once I’ve finished cleaning, mayhap I’ll take the geese to the pond for a swim.”

She loved the geese at the old commandery, and they seemed to have no objection to her. Their relationship had been established as soon as she’d arrived at the manor—when she clapped at them to get out of her way, they went. If another person did it, the geese just ran at them, hissing. When she called them to her, they came—they obeyed no one else. It felt like her one saving grace—she could successfully herd geese. And she could cook, of course, so long as it didn’t involve the use of too many iron implements.

Mistress Smythe gazed at her for a long moment, frowning, then seemed to make up her mind about something.

“Why not take them once you’ve broken your fast? You’ve had a fright, and the walk will do you good—and if you take the geese to the village pond, you can report back to me on how the roof of my old cottage progresses. A thatcher’s man has come over from Rooks Well, but I don’t know if I trust the quality of his work—we disagreed immediately. I wanted the thatch replaced with new, but he tried to persuade me to purchase tiles instead, as they are less likely to catch fire. Imagine that! A thatcher not preaching what he practices! If his master finds out what he said to me, he’ll be ousted from his position soon enough. Foolish young fellow.”

“Odd, indeed.” Employment was valuable, and no apprentice ought to disagree with his master. Letty wasn’t sure she wanted to meet so stupid a fellow—she’d observe his work on the roof from a distance without speaking to him. Just so long as his ladder didn’t break or his iron thatching pins fly out as soon as she came near, all would be well.

And maybe, while in the village, she might have a discreet word with the priest to find out what could be done to deal with the haunting. But no one must know—if her stepmother found out, she’d be a laughingstock.

Chapter Three

“Master Merrick!”

Perkin wobbled a moment on his ladder, then tucked his hammer into his belt and gazed down.

“Mistress Smythe. Good day to you.” He settled his bundle of reeds so it couldn’t slide down the roof, then backed down the ladder, leaping to the ground and missing the last three rungs.

He made his bow. “The work progresses well—”

“I didn’t come here about the work. There is little time—I have a favor to ask.”

“Whatever you say, Mistress.” Why was his employer’s wife glancing around surreptitiously? Was she here without her husband’s knowledge, and if so, what could she possibly want with him?

He felt a sharp slap on his arm. “It’s not that kind of favor, you foolish fellow. Well, not exactly. I need you to distract a young woman for me.”

He grinned broadly. Intrigue? Trysts? Flirtation? He was greatly fond of those things.

“I see no difficulty there, Mistress.”

She frowned up at him. “This is no time for vanity, sirrah. The maid is much troubled. Her home is unhappy and her mind is greatly afflicted by a fear of ghosts and curses.”

“Hah!” She must be young if she had such fancies. Or simple.

He tilted his head to one side. “What kind of distraction did you have in mind?”

“I understand that you enjoy a good jest.”