Haunted by Love

"Oh, I took my boots off and left them in the entrance so I didn't walk mud across the floor; it wasn't so I could sneak up on you, I promise!"

"You walked here?" I ask in amazement.

"Yes, I walk a lot on the Moors. It's quite safe as long as you're sensible about the weather, dress appropriately and know where you're going."

"You mean don't go out there in the middle of a storm at night wearing only a thin jacket with no idea where you are, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose I do," she smiles.

"I'll bear that in mind. I don't suppose you'd be willing to act as a guide if I do go out there again would you?"

"It would be my pleasure, Bethany. Are you okay? You look tired."

"You won't believe the night I've had," I tell her as I grab her hand and pull her to the Guests' Lounge that is, as I'd hoped, empty. I urge her into an armchair and draw another one up so I can sit close, facing her.

"You too?" she asks as she sits. "I had to come over early to see you because of my night!"

"Why? What happened?"

"No, you go first."

"Okay. Well, something woke me up in the night. At first, I thought it was the wind but it was a child crying. It was calling 'Mama' and something else... 'Baya' or 'Bear-ra'; something I couldn't make out properly." I see the look on her face. "No, Ruth, before you suggest it, there are no guests with children here, I checked." She nods in acceptance. "Anyway, the child's cries woke me up but then I saw a woman. Shit, Ruth, it was a ghost. That sounds so corny sitting here but it's true. It was a woman and she was at the door, banging on it like she was trying to get out."

"Oh god!" she exclaims. "Were you scared?" I think for a moment.

"When I first saw her, the ghost, I was bloody terrified. For a moment I thought it was a person in my room but I could tell as I looked that she wasn't real. It was scary but... Ruth, it was just so desperately sad. Hearing a child cry in such fear or pain was horrible enough but the poor woman trying to get through the door to comfort or rescue the child but unable to do so. She was so desperate..."

"And you think it was the ghost of Lady Blyth and the crying was her son?"

I nod dejectedly as I relive the emotions of last night and feel Ruth take my hand to comfort me. I look at her, gazing into the light, golden brown of her eyes that shine with concern. I wish she'd been with me last night.

"So, what happened to you last night?" I ask after a few moments.

"Well, nothing as right scary as you had," she assures me. "I was lying in bed last night listening to the wind when I heard a noise from upstairs, from the main bedroom actually, right above the kitchen. It sounded like soft footsteps but I knew that was silly so I thought maybe it was something banging in the wind. It was really disconcerting so I went up to check." I imagine her climbing the stairs, pitch black as she has no electricity.

"Sooner you than me in the dark!" I tell her earnestly.

"Well, I did have my little electric torch. Anyway, I could still hear them, the walking feet, as I came to the bedroom door, which was closed. When I opened the door the sounds were really clear and they were definitely footsteps; I could almost follow where the person was pacing up and down... but there was no one there!"

"What did you do?"

"I did the same stupid thing most people probably do: I said, 'Hello, is there anyone there?'" she smiles. "Of course there was no answer -- it would have really freaked me out if there had been! -- but the footsteps stopped and I got this real feeling of anxiety, almost of panic."

"What were you worried about?" I ask in concern and she looks a little awkward.

"Um... you, Bethany; I had the most intense feeling that something horrible was going to happen to you. That's why I came over here sooner than I planned. I'd have come even earlier but..."

"But you didn't want to seem like some mad woman?" I suggest.

"Yes, something like that. I was so glad when I saw you standing there looking at that picture and nothing terrible had happened." Her hand squeezes mine just a little tighter. "Although..." That thought hangs between us: something pretty horrible had happened to me in the night.

"You don't think, maybe, we're getting carried away here?" Her hand releases mine and she sits up a little, drawing back slightly.

"What do you mean?" she asks, a slight edge to her voice.

"Well, I tell you I met a strange, threatening shadow on the Moor and hear a crying child and see a ghost, while you hear disembodied footsteps, and then there was that ghost you saw at the back door, and we're both just, 'Oh, what was it like and were you scared?' Neither of us is questioning what the other says, we just accept it." She relaxes a little.

"So you're worried we're encouraging each other, like two girls telling each other ghost stories at a sleepover until we're both seeing things?"

"More or less, yes."

"Well I know what I saw and heard, and I guess you know how it was for you, right? Maybe my worry for you might have been me over reacting but only because I... I like you and I care about you after what happened the other night."

"I really like you too, Ruth. I, er, I did wish you were there after I saw that ghost last night, I can tell you!" I laugh and she smiles. Just then I hear Alison calling my name. "That's the owner; she's promised to show me a couple of paintings they have of Sir and Lady Blyth. Come on."

I introduce Ruth and Alison to each other before she leads us through one of the 'Staff Only' doors.

"This is our part of the house," she explains. "It used to be the drawing room and the library," she tells us as we pass a dining room and a sitting room. "This was the estate office," she shows us the kitchen, "and this room here was the study," she says as she ushers us into her bedroom. There on the wall opposite the bed are two portraits that seem to have been painted directly onto the wood panelling. That has to be the only reason that they're still there because there is no earthly way anyone would choose to have the picture of Sir Lovell staring at them and certainly not in bed. I feel Ruth edge closer to me, her arm slipping through mine as we look upon his intense, dark-eyed and malevolent gaze. His nose is crooked, evidently broken at some point, his mouth a thin, hard line that curves upwards slightly in the left corner to become a cold sneer.

"Fucking hell," Ruth murmurs to me, "I thought a portrait was supposed to be flattering!"

"What's even more worrying is the possibility that this is a flattering portrait!" I whisper back. "He's not exactly handsome, is he?" I say to Alison.

"Oh, I don't know," she muses, "he has a certain rugged appeal..." Ruth and I exchange a look of incredulity at her comment but tactfully say nothing, edging past to look at the painting of Lady Blyth more carefully. Immediately I know that this was the woman whose ghost I saw last night.

"Oh my god: it's her," I gasp.

"What's that?" Alison asks curiously. "What do you mean, 'It's her'? Have you..." she gives a little squeak of excitement, "have you seen Lady Blyth's ghost?"

"I, erm, well maybe... I saw something last night..." I reply awkwardly, embarrassed to admit it to Alison in a way I hadn't been with Ruth.

"She's got hair like yours, Beth," Ruth interjects, "and blue eyes too; she's beautiful."

"Her eyes are a much nicer blue than mine," I smile. "She's certainly beautiful though. Makes you wonder why she chose matey there."

"The marriage would probably have been arranged between his family and hers in large part. She, Lady Blyth, would have been under huge pressure to marry Sir Lovell, whatever her feelings in the matter I'm afraid," Ruth replies.

"But you saw her?" Alison insists. I realise that I'm going to have to tell her something, so I simply say that I had seen a ghostly figure at the door of my room that looked like she was trying to get out.

"I sort of suspected it might be Lady Blyth," I admit. "That was why I wondered if there was an old floorplan..."

"Because you wondered if it was her room!" she finishes as if she has just made some Sherlock Holmesian deduction. However, I just nod. "Oh, I'll definitely ask Ken about them," she assures me as I reach into my pocket looking for my phone to photograph the two pictures.

"Damn!" I curse softly as I remember the phone's lost. Ruth guesses what's happened and reaches into an inside pocket of her coat before handing me a little digital camera.

"Would this help?" she asks and I smile in acceptance.

"Would you mind if I photographed the two paintings? To include with my research?" I ask Alison and she acquiesces happily.

"Would, I mean if you show this tale on 'Mystery, Myth and Murder' would there be like proper filming with actors 'n' all? And might Ken and I be on TV?" she asks excitedly.

"Well, yes and very likely," I tell her as I line up the camera to photograph Lady Blyth and then struggle to find the shutter release button.

"Here," says Ruth, her hand brushing the back of mine as she reaches over to guide my finger. I take a couple of photographs of each painting in turn and one of the two of them together, showing them in-situ, before thanking Alison. We make our way back out into the main hall by the Reception, where Alison apologises, saying she must get on with her work.

"She's going straight to Ken to tell him all about you, the hot-shot TV producer!" Ruth teases.

"I'm not a producer, as you well know." I walk over to the entrance and through the doors to stand in the porch. Just inside the outer door are a pair of muddy walking boots and a small rucksack, Ruth's I guess. "Do you think this is a porch or a portico?" I ask as I stand, looking out. It is raining, again, the staccato patter soft but immense, filling the world with its sound. I have the intense but bizarre urge to slip my arm around Ruth, to hold her and be held. As I feel her shoulder brush mine the urge is almost overwhelming.

"Do you ever feel like things are happening to you like you're part of a story?" She asks unexpectedly. "Like... whenever you do something it seems afterwards to have been part of a script?"

"You mean... what? Us meeting? You taking me in the other night?"

"Yes, all of that. For instance, why did I take you to milk the goats?"

"What?" I laugh at the unexpectedness of the question. "They needed milking and you didn't want to leave me sat on my own, I suppose. But Ruth, I loved doing that, I loved that whole morning," I confess.

"Exactly! The goats could have waited and I certainly have never asked a new visitor to come and milk them with me before, so why did I do it with you, a woman who was half-dead with cold?"

"I was neither half-dead nor cold at that point; you had cared for me and warmed me up." I feel the blush heating my cheeks as I remember the sensation of her warm, almost naked body heating mine as I woke. To my surprise, I see the colour rising in her face too. I give in to the coercive urge inside me and put my arm around her. "I know I said it before, but thank you." After a brief hesitation, she hugs me back. I wonder if the sound of rain will always make me think of her holding me?

"Listen, Ruth, I really need to go into Bodmin and sort out a new phone," I tell her as we move apart. "Plus, if I'm honest," I lower my voice, "the food here isn't up to much and I did promise you lunch so I thought we could eat elsewhere."

"You're not just after a navigator are you, Beth?" she asks with a smile and I put my tongue out at her.

"While I've no doubt I'm forever in need of a navigator, I think spending time with a friend is much more important," I reply. "Anyway, it's not my fault I was never a girl scout or whatever; I bet you were."

"Queen's Guide actually," she replies with a touch of pride and I try to look suitably impressed despite having no idea what this means. She obviously senses my ignorance. "Queen's Guide is like the highest award in Girl Guiding; you have to take on challenges and lead and go on expeditions to gain it."

"So it's like the top Girl Guide badge you can get?" I ask and she laughs.

"Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, as a friend and a navigator, I'd love to come with you."

Chapter 6: Bodmin

The drive to Bodmin gives us time to just chat and get to know each other: she shares details of her past career in the City, her growing frustration and disillusionment with her work and how finding the farm seemed to offer the chance to reinvent herself. I tell her of life at the BBC, the way it lacks the glamour that people assume it must have, the frustrations of my seemingly stalled career and, to my amazement, even how I came to be sleeping with Rick.

"So, do you love him?" she asks. It is a disconcertingly direct question and one that I have been reluctant to put to myself. It makes me think.

"I... I certainly like him. I mean he's good company and... well, he's good in other areas too." I pray that she doesn't ask me to explain that as I feel my cheeks ignite.

"Okay, so he's good in bed and good company when you go out," she says, smiling at my discomfort. "However, the other important question is: does he love you?"

"He cares about me; he was very worried when I told him about getting lost on the Moor and very insistent that I should take more care of myself." Though he didn't say he loved me, even after I said I did to him, a treacherous thought reminds me, and even his concern had felt rather domineering. "We've only been out a couple of times so it's still early days..." I finish rather lamely and then curse myself: I've just admitted that I've slept with Rick each time we've gone out. I glance at Ruth, hoping she doesn't think me a complete slut, though I couldn't really blame her if she did. "What about you? Is there any boyfriend or significant other in your life?" I ask, deciding that we've discussed my love life quite enough.

"No, not at the moment," she admits. "I guess I don't fall for someone easily but when I did I fell hard but it didn't work out. I'm sure there's the perfect someone for me somewhere and that somehow we'll find each other. Until then I'm going to see where life takes me."

"Like going to Bodmin with the mad woman who banged, half dead, on your door in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah, why not? Turn right up ahead there," she says and points.

Bodmin is unexpected: an odd mixture of old and new with old stone buildings and modern shop fronts. Still, this does mean that there is the very modern mobile phone shop that has all the latest models. Unfortunately, it also has, as Ruth observes, "The usual patronising, smarmy gits as sales assistants!" I have to agree because, although I might not be the most tech-savvy woman in the world, I'm not a simpleton either; I have a pretty good idea what I want, which isn't a phone that has a tiny screen, small memory and indifferent camera just because it's available in pink!

"Look, I had the C4 model, which I really liked, but I can see from the ads on the wall that there's now the C5 and the larger C6 so if you could just show me those and let me know the price and plans available, please," I say as I realize that if I let this guy keep making suggestions we'll be here all day. Ruth gives a little nod of approval as he leads the way. "Oh, and I'll need my old number transferred to the new phone please."

There is some trial and error -- the C6 is very large and feels rather like holding a paperback book to my ear but the screen is amazing and Rick did say I could charge it to expenses-- and rather more internal debating over the very large price and whether I should change my contract but forty-five minutes later we are walking out of the shop.

"Sorry that took so long," I apologise to Ruth.

"You looked so set on that big phone and the assistant looked so annoyed when you changed your mind at the last minute."

"I didn't mean to mess him around but the big model was just a silly price really. Anyway, he should have told me at the start that the C5 is waterproof. I'm glad I noticed that after what happened to my old phone." I hesitate when I see Ruth's expression. "Being waterproof wouldn't actually have helped my old phone would it?"

"Not really, no. Still, you can make calls and take photos in the bath without worrying!" she teases. "So, what now?"

"Do you mind if we do a bit more shopping? Well, after a cup of coffee, obviously. I could do with your help buying some stuff for walking on the Moor and I'd also like to find the library so I can come back tomorrow and get on with some research."

Ruth happily accompanies me, advises me and guides me around the town. The library, an amazing old stone building, is of course closed but will be open tomorrow but, I notice from the sign outside, closed on Wednesdays. We move on to visit several shops, some to buy and others just to browse. Ruth's taste doesn't do 'pretty and girlie', preferring practical, simple and, occasionally, elegant.

"Also comfortable and warm!" she insists when I make this observation to her. "No point in wearing something that hurts or means you freeze your arse off! The history of fashion seems to contain quite a lot of things designed to constrict, hamper and possibly humiliate women, corsets and high-heeled shoes to name just two!" I look at her a little surprised by her vehemence. "Sorry," she adds, more calmly, "it's a hangover from working at the bank. I got quite a lot of stick in the beginning because I don't wear heels and preferred a trouser suit to the narrow-skirted suits that seemed de rigueur for female staff. Who wants to waddle like some demented penguin?"

"Some people would call it a sexy, feminine sashay," I suggest, smiling.

"Well, I think a woman's walk is sexy enough and doesn't need ridiculous exaggeration," she says firmly. I wear heels when the situation seems to demand it but, since I've never felt I move with any particular poise or elegance in them, I rather regret not taking Ruth's 'screw you' stance sometimes.

We head to what I promise will be the last shop and in the light of our last conversation, I find myself watching Ruth walk. She is quite tall and slim, but not skinny. She walks with a confidence and ease in her mud-stained boots and trousers. Is it sexy? I think perhaps it is, or should be: a strong, confident, independent woman should definitely be attractive. Of course, Ruth also has good legs and a nice bum, which helps too. Maybe I should take up hiking because I find myself envying her figure and I have the clothing now.

I suddenly realise we are hours past lunch. "I'm sorry, Ruth; I promised you lunch and it's getting late so no more shops. What do you fancy to eat? Whatever you like, it's my treat."

"Actually, what I really fancy is a curry and I know just the place. Is that okay?"

The meal was very good and very filling, which made our walk back to the car more of an amble but a happy and contented one. "Hotel or farm?" I ask as we begin the drive back.

"Can we go back to the hotel? I'll walk home and we can have a drink in the bar first as you didn't want to drink with the meal."

"It'll be dark; will you be okay walking on the Moor in the dark?" I ask apprehensively, remembering my own experience.

I'll be fine. I've walked the Moor at night before and I know the way; I also have a torch in my rucksack."

"You're such a Girl Scout," I tell her with a chuckle. "What else have you got in there?"

"Queen's Guide, remember! And there's a small plastic sheet that I can sit on or maybe shelter under, a couple of energy bars, a water bottle, a compass, a box of waterproof matches and some kindling, a whistle and a little first aid kit. Got to 'be prepared'! You know, 'Be Prepared' -- the Scout and Guide motto?"