The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage

A hot shaft of disappointment ran through me as I reread the text message I’d just received from Rick. Chrissie, as much as I’m longing to come back to England to talk with you and sort things out between us, Emma says she still wants her dad with her after the operation. I gotta say, I was tickled pink when she said that. Another week should have her back on her feet. Please wait for me? Rick x

Gazing from the office window, conflicting emotions rose up in me. On the one hand I was happy that the relationship with his daughter was so good that she wanted him with her. But on the other hand I had worrying thoughts that he may decide to stay in Arizona for good because he couldn’t bear to leave his daughters again, and a further worry that, if he saw Lisa with Chase, all the old feelings he had about the two of them might return to plague him.

Thinking about it, though, at least while he was in America, he had the opportunity to salvage the relationship with his brother. That was, if it could be salvaged, of course. But from what I gathered from Mr. Wigglesworth, they hadn’t even spoken since everything blew up in Rick’s face, so reconciliation did seem highly unlikely. Even so, my heart sank at the thought of a further week before I could see him again, before I could hear his lovely Texan drawl or gaze into his grass green eyes and watch him impatiently push that infuriating lock of blond hair from his forehead.

I felt weak at the knees at the very thought of him. How had I allowed myself to feel this way? I’d sworn blind that I’d never become involved with a man again, not after Stuart. Obviously I hadn’t been banking on meeting anybody like Richard Curtis. Even the thought of that awful grey and yellow checked overcoat couldn’t put me off him, and I longed for him to be back here where he belonged. The future was now spread out before me full of happiness and promise, just like the view from the top of the 199 steps, which was a pleasant change after it being full of gloom and despair for so long.

There’d been so sign of Morgan or Seth Bloom since the night Lily had carried out the house cleanse. And what an experience that had been. I thought Mum was still in a state of shock at what had actually happened, and had only stayed for a few more days after the event.

“Don’t you worry, though,” she assured me, as she trundled her little suitcase along the garden path. “I’ll be back!”

“Who do think you are?” I asked with a grin. “Arnold Schwarzenegger?”

She gave a great bray of laughter as she ducked down beneath the spreading branches of the pear tree. “Really, Chrissie, you need to cut these branches back a bit.”

Lily’s voice brought me out of my reverie. “Hi, Chrissie. Do you mind if we spend a few minutes doing the advert for the new PA? You did say you’d have a bit of free time this afternoon. But if you want me to come back later?” Since Norman had gone, I’d been helping Lily out, which made me realize how stupid Norman had been to lose his job. Lily was a great boss. Not that I wanted to replace Rick, though—no way!

“No, now is fine, Lily.” I put my phone back in my bag, thinking I would message Rick when I got home. “Please sit down.” I jumped up and pulled a chair over for her. “Now then, how would you like to word it?”

“Well, how about something like this.” She consulted her notes. “Shall I dictate?”

“Yes please,” I replied.

“Well, here goes then. Wigglesworth & Horner are looking to appoint a personal assistant to provide direct support to the company’s matrimonial solicitor, Lily Makepeace. The post holder will provide comprehensive secretarial and administrative service to ensure the smooth operation of the company. They will be responsible for managing Mrs. Makepeace’s diary, and arranging meetings, including preparation and circulation of papers, minute taking, and follow up work. The post holder will also take on general administrative duties to support Mrs. Makepeace and other managers as required. ’She stopped speaking and asked, “What do you think so far, Chrissie?”

“Fantastic. I’m sure we’ll get somebody really good with an advert like this.”

“Oy,” said Pete Horner, who was as usual lounging in the chair next to Milly, arms up and palms cradling his head. “Don’t forget to put at the end of the advert, and here I quote, ‘We don’t want no tea leaves this time!’” Followed by the inevitable bray of laughter.

Lily raised her eyebrows at me and Milly and, turning to Pete Horner said, “Really Peter, I think we’ve had enough of your caustic comments for the time being, thank you very much.”

“Oh come on, Lily,” he said. “You know I’m only having a bit of fun!”

“Hmm,” she said whilst turning her nose up in the air. “That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, leave them alone, Pete,” said Milly, giving him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

Grimacing and rubbing his ribs, he said, “Oy, watch out, Milly; that hurt!”

“Ooh, you baby. Serves you right,” she retorted spitefully.

“I agree with Lily,” I said joining in the fun. “We had enough of you taking the mickey the other night!”

“Gawd blimey, Chrissie Lewis, you were meddling with a slice of toast!”

“What?”

“A ghost—toast!”

“What we were doing is far too complex for you, Peter,” said Lily. “So we won’t bother to explain. If you could please let us get on with our work?”

“Oh, I can’t compete with you women.” He rose lazily from his chair, patting his stomach. “I’m Hank Marvin, going for me lunch.”

“Hank Marvin, starving, I suppose?” I said grinning as he left the room.

“Chrissie Lewis, I’m getting more and more proud of you,” he exclaimed, poking his head around the door.

“Oh, go away,” said Milly, laughing and shaking her fist at him.

I thought about this as I walked home from work that evening, smiling to myself and thinking how lucky I was to have such a good job with such nice people, and even though I would miss Mr. Wigglesworth when he returned to Arizona next week, obviously I would be over the moon to see Rick again.

Just think, I thought. This time next week we should be together! Busily I began to put together in my mind what I would say to Rick in my returning text message, something like this. Hi Rick, glad that Emma is feeling better, but also happy that she wants you to be with her. Yes, I’ll wait for you. Let me know as soon as you get back x

Yes, that would be okay—caring but not clingy, happy for him, and looking forward to seeing him when he got back. Perfect. Little did I know then that I would never actually get around to sending Rick that text message.

Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs with the salty Whitby air as I walked. In the distance there was the sound of the sea as it ebbed and flowed spitting pebbles and shells onto the sand, and from above the plaintive cry of the seagulls as they swooped and dived. It was just starting to get dark, and a glowing moon hung like a lantern in the sky and stars twinkled prettily. A plane flew overhead, its red lights blinking.

Happily I walked up the garden path, ducking automatically beneath the overhanging branches of the pear tree. As Mum had said, I really must get them cut back. Suddenly standing stock still on the path and turning slowly around, I realized there were no overhanging branches and, with a sinking heart, that there was no pear tree either. What was it with this pear tree? One minute it’s there, the next minute it’s not!

Hands cupped around my mouth, I glanced down at what was left of it, just a small, still smoldering, blackened stump. Everything around it was untouched—the moist dark earth, pale delicate snowdrops valiantly pushing their way up to the light, leafy bushes, and budding leaves. Only the pear tree was gone, obliterated, it seemed, by fire. The interesting reading about the burning of Pear Tree Cottage loomed heavy in my mind.

My first instinct was to call for Mabel. She understood about the strange things that had been happening with the pear tree. But just as I was about to dash up her garden path, I noticed that no lights shone a warm and comforting glow, and every window was a black hole in the face of the house. Yet even as I looked, an orange light appeared in the hall window as if by magic. An automatic light that came on when Mabel wasn’t at home. After all, it was Tuesday and she would be visiting her sister in Scarborough.

With a heavy heart, I knew I would have to go into my house alone. Fear gripped me ice cold at the back of my neck as, taking a deep breath and going resolutely towards the front door, I inserted the key in the lock and, with a shaky hand, pushed it open. The hallway was warm, the central heating humming a welcome and Moses running from the sitting room meowing his greeting. I picked him up and cuddled him closely, so close that I could feel his purr reverberating through his tiny furry body. Everything seems to be okay, I thought with relief. All nice and normal.

I inhaled Moses’s sweet scent whilst shrugging off my coat and took him into the kitchen, where he devoured his food as if he’d been starving for a year. I then moved around downstairs putting on all the lights so everything shone bright and there were no creepy dark corners where anybody (or indeed anything) could be hiding. I lit the fire and coaxed it until it was all red and yellow flame roaring like a lion up the chimney. I pondered what had happened to the pear tree, how so suddenly the beautiful flourishing tree had become a blackened stump. I decided to put it out of my mind until Mabel came home, until I heard her tip tapping step on the garden path and saw bright lights shining from her windows.

Feeling a lot happier and relaxed and wondering why I’d been so afraid earlier, I poured a glass of wine and, taking grateful sips, wondered what I could have for tea. The sudden urge for a curry—or a ruby murray, as Mum called it—overcame me, and ringing for a take-away to be delivered seemed like a good idea. Sitting down on the settee, I reached for my phone and began to scroll through the list of local curry houses, Moses now lounging beside me, sated and happy after his food, licking his fur into place with his tiny rough tongue, the sound like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

Using my phone I looked through the menu. “Hmm, what should I have? Biryani? Dopiaza? Masala? Korma? So many different things to choose from. What do I fancy?”

I was so immersed in what I was doing that at first I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t hear the soft empty sobbing that began to fill the house, the heartfelt sobbing that I suddenly felt pulsing all the way through my body. Moses, his fur spiked in terror, his tail a bristly brush, jumped from the settee and fled up the stairs into the black hole of the landing and the bedrooms. Rooted to the spot, I wrapped my arms tightly around my body, trying to stop myself from shaking. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

Closing my eyes, I prayed, muttering to myself, “Please God, help me. By all that is holy, help me.” But the sobbing carried on and on and, when I cautiously opened my eyes, my house was different again, back to its original state, and Seth Bloom sat at the kitchen table, hunched over, his head in his hands, and it was he who was sobbing as if his heart would break into a million pieces. Two people sat with him, an elderly couple, grey haired and stooped, who I assumed were his parents, Ingrid and Asa Bloom. I could see that the woman had been a beauty in her day just like her daughter. There was no sign of the bewitching Morgan. The black cauldron still bubbled over a raging fire, its contents weaving a rich aromatic aroma around the house. I kept myself well back, hidden in a dark corner by the wooden sideboard where candles burned fitfully.

“Oh Ma, I did my best, but I couldn’t save her.” He shook his head helplessly from side to side.” I couldn’t save her.”

I felt as if I could cry with him as the woman rubbed his back with her rough work worn hands, the fingers arthritic and clenched like claws, tears running unheeded down her lined face. “I know, my boy, I know. But she was a headstrong girl, and too beautiful for her own good.”

“We warned her,” said the old man bitterly. “She flaunted her black cat and her potions, and the large black bird that tapped its beak on her bedroom window. I heard her in conversation with that bird speaking the same as I would speak with you!”

“Stop it, Asa, stop it! Do not speak ill of our girl. She was good at heart and was at one with animals. She had an affinity—she loved Moses and the black bird.”

The old man stood up and began to stomp around the room, his heavy boots trailing mud and grime. “She was too fond of the men. She fed them potions to make them love her, and read the lines of their palms for gold.”

I wanted to interrupt him then and say, “No, she had a gift, a precious gift. A gift that would be understood and applauded today!” After all, she could tell from just one reading of my palm that somewhere, someday, there was a man from the Americas wearing a long coat of check. Oh, if only they could hear me.

At least Seth agreed with me, for he said, “No, they needed no potion to love her—they loved her anyway. Not just because she was beautiful, and in spite of the fact that she was willful and as Ma said, headstrong too.”

“She was evil,” shouted Asa, thumping his fist onto the table, making them all jump, Ingrid put a shaking hand to her mouth. “Evil! She was a witch and died as a witch, a fate she deserved!”

“No,” wailed Ingrid. “No, Asa, you have it all wrong. You did not know the heart of gold that beat within her breast. She was a good girl.” She dabbed at her eyes with her apron and, turning to Seth asked, “Where is she, Seth?”

“In the abbey, in a dungeon down deep within the earth. She was soaked through and freezing from the sea. I covered her in blankets and gave her spiced ale, and the warmth of my body. I thought she would survive, but none of it did any good and she breathed her last lying in my arms.” He burst into a fresh spate of sobbing. “Oh, Ma, afterwards I wrapped her body warm within the blankets and closed her eyes with my own hands. She was more than a sister to me, she was everything—friend, confidant, and the bravest person I ever knew.”

“We must fetch her home,” said Ingrid, glancing at Asa, but he was gone from her side, and stood at the tiny window, peering out, his back stooped.

“What is it?” cried Seth, rushing to stand behind his father, “What is it, Pa?”

“I heard a noise,” he snorted, his voice gruff. “It is the baying mob, intent on killing us too, I suppose. I see Saul there, and John, and Jordan, men who used to stand beside me. Even the women are there—Mary and Esther, Sarah too. They were our friends, and now our foe?” And then he said with venom, “We can blame Morgan for this!”

Ingrid joined the two of them at the window as I did, hovering in the background, glad that I couldn’t be seen. But yes, it was the same mob that killed Morgan, that awful rabble that had held her down in the sea until she drowned. They were holding burning tapers high in the air and chanting, “Kill them, kill them, kill them.” I saw that they’d already destroyed the pear tree, and it burned now in a great pyramid like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night.

“No, I’ll never blame Morgan,” whispered Seth, glaring at his father. “Never!”

“Forget who is to blame, it is too late for that,” sighed Ingrid as she looked her husband in the eye, her tears drying into snail like marks on her cheeks, “What do we do now, Asa? How can we make this better? Do you think we should speak with them? Ask for mercy?”

“No,” interrupted Seth. “That mob has no mercy. You would be wasting your time. Look what they did to Morgan!”

“I will defend you both as best I can,” Asa replied quietly, taking his wife’s hand gently in his.

“Yes,” said Seth, looking hard at his parents. “That is all anybody could ever do.”