The Roses Of Halloran Hall

More of our intriguing serial

The library at Halloran Hall had three large sash windows overlooking the sweeping formal lawn. The remaining walls were lined with leatherbound books, rolling ladders giving access to the highest shelves.

Abby sat at the kneehole desk, close to the fireplace. The top of the desk, oxblood red leather with a gold inlay, was barely visible, covered as it was by piles of paper of varying heights, leaving Abby a small space in the centre of the desk within which to work.

On his tour of the house, John had shown Abby the start he and a clerk had made on the records before realising that having someone live-in would be the most economical way of dealing with the avalanche of paper.

It had taken Abby the first couple of hours to get her bearings. Now, she knew the diaries and daybooks of the estate were mostly to her right, the history of the house and grounds to her left, family papers to her far right and a mix of general books directly behind her. It was to the family papers and the diaries she’d first turned her attention. It had taken her a while to begin to get her head around the complicated Halloran family tree but she had, at last, begun to make headway as her pages of scribbled notes attested.

Now, the sound of a bell echoing through the house shook Abby from her studies. It was swiftly followed by hammering. Feeling like a jailer about to do their rounds, Abby picked up the large set of house keys.

“Just a minute,” she called.

The hammering abated.

The front door was a monster; a series of locks and padlocks, one of which would need a ladder for Abby to reach it.

“We haven’t got all day, it’s cold out here.” It was a woman’s voice; refined, unfriendly.

Abby took a step back. There was more than one person on the other side of the door. The cousins? “I’ll meet you in the garden,” she shouted.

She scooted through the house as fast as she could. Fortunately, she had left her boots and coat in the kitchen and she quickly pulled these on together with her hat and gloves. The snow from the previous day was already melting and it was now bright and sunny but the temperature had only ventured a few degrees above zero.

The kitchen door, being of a more modern construction, was much easier to open and close. Abby had just locked it and pocketed the keys when the first head bobbed through the wooden gate built into the brick wall. There were three of them in total. A man in a Barbour jacket with hair greying at the temples, a much younger man in trendy denim and a skull and crossbones scarf and a woman with long blonde hair wearing a black beret and a black fur coat. Abby took in their footwear – sturdy, work boots for Barbour man, bright trainers for Denim guy and black fashion boots totally unsuited to the countryside or the weather for Beret woman.

“Can I help you?” Abby asked.

“You can start by letting us into the house. It’s bloody freezing out here.” The woman speared Abby with her gaze.

Denim guy stepped forward and held out his gloved hand. “I’m Tiger Halloran. These are my cousins, Gavin Halloran and Portia Halloran-Jones. We’re the closest living relatives of the late Russell Halloran.” Abby shook his hand. “I’m –” she began. “We know who you are,” Portia said imperiously. “Some clerk the lawyer hired.”

“My name is Abby Morris.”

“Nice to meet you, Abby,” Tiger said. “Don’t mind Portia. She gets anxious whenever she leaves the confines of the M25, don’t you love?”

Abby saw Gavin hide a smile.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you into the house,” Abby said.

“Not even for a warming drink?”

“I’m sorry. I have my orders.”

“From the power-hungry lawyer, no doubt?” Portia sniffed. “How ridiculous.” “I’m sorry,” Abby said again.

“Perhaps if we could just have ten minutes to come inside and take some measurements?” Gavin ventured. He had a powerful voice. Abby got the impression he was used to being obeyed.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Perhaps if you call Mr Wiseman?”

“Is everything OK here?”

Abby turned and was grateful to see Spencer approaching the group from the far side of the kitchen garden. The same powerful feelings radiated through her at the sight of him; warmth and love, distant memories of a time long since forgotten.

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Portia said haughtily.

Spencer’s gaze fixed on Abbey, who felt its power. Did he feel it too, she wondered? “I was just explaining that I’m not allowed to let –”

“Nonsense, girl! Out of my way,” Portia commanded.

Spencer moved quickly to stand between them. “Miss Morris has explained the situation to you. No one wants any trouble here but you can’t have access to the house. If you don’t like that, you need to take it up with Mr Wiseman.”

Gavin’s hand rested on Portia’s shoulder. “Leave it, sis.”

“But this is our right, our inheritance.” Portia said. She squared up to Spencer. “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? You’re the hired help. Once Probate goes through, I’ll have you off this estate so fast your head will spin. You won’t be so cocksure when you’re being evicted, will you?”

“This is our inheritance,” Portia said.”And when Probate goes through you’ll be off this estate!”

“Always a pleasure, Mrs Halloran-Jones. You drive safely back to London now, won’t you?” Spencer said. Abby heard Tiger snigger. “Jobsworths!” She threw the word at both Abby and Spencer and turned on her heel.

“We’ll speak to Mr Wiseman about supervised access,” Gavin said before following his sister.

“Pain in the proverbial, the pair of them,” Tiger said as he watched the others depart. “I told them turning up mob-handed wouldn’t work. If I returned with my surveyor and builder and just took some measurements and photos of the outside of the house and the gardens hereabouts, would that be OK with you both?”

Spencer turned to Abby and shrugged. Abby said, “I don’t see how that would be a problem. But I couldn’t give you access to any of the buildings in the grounds or the main house.”

Tiger nodded. “Understood.” He held out his hand again. “Nice meeting you, Miss Morris.” Abby shook his hand, once more. “And Mr Thomas. Always a pleasure.”

Spencer kept his hands in his pockets. Tiger lowered his hand with a smile. “Adieu,” he called over his shoulder.

“Well, that was interesting,” Abby said once Tiger was out of earshot.

“I thought you handled it well. The three of them together can be quite intimidating,” Spencer said. With that, he turned away, preparing to go back to work.

“I’m glad you were here,” Abby said quickly. “And thank you for bringing my suitcase to the kitchen door last night. That was very kind of you.”

“No problem.” He gave a half-smile. “Have you time for a cuppa?”

“Are you sure I’m allowed in?” he asked wryly.

Abby smiled. “You’re on the safe list. Pretty exclusive list, as it happens. Only you, John Wiseman and his wife.”

“And you,” Spencer said with a grin. “And me,” she agreed.

As Abby set about making the tea she watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Spencer eased off his work gloves and boots and hung his coat on one of the hooks before washing his hands at the sink.

“Will the cousins sell the Hall, do you think?” Abby asked.

“No. Portia wants to turn it into a hotel and spa, Gavin wants to build swathes of new homes in the grounds, and Tiger wants to convert the house to luxury flats.” Abby looked at him, aghast.

“It’s progress, I suppose,” he said as he rolled up the sleeves of his thick woollen jumper before sitting down at the table.

“What would Russell have made of that, do you think?”

“He would have hated it.”

Mrs Wiseman had thoughtfully stocked up on biscuits when she’d made her supermarket run. Now, Abby ran her gaze over the biscuit selection. She thought Spencer looked like a chocolate digestive kind of guy. She ferried two mugs and a plate of biscuits to the table.

Spencer smiled and grabbed a biscuit. “Nice and warm in here,” he remarked. “Boiler’s behaving itself then?”

“Yes. I hear you’re the expert if it goes wrong,” she replied.

Spencer laughed. “Not sure about that.” Abby picked up her mug. “Is it true what Portia said, you’ll be evicted when Probate goes through?”

“I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction,” Spencer said gruffly. “I’ll leave of my own accord long before that happens.”

“There’s no way you could stay?” Abby asked dismayed.

Spencer shook his head. “My cottage is tied to the estate. If I don’t work here, I can’t live here. Simple as that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to stay. I wouldn’t want to see them rip the heart out of this place.”

His tone was nonchalant but Abby could see the muscles working in his cheek. She felt a chill run through her at the prospect of Spencer leaving Halloran Hall. While she didn’t quite understand it all yet, the fragments of the memories she had glimpsed were enough for her to know that the house, the grounds and Spencer were all part of one important whole. To fracture the natural order of things would be unthinkable.

“How long have you been here?” She asked the question but in her heart she already knew the answer: aeons.

“All my life,” he said. “My family have worked for the Hallorans for generations.” He finished his biscuit and scooped the crumbs from the table into his palm before depositing them in the bin behind him.

“To make you leave would be cruel,” Abby said.

Spencer looked at her and smiled. “Yeah, it is a bit,” he agreed.

“What was Russell like?”

Spencer brightened. “Russ was great. There was no standing on ceremony with him. Once a week we’d have dinner together. I’d cook spag bol and he would break open one of his fancy wines. He sponsored me to go to agricultural college a few years ago. I shall always be grateful to him for that. He was a lovely old man.”

“John thinks there must be a Will. Russell seemed to suggest there was but…” She noticed Spencer shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“Can we not talk about this?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“You weren’t. It’s just…”

“You miss him,” Abby said quietly. “He’s always been a big part of my life.” “Do you have family locally?”

“A couple of cousins in the village. My parents died a few years back. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

Abby burned with curiosity. She wanted to ask him if there was a Mrs Thomas. There was no wedding band on his finger but that didn’t mean anything. He had

long, thin fingers and neat nails for a gardener, she noticed. Oh, how she wanted to touch his hand, to take it and hold it in her own! “Penny for them, Miss Morris?” Abby looked up. “Sorry, miles away.” She hesitated then said, “It’s the strangest thing, but I think I’ve been here before.” “To Halloran?” She nodded. “I knew what was on the other side of the wooden gate before I had even opened it yesterday. Was the Hall ever open to the public?”

“I don’t think so,” Spencer said. “Although perhaps you came on a school trip? Russ did allow educational visits a few years back.”

Abby knew instinctively that that had not been the case. “My feelings for this place are stronger than that,” she confided. “It’s all a bit weird to be honest.”

She wanted to add that she’d recognised him too, that she knew him as well as she knew herself, but in another place, another time, another him…

She picked up her mug and drank. He would think she was deranged. She decided instead to tell him about the children.

“Last night I heard a couple of children playing in the rose garden. They were very young to be out so late. I tried to speak to them but they ran off.”

Spencer didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I call them the Wood Sprites,” he said, with a smile. “I often hear their laughter around the grounds. And just occasionally, out of the corner of my eye, I’ll catch sight of them but only for a moment and then they’re gone. Sometimes they leave little gifts on the doorstep of my cottage, strawberries, raspberries, blackcurrants or apples, whatever’s in season.”

Abby put down her mug. “They left me a rose.” She indicated the vase on the windowsill. “I’m hoping it will still open.”

Spencer turned to look at it. “Reckon it will. The heat in here will help.”

“The roses in the garden are extraordinary,” Abby said.

Spencer nodded. “They’re always in bloom. No matter what the season, in the rose garden, it’s always summer.” He helped himself to another biscuit. “Very few people get to see the Wood Sprites.

It’s quite an honour, you know.”

“When you call them Wood Sprites, do you mean…?”

“They’re spirits of some kind,” Spencer said nonchalantly. “I’ve never thought to question it, they’ve always been here.”

“Do you mean they’re ghosts?” Abby said, shocked.

Spencer smiled. “Halloran Hall is a special place, Abby. Far more precious than the cretinous cousins will ever realise and the Wood Sprites are nothing to be afraid of,” he added quickly. “Toby was the eldest son of the Halloran family, Russell’s brother, Liza was one of my great aunts.”

“Toby and Liza. The inscription on the fountain,” she mused.

“Yes.” He drained his mug and stood up. “I should be getting back to work.’

“Very diligent of you, considering the circumstances,” Abby said.

“I owe it to Russ to keep the place looking nice and the estate is still paying me for the time being.”

Abby stood as Spencer pulled on his coat and boots. She didn’t want him to walk out of the door. She wanted him to stay. Abby gripped the edge of the table. Something deep inside was calling to her. Like the rose on the windowsill, something was awakening and slowly unfurling… Don’tlethimgo!

“If I supplied the wine, would you treat me to your spag bol?” Abby asked boldly. “I’d like to learn more about Russ and the Hall and Toby and Liza.” Andyou.

“Sure. If you want. Tomorrow suit?” “That would be great.”

As Spencer reached for the door handle, he said, “Don’t be scared of how you feel about this place. Embrace it. I always have.”

Then he was gone before Abby had had a chance to process what he’d said, let alone question him on it.

The rose had begun to open a little more Abby noticed as she stacked the dishwasher that evening. The tinkling sound of children’s laughter carried to her. Toby and Liza were back. Not even bothering to put on a coat, Abby grabbed the torch and headed outside.

The pool of light from the kitchen window cast a bright enough glow for her to see that the children were playing a game of tag in the rose garden. Abby watched them for a few moments, shielded by the shadow of the house, her torch unlit.

Toby stopped suddenly and looked towards the place where she was standing. Then he was gone, running along the gravel path until the darkness swallowed him up.

“Don’t go,” Abby cried. “I just wanted to say thank you for my rose.”

Liza turned to her and smiled. “You’re welcome. We’ve been waiting such a long time for you to come.” Then, she too, was gone, racing away into the night.

They had been waiting for her? Stunned, Abby moved to sit on the edge of the fountain.

All her adult life she’d had an urge to travel, driven to discover new places, continually striding towards the next new horizon. Itchy feet her mother had called it.

However, what if it wasn’t her love of travel that had spurred her on? What if her nomadic lifestyle had been driven by a search for something deeper, something more compelling?

Perhaps all the travelling hadn’t been the series of independent journeys she had imagined them to be, but was instead part of a single journey, with one destination in mind: Halloran Hall.

What if, after all these years of living out of a suitcase, she had finally arrived at the one place she was always destined to be: home?

NEXT WEEK: Why is Abby drawn to Spencer? Why had the children been waiting for Abby, and will she finally put down the suitcase and settle? Join us for another thrilling instalment next week in part 3!

“Halloran Hall is a special place and the Wood Sprite children are nothing to be afraid of.”