then had the roof pulled off. Must’ve caused great consternation, at the time. Lord Storrow’s ancestor got into a right state about it. Thought the terrible way the woman had died would bring bad luck to his smart new house. So he got a priest in, talk has it, and had the spot where she was found blessed, then gave the skeleton a Christian burial.
‘You can see the grave, still. About a hundred yards from the house, with a little stone there. A bit worn now, I believe, but you can still make out the name.’
‘That was a very decent thing to do. She’d have been ’appy about havin’ a decent grave. But we won’t be allowed to go and look at it. We can’t get up to Heronflete without a pass.’ Nan remembered the soldiers. ‘Nice to hear a story with a happy ending.’
‘Ar, but it wasn’t – a happy ending, I mean. That nun wasn’t taking it lying down. Her didn’t want to rest! Well, would you have done if you’d died the way she did? To this very day, she reminds folk about it, makes sure they don’t forget.’
‘Now don’t tell me she comes back a-haunting,’ Evie giggled, ‘because I won’t believe it. I have never seen a ghost and I’ve never met anyone who has!’
‘Then you should’ve spoken to the estate workers around Heronflete. People saw her…’
‘How many – and were they sober at the time?’
‘Folks saw her, that’s all I know. A figure in black, and not near the grave, either. Near the stables. People figured that it was in the vicinity of the stables that she died, when you saw plans of what the priory looked like, and took into account where it was set down.’
‘Well, I hope it isn’t true grandad, ’cause our friend works at the stableyard. It’s where they keep the transports, now.’
‘We-e-ll, chances of seeing Cecilia are rare. Only on two dates have folk come across her. In April – when people felt that’s when she might have been walled up – and on St Cecilia’s day, the time when her was set free, you might say.’
‘And when is that?’ Evie was still smiling, completely unconvinced.
‘In November, if you must know. When the nights are dark early.’
‘When in November?’ Nan’s tongue made little clicking noises and she gulped at her drink.
‘The twenty-second. Leastways, that’s what my grandad told me.’
‘The twenty-second!’ Nan got to her feet, pulling on her cap, wriggling her fingers into her gloves. ‘Come on, Evie. I’m goin’. Don’t want to hear nuthin’ more about ghosts!’ She slung her respirator, and made for the door.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Biting back a smile, Evie got to her feet. ‘Telling such fibs! G’night Mr-er…Nice to have met you.’
‘An’ you too, Missus. But I wasn’t fibbing. Honest I wasn’t!’
And then he began to chuckle.
‘Wait on! Don’t be upset,’ Evie soothed when she caught up with the indignant Nan. ‘You know there are no such things as ghosts. He was only teasing!’
‘Maybe he was, but they didn’t have to find the nun on my birthday, did they?’
‘Does it matter when the poor soul was found – if she was found, which I very much doubt. You should have seen your face, Nan. The old boy was having the time of his life, inventing a ghost and getting free beer into the bargain!’
‘Well, I think he meant it. He was real serious about it – couldn’t have made all that lot up on the spur of the moment. But there’s one way to find out. We’ve got to ask around and see if anybody has come across a grave with a stone marker. I reckon that guard what came up on me from behind the other night would know.’
‘So what do you say to him, Nan? Excuse me, but have you seen a nun’s grave on your travels? You’d have to tell him, then, about the man in the pub, and he’d laugh his head off at you! So, repeat after me! There – are – no – such – things -as ghosts!’
‘All right, then – there are no such things as ghosts. But I’m goin’ to find out all I can about that grave. A hundred yards away from the house, didn’t he say?’
‘Yes. And Southgate is much farther away than that, so it’s extremely unlikely that you’ll ever see the nun – if she exists, that is.’
‘Ghosts don’t exist, Evie. If they existed, they wouldn’t be ghosts. And I think we should warn Carrie to be careful of that stable block. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind goin’ to the NAAFI when we get back – have a big cup of hot cocoa.’ Cocoa, Nan reasoned, was safe and sane and helped you to sleep.
‘What! Had you forgotten – the NAAFI hut is right beside the stables,’ Evie giggled.
‘I know it is, but it’s April and November that’s the hauntin’ season so we’ll be all right tonight, Miss Clever Clogs. Now, are you goin’ to hurry up, or what!’
Nan Morrissey wanted the thick walls of Southgate Lodge around her – and before it got dark, an’ all!
Carrie locked the door of Southgate Lodge, placed the key on the door lintel, then made for the NAAFI, Jeffrey’s letter in her pocket.
‘Hi, there! Have we got news for you!’ A breathless Nan at the gate. ‘You aren’t goin’ to believe this in a million years!’
‘So tell me,’ Carrie smiled, glad to see them. ‘You found the village pub and they were giving free drinks!’
‘Garn! Better’n that, Carrie. Heronflete’s got a ghost! An old feller in the pub told us.’
‘Don’t take any notice. He was pulling her leg. There are no such things as ghosts. You tell her, Carrie!’
‘What? That I don’t believe in spirits and ghosts and things that go bump in the night? But I did, once – when I was a kid. But walk with me to the NAAFI. Tell me about it?’
So, breathless and flush-cheeked, Nan told all, and when she had finished and when Carrie had posted her letter she said, ‘OK? So do you believe the old feller, Carrie?’
‘Well – once I might have, but since you ask, Nan, no, I don’t. When I was little, there was a big old house near the village. Empty, and falling down and dangerous. Chunks falling off it all the time. We weren’t supposed to go there, but the lads in the village couldn’t keep away.
‘They didn’t want girls with them, so they told us awful tales about headless ghosts and bloodstains on the floor. Said that was why the place was so neglected – because no one would live there because they’d been frightened away by the hauntings. None of it was true, of course. Jeffrey and Todd had invented it all. Stupid of me to have believed them. So – shall we have a mug of tea whilst we’re here? My treat.’
And Evie said thanks, she would, and Nan said could she have cocoa to help her to sleep?
‘So here’s to ghosts,’ Evie laughed, raising her mug of tea.
‘Don’t mock.’ Nan sipped her cocoa gratefully. They made smashing cocoa, here; put Carnation milk in it so it was worth the extra penny. ‘And you believed once, Carrie, even though it was only a leg-pull. So tell me – I know Jeffrey’s the feller you’re engaged to, but who is Todd – your brother?’
‘No, though we were brought up together. My father owed his father, you see.’
And, with remembering in her eyes, she told them about how, before he died, her father had made provision for his batman’s widow and her young son; out of gratitude, that was.
‘Todd was nearly fourteen when he left us. Marie, his mum, died very suddenly of diphtheria so he went to his Auntie Hilda, in Lancashire.’
‘Did