The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage

Obediently I proffered my palm and Morgan Bloom grabbed my arm and pulled it towards her, regardless, it seemed, of whether it hurt me or not. Looking down at myself, I saw that I wore similar clothes to hers, although not quite as clean, for the apron was soiled with rusty stains and the dress thin and wearing into holes. I was aware that I wore a bonnet on my head and strange wooden clogs on my feet. I couldn’t believe that this time they were able to see me and talk to me, and that they were living, breathing, real people.

Disorientated, I wasn’t sure where I was at first, but then, with a dawning realization, I knew I was in the kitchen of Pear Tree Cottage. My very own house that was now so changed, I barely recognized it. If I was able to peer through the window into the garden I was sure I would see the pear tree flourishing, its branches hung with succulent fruit.

I took a tentative glance around. Over a blazing fire hung a massive black cauldron, tongues of orange and yellow flame curling around its sides, the contents bubbling and filling the air with the smell of rabbit, perhaps, or some sort of bird, something rich like pheasant or duck. The scrubbed stone floor was covered in sweet smelling rushes, and even though it was daytime and a band of golden light streamed through the one tiny window, candles flickered on what looked like a deep wooden sideboard.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Morgan.” Seth Bloom suddenly appeared at my side, his handsome face grave. “If anybody sees you—”

“What do I care?” she replied. “I’m doing nothing wrong.” She studied my palm closely and began running the tip of her finger across the lines and muttering to herself. “Hmm, the head line, the heart line. Now this one? The life line—”

“You are too careless,” he said, and then, roughly grabbing my shoulders, said, “You ever speak of this this outside these four walls, girl, and I’ll make you sorry. Do you understand?”

Shaking and shying away from him, intimidated by his sheer presence and good looks that were not even marred by the mole that grew beneath his left eye. I nodded my head and whispered, “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Leave her alone,” said Morgan. “Can’t you see you’re frightening her to death? What’s your name, girl?” She glanced up at me and, thoughtfully tapping her finger against her lip, said, “You look familiar.” She moved her head from side to side, studying me from all angles.

“Chrissie,” I whispered.

“Do I know you?”

“No miss. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Ah, that’s good. You keep to that story and all will be well. You don’t know me, you’ve never seen me before in your life, and perhaps never will again.”

I nodded.

“You kidnapped this girl,” whispered Seth. “Plucked her from the street. She’s not frightened of me, but of you.”

“I need to practice my skill on the palm,” said Morgan lightly. “I will not harm her. I just want to look at her palm. I have read yours, Seth, and many others. There is nothing new to read on them.” She bent her head over my hand again, so that her beautiful hair cascaded down her back and across her shoulders like a long veil of black silk. It smelt of some sort of scented oil, light and fragrant as shady woods in spring. “Hmm. Well, it seems that somebody loves you.” She gazed at me with what seemed like admiration in her beautiful eyes. I started at her words and tried to pull my hand away, but she held on tight, her grip strong. “Why do you pull away? Don’t you want to know?”

Not knowing what to say, I remained silent so she carried on speaking.

“Somebody from far and away across the seas, the Americas, perhaps? What do you know about this, Chrissie?”

Adamantly shaking my head, I said, “I know nothing of anyone from the Americas, miss.”

There was a sudden tiny squeak and a black fluffy kitten jumped up onto Morgan’s lap. She petted it with her long fingers, lovingly stroking its fur. “Ah, Moses, my dear one.” Bending her head, she lightly caressed the top of its head with her lips.

Why, it’s Moses, I thought, My Moses. I gave a small smile, which Morgan saw as she looked up from her petting of the cat.

“Why do you smile, girl?”

“The cat is pretty, miss,” I replied.

“Yes, this is Moses, he is my heart.” Her long fingers still caressed his fur as she bent her head again to study my palm. “I see a man. He looks strange, for he wears a tall hat and a long coat of check in colors so bright—I think?” Her beautiful face looked puzzled and then lightened again as she said, “He is very handsome. His smile shows teeth so white. You are lucky, girl. I would like such a man.”

I smiled, although careful not to show it to Morgan, at her description of what could only be my boss, Richard Curtis. I thought of the first time I’d met him, my first day at my new job. How he’d stood with his hands cradling his hips, wearing the Stetson hat and loud grey and yellow checked overcoat, or long coat of check, as Morgan had just said. I recalled Mum’s words, “What is this, Mills & Boon? You look like a hero from a romantic novel!” Oh and he did, he really did. And with a sudden gut-wrenching pain it hit me, the realization that I missed him so much, and that nothing else mattered, I had to see him again. Even If it was only one more time. One more? Could I be content with that?

“Stop this now, Morgan,” interrupted Seth. “Stop all this nonsense. You will turn her head.” His strange yellow eyes glowed like two lanterns in his face, making me shiver.

“I only tell what I see,” she replied, putting stress on each word as she spoke.

“You will be drowned as a witch,” he said softly. “If you do not stop this!” He changed tack then, and said softer still as, gently, he patted her shoulder. “And I say this, Morgan, only because I care.”

But she didn’t seem to hear and retaliated hotly. “I’m no witch!” she replied savagely. She gave him a look of such evil that her face seemed to change before my very eyes. It became grotesque and ugly like the face I’d seen peering from the black feathers of the crow. With a jerk she pulled my hands closer, wrenching my shoulders. I winced but she paid no heed. Giving me a sideways glance with slitted green eyes, her face smooth again, she said, “He loves you. You are lucky, but you must find him—that is your quest.”

All at once there was a rushing as if a strong wind carried me forward and a blinding light and panicky voices. I opened my eyes.

“Chrissie? Chrissie?” I looked up to see Mr. Wigglesworth looking down on me, his face so wavering and distorted that I couldn’t tell what expression he wore. With effort I tried to sit up, and immediately he ran to the door and shouted, “Milly? Layla? Lily? Anybody, please help.”

There was a thundering of feet and a blur of helping hands and concerned voices, and then I was sitting on a chair and a glass of water was being thrust into my hand. Gratefully I took a sip as the voices carried on around me. “Are you okay, Chrissie?” “Oh my God, what happened?” “She just suddenly fainted, fell down flat on her back, it all happened so quickly.” “She doesn’t seem to be hurt.” “No, I don’t think she is, just seems a bit woozy.”

Everything around me slowly started to clear as if I’d been looking through a steamed-up window, and I was back in Rick’s office—well, Mr. Wigglesworth’s office now, I thought with a sinking heart. The beautiful Morgan and Seth Bloom had disappeared back into that other world. The concerned faces all around me touched my heart, and before I could stem the flow, I burst into noisy sobs. Such heartfelt tears that poured from my eyes like a tap turned on.

There was a lot of back patting and oohing and aahing, and then Lily’s voice. “It’s okay, everybody, leave me with Chrissie. Will? Perhaps I could borrow your office for a while?”

“Of yes, of course, Lily, no problem.”

Will? I thought. Mr. Wigglesworth is called Will Wigglesworth? Laughter started to replace the tears and, using the scrunched-up tissue from earlier as well as my fingertips, I scrubbed at my face.

She put a comforting arm around my shoulder and said, “Calm down, Chrissie, I think I can help.” She’d pulled a chair up close to me and, handing me a clean tissue, said, “Is this something to do with Morgan and Seth Bloom?”

“How do you know about them?” I asked her.

“I was quite friendly with Rita Peacock,” she replied. “The lady who lived in your house before you moved in?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding my head. “Mabel told me about her, that she disappeared to Scotland quite quickly, without a word. I contacted her recently but she didn’t want to talk about anything to do with the cottage.”

“I’m not surprised. She was afraid of the goings on in Pear Tree Cottage. I offered to do a cleansing for her, but she refused that too. She said it would do no good. She doesn’t believe in that sort of thing she said.”

“A cleansing?” I asked, puzzled, “Do you mean to rid the house of evil spirits?”

Lily nodded, “Yes.”

“But I don’t think Morgan is evil!”

“No, not evil, but lost, perhaps? I’ve always had an interest in lost spirits. People that die but don’t know they’re dead. They cling on to this world, not realizing they’re frightening the living. Simply not knowing they should be gone.”

I gazed at Lily’s kindly face, surrounded by her iron-grey hair that looked so much like a cottage loaf that I wanted to cut a slice and eat it warm and buttered. She wore her usual sensible outfit of tweed skirt suit with high buttoned frilly blouse and flat shiny brown brogues. She certainly didn’t look like a spiritual gypsy type person, who I imagined would look similar to Angela Jolie as Maleficent, Mistress of Evil or even, I supposed, like Morgan Bloom herself.

Lightly she patted my hand and said, “Think about it, Chrissie, and let me know if you want me to come visit you. Since I joined the over sixty club with Mabel and was put in charge of the library, I’ve been studying the occult even more, especially concerning the history of Whitby and Dracula and, of course, Pear Tree Cottage. And I’m very familiar with prayers and rituals for house cleansings. Now maybe we should give Will his office back. And maybe you should go home and rest?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll think about it, thank you, Lily,” I rose unsteadily to my feet, dizziness overcoming me so I had to put a hand to my head. “I’d rather stay here though. I’m sure Mr. Wigglesworth will have work for me to do, and quite honestly. I don’t relish the thought of sitting at home alone. I’d rather be busy here.”

She nodded, agreeing with me, and followed me through to the main office where Milly and Layla were busy working but looked up, concerned, as we appeared. “Are you okay?” they asked as I sat down at my desk.

I nodded thankfully and Lily said, “She wants to stay here, so keep an eye on her, won’t you?” They both nodded and she turned to me, “I’ll get Will to find you some work, okay?”

I nodded and turned to the screen of the computer, while Layla said, “I’ll go make some coffees. Fancy one, Chrissie?”

“Oh, yes, please,” I replied.

Milly caught my eye as Layla strode from the room, her long black skirt swinging around her ankles. “Are you truly okay now, Chrissie?”

“Yes,” I assured her. “I feel much better. Maybe I’m just a bit tired?” I busily started scrolling through my emails when I had a sudden thought. “I didn’t know that Mr. Wigglesworth is called Will.”

“Oh yes,” said Milly. “Mr. William Wigglesworth. Cool name, eh?”

As we giggled like naughty school girls, my phone pinged and a text message popped up onto the screen. Staring closely, I saw with a jolting shock that the message was from Rick. My heart beating as hard as Roger Taylor beating a drum, I began to read.

Chrissie, maybe this message is a mistake, but I have to tell you that the distance between us is killing me and, now my daughter is well again, I must return to sort things out with you. I know you still hurt from your ex, but please tell me, Chrissie, is there any hope for me for the future? Rick x

Yes, yes, yes, ran through my mind as, without a thought about Milly and what she would think, my heart singing, I rose from my chair and almost ran to Mr. Wigglesworth’s office to show him the message.

***

Pannet Park was beautiful today, even though it was January and we were still supposedly in the throes of winter. The sun was shining in a beautiful blue sky where hazy clouds floated alongside those noisy squawking seagulls. I saw one tottering on its little legs and shamelessly begging from an elderly couple sitting on a bench, wrapped up warm in thick coats and hats, trying to eat their fish and chip lunch. Snow drops valiantly pushed their way through iron hard earth, and even the daffodils were starting to bud, for I could see a vague yellow outline beneath their lush green stems.

Hands pushed into the pockets of my coat, I strode along, the cold air nipping my cheeks red and a gentle breeze playing with the ends of my hair like tiny searching fingers. The joy I’d felt on receiving Rick’s text message was still with me, and my heart rose as I walked and as I recalled Mr. Wigglesworth’s pleased expression as I read the text to him. He’d been putting tapes and files into a small pile, obviously organizing some work for me at Lily’s request, when I barged in unannounced.

“What were you going to tell me before I fainted, Mr. Wigglesworth?” I asked him. “You said you’d involved me somehow, with your plans for Rick?”

“Yes,” he told me. “When you came for the interview, I liked you immediately, and— Well, to tell you the truth, Chrissie, I….” He hesitated and restlessly stood up and, hands thrust in his pockets, began to pace up and down the room.

“Go on,” I urged him.

He stopped pacing and stared straight into my eyes. “I set you up with Rick, I suppose. I felt sure you could be good together—you could help him to get over his hurt. So I arranged for Rick to come over here and for me to go over there.” And when I remained silent, he said, “There, I’ve told you, you have every right to be extremely angry with me.”

“Did Rick know about the set up?” I asked him.

“No.” He shook his head. “I told him I wanted an extended holiday in America, and appealed to him to give an old man a bit of a break.” He gave a charming grin, not looking at all old. “He said yes immediately, as I knew he would. He was ready to get away for a while from the situation, but of course at first was reluctant to leave his daughters. But the thought of six months where he didn’t have to pretend all was well, perhaps even be a different person for a while, was, I think for him, extremely tempting.”

Sitting down on a bench now, my hands thrust in my pockets, I thought about how shocked I’d been at Mr. Wigglesworth’s actions at first. But then, really thinking about it, I could see how much he cared for Rick and thought he was doing the right thing. Looking back, I remembered the rest of our conversation.

“But how did you know I was free, that I didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“Well, yes, that was a tough one. But I guessed from your job application, your urge to move away from your home town, your single status, and, well, the rest was a shot in the dark, a gamble you might say.” I remembered how he’d gazed at me hopefully here, his eyes a very deep brown. “I think my gamble may have paid off?”

“Hmm, maybe,” I replied.

“I have a question for you, Chrissie,” Mr. Wigglesworth said. “Why did you tell Rick that you were still upset over your ex? In fact, are you?”

“How do you know about that?” I asked him. “That was supposed to be just between me and Rick!”

“I’m not sure he has anybody else to confide in, and after the way my daughter hurt him, I think he’s afraid of becoming involved with anyone again. And, Rick and I— Well, we’ve always gotten along. And don’t forget, Chrissie, men don’t always talk about such things. They tend to keep things to themselves however right or wrong that is.”

“I know,” I said with a small smile. “I remember my mum saying that about my dad, and they’re divorced! But I feel the same. I’m afraid of being hurt again. I felt I needed to protect myself, I suppose, so I told him I was still getting over Stuart, my ex. I’m not, by the way. I’ve no feelings for him now, but Rick came on so strong at the Christmas do that I wondered if he was a bit of a player, and I didn’t want him to think I was becoming fond of him if he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I see. So both of you were fleeing from broken hearts. But finally, Rick has given in. He must know it’s time to move on from the Lisa and Chase scenario, don’t you think?”

“Yes, perhaps, although it seems to me that Rick and I have been at cross purposes, doesn’t it, Mr. Wigglesworth? Or both on the rebound?”

“Yes, my dear, maybe so.” He gave me a look from the tail of his eye and said, “So you’re not angry with me, Chrissie?”

I shook my head. “No,” I told him. “I don’t think I am. As long as Rick never finds out you set him up on some sort of weird blind date!”

“He’ll never find out,” Mr. Wigglesworth assured me. “When’s he coming back? Have you been in touch again?”

“Yes,” I replied. “He’ll be back in about two weeks. Hasn’t he told you that yet?”

“No, not yet,” said Mr. Wigglesworth. “But he will. I’d better start packing again, hadn’t I?”