‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s likely. Wasn’t mentioned in the deeds, though.’
‘No? Cos it definitely sounds like it’s coming from under the floor.’
Jenna tried to dismiss the cold feeling in her chest. Ghosts didn’t exist.
‘Are you sure it’s not Bowyer, on the hunt outside?’
Jason snorted. ‘Bowyer hunting, that’ll be the day. Ever since you pitched up, the lazy fucker’s more likely to chase a tin opener than a bird or a mouse. It’s not coming from outside, I’d swear to it.’
Jenna racked her brains, sure she couldn’t recall any mention of a cellar. But all of these big old houses had them, she was certain. Had she seen a trap door anywhere, or anything that might give access to some stairs?
‘There was no cellar in the floor plan,’ she said. ‘And the agent never mentioned it.’
‘Probably been shut off for years, abandoned, like,’ said Jason. ‘Maybe there’s a murdered body down there.’ He grinned, ghoulishly, and waggled his fingers in a spooky manner.
‘Don’t. It’s not funny.’
‘You’re freaked out, aren’t you? Aw, don’t be. It’s nothing. Just mice or summat.’ He put an arm around her, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘And I’m here. No bastard ghost would mess with me.’
‘No, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I’m going to look for a cellar tomorrow. Not tonight though. Tonight I think we should just get some sleep.’
‘Aye, you’re right.’ Jason snuggled down under the covers with her. ‘It’ll be nothing, anyway.’
All the same, she was slow to fall back into that lulling, pleasant weariness again, her ears seeming to pick up the lightest of sounds. The house being old, it tended to creak and crack all night long anyway, and each little clank of water pipe made her heart race. She heard nothing that sounded like crying, though, and she fell asleep without incident.
The next day they were too busy steaming and stripping off the ancient wallpaper in the big front bedroom to be much concerned with the possibility of hidden cellars, but when they broke for lunch and she put together her edamame salad (much to Jason’s disgust) she looked down at her beautiful granite tiles and wondered if the elusive cellar entrance was below it. How awful to have to pull it all up again. She didn’t think she’d have the heart, or the energy.
Jason, having grilled some bacon for his own lunch, slapped it into a bap and squirted generous amounts of ketchup all over it.
‘One wall to go,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll finish this then I’ll refill the steamer. Did you find anything interesting underneath yours?’
‘No. What do you mean – underneath the paper?’
‘Yeah. There was writing on part of mine. Said “I am lost” in that kind of old-fashioned, curly handwriting.’
“’I am lost”.’ Jenna felt that creeping feeling of chill again. ‘That’s …ugh!’
‘Dead faint, like. Could hardly see it, but it’d been kind of scratched in, so the ink was faded but you could read what it said still.’
‘Christ.’
‘Probably kids,’ he said, shrugging and smiling at her consternation. ‘Don’t look like that. Whoever did it is long gone.’
Or still in the cellar, in spectral form.
But she had a stern word with herself before returning to the bedroom with her scraper.
The writing still upset her equilibrium, though, written as it was in a wobbly, old-fashioned hand. It had to be about a century old, maybe older.
‘Who do you think wrote it?’ she asked Jason, but he shrugged.
‘Anyone who married into the Harvilles,’ he said. ‘Poor bastards probably didn’t know what they were letting themselves in for.’
‘Or children, being children,’ she said, to cheer herself. ‘Maybe a child playing hide and seek, genuinely lost in the house. A visitor.’
Jason turned to her and cast an appraising, amused eye over her.
‘Blue-sky thinker, as one of my idiot teachers used to say. You don’t like to think of bad stuff happening, do you? You want to make everything all lovely and nice.’