Page 2 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘Aye, happy to.’
Lark could feel the familiar warmth of his presence behind her as he followed her through to the kitchen. He was easy company; good to be around and someone who brought an element of contentedness to her life, almost like a favourite snuggly jumper. She regularly found herself thinking how glad she was he’d chosen to settle in Micklewick Bay after moving to the town from the small village of Beckinthwaite on the North Yorkshire Moors where he’d grown up.
Lark had first encountered Nate some four or five years ago. She’d popped into his newly opened upcycling shop on Endeavour Road to enquire about a vintage dressing table in the window that had caught her eye. She’d been looking for something to display the range of homemade aromatherapy products she sold in Lark’s Vintage Bazaar and thought it would do perfectly. She and Nate had hit it off straightaway, both thrilled to have found someone who shared their love of all things vintage, chatting away with great enthusiasm. And though an unmistakable frisson of attraction had sparked between them, and their friendship had deepened over the years, their relationship had never developed into anything more, much to the chagrin of her group of best friends.
That aside, Lark would even go as far as to say she’d come to value Nate’s friendship and opinion as much as she did thefour women she’d known since childhood. They regularly teased her for keeping him in the “friend zone”. None of them could understand why her relationship with Nate hadn’t blossomed romantically, especially given how well suited they appeared to be, sharing a laid-back, easy-going nature and happy outlook on life. Lark repeatedly told them – with much eye rolling on their part – that she didn’t want to lose his friendship if things didn’t work out. On top of that, at just approaching twenty-eight, making him seven years her junior, she also said she considered Nate too young for her. She chose to ignore her friends’ playful comments declaring she’d make a fabulous “cougar”, letting them fall on stony ground as she smiled serenely. But, in truth, these weren’t the only reasons. There was something else holding her back. Something she’d never shared with anyone. Something she preferred to keep to herself.
TWO
Lark was glad to have finally warmed through, the feeling returning to her fingertips as she pulled off a chunk of bread and dipped it into her soup, festive folk music playing softly in the background. ‘So, what d’you know of Crayke’s Cottage?’ She popped the bread into her mouth, glancing across at Nate who was sitting opposite her at the table in her compact kitchen. The sunny yellow walls of the room were a stark contrast to the hailstones that were currently drumming hard at the windows where a small festive arrangement twinkled as if oblivious to the wintry weather raging behind it.
It had been far too cold at the uninhabited cottage to have much of a conversation; they’d just been focused on the task at hand, intent on getting done as quickly as possible and heading back to Lark’s home.
Of course, she’d always been aware of Crayke’s Cottage, just as she had the other cottages that snuggled together in the various yards and winding alleyways in the old part of town, but she hadn’t paid it much attention before now. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed to venture to that particular part of Old Micklewick. Being tucked away in the town’s historic Micklemackle Yard meant you had to go out ofyour way to get to the property, and those who had reason to be there simply walked by en route to one of the inhabited cottages in the yard. Crayke’s Cottage stood silently in the shadows, barely warranting a second glance. Lark hoped old Mr Thurston – the now joint owner of the property, and who’d tasked Nate with removing the contents – had shared some juicy snippets of information about its past.
‘Hmm.’ Nate looked thoughtful as he chewed. It was only recently that Mr Thurston had approached him about emptying the cottage of its contents which meant he hadn’t had the chance to share much more than scant details with her. But now, after seeing it for herself, Lark couldn’t shake the delicious feeling of intrigue that had struck her as soon as she’d turned into the ancient yard paved with centuries-old uneven cobbles. Her finely tuned senses had heightened further once she’d arrived at the cottage’s creaky old door.
He swallowed his mouthful. ‘I doubt I know much more than you, really. I mean, I was aware that no one seemed to know who owned it, and that it had been unoccupied for donkey’s years.’
‘As the dusty spiders’ webs proved! I reckon my hair’s still full of them.’ Though Lark giggled, she hadn’t liked to give it much thought at the time. The cottage had been festooned with the lacy arachnid creations, thick with dust, and she’d imagined huge spiders lowering themselves onto her head every time she ventured into a room. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to leave her hat on – it wasn’t as if the place hadn’t been cold enough to warrant it.
Nate narrowed his eyes, looking intently at the top of her head. ‘Aye, now you come to mention it…’
Lark’s stomach lurched. ‘What?’
‘I’m sure I just saw one running over the top of your head. You know, the massive sort with the thick, hairy legs. Here, letme get it for y…’ He went to reach across the table, struggling to bite down on a smile.
‘Warghh! Please tell me you’re joking.’ She pushed her chair back, hurriedly swiping her hands over her hair, Nate’s shoulders shaking with mirth. ‘Quick! Put a glass over it! Don’t kill it, whatever you do!’
‘What are you like? “Put a glass over it”,’ he said, through his guffaws. ‘I’m just joshing, there’s no spider.’
‘Not funny!’ She shot him a mock-stern look, running her hands over her hair one last time. Lark didn’t mind creepy-crawlies but she’d rather not have them running amok all over her.
‘I promise you, we left all the spiders and the dust behind at Crayke’s Cottage.’
‘Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.’ She gave an exaggerated shudder, tucking her chair back in, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.
‘To be honest, it was that cold there, I’m surprised they hadn’t packed their bags and left,’ he said. ‘Rodents an’ all.’
Lark groaned. ‘Ugh! Can we please change the subject from spiders and rodents before you put me off my soup? Let’s get back onto what Mr Thurston told you about Crayke’s Cottage, that’s far more palatable.’
‘Aye, well, he didn’t say much other than it had stood empty for ages which, from what we saw today, was pretty obvious. The place looked like it had been frozen in time. Don’t know about you, but I thought it felt more like walking into a museum exhibition than a home.’
‘Mm.’ Lark nodded. ‘That’d crossed my mind, too.’
The cottage was brimming with character and had many of its original features intact, from the age-worn Yorkshire flagstone floor to the dark oak beams. The date carved into the sandstone lintel above the low front door said 1725, with theinitials JC and AC below. They matched those in the door of the spice cupboard to the left of the inglenook fireplace. Even the furniture seemed centuries old, amongst which was a settle by the fire, an old carved oak coffer and a dark wood dresser, the shelves of which had been lined with pewter plates. And though Seashell Cottage was of a similar age and just as characterful, it couldn’t have been more different. Stepping into Lark’s home, visitors regularly declared that they felt instantly at ease. It was as if the happy atmosphere wrapped its arms around them, welcoming them in. The cottage was bright and cheerful, vintage items mixed with new, showcasing her eclectic taste perfectly. Evidence of her “boho, hippy vibe”, as her friends referred to it, was everywhere from the brightly coloured soft furnishings to the embroidered wall hangings to the carved Buddha head on the shelf in the living room. There, in the kitchen was a classic example of her style, in the wooden dresser she’d picked up from Nate’s shop and painted a bright sky blue. The shelves that she’d trimmed with fairy lights were crammed with a variety of mismatched knick-knacks, while the small window that looked out onto her tiny back yard was hung with a pair of patchwork curtains she’d made herself. It filled Lark with happiness that she was regularly told there was something about her home that made visitors not want to leave. Nate being one of them.
‘Spiders and rodents aside, I thought it was fascinating,’ said Lark. ‘But did Mr Thurston hint at its past, or give any clues as to why the cottage had been left like that?’ She loved Nate to bits but his habit of going around the houses when explaining or asking about something meant he occasionally needed a gentle nudge to get back on track, particularly when she was trying to get to the bottom of something, the history of Crayke’s Cottage being a prime example!
He set his spoon down in the bowl, looking thoughtful once more. ‘Well, I’d heard of it, knew it had a smuggling connectionlike a lot of the houses round here, but I’d never given it much thought till old Mr Thurston popped into my workshop on Friday morning. He told me the property had belonged to his uncle who’d died. Apparently, this uncle had never married or had children of his own, so had left everything to Mr Thurston and his brother who lives down south somewhere. He never mentioned owt about its history though. To be honest, he didn’t seem that interested. Seemed more bothered about getting it emptied before Christmas so they could put it on the market in the New Year.’
‘Wow, if that was me, I’d be itching to find out as much as I could about its past, especially with all the rumours attached to it.’ In truth, as soon as they’d set foot in the dusty house, Lark had been bombarded with voices from the past, whipping around her, all scrabbling to be heard. The place was thrumming with energy, alive with spirits all vying for her attention, desperate to share their decades’-worth of pent-up frustration. There’d been such a cacophony, it had been impossible for her to home in on a single voice.
‘Aye, me too.’ Nate nodded. ‘Plus, I’d be wanting to go through all the cupboards and sideboards, see if there was owt of interest in there before I even considered selling anything. There could be valuable heirlooms tucked away, but going from what we saw today, it looks like he hasn’t so much as opened a drawer. I did mention if I found owt valuable, I’d be sure to pass it on to him, but you should’ve seen the way he shook his head and told me I could keep everything. It was as if I’d said summat unpalatable.’
‘Hmm. That does seem odd.’ Lark could understand such a stance if there’d been any sinister rumours attached to the property, like the one further up the coast in Skelby-by-the-Sea where a brutal murder was supposed to have taken place in the seventeenth century. Rumours of poltergeist activity meant noone had lived there for long, and the cottage had been boarded up for years, its roof tiles gradually sliding off and leaving the building open to the elements. But Lark couldn’t recall hearing anything of the sort about Crayke’s Cottage.
A small frown drew Nate’s eyebrows together. ‘Now I come to think of it, he did a lot of muttering under his breath whenever I asked him about the place, and I’d swear he said summat about the house being cursed with bad luck and how it’d be a relief when they were shot of it. When I asked him what he meant, he just shook his head and said to ignore him, that it was nothing.’
