Page 3 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘Really?’ Lark’s eyes widened, as her heart gave a little leap, her interest well and truly piqued.Why didn’t you mention this before, Nate?She let his words percolate around her mind for a few moments. Being highly sensitive to the atmosphere buildings generated, she hadn’t detected any overly unpleasant vibes while she’d been at Crayke’s Cottage, more a sense of intrigue and adventure, that the walls were groaning with past memories. Granted, she wasn’t sure she’d fancy spending much time there on her own, especially at night, but she assumed that was probably more to do with the giant spiders or owners of the scurrying, clawed feet that lurked in the dark shadows, all of which were in plentiful supply there.
‘Aye. I tried to subtly bring it up in conversation a couple of times after that, but he was having none of it. Just waved it off, saying summat about resurrecting things from the past and that there was no need to trouble me with it.’
‘Blimey, I wonder what he could’ve meant. I’ve heard people talk of it being haunted, but I’ve never heard anyone mention it being cursed with bad luck before.’
‘Well, whatever it was, it clearly bothered him a fair bit. Made me wonder if it’s why no one’s lived there for so long.’ Nate dipped his spoon into his soup. ‘Maybe we’ll find somethingstashed away in one of the drawers or cupboards that’ll give us a clue as to what it could be.’
‘Ooh, let’s hope so.’ Lark’s thoughts went back to the old leather suitcases currently drying by the wood burner; she couldn’t wait to see what the contents would reveal. ‘I wonder if there’s any truth in the stories about the cottage having smuggling connections and a secret tunnel to The Jolly Sailors.’
‘If rumours are to be believed,everyhouse in Old Micklewick has a secret tunnel leading to the Jolly,’ he chuckled. ‘Mind, after what we’ve seen this afternoon, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a tunnel leading somewhere; I’ve heard there’s a cottage or two round here that have tunnels leading to the cave on Contraband Cove yon side of Thorncliffe, where smugglers hid goods before they were distributed.’
‘Yeah, I’d heard that, too.’
Old Micklewick abounded with swashbuckling tales of pirates and smuggling that had been particularly prevalent there during the seventeen-hundreds. Indeed, a local gentleman by the name of Benjamin Fitzgilbert, whose grand home purportedly had a tunnel that led straight to The Jolly Sailors pub on the seafront of Old Micklewick, had become legendary for his connection to a local band of smugglers, particularly so his friendship with the most notorious smuggler of them all: the dark-eyed and dark-hearted Jacob Crayke. Despite his reputation for being cruel and ruthless, the smuggler’s image had altered considerably down the centuries and he was now spoken of as some sort of romantic figure who’d had women swooning and men filled with admiration for his daring deeds and fearless missions. Adding to his notoriety, his decommissioned pistol was on permanent display in a glass case on the wall of The Jolly Sailors which was only a stone’s throw away from Lark’s cottage.
Momentarily lost in her thoughts, something told Lark that Crayke’s Cottage had more than a few interesting stories to tell, that its walls were imbued with memories of scandal and intrigue. The place had practically vibrated with energy while they were there. And now she felt a sudden eagerness to dig into its history, especially after what Nate had just imparted about Mr Thurston believing it to be cursed.
‘I don’t know about you, but I reckon it’s no coincidence it’s called Crayke’s Cottage, that it has a connection to Jacob Crayke rather than being a whimsical name given by someone who simply knows the history of Old Micklewick,’ she said.
‘Aye, I reckon you’re right. So, am I right in thinking you sensed summat while we were there?’ Nate asked, his chocolate-brown eyes peering enquiringly at her from beneath his fringe. ‘Or did the freezing cold stop you from being able to focus on anything other than shivering and desperately trying to keep hypothermia at bay?’
Lark flashed him a grin then leant back in her seat. ‘Well?—’
It wasn’t always easy to articulate the feelings she’d picked up in places or from people, and it hadn’t helped that the vibrations she’d detected at Crayke’s Cottage had become tangled with the voices of previous tenants who’d whispered with great urgency in her ears, creating an almost overwhelming cacophony. Not that she liked to make a big thing of that. Lark didn’t mind admitting to being sensitive to the vibes of a place or an item, or even a person, but she preferred to keep to herself, or at least play down, the fact that “spirits” seemed to fly at her as soon as she entered a room. It was as if they’d sensed she was tuned into them. Though she was comfortable with her sixth sense in the main, this was the part of it she wasn’t so keen on, and she’d done all she could to shut out the scrabbling voices. She’d found them distracting, and because she hadn’t found a way to be selective with the spirits she could hear and filterout those that were unfriendly or had a sinister edge, it hadn’t always been a pleasant experience. Her gentle, sensitive nature had been at odds with the hostility of some of the voices she’d encountered, which was why she’d done all she could to close herself off to them. Unfortunately, recent years had proved it wasn’t the only part of her sixth sense she was keen to turn her back on.
‘You’re right about the cold,’ she continued. ‘It always interferes with me picking up vibes or sensations, but the overwhelming feeling I got was that the cottage had witnessed so much, was keeping so many secrets – and this is going to sound totally bonkers – I had the weirdest notion that the place itself didn’t want to share any of them. I’ve never experienced that before. It wasn’t abadfeeling, I didn’t pick up on any negative energy per se, though I did detect the presence of several spirits – for want of a better description – but overall, I just got a sense of—’ She sighed, her eyes roving the room as she searched for the right word. Nate, her parents and her group of best friends were the only people Lark was comfortable speaking freely like this with. ‘I got a sense that you were better off not knowing what the house was hiding. My head started reeling with it all as soon as I began to thaw out here, actually.’ In fact, the feelings it had stirred inside her were still crowding into her mind and pushing their way to the forefront of her thoughts, desperate to be heard.
‘Blimey,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘You sensed all that?’
‘Yep, I did.’ As she met Nate’s gaze, she was suddenly conscious that what she’d picked up at the house wasn’t the only thing making itself known to her. Her brow crumpled as an unwelcome sensation started to creep in. In the next moment, a pulse of alarm shot through her, making her heart jolt. ‘Ohh!’ Startled, she dropped her spoon and it fell to the table with a clatter. Her eyes darted away from Nate as she hurriedly tried to marshal her thoughts. She fought against the squeeze of anxietyin her chest and the notion that whatever was causing it was somehow connected to Nate.Oh, my God! No! Please, not this!
She swallowed and quickly composed herself before pushing her mouth into a smile; she didn’t want to arouse his suspicions, especially if her change in demeanour had something to do with him. She’d give it more thought later when she was on her own and had time to give whatever it was her full attention. She hoped she was mistaken, that the horrible feeling of foreboding was simply linked to Crayke’s Cottage. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. After the last time, it didn’t take much for her fears to leap to attention and set her emotions swirling. She often found herself wondering if this part of her extra sense would ever go away. And right now, she wished more than ever that it would.
‘You okay?’ asked Nate.
‘Oof! Yes, yes, I’m absolutely fine. Sorry about that.’ She gave a small laugh and shook her head as if shaking the feeling away, regretting that she’d caused him concern. ‘It’ll be because the cottage has been locked up for so long; the atmosphere will have been building, kind of like a pressure cooker, hence all the powerful feelings. Like I said, it’s all a bit bonkers.’ Lark forced what she hoped sounded like a casual tone into her voice, relieved that Nate appeared none the wiser that he was potentially the cause of her sudden strange reaction. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her soup, telling herself she’d overreacted. That the alarm she’d felt was simply down to her being bombarded by so many pent-up forces and spirits at Crayke’s Cottage.You’ve been overloaded by the place’s energy, that’s all. It’s completely understandable.
Lark was relieved to find her internal pep talk had the desired result and she felt her heart rate begin to settle.
‘It’s not bonkers. I kind of know what you mean, but it was that cold there, my brain was too frozen to work out whetherI couldn’t wait to leave because I was so nithered, or because summat orsomethingdidn’t want us there.’ Nate rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘S’pose it might explain why Bear didn’t seem too keen to hang around.’ He smiled, giving an amused hitch of his eyebrows.
Lark laughed, recalling how their friend, who’d offered to help transport the contents, had lingered outside the cottage despite the biting wind and icy sleet, only venturing over the threshold when he was needed to give them a hand lifting something heavy or awkward. ‘Yeah, he was definitely in a bit of a hurry to get done. Like me, he’s Micklewick Bay born and bred, so I daresay he’ll have heard the rumours about it being haunted and wasn’t too eager to find out if they were true. He’s such a big softy,’ she said fondly.
Bear Marsay was married to Maggie, who was one of Lark’s best friends, and was a familiar sight around Micklewick Bay. Though his height and broad shoulders, not to mention his dark bushy beard and wild, chin-length mop of hair, lent him a decidedly Viking air, it belied the gentle-natured man who wouldn’t hurt a fly that lurked beneath. He worked part-time for his parents at Clifftop Farm as well as being a local odd job man whose services were always much in demand. And when Bear had offered to give a hand helping shift furniture from Crayke’s Cottage to Nate’s van, Nate had bitten his hand off. The historic roads in Old Micklewick were too narrow to allow vehicular access and meant he’d have to park his van a good distance away from the property. Lugging heavy bits of furniture wouldn’t be an easy task, particularly with the uneven, icy cobbles to negotiate. But, with Bear’s help, they’d made short work of it, especially since their friend had been so eager to get it over and done with!
‘Anyroad, at least we got most of the stuff out before the snow started coming down too heavily.’ Nate blew on his spoon,sending ripples over the soup. ‘This is delicious, by the way, it’s warmed me right through.’
‘Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think we’d never thaw out.’ Lark smiled over at him, relieved to find the unsettling feeling had leached away, leaving just a faint shadow lingering in the background. ‘I’m happy to help shift the rest of the stuff with you, by the way, especially if Mr Thurston’s in a hurry to get the cottage emptied.’
‘Thanks, I’ll probably take you up on that. Might be a good idea to tackle it first thing tomorrow before the snow gets any worse.’
‘True. I can give you a hand before I open the shop.’ Lark’s Vintage Bazaar didn’t open its doors until ten a.m., though Lark very much doubted she’d have many customers with the weather being the way it was. Folk tended not to venture into town when it was snowing, though she’d recently seen an increase in footfall with people looking for something unique to wear for their office Christmas parties.
‘Thanks, Lark. And since it’s just small stuff that’s left, I won’t trouble Bear – and not just cos he thinks the place is haunted,’ Nate said with a chuckle. ‘He was telling me he’s got a busy few weeks with customers wanting things doing before Christmas; last-minute rush kind of thing.’
‘Yeah, Maggie was saying he’s been working late most nights, trying to get jobs finished.’
‘Which makes it really decent of him to help shift the stuff from the cottage. I told him I owe him a couple of pints at the Jolly.’
