Crab Tree Hall ( Part Two)

I felt a chill. ‘Annabella? The same name as in the nursery.’

Hilary nodded, her excitement momentarily tempered. ‘It must be. The dates would work out. If she died at ninety-three and the house has been empty since 1987...’

‘She would have been born around 1894,’ I calculated quickly. ‘So she would have been seven around 1901.’

Hilary sat beside me on the bed, the documents spread across her lap. ‘John, do you think we saw—I mean, do you think what you heard on the video...’

‘I don’t know what I heard,’ I admitted. ‘But I had a dream about her last night. A little girl in the garden, and someone calling her in.’

‘Her governess,’ Hilary whispered.

I stared at her. ‘How did you know that?’

She shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘Just a guess. Girls from well-to-do families had governesses back then, didn’t they?’

I sipped my coffee, trying to make sense of it all. ‘So Annabella lived there her entire life. Born there, died there, and never left.’

‘Ninety-three years in the same house,’ Hilary mused. ‘Can you imagine?’

‘And now it’s been empty for over thirty years.’ I frowned. ‘Don’t you find it strange that no one’s bought it in all that time? It’s a beautiful property.’

Hilary flipped through more pages of the deed. ‘It says here there was a stipulation in her will. The house was to remain unoccupied for thirty years after her death before it could be sold.’

‘That’s bizarre. Why would she want that?’

‘Maybe she thought she’d need time to... move on?’ Hilary suggested quietly.

I laughed, but it sounded hollow even in my ears. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting the place is haunted?’

‘I’m just saying what you heard on the video, the rocking horse moving by itself—’

‘There could be logical explanations for all of that,’ I insisted, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself.

‘Of course,’ Hilary agreed too quickly. ‘Anyway, I thought we might drive back out there today, take some measurements for furniture.’

‘You’re really set on this place, aren’t you?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘It’s perfect, John. I’ve never felt so... connected to a house before. It’s like it’s been waiting for us.’

I couldn’t argue with her enthusiasm. And despite the strange occurrences, I had to admit I felt drawn to Crab Tree Hall, too. There was something about it that felt right, as if the house itself had chosen us.

The drive back to Crab Tree Hall was easier in daylight. The potholes seemed less treacherous, the lane less foreboding. The house looked even more enchanting in the full light of day, its honey-coloured stone glowing warmly.

As we approached the front door, key in hand, I noticed Hilary hesitate.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ she blurted. ‘I just... I hope she approves of us.’

‘She? You mean Annabella?’

Hilary nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Silly, I know.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘Not silly at all. If she’s still around, I’m sure she’ll be happy to have company after all these years alone.’

Inside, the house felt different somehow. Less musty, more welcoming. Sunlight streamed through the windows.

We moved methodically through the rooms, taking measurements and making notes. Hilary was in her element, already planning where furniture would go, which walls needed painting, which original features could be enhanced.

I found myself drawn back to the nursery. The rocking horse stood motionless in the corner, innocent in the daylight. I approached it cautiously, running my hand along its worn wooden mane.

‘Hello, Annabella,’ I whispered, feeling slightly foolish. ‘We’re going to take good care of your home, I promise.’

A sudden draft made the door creak. I spun around, half-expecting to see a small girl in a Victorian dress, but the doorway was empty.

‘John?’ Hilary called from downstairs. ‘Come look at this!’

I found her in what must have been the library, a spacious room with built-in bookshelves lining one wall. She was kneeling by the fireplace, examining something.

‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a small door set into the wall beside the hearth. It was barely noticeable, painted the same colour as the surrounding panelling.

‘A priest hole?’ I suggested.

‘Too late for that. This house isn’t old enough.’ She tried the tiny brass handle. ‘It’s locked.’

I knelt beside her. ‘Just access to the chimney for cleaning.’

‘I think it’s too big for that.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘And look at the craftsmanship on the hinges. This was meant to be seen, not hidden.’

I made a note to ask the surveyor about it. ‘Maybe there’s a key somewhere.’

We continued our exploration, but found no key. By late afternoon, we’d measured every room and Hilary had filled several pages with notes and rough sketches.

As we were preparing to leave, I noticed her lingering in the nursery, staring at the rocking horse.

‘I think we should keep this room as a nursery,’ she said quietly.

I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘I thought we’d agreed we would not try again.’

After three miscarriages, we’d accepted that children weren’t in our future. It had been a painful decision, especially for Hilary.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But this room... it wants to be a nursery. I can feel it.’

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, I kissed her and said, ‘Whatever you want, love.’

As we locked up and headed back to the car, I felt an urge to glance back, but saw nothing except the reflection of clouds in the windows.

To be continued.