The Skeleton Tree by Diane Janes (reading women TXT) 📕

‘he could be a right old scrounger, Grandad. I remember he thought that Dora’s family should have given me something. A reward for coming forward. They didn’t, though. Not that I expected anything, but Grandad said they should have done. Them not being short of a bob or two and our mam at home with three bairns and the breadwinner away fighting for his country and all. Mind, he said he didn’t envy them their luck, losing a daughter like that. Unlucky house, Grandad said it was. And it was funny, when you think about it. Two murders in the one house.’

‘Two murders?’ Joan looked up from her bag, interest abruptly rekindled.

Wendy stared at Peggy but said nothing.

‘Two murders?’ Joan repeated. ‘Are you sure? At The Ashes, where the Duncan family used to live?’

‘The Ashes … Aye, that was the name of the place.’ Peggy nodded to herself.

The cat had slipped out from behind the chair and began clawing the upholstery.

‘Stop it, you naughty girl!’ Peggy batted the cat away. ‘I thought you’d know about that already,’ she said. ‘Seeing as how you’re looking into the history of the village and all.’

‘No,’ Joan said. ‘You’re the first person who’s mentioned it.’

‘Well, me grandad told me, so it must have been fairly common knowledge.’ Peggy regarded them doubtfully, like a child who is starting to question stories about Santa Claus.

‘We haven’t long begun our research.’ Joan was fishing in her bag for the notebook as she spoke. ‘Do tell us what your grandfather told you about this other murder.’

‘It was years before that Dora Duncan. Grandad didn’t tell me too much. It was our mam, you see. She didn’t like him telling us anything like that. Grandad reckoned everybody knew that house was unlucky. The people what owned it before the Duncans lost their son – or was it their grandson? – in the first war. Grandad used to say that the old chap what owned the house died of a broken heart after that. Just shows that money doesn’t bring happiness, I suppose. Not but what a bit extra wouldn’t go amiss now and then.’ Peggy chuckled again.

‘But the other murder …’ Joan prompted.

‘It must have happened a long time ago. Grandad was only a little lad, I reckon.’

‘But who was murdered? Did they catch anyone?’ Joan persisted.

‘It was something to do with a young girl. I think she had a tiff with her fancy fella and did him in, in a fit of temper. All the bairns round about used to say the place was haunted. Not that any of us was ever inside there. Them Duncans kept to their own sort. They went to boarding schools and didn’t mix with the likes of us, not even in the school holidays. I suppose it was the ghost of the fella what was murdered. There’s probably two ghosts in there now, keeping each other company.’ Peggy’s bosom heaved in time with another chuckle. ‘Me grandad had heard some tale about that Dora getting in wrong with her mother for hanging about with a lad from the village. “Her folks wouldn’t have liked that,” he said to me. “Thought they were too good for the likes of us.” But it were just gossip. I don’t suppose there was anything in it.’ Peggy laughed again.

Wendy joined in nervously. She wondered what Peggy would say if she discovered that the present owner of The Ashes was sitting barely a yard from her.

Joan attempted a few more questions, but it soon became clear that while Peggy would have been more than happy to devote the whole afternoon to sharing recollections of her childhood and her grandfather, she could add nothing more about past events at The Ashes.

‘Well,’ Joan said, when they were back in the car and Peggy had waved them on their way. ‘What did you make of all that?’

‘It’s incredible. We’ve got to get to the bottom of it. You don’t suppose she was making it up … or had got the wrong house?’

‘I don’t think she was making it up. Of course, her grandfather might have been romancing. You know how some men do love to tease children with tall stories. And I suppose he might have mistaken the house, although she said he’d lived in the village all his life and actually remembered it happening.’

‘She said he was getting on a bit. Old people sometimes get very confused.’

‘One thing’s for sure. Ronnie’s story must have come from the local children – though goodness knows how he got hold of it. As she said, they didn’t really mix with the village children. But it can’t be a coincidence because it fits so neatly with what Peggy told us … except that in Ronnie’s story it was a young girl who was doing the haunting and in Peggy’s version it’s supposed to be the murdered boyfriend. I say, Wendy, it’s jolly lucky you’re not the nervous type.’

‘There’s nothing to hurt me at The Ashes. I don’t believe I’ve ever known such a welcoming house.’ It was true that the house had seen more than its share of tragedy, but every run of bad luck had to end sometime.

‘Well, there we are.’ Joan nodded approvingly. ‘Nothing hysterical or imaginative about you. Or indeed Aunt Elaine. I shouldn’t mention it to any prospective new owners, though. Not everyone’s as sensible or down to earth as you are.’

‘These ghost stories can’t still be current,’ Wendy said. ‘My kids have all been to school in Bishop Barnard and they’ve never mentioned them.’ She pushed aside the recollection of Jamie’s talk of footsteps in the attic. A few creaking boards – that was all it was.

‘I suppose a lot of local people have moved away since the war and the stories have died out,’ Joan said. ‘People are far more mobile these days. It’s not like the pre-war generation, where all the agricultural labourers had lived in the same parishes since Domesday. It’s also a very long