The Ghost Garden Page 2

  By the time they reached the edge of the lawn, Fran was sweating and breathing hard. Her arm muscles burned from the effort of pushing. Thankfully, the bath-chair wheels ran more smoothly out on the main drive. Fran moved faster.

  “Is your leg getting better?” she asked Leo. Talking to the back of his head felt easier than speaking to his face, somehow.

  “Bearable,” he replied. “It’s the boredom that’s worse – being stuck in this stupid chair all the time.”

  “Do you read books?” Fran said. If she had a broken leg, she’d do nothing but read for weeks on end.

  “Newspapers,” Leo told her. “When I can get my hands on them.”

  Fran frowned. “Oh.”

  “And my two stupid siblings who are meant to be looking after me are about as much help as—”

  “Two left feet?” Fran offered.

  Leo turned around to face her, looking confused.

  “Never mind,” Fran muttered, feeling awkward again.

  She was glad when the trees thinned and the handsome grey-stone front of Longbarrow House came into view.

  “I’ll fetch your grandmother,” Fran said, leaving the chair at the bottom of the front steps.

  “Brake!” Leo reminded her.

  Scowling, Fran kicked the lever downwards.

  She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to go to the staff entrance at the back of the house like she usually did or knock on the main door. Before she had decided, the front doors flew open.

  “There you are, Leo!” Mrs Walker cried, rushing down the steps. “Where on earth have you been? I was about to send out a search party!”

  Even in a panic, Mrs Walker still managed to look flawless. Today she was wearing a blue-striped day dress with buttons all down one side. Fran had seen a similar outfit in the fashion magazines Millie read.

  “Blame Evan and Jessie,” Leo replied.

  “They left him, Mrs Walker,” Fran explained. “By himself on the lawn.”

  Mrs Walker rolled her eyes. “Whatever are we to do with them? Those children are impossible!”

  A couple of housemaids appeared to help Leo out of the chair and back inside. Fran remembered the errand she still had to do and turned to go, but Mrs Walker called her back.

  “Thank you for bringing Leo home, my dear,” she said.

  “I only did what anyone would’ve done,” Fran insisted.

  “Though not his own siblings, clearly.” Mrs Walker sighed wearily. “I was foolish to think the twins could be trusted to look after him properly. I wonder, might you do it instead?”

  “Me?” Fran gulped in surprise.

  “There are very few people Leo lets push him in that chair, believe me,” Mrs Walker confided. “He doesn’t make new friends readily, but I can see he’s already quite at ease with you. And the poor mite is going out of his mind with boredom.”

  “He did mention that,” Fran admitted.

  “You could explore the place while the good weather holds. It’d be far more fun than him recovering indoors, don’t you think?” Mrs Walker added.

  “So you’d like me to look after Leo?” Fran repeated. The thought of spending every afternoon with Leo Walker made her feel confused. She could think of a hundred excuses why she couldn’t do it – she would be busy helping her father, her mother. She didn’t much like other children. And glancing at the empty bath chair – with its two big side wheels and a smaller one at the front – Fran knew what a devil it was to push.

  “I don’t think so—” Fran began to say.

  Mrs Walker interrupted, “I’m counting on you, my dear, to take Leo’s mind off things. Stop him terrifying his poor siblings with his talk of war.”

  She said it gently but firmly, so Fran knew she didn’t really have a choice.

  “I think the gardens might make a nice change for Leo from the political situation in Europe, don’t you?” Mrs Walker added.

  Fran, who knew far more about gardens than politics, supposed she was right.

  Chapter 4

  The next afternoon, Fran found herself staring at the back of Leo Walker’s head once again.

  “Be back for tea at four,” Mrs Walker said to them, tapping her wristwatch. She was very punctual about mealtimes.

  Fran grimaced: four o’clock was two hours away – two long, awkward hours looking after a boy she had nothing in common with.

  “Where would you like to go?” Fran asked Leo, trying to sound more eager than she felt.

  The gardens stretched out in all directions – acres of lawn, flowerbeds, ornamental box hedges, cedar trees. Further still to the north was a beech grove and beyond that a meadow. There was so much to explore here at Longbarrow, Fran hardly knew where to start.

  “I don’t really mind,” Leo said. He seemed as uncomfortable as Fran was with his grandmother’s plan and kept fidgeting with his jacket sleeves.

  “Let’s look at the roses,” Fran decided. The muscles in her arms were still sore from yesterday, and there were some lovely rose beds just behind the house, which wasn’t far.

  “I’m not really interested in gardens,” Leo admitted.

  “What are you interested in, then?” Fran asked, but right away wished she hadn’t. Mrs Walker had warned her to keep Leo off the subject of the news.

  “The name of this house for a start,” Leo said. “You know what a long barrow is, don’t you?”

  “Like a wheelbarrow, only longer?” Fran suggested.

  She was grateful that Leo didn’t laugh.

  “It’s an ancient burial site,” he replied. “For warriors or people of high status. Grandmother claims the house got its name from the local river, but I’m not so certain.”

  “Because that’s called the River Barrow, not Long Barrow?” Fran guessed.

  “Partly. And this place, these grounds – they feel very old, don’t you think?”

  Fran knew what Leo meant: the gardens did feel strange sometimes, especially at dusk, when everything seemed to hold its breath. But surely her father would have mentioned a burial site if there was one here – he knew the estate inside out.

  “We should look for it,” Leo decided, sounding excited. “It’ll be far more fun than staring at flowers.”

  Fran’s mind spun back to the broken bone. Perhaps there were bodies lying underneath the neat rows of potatoes her father had planted. She shuddered.

  “I don’t think we should,” Fran warned. “Not if there are dead bodies.”

  “You won’t be able to see any skeletons,” Leo assured her. “It’ll just be a boring old mound covered in grass, I bet you.”

  Fran sighed. Mrs Walker was counting on her to keep Leo busy. And since the gardens weren’t holding his attention, she found herself agreeing to his idea. She had to admit, it did sound intriguing.

  *

  Every afternoon for the next two weeks, Leo and Fran searched for a burial site that might or might not exist. From two o’clock until four, Fran pushed, pulled and dragged Leo and his bath chair around the Longbarrow Estate. It was exhausting work that blistered her hands something awful. Yet it surprised Fran how much she enjoyed herself. Not that she and Leo were friends, exactly. Most of the time they didn’t even speak to each other. But being quiet with another person was different from being quiet on your own, Fran realised.

  They walked across lawns, down cinder paths, through groves of beech trees. They toured the meadows, scoured hedgerows, walked to the boundary walls and back again. They found little parts of the estate Fran had never seen before, but nothing that looked remotely like a burial mound.

  By Thursday afternoon, the weather had turned. The air was still and thick, the sun only dim in a flat grey sky that promised thunder. It was too hot for doing anything. They’d been walking just a few minutes when Fran insisted they stop for a breather in the shade of a huge yew hedge. Sweat was dripping into her eyes. All she could think about was the homemade lemonade that would be waiting for them back at the house.

&n
bsp; Fran had already guessed Leo wasn’t ready to give up yet. He was tracing their route from the past two weeks in an imaginary map across his legs. “We went here,” he explained. “Here. Even all the way up here. So I don’t understand how we’ve not found it.”

  Fran flopped down beside him on the grass. “We’ve tried our best. Ouch!” She sat up again. “Something just hit me!”

  Behind them, a rustling came from the hedge. A giggle. Something small and green whizzed past Fran’s head. A crab apple landed in Leo’s lap.

  “Jessie! Evan!” Leo roared. Forgetting his leg, he leapt up, then fell back into his chair, red faced.

  The giggling got louder. More tiny apples flew from the hedge. Fran scrambled to her feet, and one hit her on the ear.

  “Owww!” she yelped. “That ruddy hurt!”

  Jessie and Evan broke cover. They ran away across the lawn in a whirl of arms and legs and laughter.

  “I’ll be glad when they go back to their school,” Leo muttered.

  “Hmmm,” Fran agreed. But no twins meant no Leo, and she was getting to rather like him being around.

  *

  That night, thunder and lightning kept everyone awake. The next day began cool and wet, with heavy rain making the trees drip and the ground squelch. It was still raining after lunch. There wasn’t much chance they’d be able to search the gardens today, but Fran went over to the house anyway and found Leo in the library.

  “What a waste of an afternoon,” Leo said crossly. “We should be outside searching, not sitting about in here.”

  Privately, Fran was glad of a day off from pushing the wretched bath chair. She was also beginning to doubt Leo’s theory about the burial site.

  “Perhaps the house is named after the river,” Fran suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Leo replied. “There’s an atmosphere in this place, as if something has happened in the past. Can’t you feel it?”

  Fran frowned. “Ghosts, do you mean?”

  “Maybe. Do you believe in ghosts?” Leo asked.

  Fran chewed her lip. She thought of the bone again, and the odd little china doll. The two incidents still worried her, despite nothing more turning up in the garden.

  “Why don’t we play cards till the rain stops?” Fran said, keen to change the subject.

  Reluctantly, Leo agreed. Next, they had to find a pack of cards. Fran pulled out desk drawers and rifled through piles of books, but they weren’t in any of the likely places.

  “Try that box.” Leo directed her to a large oak chest on top of the desk.

  The box wouldn’t open on her first try. On her second attempt Fran noticed a piece of paper stuck in the gap between the desk and the wall. It was dusty, cobwebby, as if it’d been there for a long time.

  “There’s a bit of paper down here,” she told Leo.

  Leo sat forward with interest. “Can you reach it?”

  The space was narrow, but Fran managed to wriggle her hand in. She pulled out a crumpled, yellowed folded piece of paper about the size of a chessboard. The paper fell open as she brushed off the cobwebs.

  It was a map of Longbarrow Estate. Fran recognised some of the names written on it: “Hardy’s Grove”, “the back lane” and “Barrow Cottage”, her home – a small square near the main gates. She passed the map to Leo.

  He took it eagerly, his eyes skittering across the paper.

  “Look!” Leo jabbed his finger at a spot on the map, close to where they’d been yesterday. There was a symbol shaped like a ring of dashes. Beneath it, in tiny old-fashioned writing, were the words “burial chamber”.

  Fran gnawed her lip, uneasy all over again. Just when they were about to give up the search, she’d found the one thing that might help them. It was yet another strange coincidence, she was certain of it. Longbarrow was still playing tricks on her.

  But it was too late to explain the earlier coincidences to Leo now, when Mrs Walker was calling them for tea.

  Chapter 5

  Fran wanted to see the burial chamber as much as Leo did, despite her sense of dread. So, when the rain eased, they agreed to meet later that evening. By the time Fran had washed up the supper things, her parents were already dozing in their chairs. The clock on the kitchen mantelpiece showed quarter past seven. Fran put a hand on her stomach to calm herself – ten minutes until she had to leave.

  She felt nervous. Excited. Nervous again.

  Unable to sit still, Fran pulled on her shoes and tidied her hair. As she opened the door, her mother called out drowsily, “Don’t go too far, love, it’s a bit dimpsy out there.”

  “I won’t,” Fran replied. “Just need a bit of fresh air.”

  “Meeting a sweetheart are you, eh?” her mother teased.

  Fran felt her face turn beetroot red.

  “I’ve got a headache, that’s all!” Fran cried, and hurried from the house.

  Outside the light was already fading. Rain was forecast again for tomorrow, and the sky was so heavy it almost seemed to press down on the world.

  Fran was still bristling at her mother’s comment as she ran down the path that led to the back of Longbarrow House and the kitchens. It was here that she’d meet Leo – with Millie’s assistance.

  “I’m glad you two are getting along,” Millie had said when Fran asked for her help. Millie wasn’t sure why they had to hide their plan from Mrs Walker, but relented, saying, “If it’ll keep Leo’s nose out of the evening papers, then why not?”

  At the kitchens, Leo was already waiting in the doorway. Millie stood behind him, her arms folded across her chest.

  “You’ve got an hour before Mrs Walker notices you’re gone,” Millie warned before slipping back inside.

  Fran rubbed her hands together. “Are you ready?” she asked Leo.

  “You’re late,” Leo said.

  Fran glanced at his wristwatch. “By a minute.”

  “That’s still late,” Leo answered.

  She was learning that Leo spoke sharply when he was nervous. He didn’t intend to be as rude as he sounded.

  “Well, I’m here now,” Fran told him.

  Leo shook out the map, spreading it across his knees. Fran tried to read the lines and squiggles, the names written sideways, but she couldn’t get her bearings.

  “Show me where the big house is,” Fran demanded.

  Leo pointed to Longbarrow House, drawn as a T shape. The long stalk part was the rear of the house, which backed onto the courtyard in front of them.

  “And the burial site?” Fran asked.

  Leo’s finger landed higher up the paper. “Here.”

  *

  After a brisk five-minute walk, they were back at the yew hedge where they’d been the day before. It looked different in the gloomy light – strange and unsettling.

  “It’s that way,” Leo said, and pointed beyond the hedge to where the path narrowed. “Another five or so minutes, I think, and we should find it.”

  They set off again. Fran felt tense. For once she was glad to be pushing the chair, because it gave her something to focus on. But after five, then ten minutes of walking, she was beginning to think they were lost, when they took a sudden right turn. It brought them out on the cinder path that ran alongside the wall surrounding the kitchen gardens. Fran began to get her bearings again. But when the wall ended, the path took them on through a stretch of land she didn’t recognise. These past couple of weeks they’d searched the gardens from top to bottom, but she’d never seen this part before. She stopped, confused.

  “How did we miss finding this?” Fran asked.

  “I don’t know,” Leo admitted. “It’s like it’s just appeared. As if by magic or something.”

  Fran shivered.

  “Maybe it is magic,” she agreed.

  Leo looked at her. “I was joking, Fran.”

  “I wasn’t,” she muttered under her breath, and started pushing the bath chair again.

  The gardens quickly became open fields. There’d clearly not been m
uch need for gardening out here, since the grass was being grazed by sheep. The land was rougher, with a wild feel to it, as if the countryside was bursting in past the railings.

  “That’s got to be it,” Leo said, pointing to a spot about fifty yards in front of them. Fran’s gaze followed his finger. “There. The grassy mound. Can you see it?”

  She nodded. Swallowed.

  The mound was about halfway across the field. It wasn’t much taller than the dung heap around the back of Mrs Walker’s stable yard. Yet Fran couldn’t take her eyes off it. A tugging sensation seemed to be pulling her straight towards it.

  They set off across the rough grass, with the chair bumping, lurching, tipping dangerously sideways. When they reached the mound, Fran stamped the chair’s brake on, stood back and stared.

  “So this is a burial mound,” she murmured.

  “It’s called a barrow,” Leo corrected her. “Hence the name Longbarrow, as I’ve said all along.”

  “How old is it?” Fran asked, suspecting Leo would know.

  “Looks Anglo-Saxon to me. So, it’s from sometime between the fifth and eleventh centuries, before William the Conqueror got here.”

  Fran nodded. She knew about William the Conqueror because they’d studied the Norman Invasion in school.

  From this angle, the mound looked like nothing more than a bump in the ground. A few loose stones lay scattered at the base. Here and there on its slope were patches where the grass didn’t grow. It was a bit of a disappointment, really. Yet Fran felt oddly alert, as if something was about to happen, though she didn’t know what.

  “There should be a door,” Leo said, seeming frustrated. “A main door for taking the corpses in and a spirit door for their souls to use to escape.”

  Corpses. Spirits.

  Fran’s pulse quickened. Before Leo could say more, she was scrambling up the slope.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Leo cried.

  “To look,” Fran told him.

  At the top of the mound, the view was magnificent. Fran was able to see the whole valley: the village houses with lamps already twinkling at their windows, the wooded slopes beyond and the River Barrow spooling across the middle like a dark thread. It was a view she’d only ever glimpsed from their attic window at home, and Fran could well understand why someone might choose to be buried here.