Cally trotted over to the dog and patted his head. 'You'll catch a cold,' she told Chester, who shuffled his front paws and gave a little whine.
Gabe lifted him gently and stroked the back of his neck. The puling began again but Gabe carried Chester across the threshold and used a foot to nudge the door shut behind them. The trembling dog began to struggle.
'Easy, Chester,' Gabe soothed. 'You gotta get used to the place.'
Chester disagreed. He tried to get free, squirming his wiry body in Gabe's arms, so that Gabe was forced to put him back on the floor. The dog scuttled back to the front door and began to scrabble at it with his paws.
'Hey, quit it.' Gabe pulled him away from the door but did not attempt to pick him up again. Cally and Loren looked on with concern.
'Chester doesn't like it here,' Loren said anxiously.
Eve slipped an arm round her daughter's shoulder. 'It's just a bit strange to him, that's all,' she said. 'You wait, by tonight he'll be treating Crickley Hall like he's lived here all his life.'
Loren looked up at her mother. 'He's afraid of this place,' she announced gravely.
'Oh, Loren, that's nonsense. Chester's always been skittish about new things. He'll soon get used to it.' Eve smiled, but it was forced. Maybe Chester sensed something that she, herself, had sensed the moment she'd set foot inside. The something that had made her shiver a few moments ago.
There was something not quite right about Crickley Hall.
•
The rest of the house was a disappointment. The girls explored with enthusiasm, but Eve followed distractedly when Gabe gave them the full tour. It was as he had said—the other rooms, apart from the drawing room, which was impressive only because of its length (it was once used as a schoolroom according to the estate manager who had first shown Gabe around)—were functional. Certainly the large kitchen fitted that description, with its old-fashioned electric cooker, deep porcelain sinks next to a scarred wooden worktop, plain but deep cupboards, walk-in larder, linoleum floor covering, and the black iron range (a fire had already been laid and Gabe wasted no time in putting a match to it). Gabe had already bought and installed a cheap washing machine and tumble-dryer on his last visit to Hollow Bay, so that was one less problem for them to contend with.
On the first floor there was, as promised, a choice of bedrooms, and she and the girls went along with Gabe's original thought (oddly, Loren did not complain about having to share with Cally and Eve guessed that she, too, was a little intimidated by the very size of Crickley Hall). Although they had not climbed further on this first exploration, their tour guide informed them that the top floor obviously had once been a dormitory: there were still skeletal frames of cotbeds up there, but from the dust that had gathered and the weather-grime on the row of dormer windows along the sloping section of ceiling, the room had not been used for many, many years.
Most of Crickley Hall's furniture was old but not antique and Eve was quietly relieved: children and pet dogs did not go very well with valuable antiquities, so it was another thing less to worry about
Another area that went unexplored for now was the cellar which, according to Gabe, housed the boiler and generator (apparently the region suffered from frequent power cuts and the generator had been brought in to allow certain circuits, such as those running heating and lighting, to operate independently). Oh, and there was one other thing down there that would surprise them, Gabe had hinted, but that could wait until after they'd settled in.
•
They had quickly unloaded from the Range Rover the items they'd brought down with them that day, dashing to and fro in the rain, which had developed into a steady drizzle, careful not to slip on the treacherously wet boards of the bridge, the girls laughing with excitement and shrieking when they splashed through puddles, nobody stopping until every last article had been brought into the house. Then Loren had made her way upstairs loaded down with pillows and bed-sheets (it took three trips) to make up her own and Cally's beds, while Gabe had first attended to the fire in the big hall before checking out the boiler in the cellar.
Chester slept fitfully on his favourite blanket in a corner of the kitchen, lured there and finally quietened with a bribe of chicken nuggets, while Cally painted watery pictures at the worn and scored table set against a wall opposite the working surfaces and two large windows.
Eve took wrapped crockery and kitchen utensils from cardboard boxes, soaking all in one of the two deep sinks filled with hot (so the boiler seems to be working okay) soapy water. The windows over the sinks and worktops overlooked the front lawn and river. She could see the swing from there, the wooden seat shiny with rain hanging from rusty link chains, the bridge across the busy river just beyond, and as she worked, scrubbing at the plates that were already clean, careless about not wearing the as yet unpacked Marigold gloves (a year ago it would have been impossible even to contemplate dipping her bare hands into hot soapy water), thoughts—the bad thoughts—came tumbling in.
It was the image of the swing gently stirring under the weary, almost leafless, oak that pierced the fragile membranes of her emotions. Cameron, just five years old, like Cally now, had loved the brightly coloured swings of their local park.
Her shoulders hunched over the sink, her hands locked beneath the water. Her head was bowed. A single teardrop fell and caused a tiny ripple on the water's surface. Cam, her beautiful little boy with bright straw-coloured hair several shades lighter than his father's but with the same stunningly blue eyes. She stiffened. She must stop. She couldn't let the grief overwhelm her yet again. She hadn't wept in front of her family for two months now and today, on this new beginning, she must not weaken. Only strong sedatives and responsibility towards the rest of her family—she could not let them down too—had forestalled a complete collapse, although breakdown had threatened repeatedly. Unconditional love from Gabe, Loren and Cally had pulled her through the worst of her misery—at least outwardly it had. How she wished she could be self-contained like Gabe, could keep the grief deep within. Not once throughout their ordeal had she witnessed him shed a tear, although there were times she knew he was close to it; but then, she also knew that his strength was for her and their daughters, that he had withdrawn into himself so that he could help his family bear the pain. Yes, he was strong; but then, unlike her, he was blameless…
A shadow fell across the light. Something moved in the water's reflection.
Startled, she looked up, mouth open in surprise.
Something dark in the rain outside. A hooded shape. Eyes hidden in shadow, but watching her through the window.
With a small frightened cry, Eve took a step backwards.
3: GABE CALEIGH
Gabe shone the flashlight at the generator, checking the fuel dial. Quarter-full, it told him. He pressed the autostart switch but only received a wheezy retch from the engine.
The damp smell of dust and must almost clogged his nostrils as he studied the machine before him, which was lit by the dim lightbulb overhead and the beam of his own flashlight. He was only giving the generator a preliminary once-over to ascertain what work would be necessary to have it running smoothly. The battery was a little flat, but Gabe didn't think that was the main problem. Maybe the juice had gone stale if the gen had been standing idle over a long period of time; the agent had told him that Gabe and his family would be the first tenants of Crickley Hall for ten years or so. Power cuts were frequent in these parts, the estate manager had informed him, and the generator was supposed to kick in when the main electricity failed. Probably the spark plugs need cleaning also, Gabe mused as he squatted there in the darkness of the basement room, which was next door to much larger main cellar. Have to check the fuel filter too—probably full of gunge if it hadn't been cleaned for a while. The machine had a thick layer of dust all over, unlike the boiler that fired up happily beside it, which meant the gen had been neglected for some time.