Haunting Grace (3 page)

The glass slipped from her hand, shattering as it hit the surface of the table. She jumped up as the cold wine flowed onto the denim of her jeans. Panicked she cast her head towards the bar but the man from the portrait had vanished.

The orange glow of the street lights illuminated the city as she made the short walk from Stonegate back to the hotel. She bustled her way through a group of tourists following a costumed ghost guide and wondered what inspired anyone to believe in ghosts.

Then again, she mused to herself, I’ve been seeing ghosts all day. But I think I might be going slightly mad. Perhaps, Jack was right all along. I do need help.

Grace entered the small reception area of the hotel and noticed the outline of the elderly owner’s face from behind a copy of the book ‘Bushfire’.

“Hi,” she called, making her way towards the desk. The old man lowered the book.

“A good day, Mrs Evans?”

Grace nodded, “Yes, thank you, and you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I noticed you have a copy of ‘Bushfire’,” she said, looking for a convenient way to strike up a conversation with the man. “I’m a bit of a sucker for a good crime thriller. Only don’t tell anyone or you’ll destroy my carefully honed reputation as a romantic dreamer,” Grace said with a smile.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mrs Evans.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m in room twenty three. There is a portrait on the wall. I was just wondering if you had any idea whose portrait it is?”

“That will be Robert Hamilton.”

“Who was Robert Hamilton?”

“Well he used to own this here establishment back in the sixteen hundreds. He was a Cavalier and a loyal supporter of the Stuarts. After the restoration he was given a handsome pension and retired. He settled here in York and bought a post house off Stonegate and this here inn.”

“A post house off Stonegate?”

“Oh yes, it’s still a pub, you know? Worth a pint or two - has a nice crowd most nights.”

“I think I may already have had the pleasure.”

“Are you alright, Mrs Evans? You look a bit pale.”

“Yes, I don’t feel too well. I think I will just head up to my room.”

Grace sat on the end of her bed, staring at the face of Robert Hamilton. She felt his eyes watching her, searching her for answers.

“You’re dead, gone, do you hear me,” she shouted at the picture.

His brow was arched, just as it had been in the pub. Questions screamed from his face. His wide jaw appeared to tense and a muscle to the side of his high cheekbone twitched.

Grace covered her face with the palms of her hands and sighed deeply to calm her rising panic. She had to be losing her mind. This just couldn’t be happening, not now, surely not!

In sleep she heard the echo of his voice whispering her name. Slowly it drew nearer and louder, until she knew for sure it was him. He stood facing her, legs slightly apart and arms loose by his side. His dark eyes shone in the light of the fire.

“Dear God but you are beautiful,” he said.

She stared at him, her eyes fixed on the broad expanse of his chest as he moved slowly towards her.

“Come here,” he said as his hands encircled her waist.

She felt the muscles in his arms ripple against her as she relaxed in his embrace. Her head relaxed heavily against his chest. The crackle of a fire was the only sound save for the racing of his heart against her ears.

Her mind swirled with a mixture of realities as she awoke and lay motionless in the bed. She stared up at the beamed ceiling. Had she noticed it before? She couldn’t be certain but it had been there in her dream, the same beams, only lighter. The ceiling had been wooden too, but now it was covered with plasterboard and only the edges of the beams were visible. She moved her head to the side and looked at the walls. They were smoothly plastered, but in her dream they had been uneven, rough and whitewashed. The carpeted floor hadn’t been there either. Just the bare boards with sweet smelling straw and lavender scattered over them. The glass of the windows was thick and blurred, not the crystal clear it was now. There had been a large curve topped chest, a fireplace and above the fireplace hung the portrait. Her stomach cramped and a ghostly chill ran down her spine as she tried to make sense of it all.

Grace swung herself out of bed and ran to the desk, tapping furiously on the wall behind it. A hollow sound told her she had found what she was looking for. The fireplace in her dream was now covered over with plaster board. Clutching the edge of the desk she met the eyes of Robert Hamilton.

“Whoever you are and whatever is going on, it’s not funny. Do you hear me, this is not funny at all and I want it to stop.”

Grace once again beat Kate to the door of their office. She had not wanted to hang around in the hotel room, so had followed her routine from the day before; McDonalds for coffee and a half eaten bacon roll, followed by a leisurely stroll through the quiet city streets to work.

“Morning, Grace. So glad you came back. I was worried you might not after I left you in such a hurry yesterday. Sorry about that, slightly panicked by deadlines. Come on; let’s get this door open and the kettle on. I’m freezing.”

Grace followed her chatty boss into the warmth of the office and headed for her desk, first checking the polished surface for obscure reflections before opening the laptop.

“Grace your contract is on my desk. Do you want to fill it in whilst I make us a coffee.”

“Ok, thanks, Kate, will do.”

The questions were relatively straight forward. Having typed up a good dozen of them the day before, Grace had the contract completed and signed before Kate reappeared with the coffee.

“All done, Kate,” Grace said taking the cup from her boss.

Kate lifted the document off the desk and smiled.

“That was quick.”

“There is a mountain of these things still to type,” she said, nodding in the direction of a neat pile of forms on the edge of the desk.

“No problem, I’ll get on them right away,” replied Grace, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn.

“Bad night?”

“Sorry. I’m not sleeping too well. It’s just being in a new bed. Takes a bit of adjusting to.”

“Where are you staying?” she asked glancing down at the contract. “Oh my God, Grace, you are never staying there? That place is haunted to hell and back. No wonder you aren’t sleeping. Have you seen him yet then?”

“Seen who?” asked Grace, feigning ignorance.

“The ghost!  Robert Hamilton. He used to own the place sometime back in the days of Charles II. Didn’t marry till he was in his forties. They say he haunts the house looking for his wife. Tell me you aren’t in room twenty three?”

“Well, actually I am.”

“Oh, you’ll never get a moments peace in there. That was his room, you know, his and his wife’s. It’s the most haunted room in the whole house.”

“He must have loved his wife very much then?” Grace replied hoping to extract as much information from Kate as she could.

“Hell yeah! He fought for the Charles I, and then he followed the Prince to the continent. Lived like a pauper for years but still he remained loyal to the Stuarts. He met a woman here in York and fell hopelessly in love with her. It’s such a romantic tale.

“Actually that desk you are sitting at now was his. Cost me an arm and a leg to buy but the story behind it was just so beautiful I couldn’t resist. His wife was an academic, a bit of an odd sort, but Robert had that desk made for her so that she had somewhere to read and write. It turned up in the cellar of the hotel you are staying at. The current owners found a letter to a local carpenter commissioning the work. In it Robert stated it was to be of the finest quality with exact dimensions to ensure the absolute comfort of his dearest wife. I used it myself for a while but it just didn’t suit me. Too low, it gave me back ache.”

Grace felt the panic rising inside her as her boss talked, seemingly without taking a breath.

“Kate, what happened to Robert and his wife?”

“Well as far as I can make out they disappeared for a good many years, but they are both buried here in York.”

“Did they have any children?”

“Not so far as anyone seems to know. I think his wife was a bit past it when they married. She wasn’t a young bride, but then he wasn’t a fledgling himself. The story goes that she was a widow but there don’t seem to be any records of her, so perhaps she wasn’t from York.”

“So how come you know so much about this man?” Grace asked.

“Because since I started this business he has done nothing but haunt me.”

“Haunt you? Are you serious?”

“Yes, of course I’m damn serious. He hangs around this office like a love sick puppy. It’s like he’s watching the place, day in and day out. He stands where you are now, by that bloody desk, just staring at it. I would get shot of the thing if it hadn’t cost me so much money. I’ve tried to find a buyer for it but no one is prepared to pay the price.

“So you believe in ghosts then?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well no, not really. But I guess there is something odd about all this. Why do you think he keeps coming here?”

“I don’t have the foggiest. It’s like he can’t let go of the damn desk. I just wish someone would take it off my hands, but I can’t afford to lose the money on it. Tell you what, Grace, you should go and have a word with the landlord of the pub off Stonegate. Hear what he has to say and then see if you still don’t believe in ghosts.”

Grace couldn’t face the pub that night. All she really wanted to do was go back to the hotel and sleep. Unwrapping the sandwich she had bought from a bakery she sank heavily onto the mattress of her bed and looked up at the portrait.

“Right, Mr Hamilton, I now know that I am not the only one you torment. Pray tell me dear sir what it is you want because tonight I intend to sleep.”

The portrait didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected it to, only it had felt good to acknowledge out loud that she wasn’t deranged. At least she figured that if she was, then a number of other people probably were too. It wasn’t that she had totally come to terms with the idea of being haunted. It was more like she had accepted that whatever was going on was happening to other people as well. She wondered if there was any point in changing hotels or asking to be moved to another room. It was an option she had considered but somehow she wasn’t frightened anymore and besides which she was growing rather fond of the face in the picture.

Having showered and climbed into bed, Grace attempted to read a few lines of her book. An historical romance, called ‘Forever Amber’. She had fallen absolutely and utterly in love with the main characters. A dreamer by nature, Grace read to escape the harsh reality that had been her life with Jack. In books she could be whoever she wanted to be and go wherever she wanted to go. Fantasy, romance, thriller, it didn’t much matter as long as it took her away from Jack. Her eyes shut and the book fell softly onto the bed.