The Good Sisters. Helen Phifer

found a narrow, overgrown path that led to a stream, which was bubbling away with the recent rainfall. There were some stepping stones across the stream that were covered in green moss. She had no idea how she’d known this, she just had. As she cautiously stepped onto the first one, she expected her feet to go from under her and land arse first in the freezing-cold water, but she managed to keep her footing. Only four more to go.

      She stepped onto the next, then the next until she reached the other side and jumped the last bit. Landing on the slippery banking, she almost fell. After windmilling her arms, she managed to catch her balance and let out a sigh of relief. This side of the river was much darker than the open ground she’d just crossed. There were lots of trees and she could just make out where the narrow path continued. Having no idea where it led – but now intrigued – she followed it, enjoying the silence of the woods around her.

      Whoever had lived in the house must have used this path quite a lot. After ten minutes she saw a clearing in the trees and the tall spire of St Mark’s church came into view. She carried on walking and smiled to see the clearing open onto a worn, wooden gate. It was like the book she’d read when she was a girl: The Secret Garden. The gate didn’t look as if it had been used in a long time. The black, cast-iron latch was rusty. Still, Kate had to try. She needed to know where it led. She felt as if she’d been brought here or even as if she’d been here before – a very long time ago.

      After jiggling it around, it gave enough so that she could lift it. The gate was stiff, swollen with years of rainwater, and she had to tug it with both hands. It opened a tiny bit – just enough for her to get both hands through the gap. She wrapped them around it and pulled as hard as she could. It didn’t open all the way, but it opened just enough for her slender figure to squeeze through. As she did, she turned around and was surprised to see she was in the vegetable garden of another large house. A long overgrown, neglected vegetable garden. It looked as if the current owner didn’t have a lot of time or love for tending his garden.

      This house was almost as big as the one she lived in. It had the same Gothic, arched, tall windows and was built of the same red brick. Whoever had built her house had also built this one. She felt a cold shiver run down the length of her spine and wondered if she should even be here. Was she trespassing? Probably, but she wanted to go and ask the owner if they knew about the house and its history. There was obviously some kind of connection between them.

      Taking the least overgrown route to the house, she fought her way through the dense blackberry and gooseberry bushes. Their sharp thorns snagged her jacket and caught the soft skin on her hands more than once. By the time she’d reached the back door of the house she was out of breath and itchy. She didn’t dare to knock on the back door – that seemed so rude – but she couldn’t see a way to get to the front door.

      There was a padlock on the gate and she wasn’t about to start climbing over the garden wall. Someone might call the police and think she was a burglar. That was all she needed. Martin would have a field day. She’d come this far. It seemed stupid not to at least give it a knock and speak to whoever owned it. She walked up the three steps and banged on the back door twice, then she stepped away. It didn’t seem as if there was anyone in. She couldn’t hear any noise and the curtains were drawn.

      Kate was ashamed to say that she didn’t even know who any of the locals were. They changed almost as often as Martin changed his girlfriends. She lifted her hand to knock again when the key turned in the lock and an extremely good-looking young man opened the door. His expression was one of mild confusion as to how someone was knocking on the back door when the gate was clearly padlocked.

      ‘Can I help you?’

      ‘I’m really sorry to be so rude. I wondered if I could speak with the owner. Is he in?’

      ‘He is. Why don’t you come inside? Can I ask you, though, how on earth you got here?’

      Kate felt her cheeks begin to burn. Answer that without sounding like a complete weirdo, you idiot.

      ‘I erm, I followed a path from my house through the woods and it led to the gate at the very back of the garden.’

      ‘Is there a gate out there? I never even knew that. The day I moved in I took one look at that garden and walked straight back inside the house. Gardening has never been my thing. I much prefer playing Call of Duty when I get a minute. Terrible, I know, and not very healthy, but we all have our vices.’

      He started laughing and Kate joined in.

      ‘Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself. I was so shocked to hear someone banging on the back door I thought I was hearing things. Tell me, did you fight your way through all those brambles? That must have taken some doing.’

      ‘I did and I’m sorry. I bet you think I’m a right weirdo but honestly, I’m not. I’m Kate Parker and I live in the big old house on the other side of the woods.’

      She held out her hand, which he took and shook firmly.

      ‘I’m Father Joseph, but you can call me Joe. I don’t really do all the formalities unless I have to. It’s nice to meet you, Kate from the other side of the woods. Now what can I do for you, because there must be some reason you decided to break and enter into the jungle of my back garden?’

      Mortified to realise the man was a vicar, Kate was about to splutter an apology when he laughed again.

      ‘Gotcha, I don’t care. If you’re brave enough to enter the back of beyond there must be a good reason.’

      ‘I just wanted to know if anyone knew the history of that house I’ve bought? It looks very similar to this one, only bigger. I’m in the process of renovating it. I’m turning it into a bed and breakfast, but there have been a couple of strange incidents and it just made me wonder who lived there before. Well, I know it was empty for at least twenty years and I know it was a convent in the 1930s, but I don’t know anything else.’

      ‘Ah I think I know the place you’re talking about, although I’ve never seen it myself. I’ve only been living in the vicarage three months and I’m still getting my bearings. It’s a shame Father Anthony wasn’t here; he would know. He was the parish priest here for a very long time – over thirty years. Would you believe that he took over from Father Patrick – who was here even longer? I’m sure Father Anthony would know all about your house, but he’s not been very well. He’s in the retirement home.’

      ‘Oh, that’s a shame, bless him.’

      ‘If you like I can make some enquiries. I’m going to visit him tomorrow. If he’s well enough I’ll ask him if there’s anyone you can talk to. Have you tried the records office at the library?’

      ‘No, not yet and that would be brilliant, thank you. I’ll go into town when I have a minute. I’m up to my neck in renovations. The builders are knocking the house to bits.’

      ‘Ah I see. When you say strange things have happened, what exactly do you mean?’

      Kate didn’t want to say that she thought someone who smelt of old leather, burning flesh and garlic was in her house, and that they were possibly putting up crosses on her freshly painted walls like they were going out of fashion, in case he thought she was completely off her head. She wanted to tell him something, however. He had the kind of face that made you want to confess your sins without setting foot inside a church.

      ‘Earlier on I thought I heard my friend calling my name when there was only me in the house, only she died three months ago. When I’m on my own at night, after the builders have gone, I hear footsteps on the floor above me, but whenever I go and check there’s no one there.’ She stared at him, waiting to see if he would start to laugh at her, thinking she was mad. He nodded his head.

      ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

      ‘Yes, please.’

      ‘Sit down. I’ll make us a strong pot of tea and then we’ll talk.’

      She sat down on the hard wooden chair and watched as he poured boiling