An Introduction to the Pink Collection. Barbara Cartland

news is getting around the village that you’re here,” she told him. “They’re afraid you’ll be scared off by the ghost. I said that was nonsense because of course there was no ghost.”

      “Shame on you!” he said at once. “What is an ancestral home without a ghost. I think it very unkind of you, Miss Colwell, that you should attempt to deprive me of my birth right in this way.”

      His droll manner caught her off guard, and she had to peer at him to make sure how to take his words. The gleam of amusement in his eyes was shocking, she decided. But very delightful.

      An answering mirth growing inside herself made her say,

      “Forgive me, sir. I had forgotten that among every nobleman’s patents of nobility a ghost is essential. However I fear that you may find The Grange’s extensive choice a little too much to cope with. There’s the Floating Lady, the Wailing Lady Anne, the Headless Horseman – or is it the Headless Horse? Well, I expect it amounts to the same.”

      “You don’t mean I might meet them all at once?” he asked in alarm. “I mean, one Headless Horseman plus one Floating Lady, a man can cope with, but the rest – have a heart ma’am.”

      She fixed him with a baleful eye. “Would you be afraid?”

      “Absolutely terrified.”

      They laughed together.

      “As soon as I’ve washed the dishes I’ll lay the fire in your room, and then I’ll leave,” she said.

      “Leave? I thought you were here for good now?”

      “I am, that is, I’ll work for you, but perhaps I had better not stay here at night.”

      She blushed slightly as she said this, and could not meet his eyes. The village would be shocked if she, an unmarried woman, were to share the house alone with an unmarried man. Especially such a young and attractive man as he was. But delicacy prevented her from referring to the matter, except obliquely.

      Luckily he understood. “Certainly,” he said hastily.

      “It’s strange,” she mused. “When I left the house this morning I thought I’d be back in an hour. Now it feels like another world.”

      He nodded. He’d had that feeling a good deal himself recently.

      “So I’ll stay tonight in the vicarage,” Rena said, “and return here very early tomorrow, to make your morning tea.”

      He carried the wood upstairs and helped her lay the fire.

      “I’ll light it myself when I come to bed,” he said. “Now I’ll escort you home.”

      She laughed. “In this tiny village. I’ve walked about in the dark for years.”

      “Part of the way then.”

      He took her to the duck pond, from where they could see the church spire, bleak against the night sky.

      “The moonlight will show me the rest of the way,” she said. “Good night.”

      “In that case I’ll take myself to the local hostelry and get to know some of my neighbours. Good night.”

      He strode off in the opposite direction and Rena headed around the pond, to the church and through the cemetery. As soon as the vicarage came in sight she stopped.

      There were lights in the house.

      She began to run, and as she neared she saw a wagon and trunks being unloaded and taken in through the front door. She ran faster, reaching the door out of breath.

      “And who, may I ask, are you?” An extremely refined sounding woman appeared in the hall and challenged her.

      “I might ask the same of you,” Rena said. “What are you doing in my home?”

      “Your home? Our home I think. My brother, the Reverend Steven Daykers, is the new vicar of this parish and this is, I believe, the vicarage?”

      “Yes, of course it is, but nobody told me you were coming.”

      The woman sniffed. “Is there any reason why you should be informed?”

      “Well – my name is Rena Colwell. My father was the vicar here until he died in January.”

      “Then what are you doing here now?”

      “I had nowhere else to go. Of course I knew I should have to leave when the new vicar arrived, but I thought I’d be given some warning.”

      “It seems to me that you’ve had quite enough time.”

      They were interrupted by a shout up above.

      “Ma, look at these old clothes we’ve found.”

      Two girls of about fifteen were standing at the top of the stairs, waving a couple of old fashioned dresses. Rena stiffened as she recognised her mother’s clothes.

      “They were in the wardrobe of our room,” one of the girl’s called. “Aren’t they funny? There are a lot of other things there too – ”

      “They’ll be mine,” Rena said, tight-lipped. “That is my room.”

      “Not any more,” said the woman. “Please remove your things at once.”

      Rena ran up the stairs and found her room a scene of devastation. Her drawers had been pulled out and upended on the floor. Her small personal possessions were strewn everywhere. The two girls ran after her into the room, staring at her rudely.

      “This is ours now. You shouldn’t be here.”

      “Then I will pack my things and go,” she said, tight lipped, trying desperately to remember Christian charity. “Please leave while I do so.”

      Instead of leaving they giggled. One of them picked up a picture of Rena’s mother that she kept by the bed.

      “What a frowsty old thing.” But her smile faded as she saw Rena’s face. “Oh, who cares anyway?”

      She tossed the photograph on the bed and the two of them flounced out.

      Scarcely able to control her temper Rena began to pack up her things, moving like a whirlwind. If she didn’t get out of here soon she would do something violent, she knew she would.

      In the end her belongings filled two large bags. She took what she could of her mother’s clothes, but there was no room for everything, and it mattered more to have the photographs and personal mementoes of her parents.

      Then she thought back to the find of the coins, and realised that but for them she would have no place to lay her head tonight. And more than ever she felt that her father was watching over her.

      As she struggled down the stairs the haughty woman was standing at the bottom, waiting for her.

      “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” Rena said to her politely. “I shall not trouble you further.”

      The woman looked her up and down. “I do hope you haven’t taken anything that isn’t yours.”

      Rena took a deep breath and controlled herself. “You may be sure that I have not,” she said.

      A large piece of furniture was being manhandled through the front door.

      “I’ll leave the back way,” Rena said.

      “It’s up to you.”

      Some strange noises were coming from the kitchen. Rena discovered what they were as soon as she entered, and received a feathered body almost full in the face. She dropped the bags and clung to it.

      It was Clara, her chicken.

      “Poor Clara, how could I forget you?” she said. “You’re coming with me.”

      “Put that chicken down,” said a tow headed young man. “That’s