Halleswell Hall.

Halleswell Hall.
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The house stood on a hill, early April sunset casting a glow on the dull brown bricks, momentarily painting them in a benign pink wash. For a brief time the many gabled windows caught the fiery glow, sending back prisms of light almost as if they were winking at the couple standing arm in arm outside the gatehouse. The evergreen trees surrounding the house seemed to retreat a little in the evening sky and drew the eye away towards the nearby forest where late daffodils vied with yellow primroses to cast off the daunting appearance of the great old trees. Anyone with a fanciful mind would think the house was putting on this display in order to appear more welcoming. But then the sun sank and once again it became an ugly and forbidding old house, a miss-mash of architectural styles worn down over the centuries into a decaying grandeur.

Vivien shivered and her husband Graham placed a protective arm around her waist.
‘What d’you think Viv, ‘he said, ‘have we taken on more than we should?’
His wife stood silent for a moment. The house had more faces than she’d expected. For a while she had been almost memorised by its appearance, now she wasn’t sure what to think.
‘I don’t know love,’ she finally replied, ‘I imagine it could be quite spooky here in the nights.’
Graham looked at his wife. She was by far the steadiest woman he had ever known. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy, neither was she afraid of anything. In fact, it was him who was indecisive, afraid to go out on a limb. Maybe the children flying the family nest had made her more upset than she’d previously shown.
‘We can always pull out,’ he said, ‘buy another place where it’s not so far from civilisation.’
‘Let’s go inside and have a glass of wine and something to eat,’ she said,’ things always look better in the morning light.’ A few hours’ later they were sitting by a warm fire, replete from their meal and sipping at the last of the Chianti. The lodge was far more comfortable than it looked from the outside. Originally it had been part of the estate, probably where the gamekeeper had lived with his family. Over the years it had been modernised, only this room being left with an open fireplace and what remained of the old Tudor beams. It was a squat building, the open hallway leading into a comfortable parlour with every modern convenience. This room had survived centuries of change and if it was a bit draughty, still it exuded the atmosphere of days gone by. There was something cosy about sitting in front of a big log fire, something that appealed to both of them.
Another, smaller passage led into a modern kitchen, big enough to cook a mini banquet. The scullery had been made into a luxurious bathroom with a separate shower and Jacuzzi. Upstairs there were four bedrooms, another, smaller bathroom and a tiny storage space. Central heating kept the rooms warm; while many of the tiny lead-paned windows had been replaced by bigger ones that let in far more light. The roof was newly tiled and there was ample room outside for three cars to park. The agent for the National Trust had told them about previous caretakers leaving them in the lurch due to the draughty rooms and uncertain plumbing. That had prompted the National Trust to update the building. They needed a couple that would stay and watch over the house until it was made safe for visitors. The work could take maybe two years to complete and after that the property would still need caretakers. The big house was a listed building, not grand enough to pull in many visitors but still too big to sell as a proper house. The post had been advertised all over the country, few people would be willing to take on such a place, isolated as it was from the nearer large town of Barnstaple. There was a tiny village about two miles away. Coombe Stratton was a pretty little village with rows of thatched cottages, a few main shops and some smaller ones given over to the tourist trade. From the Hall itself, only minor roads lead to the village. The local council were willing to widen the road if the proposed renovation of Halleswell Hall proved to bring in more trade.

Out of the many couples interviewed, Graham and Vivien Edwards had fitted the bill perfectly. Graham had sold his building company as a going concern and at fifty he was the ideal age, (the added bonus of having a master builder on the site had not been overlooked). Vivien had been working for her husband as a secretary, business advisor and accountant as well. They had one older, married daughter and a son in his final year at University. Both had been raised in small towns and were used to both the hustle and bustle of a busy town, but they were equally at home in the countryside. In the eyes of the interview panel they were steady, responsible people, not to be put off by the gossip of country-folk. They had been looking for a house in the country after Graham’s back problems had led to him retiring early, but both had missed working and answering the advert had seemed an ideal solution to their problems. The board had allowed them a three-week stay at the lodge; time enough to see if it suited both parties. Their own house in the Midlands was on the market so the trial period left both sides with their options open.

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Vivien woke in the night, unsure what had awoken her, normally she slept easily right through the night. Graham snored in his sleep, oblivious to the world. Reaching out for her dressing gown she padded silently to the window. Some noise had seeped into her dreams, something vague that eluded her for the moment. Born and brought up in the country, the daughter of the local vicar, she expected the silence of the countryside to give way to nocturnal noises. Maybe an owl was hooting or a fox hunting in the woods?
The bedroom they had chosen faced towards the hall. They had chosen it for the big four-poster bed that invited a bout of tender lovemaking. The memory made her smile; her dear husband could still surprise her after nearly thirty years of marriage.
Now, looking through the window, she felt slightly uneasy, a three-quarter moon had arisen and was bathing the forest behind the hall in a ghostly light. The windows of the Hall remained blank and brooding in the night. She could see the dim outline of the Hall, sinister in the pale moon-glow. A wail rose from nearby and her heart thudded for a moment.
‘Silly old sod,’ she thought to herself, ‘its nothing but a vixen calling to her cubs.’
Still, she kept watch for a while. The Hall retained its gloomy visage, the ugly old chimneys now stark against the sky. The turrets of the Edwardian era seemed like a growth clinging to the beauty of the earlier Tudor facade.
‘Thank God there were no gargoyles,’ she thought to herself,’ that would have really spooked her. Perhaps it was the building itself that made her shiver as she had done earlier. She hated to see old buildings mixed up over the years as this one had been.’
She went to turn away, her feet getting cold without her slippers on. Out of the corner of her eye she thought there had been a glimpse of light in the woods. She stood stock still for a moment but there was nothing in sight.
‘Get a grip of yourself,’ she said to herself, ‘moonlight and night noises are nothing to be afraid of.’
Climbing back into bed she warmed her cold feet on Graham’s back. He snorted once and then resumed his snoring. Sleep gathered her up in a bundle and by the next morning she had put the night’s scare completely out of her mind.

It was a beautiful spring morning, one that comes rarely in April. They had awoken at the same time; years of getting up early had conditioned them both to waking at seven am. The country air made them ravenous, over a cup of coffee they decided to make a real breakfast. Rattling around in the enormous kitchen was fun. Graham was like a teenager again, rushing around and juggling a frying pan with saucepans of scrambled eggs and tinned tomatoes on the go. Viv set the pine table with two place settings and made loads of toast.
‘Eeeh bah gum lass, that were a right feast fit for a king,’ he joked.
‘Give over you old bugger,’ she laughed at him. ‘Just because I was born in Yorkshire doesn’t mean we all spoke like that.’
It was an old joke they had shared since college days. She felt light-hearted, this move was doing them both a power of good and she resolved that nothing was going to spoil it.
‘What shall we do today?’ she asked him.
‘Stay in bed all day,’ he leered jokingly.
‘Be serious darling, we should find out more about this place, after all, it could be our home for years to come.’
Right then,’ Graham said, ‘Ve shall go to zee woods, or look over our domain.’
Viv laughed but somehow she didn’t feel up to trudging through the woods today.
‘ As the lord and lady of the manor I suggest we should go and look over the peasants,’ she said trying to get into the spirit of the day.
‘What a brilliant idea,’ he replied, ‘there’s a pub I rather fancy trying, real ale and a Ploughman’s lunch, sheer heaven.’
‘No, Viv wailed, ‘I’m not watching you get pickled while I drive.’
‘No need for that, he said, ‘it’s a one mile walk over the fields. I looked at the map last night, there’s a common right-of way. I guess the Lord of the manor had it made so he’d go and sport with the local maids.’
‘You and your sordid mind, ‘she grinned, ‘there were always common foot-paths in those days.’
‘Since when did you become the expert?’ Graham said, mopping up the last of the tomato juice with another slice of toast.
‘Since we decided to give this a try,’ she replied, serious for once. ‘I thought it best to do a bit of background research. Did you know that the name of this place was originally called Halliswell?’
‘What’s that got to with this place?’ he said in the same serious tone.
‘I looked it up, it means on or by a Holy well.’
Graham sounded quite intrigued, ‘I never knew an old place could be so interesting, we’ll have to ask the locals.’
‘I wonder how people lived in those days?’ she said.
‘I guess the old house could tell a tale or two, ‘ he replied.
Viv had a sudden memory of the previous night, ‘I don’t expect we’ll ever find out. Now how about getting ready for a good walk and a few pints of the local ale.’
‘Race you to the shower,’ he laughed.
‘Not if I get there first,’ she said, running in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

……………………………………………………

It was late afternoon when they returned along the ancient pathway. The sun was still quite warm for that time of year and the hedges were already showing signs of an early summer to come. Viv was still deep in thought as she idly picked the last of the daffodils, the vetch and other wild flowers.
‘Well that was an eye-opener, wasn’t it?’ Graham said referring to the conversation he had started with the locals.
‘Maybe they do that with all newcomers?’ but Viv didn’t sound that convinced.
‘Come on love, haunted houses and noises in the woods, its straight out of a country yarn. I bet they’re laughing at us right now?’
She was feeling a bit tipsy from the strong local cider but a few things she had heard had set her on edge. She had thought she had seen something in the house and later in the woods. But try telling that to Graham and he would laugh at her. Now she attempted a light tone,
‘Then we’ll prove them wrong, won’t we. Tomorrow we’ll look over the house and then the woods, that’s if you aren’t scared of course?’
‘What, me? Scared of old wives tales? Graham the dragon-slayer, Graham the brave?’
‘Graham the pissed,’ she laughed as he fell against the hedge.
‘My shoelace came undone,’ he said, trying to appear nonchalant as he strode away from her.
‘We’ll see,’ thought Viv, thinking of the conversation in the local pub.

……………………………………………………….

The evening had passed pleasantly enough with both of them making a steak dinner and then sharing a bottle of red wine. Now Graham was sprawled in front of the television and Viv was writing a letter to their son, hoping as always that she didn’t sound like an old mother hen.
Graham started to snore and Viv put aside her reading glasses,
‘Come on, old man, up the stairs to Bedfordshire.’
Sleepily he followed her and was soon snoring gently again. ‘So much for a night of passion!’ Viv thought, but she was getting very tired and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

This time the shriek was loud enough to wake them both. Graham peered at the radio alarm as if it was at fault, but the green light held steady at 2 am. Viv was shivering already, although the night was not that cold. Wrapped in their dressing gowns, both peered out the window in the direction of the Hall and the woods beyond.
‘It’s those damn villagers playing a joke on us,’ Graham said.
‘No, look over there,’ Viv said, pointing to a gap in the overhanging trees. From here she could see a shape that looked remarkably like one of the big cats, a Lion or a Panther, she thought. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud and she gasped as the light reflected tawny fur from the shape.
‘What the devil…?’ Graham spluttered.
‘Its too big to be a fox,’ she stated, but I swear that’s no panther or polecat.’
Graham was inclined to agree, but he didn’t want to alarm his wife any more than necessary.
‘Remember that piece in the paper a few years back?’ he said, ‘people reported sightings of a large animal, much like a panther on Exmoor?’
‘But Exmoor is miles away and that’s no panther.’
‘Maybe it just looks bigger than it really is? He said as the shape moved back into the trees.
Both watched for a while longer, but there was nothing to disturb the night. Eventually they turned away and Graham made them both a hot toddy liberally laced with whiskey to settle their shaky nerves.

‘Tomorrow we go exploring,’ he said, ‘and if I find someone’s playing a prank on us I’ll get the authorities in.’ Numbly Viv nodded, but something told her it wasn’t a prank. She wouldn’t leave without a fight though; already the old house was working its magic on her.
‘The House first, the woods later,’ she said and nothing could persuade her otherwise.

Despite the interrupted sleep, both felt ready to tackle anything the following day. Once more they ate a hearty breakfast before getting prepared for their outing. Wearing stout shoes and carrying a torch they walked towards the Hall, the sun now dodging in and out of the cloudy sky. Graham walked up the large steps and turned the key in the lock, surprisingly it opened quite easily.
‘Come on hon, looks like somebody has been here quite recently, maybe the builders?’
‘They aren’t due until next week,’ she replied, remember we have to agree by then whether we’ll stay or not?’
‘Well maybe it was someone from the National Trust, but let’s get on with it.’
Her first glimpse of the inside of the house took her completely by surprise. Although it was dusty, the great hall and the stairs leading above were a rich dark brown and light poured in from the high windows. Then it was Graham’s turn to look surprised as he saw the carving of Eve. Running his hands over the carving he turned to his wife with something near to awe.
‘Look at this?’ he said, holding out his hand to display only the lightest touch of dust.
‘This has to be late Tudor, done by a master craftsman. It’s completely untouched by graffiti as well, I thought soldiers were stationed here in the 2nd World War?’
‘Maybe they were as fascinated by her as you? Came the disgruntled reply, somewhat jealous of the carving of the beautiful woman. ‘We have loads more to look at, so let’s get going.’
After nearly an hour both were ready to take a break. The interior of the house was far more welcoming than the exterior, but they put that down to the fact that very little had been changed inside for centuries. A lot of the larger pieces of furniture were left intact, as were many of the paintings. Viv had not expected the paintings, so took her time looking over them. Apart from a few she decided that the family had all been exceptionally good looking, even by today’s standards. One had really caught her eye. It was a beautiful work of art but the subject matter was unusual to say the least. The artist had captured a rare moment, with the swan prominent in the foreground and the hint of the house and wood in the background, the early morning sunlight just peeking through the mist. Looking closer she gasped at the name of the famous artist and wondered briefly if it was truly the original. Somehow she felt as if they were both trespassing and needed to get some air.
‘No more exploring today’ she told her husband, we’ll leave the woods to tomorrow.
Graham was more than happy with that, trudging through muddy woods wasn’t his idea of fun, besides; there was an afternoon of television to watch and a football game he was dying to see.

‘Beer in the fridge and a pizza to defrost,’ said Viv as she was about to leave.
‘Going on another field trip?’ Graham asked as he saw her with the car keys in hand.
‘Just a bit of research on the house,’ she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek,
‘I thought I’d have quick look around that old church, maybe dig up some Meverall’s, they had lived in the Hall for nearly five centuries.
‘Better take the spade them,’ he quipped.
‘Right, that’s it, no lobster for you tonight.
‘Sorry honey, if it’s lobster then dig up whatever you want to.’

The car coasted easily down the steep incline to Braugton, where Viv had been told was the church of Saint Brannon. Here she hoped to find answers that would decide whether they would stay or leave. Parking the car was easy and she set off on foot to the church, where she had arranged a meeting with the local vicar.
The church itself was quite old, she soon decided, but it had an aura of peace and calm. She had arrived a little early hoping to look over the old church and was surprised to find it was unlocked. Entering the church she stopped for a moment and dipped her fingers into the font, ‘once a vicar’s daughter, always a vicar’s daughter,’ she thought, but then she saw the window and for a while could see nothing else.
Sunlight dappled the figure, but this was no ordinary stained glass window, but a work of art. She saw the plain robed monk in his brown robe holding a cup of finely made silver design. Although plain as opposed to some great windows, she felt as if he would suddenly step out of the window and hold his hand out to her.

‘I see our Saint has had a profound effect on you,’ the voice came from behind her.
Turning slowly she saw the smiling face of the local vicar.
‘He does tend to have that effect on some people,’ he said, and holding out his hand introduced himself as Martin Boyd. She took the warm hand in hers and introduced herself.
‘Ah, you are the new custodians of Halleswell Hall,’ he said.
‘I must apologise for the absence of my husband,’ she replied, ‘but this was my own idea.’
‘And you are looking for answers? I can help a little, but what you make of it must be your decision,’ he said. ‘Come, my dear lady, my housekeeper can soon serve us tea and a scone, the vicarage is nearby.’
Gladly Viv followed him, something about the window and the silver cup had touched a vague memory, though for the life of her she couldn’t bring it to mind.

Later Viv found herself back on the road to Barnstaple and heading for the nearest fishmongers, where she bought some fine lobster and a pint of prawns. The vicar had raised more questions than answers, but now she felt more determined than ever. Looking around for a good off-licence she bought a few bottles of white wine. Tonight she would tell Graham that she wanted to stay and if the future might be a little rocky, still she would see it through.