Free Property of a Lady by Sarah Rayne Page A

had recently been painted. Michael went inside. No one seemed to be in attendance, but the interior was invitingly arranged and there was a pleasing scent of good polish and lavender. He wandered around, wondering if any of the items were destined for Charect or had been part of Charect. In one corner was a Victorian sampler with a date of 1878. It depicted a house and garden. Near to it stood a pair of decanters with silver labels, and Michael paused to examine these, wondering if they would make a good house-warming present for Jack and Liz. Liz would like the idea of elegant decanters, and Jack would humour her. The figure on the price tag was high, but not exorbitant.
    ‘Sorry I kept you,’ said a slightly breathless voice behind him. ‘I was upstairs. Can I help with anything, or do you prefer to trundle round on your own?’
    She was slightly-built and had short brown hair that looked as if she might thrust her fingers through it when she was concentrating. She had on what looked like working clothes – cords and trainers and a loose shirt. Michael said tentatively, ‘I wondered if I could have a word with Nell West.’
    ‘I’m Nell West.’ She regarded him quizzically. ‘Are you a buyer or a seller?’
    ‘Probably a buyer. But we have mutual friends. I’m Michael Flint—’
    ‘Oh, you’re Liz Harper’s friend from Oxford,’ she said at once and smiled. Her eyes lit up with the smile, and her whole face changed. ‘Liz said you might call when you were here. Have you been looking at the house?’
    ‘I have. Jack wanted a progress report, although I think the only thing I can report is that builders are crawling all over the place and it’s ringing with the sound of thudding rock music.’
    ‘Well, that ought to rout the ghosts at any rate,’ she said.
    So she had sensed the ghosts as well. Or perhaps it was just a throwaway remark. Michael said, ‘I was admiring these decanters.’
    ‘They’re nice, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘Quite unusual designs. I found them in a sale in a big old house on the Welsh border. They’re early nineteenth-century – just about pre-Victoria, I think. 1830-ish.’
    ‘Which makes them a bit younger than Charect House,’ said Michael. ‘I think Liz and Jack would appreciate them, though. Could we—’
    He broke off. From overhead came the sound of a child’s terrified, desperate screaming. Nell’s eyes widened in horror, and she said, in a smothered voice, ‘My daughter— She’s upstairs— I’m sorry, I’ll have to go—’
    She ran to the back of the shop, and Michael heard her footsteps going swiftly up a flight of stairs. He hesitated, not wanting to intrude on a stranger’s problems, but the screams came again, filled with real panic, then the words, ‘Help me . . .’
    Clearly, this was more than a child’s tantrums, and Michael realized this shop was a place burglars might target, creeping in through a rear door, frightening a small child. And if Nell West was here on her own—
    He went through to the back of the shop and ran part-way up the stairs. ‘Nell – it’s Michael. What’s happening?’ With relief he heard her call back. ‘Up here. Come up. Second stairway.’
    At least it did not seem to be a burglar. Michael went up the second stairway and saw Nell through a half-open door at the far end. She was sitting on a bed, hugging a small girl to her. The child was sobbing and clutching her mother, almost distraught with terror. Her hair was the same autumn-leaf colour as Nell’s.
    He paused, suddenly aware that the sight of a strange man might frighten the child even further. So he stopped at the head of the stairs and said, ‘Are you all right?’ which was an outstandingly ridiculous thing to say because clearly neither of them was all right at all. ‘Is there something I can do to help? Phone anyone for you?’
    ‘No, it’s fine, she’ll be all right soon. It’s just – she’s been having nightmares. Beth, darling, it