Ghosts of Grace Cottage Read online

  Ghosts

  OF

  GRACE COTTAGE

  Carolyn Wren

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  THE END

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  “Are you sure?”

  Elly grinned at her friend. “Sal, I think you’re doing this wrong. You’re a realtor and I’m looking for a house. Your job is to talk me into buying, not out of it.”

  Sally, her lifelong buddy and trainee real estate agent, looked dubious. “It’s old.”

  Elly let her gaze wander over the deep red bricks of the cottage, which were almost obscured by the climbing white roses. She saw the faded paint on the window frames and doors, the cracked tiles on the roof. None of that mattered. Something about this place called to her, tugged at her. “Imagine it with snow on the roof.”

  “I’m imagining the roof collapsing.”

  “Just look at those flowers. Whoever heard of roses blooming so close to Christmas?”

  “It’s a freaky property. The climbing white roses bloom all year round. The bushes in the front garden don’t bloom at all, ever.”

  “Imagine lying in bed and letting the fragrance waft over you.”

  “Imagine lying in bed and letting the freezing cold wind waft over you from the cracks in the wall, caused by the climbing roses penetrating the mortar between the bricks.”

  “You do realize, Sal, you have no romance in your life.”

  “I have plenty of romance in my life. It’s six inches long and comes with batteries.” Sally turned to her. “Are you sure you want to rush into something now? So close to Christmas?”

  “Yes. I’ve spent the last twelve months travelling. It’s time to come home.”

  “But....” Sally’s words trailed off.

  Elly put an arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s the first Christmas without my parents. Life goes on.”

  “You’re so brave.”

  “No, I’m not. Even after a year. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll see them again one day. You can’t avoid bringing up the subject of Christmas with me. It’s everywhere I look.” She gestured to the fairy lights in the trees and the snowman in the garden next door. “Just because I’m not up to all the festivities this year doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”

  “I don’t know why you don’t buy a lovely, new place with the life insurance money.”

  “My folks always wanted a country cottage. Maybe, in some way, I’m fulfilling their dream.”

  Sally yanked the collar of her coat higher as a chilly breeze flew along the quiet country lane. “You know she died there,” she whispered. “The previous owner, I mean.”

  “Miss Hardy was ninety-two years old. She had to die somewhere.”

  “Doesn’t it freak you out?”

  “Nope, from what I hear, she had a long and happy life.”

  “Really?” Sally shivered. “I don’t know where you get that idea. She was a recluse who wouldn’t let anyone inside the house to do repairs or renovations. That’s why it’s so cheap. Did you hear the rumors? Some people say she used to talk to herself, and strange noises came from inside late at night.” Her voice dropped back to a whisper. “Maybe it’s haunted. I heard another rumor, too. They say a witch might have lived here a couple of hundred years ago.”

  Elly laughed. “Sal, honey, I think you need to go back to realtor school. Your selling method leaves a lot to be desired.” Her eyes turned once again to the faded beauty of the old home, and her voice was determined. “I want it.”

  “WATCH THE LAMP,” ELLY called out to the moving man.

  With his work-worn shirt hanging over a large stomach, his trousers drooped alarmingly over a pair of what looked like canary-yellow boxer shorts. “Sorry.” He looked back at her with a grin, sidestepping the glass Tiffany lamp to place a box of her kitchenware on the counter.

  “Why are you keeping all this stuff?” Sally asked, staggering through the front door, carrying another box and blowing a lock of hair off her forehead.

  “It’s my stuff.”

  “No, I mean Miss Hardy’s furniture and things.”

  Elly glanced around the sunlit room, with its elegant furnishings and photographs on the mantel. She walked over and picked up a silver, gilt-edged frame. “The house came fully furnished. You know that. The furniture is lovely, much nicer than mine. Why shouldn’t I keep it?”

  Sally huffed out a breath and dropped the box on a walnut coffee table. “That isn’t furniture.” She gestured to the photo in Elly’s hand.

  Elly traced the frame with her finger. “I know. I can’t just throw it away. This was her life, her story.” The black-and-white picture in her hand featured a dark-haired woman in her thirties with sparkling eyes. “Is this Miss Hardy?”

  The mover turned, wiping his face on his shirt. Elly tried not to look at the vast expanse of stomach the action revealed. “Yes, that’s her, not that I ever met her. My dad did, though.”

  “She’s beautiful. Look, Sal. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Was,” Sally said pragmatically. “She’s dead, and her stuff is now cluttering up your ancient, falling-down house when you should be in a shiny new apartment, bought with your inheritance.” Sally squeezed her friend’s arm. “Sorry. That came out horrid. I didn’t mean to bring up your parents’ death again.”

  Elly gave her a warm smile. “Poor Miss Hardy’s death is fine to talk about, I guess?” She put the photo back on the mantel and pulled her friend close for a hug. “It’s fine, Sal. Yes, I miss my folks. The car accident was a dreadful shock, but don’t worry about me. I adore this house.”

  Sally peered around the room. “There’s just so much stuff.”

  Elly held her at arm’s length and gave her a pitying look. “Says the woman whose house looks like an art gallery, all white with the occasional piece of strategically-placed, tiny designer furniture. Even the most fanatical minimalist would have a burning desire to fill your space with clutter. If it makes you feel better, once I’ve settled in, I’ll have a thorough clean-out. In the meantime, everything is fine where it is.”

  Sally gave a delicate shudder. “Fine, live with the chaos. At least you bought a new mattress.” She sidestepped another two workmen, struggling to get the cumbersome object through the cottage’s narrow entrance.

  “Watch the lamp!” Elly said. “And the vase and the painting.”

  Sally rolled her eyes. “A modern apartment...that’s all I’m saying.”

  Elly pulled one of the hand-stitched cushions from the floral couch and threw it at her. “I love you but go home. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

  “I bet you ten bucks the phone doesn’t work. And did I mention this place is a dead zone for cell service?” Sally tossed over her shoulder as she headed to her car.

  Elly worked through the afternoon, unpacking and rearranging. Late in the evening, she raised her arms above her head and stretched, groaning as her lower back complained. The heavy, wooden bed, with its brand-new mattress and linens, looked gorgeous in the country-style bedroom. It didn’t matter what Sal thought. Elly loved the cottage and its clutter.

  Stripping off her soiled clothing, she padded into the bathroom with its freestanding claw-footed tub. “As inviting as you look, I think a quick shower will suffice for tonight.” Thankfully, a shower attachment had been fixed to the wall over the bath. After some head scratching and fiddling with knobs, she managed to get it to work.

  Feeling much less dusty and even more exhausted, Elly pulled out the first
item of night-suitable clothing her hands came into contact with in the box marked clothes. She yanked it over her head and collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a groan.

  “Under the covers,” she muttered into the pillow. “Under the covers would be better.” Sleep rose up and dragged her under.

  Voices invaded her consciousness.

  She snuggled into the pillow. Great. Her new home had insomniac neighbors. She should have closed the bedroom window. Her love of fresh air, regardless of temperature, was coming back to haunt her.

  “Maîtresse de la nuit.”

  Make that French, insomniac neighbors.

  “Beauté noire.”

  Dark beauty? Elly sleepily translated. Mistress of the night? Wonderful. She had French, insomniac, Goth neighbors. “I’m tired. Please go inside and go to bed.”

  The voices stopped for a few seconds, until someone whispered.

  “Peut-elle entendre?”

  “Of course, I can hear you. I’ll introduce myself in the morning.”

  “Parle-elle français?”

  “Yes, I speak French.” Elly turned onto her side, groped until she found a pillow, and pulled it over her head.

  Her neighbors must have gone in, as the night returned to silence. She breathed out a contented sigh and went back to sleep.

  Dreams...Whispered words, erotic suggestions, spoken in French.

  Elly moaned as someone talked about oral sex in a particularly exotic way. Someone whispered into her ear, “Je te montrerai les délices...”

  I will show you delights.

  A tongue flicked over her earlobe. A hand slid along the satin of her nightgown. She shivered. Someone kissed her lips, a feather-light touch, leaving her yearning for more. Fingers trailed along her thigh, creating heat in their wake.

  “You wish this?” The words were spoken in accented English.

  “Yes.” A hand brushed over her breast, making Elly catch her breath.

  “From both?”

  Both? Hands stroked her thigh, along her arm, and brushed over a nipple. Too many hands. Elly’s sleep-dazed mind tried to make sense of the sensations. When did my dreams get this hot? “Yes.”

  “Bon.” Lips returned to hers, a weight settled against her back, and fingers sank into her hair. The two men in her sexy dream touched her with light strokes, skimming over her skin, above the nightgown.

  The dream lover behind her spoke erotic suggestions in French in a low, sensual hum. His hands skimmed across her stomach and along her thigh, gently pulling up the satin gown as he went.

  The man in front teased apart her lips until he could gain entrance. Tracing the outline of her mouth with his tongue, tangling it with hers, catching the breaths that escaped her in short gasps.

  “Such pleasure we will share this night, Mistress.”

  With a hand at her waist, the lover at her back rolled, taking her with him. The sudden change of position was dizzying, and her eyes flew open. She ended up sprawled face up across a wide chest, her head resting in the crook of a muscular neck. Her legs fell apart, draped over his hips, and her arms dropped to the side. She was spread-eagled, with the hard body beneath her forming a new erotic type of mattress. His strong hands kept her in place.

  In the pitch darkness of the room, she sensed, rather than saw, the second man rise and take a position at the foot of the bed. She quivered as his hands ran along her parted thighs.

  The man holding her steady moved his hands up to grasp her breasts, his fingers softly kneading. Elly moaned, and her lids drifted shut.

  He spoke again of sensual imagery hot enough to make her stomach muscles clench.

  Kisses began at her calves, working upward. His lips were soft and cool as they travelled along her body, pausing when they reached the juncture of her thighs.

  “Belle.”

  One single finger traced over the crotch of her satin panties, causing her hips to buck. He repeated the action, over and over, just a tiny gentle stroke, back and forth. Within seconds, the satin was soaked, the scent of her arousal permeating the air.

  “Tres belle.” His mouth touched her, his lips nibbling at the satin, and she cried out from the sheer pleasure of it. The man beneath her was aroused. She could feel the ridge of his erection pressing against her buttocks as she lay on top of him. She undulated her hips and his fingers tightened on her breasts, teasing the nipples.

  Her head fell backwards, resting on a broad shoulder. The multiple sensations, hands on her thighs, lips and tongue teasing her damp panties, hands kneading her breasts, were almost too much to bear.

  The lover between her legs pulled on her clitoris, sucking at it through the soaked satin. Elly’s hips rotated. The bulge of the second man’s erection rubbed and throbbed against her. His fingers pressed her nipples between thumb and forefinger, through the nightgown. She wanted nothing more at the very moment than to be naked.

  Fingers trailed across the seam of her panties. “Are you a maiden?”

  Maiden? Virgin.

  “N-No.” It took three attempts to get the single word out. He pushed aside her panties and inserted one finger inside.

  “Oh God, please, yes.”

  His lips returned, sucking at the sensitive nub of flesh now free from its satin prison. The man beneath her slid his hands beneath the nightgown to pull gently at her nipples, tugging and releasing in a sensual rhythm that matched her gasps of breath.

  A second finger joined the first inside her, slick with her moisture. He withdrew and returned with a tantalizing torturous motion, driving her insane as his mouth nipped and sucked, spinning her higher and higher.

  A third finger stretched her quivering muscles until they clenched around him, pulling him deeper. Elly wanted to close her legs, capture him, but she was trapped in her spread-eagled position.

  The sucking on her clitoris intensified, drawing a pulsing beat from her body. She twisted and turned, trying to find release, but her two lovers seemed determined to prolong the exquisite torture. Her nipples were so sensitive she raised her own hands to cover his. Instead of pulling his teasing fingers away, she pressed down, encouraging him. His low laughter sounded in her ears as he answered her silent plea, rolling the hard nubs between thumb and forefinger.

  The fingers inside her rotated, pressing a spot on her vaginal walls. Pleasure so intense it was almost pain raced through her. Elly had never believed in the G-spot, until that moment, when the world shattered into a million stars, and her cry echoed around the room.

  I’m going to pass out, but how can I? It’s a dream.

  “YOU HAD A WHAT?”

  “A wet dream, I told you.”

  “A wet dream.” Sally stared at her. “You mean you...you know...in your sleep?”

  Elly grinned. “Yes, Sal, I you-knowed in my sleep. I you-knowed so hard I thought I was going to die from it.”

  Sally sat back in her chair, her expression one of open-mouthed disbelief, tinged with envy. “Have you ever done that before?”

  Elly sipped her coffee. “Nope.”

  “Are you sure it happened?”

  She raised a brow. “Trust me, Sal, I woke up this morning after the best sleep ever, with a twisted nightgown and soaked knickers. I swear even my nipples were overly sensitive from being tugged on. I tell ya...it was some dream.”

  Sally leaned forward again. “What was he like?”

  “They.”

  “Sorry?”

  “They, you mean what were they like.”

  “They?” The word came out as a squeak. “Two of them?”

  “Yep.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “I have no idea. The room was pitch black. They were French. Hey, maybe that’s it. My French neighbors woke me up, and let’s face it, I’ve been celibate for way too long. I guess I concocted two French lovers and, you know...you-knowed.” She grinned.

  Sally looked confused. “What French neighbors?”

  “The ones who were standing outs
ide last night, talking when I was trying to sleep.”

  “You don’t have French neighbors.”

  “Okay, then, my non-French neighbors had French visitors.”

  Sally peered out of the window. “Mr. and Mrs. Teal? I don’t think they’ve ever left England.”

  Elly waved her hand. “Oh, well, someone was out there. Do you want to hear about this dream or not?”

  Sally blushed, an unusual occurrence. “No, of course not.”

  Elly waited.

  Sally rested her elbows on the table and held her chin in her hands. “Fine, tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

  A while later Elly crossed back to the table with a fresh pot of tea, as Sally waved a coaster in front of her face. “For goodness’ sake, stop fanning yourself, Sal. It isn’t that raunchy.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re wasted designing webpages. You should be writing naughty books.”

  Elly smiled around her cup. “I was reading one the other day. Maybe that’s what put ideas in my head. It’s a good sign, Sal. For the first time since that drunk driver hit my folks’ car, I feel like I’m starting to act normal again. If a sex dream is my brain’s way of telling me to jump back into the dating pool, who am I to complain?”

  Sally squeezed her friend’s knee. “I’m glad to have you back, Elly. If this house makes you horny, I might start to actually like it.”

  “Speaking of my lovely house,” Elly narrowed her eyes. “Did you find any next of kin for Miss Hardy?”

  “Nope.” Sally sat back with a sigh. “I checked all the records. There isn’t a single living relative. She did have a fiancé, a soldier. He died before they could get married. Her will, including the proceeds from the house sale, go to charity. It looks like you’re stuck with all her belongings. I did find out where she died. Not in the house, thank goodness.” Sally gave a delicate shudder. “The people who delivered her meals found her in the back conservatory. They said she looked very peaceful, with a rug over her knees and a white rose sitting on her lap.”

  Elly glanced around the room. “I don’t mind keeping her things. I just didn’t want to deprive her family of them. See all the photos? She was a nurse and so beautiful.”