Olde Tudor Read online

  Olde tudor

  A ghost story

  by

  David Ralph Williams

  Cursed be he that moves my bones

  William Shakespeare

  That darksome cave they enter, where they find

  that cursed man, low sitting on the ground,

  musing full sadly in his sullein mind.

  Edmund Spenser

  Text copyright © 2018 David Ralph Williams. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  David Ralph Williams 2018.

  To the best of my knowledge, all quotations included here fall under the fair use or public domain guidelines of copyright law.

  Cover photography & design copyright © 2018 David Ralph Williams.

  This book is dedicated to the following people, my parents Hilda and Ralph, my wife Leesa and children (Luke, Katie and Hannah.) My partner in crime (ghost hunting and writing) The Baron Templar (A.K.A Michael McManus), John Williams my first reader of stories created during long ago summers on coffee tables in front rooms.

  I know not what this creature is, or from whence it came. But it would appear to have my scent, and a desire to instil fear in my heart and soul. What it wants, I can only guess.

  (Taken from - An archaeological study of Thornbarrow Cavern - by the Reverend George Charles Redgrave (Saint Peter’s Parish Church)

  1

  Arthur Brierly entered the door to his son, Jacob’s office. Arthur was wearing his overcoat, hat, and was in a jolly mood, not unusual for the senior Brierly. “Jack, how about we go into the town for a spot of lunch, I rather fancy the beef and ale pie at the Red Heart Inn. Can I tempt you?” Jacob had just finished adding a shovel of coal to the fire grate that stood on the far wall adjacent to his desk. He took out a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it.

  “I am thoroughly tempted father, unfortunately I have an appointment with a client at any moment,” spoke Jacob in disappointment.

  “I’ve told you before lad, always keep the lunch hour free. Oh Bish! Can you not make an excuse and cancel?”

  “I best not Father. You go on ahead, when I’m finished I will follow you over.” Jacob became aware of a noise outside the office of Brierly and Son, Property Agents. He walked over to the large bay window and saw a mature gentleman sporting a thick tweed jacket and brown trilby leaning his bicycle against the front of the offices before entering the main door. “He’s here, I think.”

  “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t be long. I could do with some company today if you must know, been stuck in my stuffy office all morning,” said Arthur Brierly.

  The door to Jacob’s office opened and the gentleman in the tweed jacket entered. Arthur tipped his hat and mumbled, “good day,” before leaving his son to deal with him. The man walked over to Jacob who now stood behind his desk. He offered his hand to Jacob.

  “Alistair Swift, we have an appointment I believe?” Jacob shook Alistair’s hand warmly.

  “We do indeed Mister Swift, please take a seat,” Jacob said indicating the only other seat in the room. Alistair drew the chair closer to Jacob’s desk, he glanced over at the fire that was now crackling into life, bright yellow flames licked across the fresh black coal cobbles.

  “Splendid fire. It’s rather chilly outside today. Would you mind if I warm myself near to it?”

  “Of course, please do. I noticed you came on a bicycle, you must be frozen!” added Jacob.

  “I never learned to drive, but it’s the hands you see, the cold metal of the handlebars. Chills the fingers to the bone.” Alistair rose from his seat and pushed his hands towards the warm fire rubbing them together. Jacob was busy retrieving a paper file from his desk drawer. He opened the file.

  “Mister Swift, I recollect from our telephone conversation the other week that you are seeking a property close to the town, and you were quite precise as to your specifications. You are looking for a property with character is that right?” Jacob continued to read over the collection of papers he had removed from the file.

  “Yes, that’s right, I can’t abide those modern houses. I always thought I’d like a house with some history associated,” said Alistair now reseating himself at Jacob’s desk.

  “Well, I have a selection for you to look at,” Jacob said and handed him the stack of papers. Alistair studied each sheet. There were details of a variety of properties, some had sketches associated whilst a few of them had monochrome photographs attached. None of the houses seemed to spark an interest in Alistair.

  “They are all very nice, but not quite what I’m after I’m afraid,” Alistair said and handed the papers back to Jacob.

  “The problem is, Thornbarrow is only a small town, a village really. Not a great deal of choice.”

  “Yes, I do understand. But I want my purchase to be just right, and I do rather like the town.”

  “Have you considered renting?” Jacob asked.

  “Well, I have recently retired from my profession, teaching. I was a teacher at a boy’s school, not far from here. I taught at the school for almost twenty-eight years! The teaching post came with its own accommodation. So, you see, I really much would like to finally own my own home. You understand?”

  “Of course. A teacher you say,” Jacob placed the papers back in the file leaving it on the desk top.

  “Yes, I taught history, with a little mathematics,” spoke Alistair proudly.

  “A man with his feet firmly on the ground. Not open to fanciful leanings I would presume?” said Jacob who now rose from behind his desk and walked over to a small oak cupboard in the corner of the office. He appeared to hesitate and ponder for a moment before he opened the cupboard and brought out a large cardboard box.

  “Yes, you could say so. I also rather fancy myself as a bit of an amateur artist. I must fill up my time with something you understand. It’s such a shock to the system leaving ones employ.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” Jacob re-seated himself behind his desk. “Mister Swift, I do have one property you might be interested in. We have had it on our books for a considerable time. It has become a little dilapidated, and the grounds on which it stands are somewhat overgrown. However, I’m sure it will satisfy some of your stipulations.” Jacob opened the box and removed some dusty folded papers. He handed them to Alistair. “There are no photographs I’m afraid, just the sketches that come with the documents.” Alistair examined the papers, the property had a name, Olde Tudor.

  Alistair sat quietly and read through the details. There were two pen and ink sketches, one showed an aerial map with the position of the house relative to the fields and tracks situated nearby. The other was a sketch of the front aspect of the house. It depicted a Tudor style house, with eaves, exposed wooden frames between wattle and daub, a tall chimney and a thatched roof. Alistair’s face beamed.

  “This is exactly right. Just what I hoped I’d find,” he sang merrily.

  “Like I said, the sketches are a little misleading, it’s not as tidy now you understand. The building I believe is generally sound. The thatch was replaced by the family that owns it a few years back in forty-two. It has a tiled roof now. A more practical solution I think.”

  “Indeed. I would like to see this property. Do you have time today?” Alistair asked hopefully. Jacob glanced at the clock that perched atop the mantle. He winced as his mind wandered to the promise of a meal that awaited at the Red Hart. This nourishment seemed now to be a diminishing prospect.

  “Of course. I can take you there now if you have the time
. It’s not such a long walk from the town.”

  “That would be splendid, thank you.” Alistair rose from his seat and waited for Jacob to don his hat and coat.

  ******

  Jacob Brierly and Alistair Swift were walking with a good pace. It was a chilly November day. The cobbled streets were particularly treacherous when covered in such a coating of icy frost that had yet to melt. The road they were both on, the main route out of Thornbarrow, took a steep decline after crossing the perimeter of the centre of town. The road eventually narrowed to become a single dirt track that was laden with pot holes and dips, all of which were filled with iced rainwater.

  Alistair was walking with his bicycle, holding the handlebars. The steep decline of the track and the hard, glassy feel underfoot made the walk a rather difficult one. Eventually after a good twenty minutes, they reached the bottom of the hill. The road forked into two further single dirt tracks, equally as slippery and frozen as the parent track that they branched from. Jacob Brierly stopped at the fork in the road. “I believe it’s the left track we need to take Mister Swift,” he said and he took the lead. Alistair carefully followed, wheeling his bicycle and avoiding the frozen tractor tyre furrows that crossed from field onto road.

  About a quarter of a mile down the track a clump of trees and overgrown bushes came into view. “That’s the place, up ahead. It’s the only property on this road for at least five miles,” said Jacob. They both continued towards the huddle of skeletal trees, each with only a few remaining golden leaves still clinging to lichen encrusted twig in a desperate attempt to defy the recent fall. When they reached the house, Alistair leaned his bicycle against the stone wall at the front, most of which was covered in trailing ivy.

  There was a small yet robust iron gate that wasn’t locked. Jacob pushed the gate and it swung inwards. Both men treaded a meandering red brick pathway that led up to the front porch. “Like I said,” started Jacob, “it’s a little overgrown, but nothing a good gardener couldn’t put to rights.” Alistair stood hands on hips taking in the house’s full aspect.

  “It’s just as I hoped it would be. Marvellous,” he said. Jacob removed a long black key from an envelope that was inside a thin satchel he was carrying. He inserted the key into the lock on the door and twisted.

  “The gardens to this house have some rather interesting quirks that I’m sure you will appreciate, but first let’s go inside as you will see there remains a lot of the original furniture.” Jacob finished as he stepped inside the hallway.

  Once inside, the door was closed to keep out the bitter cold. Both men walked through the hall and along a short corridor before they reached the main reception room.

  It was clear to Alistair that the house had remained locked up and empty for a considerable amount of time. Thick sheets of cobwebs hung from the light fittings on the ceiling. The floor was mostly stone flagging or wood planks, but there were a few rugs that were heavily soiled with a mixture of dirt and dust. The dust Alistair observed was at the least, half an inch thick where it covered shelving and the assortment of old oak furniture. In the centre of the room stood a grand open fireplace with a thick iron burning grate and basket within.

  Jacob continued to lead the way through the rest of the house which comprised of a large kitchen complete with stove and impressive bulky dining table. There were an assortment of pots and pans, mostly fashioned from copper and arranged on a series of shelves on the back wall. Alistair still had a smile on his face as they walked from room to room.

  Eventually they examined the master bedroom. There was another smaller bedroom that was connected to the master room via a small narrow corridor. The master bedroom contained a large oak bedstead with high panelled headboard. The layering of dust upon the carved embellishments of the headboard seemed to pick out and highlight each chiselled mark and groove that had been produced so long ago by the carpenter who created the remarkable article. “Only two bedrooms I’m afraid, and the smaller one is a little cramped,” explained Jacob.

  “It’s more than I need, I’m not married you see, and I don’t have any relatives that I imagine would be thinking about staying here,” said Alistair, “I was engaged once, a long while ago now, but then the war happened. The town in which she lived was heavily bombed. I lost her, you see.”

  “I’m terribly sorry to hear that Mister Swift I really am.”

  “Oh, thank you. But I imagine many people have loved and lost, and have a similar story as I. The Nazi menace cast a terrible shadow over millions of lives. I happen to be just one.”

  Alistair crossed over to the bedroom window. The small diamond shaped leaded window panes were somewhat begrimed and he had to remove a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe them clean before he could view the garden below. “I’d very much like to see outside now if I may. You mentioned quirks?”

  “Yes, I think you’ll be quite surprised.” Jacob descended the stairs that led back down to the lower house with Alistair following.

  The gardens were quite large and they were very overgrown by nettle and a myriad of knotty and prickly creeper. Jacob used an old branch that had fallen from a large ash tree to beat down the nettles allowing them to make a path across what was once a long lawn.

  The first structure they came across was an old brick built workshop. Jacob fished out another key from his satchel and opened the door. “As you can see, quite a large outbuilding, and fully tooled.” Alistair examined some of the tools that were haphazardly scattered across both large work benches.

  There were racks of hammers, saws, screwdrivers and other assorted tools all fastened to hooks. There was a large vice fixed to the larger of the two work benches. He noticed that the windows to the workshop were still taped up to prevent the occupant from being injured by shattered glass during an air raid.

  “Yes, plenty to tinker around with. I am astonished that all this stuff has been left here along with the furniture at the house. Does it all come with the sale?” asked Alistair.

  “Yes, I believe it does. The family who still own the property have no use for it.”

  “Do they still live within Thornbarrow?”

  “No, they moved to London, just after the war. It was their great uncle who owned the house, a Mister. . . Redgrave, George Redgrave. The old Parson I believe.” Jacob motioned for them both to leave the workshop and continue to explore the garden.

  A short walk from the workshop brought them both to a huge standing stone. Alistair took off his hat and shielded his eyes from the low dazzling winter sun so that he could view the edifice. “I say, is that what I think it is?” he said astounded.

  “It’s a monolith. The last of a series of standing stones I believe. Most were broken up a century or so since and used to construct some of the houses in the village along with the local church. This one survived. The last stone of Thornbarrow.” Alistair walked over to touch the stone. It was huge, at least two and a half times the height and width of him.

  “A monolithic stone. And it stands on the land with the house?”

  “Yes, if you were to purchase this house you would also be the owner of the monolith.” Alistair was astounded at this news.

  “Surely something like this has such immense historical value. It can’t be right that I could simply own it.”

  “Well, it is listed as part of the deeds to this property. Nobody really seems to care Mister Swift. The previous owners of the house have all become, how should I say. . . custodians of the monolith if you like.”

  “I see. Well I have to say, you have taken my breath away Mister Brierly, you really have!”

  “And there is one more surprise Mister Swift. Follow me please,” said Jacob as he led a path behind the monolith to a small outcrop of rock that jutted up and out of the ground. The rocks were partially covered by the prickly creepers of a wild black berry bush. Alistair studied the rocky protrusion which seemed to be totally out of place in its surroundings.

  “I say, what on earth is the pur
pose of this structure? It’s not an ice house, is it?” Alistair asked.

  “No, but I dare say it could be used as one. It’s a cave Mister Swift.”

  “A cave? Am I hearing you correctly?”

  “Indeed you are. According to the deeds, this is listed as a cavern, and runs quite deep underground. It’s a natural cavern formed by glaciers I think. I expect you would know about these things being a teacher Mister Swift?”

  “Indeed. A cave. I can hardly believe it. And this also comes with the house and grounds, like the monolith?”

  “It does.” Alistair chuckled to himself as he made his way over to examine the structure. The apparent entrance to the cavern was barred by a heavy wrought iron gate that was locked with a formidable looking padlock.

  “Why is it locked? Do you have the key?” Jacob searched through his satchel, there were only the keys to the house and workshop.

  “I’m afraid I don’t Mister Swift. I can ask the owners, they might have it, otherwise it may be around someplace. Perhaps in the workshop.” Alistair rattled the gate.

  “Seems such a secure gate. I wonder what possessed them to seal it off so thoroughly?”

  “Perhaps it was dangerous. A rockfall maybe?”

  “Yes perhaps that was it. Still, I would very much like to explore down there wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not sure that I would. I get a bit claustrophobic you see!” Jacob and Alistair walked back through the overgrown gardens until they found themselves standing on the brick path that led back up to the house.

  “I am very impressed with the house Mister Brierly. I think I would rather like to make an offer. What is the asking price exactly?” Jacob pulled out a document from his satchel and read it over.

  “Four thousand, nine hundred and fifty pounds. But I expect they are open to offers.”

  “I would like to offer the asking price. Would you be able to speak with the owner and discuss all the particulars?”