Chapter 1

Bee had just had the worst year of her life. Then again, she was never lucky. The only good thing that ever happened to her was meeting Mr and Mrs Christensen.

She had found an advertisement in the local paper looking for a home helper. The job promised a decent amount of money and a place to stay. She applied and hit it off with the couple straight away. Soon after she moved in the flat next to theirs.

Now five years later and both husband and wife were dead. Both dying within months of the other.

Bee had been one of only several to attend either funeral. She was surprised seeing as both were such kind, loving people. They had no children but treated her as she was their own.

It had been just over a week since the funeral when Net’s solicitor had contacted her. She had worried ever since he called and asked her to come into his office.

No doubt he wants to sell the flat she lived in, for some distance relative.

In his office though, he had laughed the moment she asked.

“No, no, Miss Clifford. It is quite the opposite in fact,” He told her, confusing her more.
“Mrs Christensen has made you her sole benefactor.”

She sat wide eyed as he read off a list. Including both flats and all inside, all money, savings, stocks and lastly a cottage estate.

“The cottage is a Georgian house, with five bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, two reception rooms and a washroom. It has an indoor toilet and plumbing, which is unusual considering the era. It has no electric but does have gas. But no one has lived there in a long time, so you would have to have it safety checked.

“It has twelve acres of land and there is a small one bedroom, caretaker’s cottage. Which is more modern cottage than the main house. It was built by the owner’s family only eighty years ago. It, unlike the main build, has all modern conveyances, electric, fridge and so on… Both are fully furnished. The main house in Georgian furniture and the caretakers in modern. The caretaker has recently left. But I can arrange for you to view the properties and move in if you like.”

“They are all mine?” She asked in a whisper.

“Yes. The only condition was that the main cottage and its contents is not to be ever sold or knocked down. The same condition will be given to the person who gets the house after you too, same as it was given to her. Apart from that it is yours.”

He went on to tell her how most of the local townspeople avoided the place because they said it was haunted. For that same reason and a few others no one had lived in the house for more than a hundred and fifty years or even entered.

But a few months ago two teenagers pulled the broken key from the lock and broke in for a dare. Nothing was damaged, but the girls were attacked by the local stray cats. They said it was the ghost.

The caretaker had a new key cut from the broken one, before quitting his position.

“In that case. I want to see the cottage.”

**

Not put off by the tales of ghosts, Bee packed a bag and went to Fairbrook.

Fairbrook was a small English countryside town, which was often mistaken for a village.

Bee decided she would view the cottages, stay overnight and if she decided to stay she would return to the city pack up her other bits and move in.

But for the two weeks before that she had sorted through Net’s old place. She had taken all of her personal things out, photographs, keepsakes, jewellery and so on, she planned on keeping them to remember the gorgeous couple.

Leaving only the furniture inside the flat. She felt bad being left all of this stuff in the will, but she wouldn’t be selfish. She took Net’s and her husband clothing and donated them to a local old age charity.

She even decided to rent the flat, at a very low price to an elderly couple. She had contacted a local charity and asked them for help finding a tenant. She wanted to give an old couple who were struggling with their own home a chance. Her only conditions, the couple took good care of the flat and the contents. If she decided to move to the cottage, she would do the same with her flat.

Thanks to the inheritance, she no longer needed to work. It turned out that despite their modest home, they were rich.

Old money, the solicitor had told her. Net and her husband both had blue blood in their veins.

Bee found herself thanking and speaking to the couple all the time. She never really had any friends. Other than her three cats, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. All female and like her they were all named after her – and so she’s been told, her mother’s – favourite fairy-tale made Disney, Sleeping beauty.

Only planning on being gone overnight, Bee left her cats at home. She would be gone less than twenty-four hours, plus she had left them plenty of food and water, not to mention litter. She also asked another neighbour to pop their head in once to make sure they still had food. So she didn’t worry about them.

The drive to Fairbrook was short. She was to meet the local rep for the solicitor’s large firm there. She had been given the postcode of a place to meet the man. He would then take her to the cottage because it was hard to find if you didn’t know where it was.

Arriving in the small village like shopping centre of the town, she pulled up in front of the building she was meant to meet the man at. But she was more than an hour early, so she choose to look around some of the local shops.

Never being one to waste money she didn’t buy much, only some food and drink for her stay. She wasn’t planning on buying anything else. But passing an antique shop she couldn’t help, but stop when a beautiful small portrait caught her eye.

It was only small in a circular frame, but she was drawn to it. It was of a young girl. The closer she got, the more detail she saw. Stopping in front of it she felt like crying, it was an old black and white photo portrait. At least a hundred and thirty years old, she thought. Probably around the time photography was first beginning. But what made her want to cry was the fact that even though the girl seemed to be just sat holding her doll, she was, in fact, dead. The picture was a very early mourning portrait. Whether the owner of the shop knew it or not, Bee did.

She knew because of the bone-breaking angle the young girl’s neck was at. It was obvious the photographer had tried, but the girl’s neck looked broken at such an angle it was hard not to see. But to the girl’s family, it was probably the only picture they had of her.

She didn’t like the fact that someone had taken to put the picture on display for everyone to see. It was meant for the poor child’s family, to bring them comfort. Not for all to stare at like a freak show.

“I want to buy this,” She said when the shopkeeper walked over to her.

The man was more than happy to sell it to her. If she went off the way he was acting, he didn’t know what it was. She didn’t bother to tell him.

She ended up paying six-hundred pounds, but she didn’t care. She would have paid double to get it off display. It was only money and thanks to Net she had plenty.

“I believe this is one of the Bilson children,” The man explained.
“A young girl brought it in here a few months ago. I don’t know where she got it from. But there is a painting in the town hall of one of the family, there is something that looks like this portrait on a table in the background.”

Bee thanked the man and with thirty minutes to spare, she decided to check out this painting. She followed the man directions and quickly found the location.

Inside, true to his word there was a painting of a handsome man in his late twenties. In the background something which looked like the portrait she had brought only minutes early.

Another thing she noticed about the painting was that there was a not one but two tiny kittens at the man’s feet. The man’s eyes seemed to be trained on them.

She stood just looking at the picture for a long time without realizing the thirty minutes went fast and she was forced to leave and to meet the rep.

**

“Miss Clifford?” A man in his mid-thirties asked her as she came to the meeting location.
“Yes,” She said nodding.

“Hello, Miss Clifford. I am Clint Raymond, the solicitor’s rep,” He introduced himself.

“Hello. Call me Bee,” She shook his outstretched hand.

“Did you drive here or take the bus?”

“Drive.”

“Well, I’ll drive ahead of you and you can follow me in your car?” She nodded in agreement.

“You are thinking of moving down here?” He asked as they walked back outside.

“Maybe.”

“He told you about the electric and everything?”

“Yep. He told me about the main house being unlived in, for a long time. That it needs the gas and water checking and it has no electric. But the caretaker’s house does. Though there is a lot of stray cats and the main house has a ghost,” She said smiling.

“That doesn’t bother you?” He asked surprised.

“Not really,” She shrugged.

“I guess it is different for me because I am a local boy. I grew up hearing the stories of Bilson cottage.”

“Bilson?” She asked remembering the portrait and painting.

“Yes, you heard stories?”

“No. I just saw the painting in the town hall.”

“Oh, yes. The Oliver Pascal Bilson painting. He was the last one to actually live in the house and is said to haunt it.”

“Why is that?” She asked.

“He was hung for murdering one man and raping and trying to kill the same man’s wife. At the time, all evidence pointed to him. But on his death bed another local man who married the woman a couple months after her husband was killed, confessed to doing it. He told them he had been her lover and she was supposed to marry him. But she had married the other because her father wanted her too. Their affair continued, even after she married. But he become insanely jealous, got drunk one night and killed him. Forced himself on her and almost killed her too. But she loved him and forgave him.

“Oliver Bilson was known to be a little strange. Since the death of his younger sister, he had not socialized much. Then his parents died, his other sister got married and moved out, leaving him alone. He was known as cat-boy because, despite his age of thirty-one, he looked a lot younger and always had dozens of cats around the place.

“The woman and her lover knew everyone would believe them because of this. After that, Oliver Bilson was given a post-death pardon and that is why his picture hangs in the town hall.

“It is a local legend that he haunts the house and controls the cats around it. Many believe that the teenage girls probably took something, which is why the cats went for them. Though, they deny it. Personally I don’t know what to think,” He finished explaining. Leaving her gobsmacked.

She didn’t mention the portrait. But she had guessed that maybe the girl who sold it to the store was one that broke in a few months before. But she couldn’t be sure. She planned on just returning it to where it belonged, in the cottage.

If Oliver did haunt it, maybe that would make him happy.