Ghost
There were rumours that Monks Retreat was haunted. It had been uninhabited for years before Michael and I moved into our retirement bungalow next to the one time public house.
Marjorie Midwinter seemed to know a lot about its history. I met her in the village shop within a week of moving in.
'Wilshaws told me a retired couple had taken it, dear'. They were the estate agents in Radsbury, the nearest big town to our little village of Henstead.
'Lovely new bungalow you've got dear, nice to move into something modern that don't need any work doing used to be the garden of the Old Monks Retreat you know.'
I had been rather- curious about the sinister looking building so I asked her what she knew about it.
'Well If you're interested dear I can show you round, Wilshaws get so few enquiries about it it's not worth their while to come all the way out from Radsbury so they leave a set of keys with me, if anyone does come along wanting to see it I'm on hand to let them in, get a little bit of commission not to tell them about the Ghost'
'Ooh Yes I would like to look around it.' I told her 'Come and have a cup of tea with me tomorrow, you might like to see my bungalow'
'All right then dear, I did see it when the builders were working there but of course new houses always look different when they're finished and with furniture and such like in'
I was surprised when I saw the inside of the big house it was in a worse state that appeared from the outside, lead had been stolen of the roof so rainwater had damaged ceilings and floors, enamel bowls that had been placed under leaks had long overflowed and sat uselessly amongst piles of wet plaster. Some of the landings had fallen through on the oak staircase and it was dangerous to explore the upper floors.
No electricity worked and it was dark and gloomy even in daylight. No wonder there were tales of ghosts. Not that I believed, but I know what a vivid imagination can do.
It was many years later before I next went into the old house. By that time it had been transformed. Marjorie had kept me informed. 'It's been sold at last, dear, can you believe the young couple what's going to restore it. Londoners they are.'
Builders came and went for nigh on 8 months and Marjorie imparted further gossip about Mr and Mrs Morgan, I had spotted the couple walking around the grounds from time to time with a small child,they appeared to be in their 40s and had the look of professionals about them.
'He's an architect and he wants the house restored proper with all the original features. He's even got plasterers coming from Italy to copy the mouldings on the ceilings - must have plenty of money. They've got a little girl, but it seems they've both been married before and got older children.'
I remember their housewarming party. Michael and I were invited. It was full of smart people from London and many locals including the Vicar.
He was telling Mrs Morgan (who pooh-poohed the idea of a ghost) that there had been a lot of sightings in the past.
‘Oh yes Mrs Morgan, in fact my predecessor was called in to do an exorcism. It seems it wasn't successful though, because the owners at the time sold up and moved not long after. They claimed to have seen a figure in long white robes drifting up the main staircase and then disappearing into the wall at the end of the Gallery; saw it so often they called her the nun, which is what other owners in the past had seen, the White Nun. Funny when you think about it isn't it? What would a nun be doing in the Monks Retreat?’
The Vicar seemed to find the idea highly amusing.
The Morgans were either too busy or just too sophisticated to be troubled by phantoms they had a live in nanny to look after little Lucy and travelled daily into London. Mrs Morgan worked with her husband.
There was a cook and a cleaner as well, but they didn't stay long and after a year the nanny left. I never knew why.
Then Mrs Midwinter's granddaughter Sandra was employed for a while, but refused to stay overnight as she said it was too spooky. After a few months she gave up the job and Mrs Morgan stayed home for a while, until, that is, they got a young Romanian girl to come as live-in au pair.
Marla her name was, always had Saturdays off and while Mrs Morgan turned housewife for the day little Lucy used to come over to me to bake cakes. I was so fond of that dear little girl she was, so sweet and full of conversation. I learnt more about the activities at the Monks Retreat than anyone else cared to tell me.
‘My brother Giles is coming to stay next weekend Mrs Phillips with lots of his friends from university. They are going to have a party In the Gallery, its a ghost party’
On another occasion she told me, ‘Next week my sister Nancy is coming to stay with her fiancé. They are going to sleep in the Gallery; they might see the White Nun.’
In July Lucy told me. ‘Mummy and Daddy are going to Italy next week. Mrs Phillips, Marla and me will be all on our own in the house.’
Marla had been with the Morgans for several months by this time and with the arrival of the fruit picking season parties of eastern Europeans were brought in to work on the soft fruit farms that surrounded Henstead.
I had seen Marla in the village shop talking to some of the youths in what must have been Romanian. Tanned, dark haired youths surrounded her laughing and chatting. Walking back from the shop with me on one occasion she told me that they came from the part of Romania where her family lived. She did not know them but recognised the colours of her region from the green and black plaited wristbands that they wore.
'They are very poor there, Mrs Phillips, there is a lot of unemployment in Statina where we come from. They have to go where they can get work. Here they can earn a lot of money if they work really hard.'
They also appeared to play hard and while the Morgans were away we were aware of parties going on in the old summer house in the grounds of Monks Retreat. Large groups of pickers seemed to be enjoying music and alcohol.
It was not the noise that disturbed me so much as the fact of little Lucy being in the house alone.
Marla reassured me when I spoke to her about it, 'Don't worry Mrs Phillips, they do not come into the house. It would not be correct to allow it I know, and in any case they would not come. They have heard about the ghost and Romas are very superstitious'
In the autumn of that year Michael and I went out to Australia to visit our daughter, she lived in Melbourne with her Australian husband and two teenage children.
We had intended to stay until the end of January but Michael fell ill and had to go into hospital for several weeks. When he had recovered Susie our daughter insisted we stay on until he felt really well again. So it was late summer of the following year than we finally got back to Henstead.
It was a few weeks before our return that Lucy disappeared. Mrs Midwinter was only too eager to give us all the details.
'It happened in August, dear, Bank holiday weekend, the Morgans were away. The house was full of young people, friends of Giles and Nancy. Marla was supposed to be looking after Lucy but nobody remembered seeing her on the Saturday night.’
‘She told the police she'd gone to bed after reading a story to Lucy and then had found Lucy's bed empty when she went in the next morning.'
The occupants of the house were all detained for questioning and fingerprinting, The Morgans were summoned from Paris. Nobody appeared to have seen Lucy after Marla had taken her up to her room. Detailed searching of the house and grounds took place, then the surrounding fields and farms. The questions of the whereabouts of the foreign pickers arose but by late August most of them had dispersed and were difficult to trace.
The pond by the church was drained. Villagers were questioned and fingerprinted. The intensity of the search diminished with time. Months went by with no sign of Lucy or clues to where she might have been taken or by whom. Months turned into years. The Morgans sold the house with its sad memories. It was bought by a City conglomerate that used it mainly for corporate entertaining etc.
Michael died twenty years ago, I'm on my own now, but I have friends in the Village; joined the WI some time ago.
Monks Retreat fell into disuse when the company owning it went into receivership in the recession.
It seemed almost inevitable that after standing empty and neglected for a year that there would be a fire. The flames took hold too quickly for the fabric of the building to be saved. All that remained were some inner brick walls. Partially burned through they revealed a narrow hidden staircase that led from one of the first floor rooms up to the Gallery. Behind the staircase was a small room, the Priest Hole that James Morgan always suspected the house contained but never could find,
I knew instinctively what would be found there; wrapped in white robes, the skeleton of a small child. clutched in one hand some green and black fibres.
Something I had been told long ago came to mind, "They are very superstitious Mrs Phillips, they do not come into the house". But I wonder!
Pat Planner