Sommersgate House Read online

  Sommersgate House

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Sommersgate House

  Kristen Ashley

  Published at Smashwords by Kristen Ashley

  Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley

  Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley:

  Rock Chick Series:

  Rock Chick

  Rock Chick Rescue

  Rock Chick Redemption

  Rock Chick Renegade

  Rock Chick Revenge

  The ‘Burg Series:

  For You

  At Peace

  Golden Trail

  The Colorado Mountain Series:

  The Gamble

  Sweet Dreams

  Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:

  Lacybourne Manor

  Penmort Castle

  Three Wishes

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  Prologue

  Sommersgate House

  Everyone knew that Sommersgate House was built for love.

  Its creator, Lord Archibald Ashton, Baron Blackbourne, spared no expense. Every piece of stone, every stick of timber, every pane of glass (and so on) were the best of the very best. He located the finest carpets; commissioned the most extraordinary fireplaces; purchased the most exceptional pieces of furniture; demanded the most magnificent chandeliers.

  Every inch had to be resplendent. It was to be a testimony to devotion.

  Sommersgate House was built for his wife, the love of his life, the beautiful Lady Ruby.

  It was tragic, then, that they both died within months of its completion.

  Everyone thought that was enough reason for the curse to settle on the house. After all that trouble, all that expense, all that dedication to an act of love, to have it all, so quickly, turn catastrophic in only a few months time was enough for any house to be cursed.

  And cursed it was, Sommersgate, once beautiful (if a bit ostentatiously so), during one dark day and one frantic, devastating evening, turned wicked, frightful and monstrous.

  As the decades went by, the curse became local lore. People could feel it, just walking, riding or eventually driving by the Gate House of the great property. Its malevolence permeated the very air. For those who went to the house, they felt it, even though they didn’t see it.

  Sommersgate House was a most unhappy place indeed.

  And that didn’t even take into account the hauntings.

  Chapter One

  Hope

  That morning Mrs. Kilpatrick had a case of nerves. Mrs. K knew that there was still the possibility that this morning’s imminent arrival would get cold feet. That Julia Fairfax would decide, at the last minute, not to leave her family, her friends, her home, everything she knew, to spend the next thirteen years of her life at Sommersgate House.

  Yes, that morning Mrs. Kilpatrick was tense. Her daily girl Veronika was tense. And before he left, Carter, the chauffer, was tense.

  Worst of all, the house was tense and make no mistake about it, even though it was simply mortar and stone (albeit grand mortar and stone), Sommersgate could most definitely be tense.

  Mrs. Kilpatrick had been working at Sommersgate for the last thirty-seven years, since she was seventeen years old, and she was proud of it. She’d worked her way up from a daily girl to the lofty position of Housekeeper. She knew every nook and cranny of the house, every noise, every creaky floorboard. She knew that house like she knew her own husband, through and through.

  She turned and watched as Ruby sat at the massive kitchen table, her blonde curls bobbing while she coloured in her book. Per usual, the child made no attempt to colour in the lines or utilise a flesh-like tone for skin (in this instance, Mrs. Kilpatrick saw, skin was kelly green) or any other colour that would be appropriate (the sky was silver and the grass was purple).

  From the moment four years ago when Ruby was placed in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s arms as a babe of no more than a few days, Mrs. Kilpatrick knew there was something unusual about the child. Ruby had spent the next four years proving her right.

  As she watched Ruby, Mrs. K heard a car on the drive.

  Ruby didn’t hesitate in colouring because she hadn’t lived in Sommersgate long enough to know how to distinguish the various sounds but Mrs. Kilpatrick knew that Carter was home.

  She took a deep breath and sighed in relief. If something had gone wrong during the journey from Heathrow, Carter would have called. They were now home and Mrs. K hoped that, with the treasured cargo Carter was delivering today, months of sadness and despair would begin healing.

  Maybe even a century of it.

  She put a hand to her hair, testing the bounce of her fashionable bob, the old blonde now having streaks of white. She smoothed the front of her skirt down, trying, as ever, to ignore her somewhat protruding belly, flipped on the electric kettle and shot a prayer to heaven that Ms. Julia Fairfax was indeed the answer to all Mrs. Kilpatrick’s prayers. Or, more to the point, Mrs. Kilpatrick’s prayers for little Ruby, Ruby’s older brother William and sister Elizabeth and perhaps, just perhaps, their Uncle Douglas but most especially, Sommersgate House.

  “Come along, luv, your Aunt Julia is here.”

  At this announcement, Ruby’s head shot up and she ceased colouring immediately. Squealing with delight (a sound so foreign in Sommersgate that it startled Mrs. K), she jumped off the bench and ran out of the kitchen at top speed. She was at the front door, struggling to shift its massive weight when Mrs. Kilpatrick arrived.

  “Patience, child. She’s right outside the door. You’ll see her soon enough.”

  “Auntie Jewel, I’m in here!” Ruby shouted through the door unnecessarily but Mrs. Kilpatrick doubted the ancient, studded wood with its heavy, black-scrolled, iron hinges would do anything but mute the child’s call.

  She unlatched the door and using all her might, pulled it open. Ruby shot out like lightning, ran across the distance and threw herself at the tall woman standing on the gravel drive next to a shining burgundy Bentley.

  “My gorgeous baby!” Julia Fairfax cried. Wrapping her arms around the child, she lifted her up and swung her around in a full circle.

  Mrs. Kilpatrick took in the scene. Carter had moved to the boot of the Bentley and was watching it too. It was hard not to smile with relief and Mrs. K felt the easing sigh tremble through the very air around Sommersgate.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Margaret Kilpatrick had known Julia Elizabeth Fairfax for fifteen years. She’d wat
ched her grow from a young, naive, headstrong girl of twenty-one to a beautiful, sophisticated, even more headstrong woman (so headstrong as to be described as stubborn).

  Julia stood in the drive by the gleaming Bentley, which sat next to a glamorous circular fountain. She was swinging her niece, smiling and laughing, looking like she’d been born to stand in the drive of a palatial estate, even though she most definitely had not.

  She was very tall, slim but rounded in all the right places. Julia wore an elegant suit of chocolate brown with a fitted pencil skirt and a feminine jacket nipped in at the waist. Her blonde hair was swept up in a chic twist. She was wearing a pair of leopard print, spike heeled pumps and a tawny pashmina dripped casually from her elbows. She didn’t look like she’d spent the last fourteen hours travelling through crowded airports, stuffy airplanes and close cars. She looked fresh and rested, as if she was just headed out to lunch.

  “I’m not a baby,” Ruby exclaimed through her giggling struggles.

  “You’re my baby, always were, always will be,” Julia stated and kissed the child loudly on her cheek.

  Julia bent to let Ruby down and noticed Mrs. Kilpatrick.

  Walking forward hand extended, she murmured, “Mrs. K.”

  The muscles worked in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s throat as she tried not to cry and she steeled herself for what was to come. Julia Fairfax, and her mother Patricia, were American and didn’t stand on ceremony and had no sense of, or more likely didn’t care much for, the firmly hierarchical way things were at Sommersgate. The lady of the house, Baroness Monique Ashton, hated it when her daughter’s American in-laws would come to visit. They were far too familiar with the servants, amongst other things, many other things.

  Julia put her hand on Mrs. Kilpatrick’s arm, squeezed gently and kissed the older woman’s cheek with familiarity and kindness.

  “How’s it going, Mrs. K?” she asked, trying to read Mrs. Kilpatrick’s face. At that distance, Mrs. Kilpatrick saw that Julia was not nearly as fresh and relaxed as she’d looked from afar. Her skin was pale and drawn and her green eyes, normally alight with mischief, good humour, or stubborn resolve, looked immensely tired, as if she’d not only been travelling for fourteen hours but as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.

  “I’m well, Miss Julia, how was your flight?”

  Mrs. K referred to both Julia and Patricia in a less formal way at each woman’s demand. Lady Ashton would never allow Mrs. K any kind of familiarity which would include using their Christian name. Mrs. K firmly refused to call them Jewel and Patty, as she’d been asked to do many a time. In return, Julia and Patricia had firmly refused to answer to Miss Fairfax or Mrs. Fairfax. In the end, they had an unspoken compromise and “Miss Julia” and “Miss Patricia” were born.

  Mrs. K disengaged her arm with her own friendly but fleeting squeeze of Julia’s hand and walked the woman into the house as Ruby danced ahead of them. Julia hesitated and looked back at the Bentley. Neither Julia nor Patricia had ever been comfortable with being waited upon, having their bags carried for them, unpacked for them, their laundry done or doors opened for them.

  “Don’t worry, Carter will see to your bags,” Mrs. K assured her. “Your flight?”

  Julia smiled wearily, giving in gracefully to the gentle reminder of how things were at Sommersgate.

  Even though Mrs. Kilpatrick had pulled away from Julia’s grasp, the younger woman linked her arm through Mrs. K’s elbow and walked forward. “I’m glad it’s over, I hate flying.” She looked around her and trembled dramatically. “How’s this dusty old pile of rocks keeping? I see it hasn’t fallen down around your heads… unfortunately.”

  Mrs. Kilpatrick shuddered a bit at Sommersgate being talked of like that. On a day as tense as today, a body needed to be careful.

  Julia had been a guest on dozens of occasions, dating from before Julia’s brother Gavin had married young Lady Tamsin Ashton and through to last Christmas. Julia had brought her (rather despicable, Mrs. K always thought) husband there before they were married and came back after they were divorced. Mrs. K believed fully in the sanctity of marriage but she’d said a little prayer on the day she found out Julia had become legally untied to that horrible man.

  Julia, like many, both loved and hated Sommersgate, but, like few, didn’t have any problem sharing how she felt.

  “It’s taken good care of those children,” Mrs. K responded, nodding her head toward Ruby as they exited the long hallway and entered the enormous stairwell with its cavernous gallery, curving staircase ornately carved from granite that four people standing abreast could ascend and its enormous ceiling made entirely of domed glass and embellished wrought iron. Its walls were decorated with dozens of portraits of serious faced ancestors wearing the fashions of the day replete with dripping medals or jewels, depending on the gender.

  Julia stopped and looked around, staring at the huge marble fireplace that once heated this space.

  “I expect it’s you who have taken good care of those children,” Julia remarked and Mrs. K knew this had more than one meaning. “I just can’t imagine what was in Tammy and Gav’s heads when they demanded the children be brought up here.”

  “Miss Tamsin loved this house, as does Ruby,” Mrs. K replied.

  Ruby was standing next to Julia looking up at her with sparkling blue eyes and Mrs. K took that opportunity to study the child.

  Ruby had taken the last five months surprisingly well, but then, at four years old, how much could she understand about the horrible events that rainy night? It was William, and especially Elizabeth, who had suffered the most.

  Julia seemed to realise where she was and what she was saying. She bent low and kissed the top of Ruby’s curls before her eyes returned to the housekeeper.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. K, I’m exhausted. The trip, selling my house, car… the last week has been day after day of going away parties, meals out with friends, finding a place for every last hair pin. It’s been insane.”

  Mrs. K understood; the last few months had to be upheaval for Julia. She’d had to give up everything.

  She gave Julia a reassuring smile. “I’ve got the kettle on. Let me get you a cuppa. A warm drink always helps. Coffee?”

  Julia nodded gratefully and Mrs. K shuffled her into what she knew was Julia’s favourite place at Sommersgate, a smallish room off the grand stairwell that had a tile and flagstone floor and butter-coloured, stone walls. It had wide entryways to both the stairwell and the drawing room and grand, double French windows that lead to the front gardens.

  This space was once the entry to the house in the days when horses clattered to the front. Motor cars, and an ancestral baroness who detested them and refused to see them out her front door, had changed the traffic of Sommersgate. She modified the drive to complete at the studded doors at the side, added the fountain and laid the old front drive to gardens. She then altered the huge space within the house to what was now one of the warmest places you could find, literally and figuratively. It held comfortable, button-backed leather couches, chairs and ottomans surrounding another ornate, grand fireplace with sturdy but fine tables here and there on which to lay drinks, trays, books or puzzles, as the case may be.

  Of course, no one used the space much, the lord of the manor and his lady mother weren’t the kind who casually wiled away time with games and puzzles.

  Mrs. K’s mind moved from the space, back to Julia.

  “You wait here. I’ll be back in a snap,” Mrs. K assured her.

  She bustled away, hearing Julia’s chic pumps hit the floor one-by-one as she took them off and, in a teasing voice, she addressed Ruby. Listening to Julia, Mrs. K. nearly ran into Veronika who was hiding in the shadows by the dining room

  “She arrive safe?” Veronika asked in broken English.

  The Russian girl had been at Sommersgate for six months, the longest Mrs. Kirkpatrick had been able to keep a daily for several years, and, for that alone, she cherished the girl. It took an extraordinary amount of ti
me hiring staff, training them in the very specific tasks they had to perform, then losing them and having to hire more.

  Veronika not only stayed, but she did a job at which many people would turn up their noses and she did it with pride and unending amounts of energy. Especially these last months when so much more was required of them with the arrival of the children.

  “She’s safe, you’ll need to unpack her cases,” Mrs. K informed the girl. “But first, I want you to meet her.” Her orders were voiced kindly but Veronika shrunk into herself and Mrs. K’s heart went out to the girl.

  Veronika had not shared much but Mrs. K knew something was not right. She was timid and scared of her own shadow. Monique Ashton unnerved her and Sommersgate House petrified her, both of which weren’t unusual and often why the other girls never stayed very long. But Veronika needed the job, or she would likely be shipped back to wherever she came from, something, Mrs. K thought, terrified her most of all.

  Where Douglas Ashton had found the petite, young, pretty, dark-haired girl was something that Mrs. Kilpatrick did not want to know. He’d simply told Mrs. K one day that a girl was coming to fill the daily job that had gone vacant for several weeks.

  “If she’s suitable, keep her. She’ll have no references but that’s not your concern, just put her to work,” he’d said.

  The comings and goings of Douglas Ashton, titled Baron Blackbourne and sixth master of Sommersgate House, were none of Margaret Kilpatrick’s business and, even if she could know, Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t want to know. Further, she’d never question Lord Ashton, not in a million years. She’d be sacked, without references, even if she had been in his life since he could remember. He’d do it, she had no doubt, and he’d not entertain another thought in his handsome head about it.

  Mrs. Kilpatrick had come to Sommersgate when Douglas Ashton was an infant. Even knowing him since he was a wee lad, as a man, she admired him greatly, she feared him and she worried about him, in that order.