Ghosts of Winter Read Online Free PDF Page B

to it, determined to find the bathroom this time and stop dwelling on anxieties and regrets. Downstairs, it more or less mirrored the pattern of the other side of the house, with what was described as the Common Parlour at the front of the house, and a sad, empty, oak-panelled library the exact opposite of the Music Room. The biggest difference was that instead of the Saloon towards the back of the house there was a small antechamber which finally led me into the bathroom. I wrinkled my nose automatically as I took in the old—probably circa 1910, if the scant history of the house I’d read was to be believed—lavatory with its pull-chain flush and the enamelled bath. Everything was draped with cobwebs and the chill in the damp air made me shiver. A small black fireplace was full of twigs from a birds’ nest which had fallen down the chimney. The floor was filthy. However, as I stood for a moment and assessed the potential of the room, I began to feel more excited. The dark indigo tiles on the walls were highly glazed and would be beautiful once cleaned. People paid a fortune these days for freestanding bathtubs such as this one. The checkerboard tiles of the floor appeared to be in perfect condition beneath the grime. I smiled to myself. There was hope yet; I could do this.
    I knew from a note in the paperwork I’d been given that the stopcock for the water supply to the whole house was located in the bathroom. I opened what looked like a storage cupboard beneath the ceramic washbasin and found what I assumed was the tap in question. I gripped it firmly and turned, taken by surprise when it moved easily. I heard a hissing and gurgling sound, a metallic creaking as water flooded back into the old pipes. I prayed nothing would leak. After about thirty seconds the noises subsided. I straightened up and turned one of the taps on the wall above the bathtub. It spluttered for a moment, and then slowly at first, water began to flow into the tub below. The stream was rust coloured and irregular, but still, running water was real progress. Pleased with myself, I reached for the flush of the toilet and pulled. The toilet flushed as though it had last been used only days before. I decided this would be the first room I put my cleaning skills to use. A fully functioning, clean bathroom would make the whole place more like home instantly.
    Smiling at my achievement and my enthusiasm refreshed, I left the bathroom, keen to see the rest of the house. A small door led from the antechamber outside towards the rear of the property. I opened it tentatively consulting my plan. I found myself at a landing of a narrow stone staircase which went both up and downwards. This was the servants’ staircase. I stopped in my tracks: I owned a house with a servants’ staircase. It was astonishingly difficult to believe, even as I stepped onto the staircase in question. The plan told me that downstairs was the old kitchen and upstairs I would find a doorway onto an upper landing.
    I peered down towards the kitchen and saw nothing but shadows and cobwebs. I shivered and decided I would wait to explore the bowels of the house for a day when I felt more comfortable here. I didn’t have to see everything today, after all, and I wasn’t sure my fragile optimism could take a dank abandoned kitchen. I had a lot of time to become familiar with Winter. Instead I followed the narrow staircase upwards. I reached a doorway which opened onto the first floor and went through gladly. The stairs continued upwards, to the attics, but that prospect was no more tempting than the downstairs kitchens. I didn’t believe in haunted houses but I wanted to feel more confident in myself before I made my way into the gloomier parts of Winter.
    I emerged from the narrow doorway and found myself on one side of the landing at the top of the grand staircase, in a sort of upstairs hallway. The nearest doorway took me into the Red Bedroom. Surprisingly, the bed still stood in the