not to mention the dripping tap, nor the water that ran shockingly brown when one first turned it on. 'You don't remember who the Randalls bought the house from, do you, Jerry?' Vivien asked him.
He frowned. 'I'm not sure ... they bought it just after the First War, I think. Seems to me it was a military chap had it before. My brother Art might remember.... Arthur!' He called another man over from the table.
Within ten minutes I was surrounded by all seven of them, overwhelming in their friendliness and their eagerness to be helpful. Working backward, with a great deal of argument, they determined that Eddie Randall had inherited the house from his father, William, in the early 1950's, and that William had bought the house in 1921 from a Captain Somebody, who had reportedly had two very pretty daughters. Beyond that, nobody was exactly sure, and try as they might, they could not remember any interesting episodes in the history of my house.
'Except for the ghost,' one of the men ventured.
'Ghost?' I echoed.
Vivien smiled. 'I'd dean forgotten,' she said.
'She's not been seen for years,' Jerry Walsh assured me.
'Aye, it must be a good thirty years now,' his brother put in. "The Green Lady, wasn't it?' The other men nodded, and he went on. 'I never saw her myself, but plenty of folks did. Just a young woman, in a green dress. Used to appear in the garden at dusk.'
'I saw her once,' the man who had first spoken piped up. 'Fair scared the life out of me. She just stood there, looking right through me with those sad eyes....'
'Wasn't a harmful ghost,' Jerry Walsh cut in, with a reproving glance at the little man. 'She didn't do anyone no harm. Just stood in the garden, sometimes.'
So even the ghosts of Greywethers were boring, I thought to myself. No clanking of chains, no mournful howls at midnight ...
'Not like the ghosts up at the Hall, eh, lads?' Arthur Walsh's grin displayed a row of nicotine-blackened teeth. 'Now, there's a lively lot of characters for you. I've never actually seen any of them, mind, but they say that—'
'Enough,' Vivien broke in, her tone good-natured. 'You'll be giving the girl nightmares.'
'Oh, that's all right." I smiled. "I love a good ghost story. Where is the Hall?'
One of the men jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Crofton Hall,' he said. "The old manor house just the other side of the church. Have you not been up there?'
I confessed that I had not yet ventured any farther than the offices of my estate agents, just opposite the Red Lion on the High Street. Several eyebrows rose amid a chorus of disbelieving exclamations.
'Well, you must see the Hall ...'
'... written up in three guidebooks, it was ...'
'... sure that young Geoff would be happy to give you a tour. Most of the house is open to the public, anyway. He just keeps the north wing for his private use.'
I yielded to the protests. 'I must take a tour, then, when I've finished settling in.'
Mollified, the men settled back and launched into a lively conversation on the topic of moving house, which I found highly entertaining in spite of the fact that I could barely get a word in edgewise.
At ten minutes to four, ad seven of them rose as one body, politely wished me good day, and filed out the door. Vivien Wells met my questioning look with a smile.
'Teatime,' she explained. 'Time for them to get the latest installment of gossip from their wives. Though today I think it'll be the men that do most of the talking.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean they'll be talking about you.' She grinned. 'You've a lot to learn about village life, you know. It's impossible to sneeze here without your neighbors popping in to say "Bless you." '
'I'm sure I'll adjust.'
She nodded. 'I've no doubt. Actually, you seem to have made quite a hit with that lot today. Just you watch— tomorrow you'll have a string of visitors up to the house, with plates of cakes and potted geraniums, come to see how you're getting on.'
'I'll dust off the silver tea
He frowned. 'I'm not sure ... they bought it just after the First War, I think. Seems to me it was a military chap had it before. My brother Art might remember.... Arthur!' He called another man over from the table.
Within ten minutes I was surrounded by all seven of them, overwhelming in their friendliness and their eagerness to be helpful. Working backward, with a great deal of argument, they determined that Eddie Randall had inherited the house from his father, William, in the early 1950's, and that William had bought the house in 1921 from a Captain Somebody, who had reportedly had two very pretty daughters. Beyond that, nobody was exactly sure, and try as they might, they could not remember any interesting episodes in the history of my house.
'Except for the ghost,' one of the men ventured.
'Ghost?' I echoed.
Vivien smiled. 'I'd dean forgotten,' she said.
'She's not been seen for years,' Jerry Walsh assured me.
'Aye, it must be a good thirty years now,' his brother put in. "The Green Lady, wasn't it?' The other men nodded, and he went on. 'I never saw her myself, but plenty of folks did. Just a young woman, in a green dress. Used to appear in the garden at dusk.'
'I saw her once,' the man who had first spoken piped up. 'Fair scared the life out of me. She just stood there, looking right through me with those sad eyes....'
'Wasn't a harmful ghost,' Jerry Walsh cut in, with a reproving glance at the little man. 'She didn't do anyone no harm. Just stood in the garden, sometimes.'
So even the ghosts of Greywethers were boring, I thought to myself. No clanking of chains, no mournful howls at midnight ...
'Not like the ghosts up at the Hall, eh, lads?' Arthur Walsh's grin displayed a row of nicotine-blackened teeth. 'Now, there's a lively lot of characters for you. I've never actually seen any of them, mind, but they say that—'
'Enough,' Vivien broke in, her tone good-natured. 'You'll be giving the girl nightmares.'
'Oh, that's all right." I smiled. "I love a good ghost story. Where is the Hall?'
One of the men jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Crofton Hall,' he said. "The old manor house just the other side of the church. Have you not been up there?'
I confessed that I had not yet ventured any farther than the offices of my estate agents, just opposite the Red Lion on the High Street. Several eyebrows rose amid a chorus of disbelieving exclamations.
'Well, you must see the Hall ...'
'... written up in three guidebooks, it was ...'
'... sure that young Geoff would be happy to give you a tour. Most of the house is open to the public, anyway. He just keeps the north wing for his private use.'
I yielded to the protests. 'I must take a tour, then, when I've finished settling in.'
Mollified, the men settled back and launched into a lively conversation on the topic of moving house, which I found highly entertaining in spite of the fact that I could barely get a word in edgewise.
At ten minutes to four, ad seven of them rose as one body, politely wished me good day, and filed out the door. Vivien Wells met my questioning look with a smile.
'Teatime,' she explained. 'Time for them to get the latest installment of gossip from their wives. Though today I think it'll be the men that do most of the talking.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean they'll be talking about you.' She grinned. 'You've a lot to learn about village life, you know. It's impossible to sneeze here without your neighbors popping in to say "Bless you." '
'I'm sure I'll adjust.'
She nodded. 'I've no doubt. Actually, you seem to have made quite a hit with that lot today. Just you watch— tomorrow you'll have a string of visitors up to the house, with plates of cakes and potted geraniums, come to see how you're getting on.'
'I'll dust off the silver tea
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