ON THE COVER The House On Rookery Lane Our haunting serial starts today

Reena goes back to the old house where she was raised, a place that brings back a rush of mixed memories and jumbled emotions…

Istood before the curlicued gates of Rookwood like the little match girl staring uncertainly into windows. I had always been an outsider, even when I lived here. The letter that had brought me back against my better judgment was clutched in my hand.

I knew I must go in yet I hesitated, steadying my breath. There was something about the old house, something that ensnared you while it sent a nervous shiver over your skin.

Its position was commanding, having always been the squire’s hall and of principal importance in the village. Perched on a rise at the end of Rookery Lane and framed by woodland that housed the bird colony after which the road was named, its gabled roofs, leaded windows and almost crimson stone gave it a romantic, timeless air.

I remembered when I had first looked in like this as a ten-year-old orphan, alone and scared but somewhere deep within, fiercely proud.

I was one of three being given asylum here. The other two – brother and sister – were London evacuees and I was a “charity” girl from the village, taken in as a kindness to my dying mother. And if, while under its roof, I found myself doing cleaning and kitchen work… well, it was wartime and domestic help was hard to come by.

I didn’t mind. I just wanted to finish my education, achieve those precious qualifications that would be my ticket into a wider world where beginnings were no barrier to eventual success.

Not everybody at Rookwood treated me as a lesser being. The governess Miss Peniston was a darling, taking me under her wing the moment she recognised that same passion and gift for learning in me that she herself possessed. Then of course there was Hunter… A smile touched my lips for the first time since my arrival.

With more confidence, I pushed open the gate and began the walk up the tree-lined avenue to where the house waited for me to step once more across its threshold.

Memories were assailing me with every footfall, even more so as the studded front door was laid wide by a neat maid an nd I found mys elf in the grand d panelled hal ll with its chequered fl flooring and wide sta aircase leading to the galleried firstt storeyt above. b

I stood there, reluctant to move. There was an atmosphere drifting through here that I couldn’t understand but was unsettled by.

Then I heard a step upon the stair and glancing up, I could breathe again.

“Reena!” The deep, teasing voice sent a tingle down my spine. “I was supposed to fetch you from the station. Why didn’t you ring?”

I let my gaze feast on the speaker before I answered. Laughing blue eyes, tawny hair framing strong, attractive features. This was Hunter Wraxham… my Hunter, heir to Rookwood House and its grounds.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said unsteadily as he crossed the distance between us to take my hands. He’d had this effect on me from the moment I first saw him. It always took me a few heartbeats to feel normal again.

“You wanted to arrive in your own way, in case you decided not to come!” The smile he’d greeted me with faded. “And perhaps you shouldn’t have…” “What is it?” “Something awful’s happened, darling. Penny’s dead.”

MEMORIES of Rookwood ORPHANAGE assailed me with every FOOTFALL

Isat in the elegant drawing-room without really seeing any of its antique furnishings, my hand in Hunter’s as cold and limp as I felt inside. The lovely Miss Peniston, our own dear Penny, dead? I couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to.

“It was a freak accident,” Hunter was saying, his thumb stroking up and down my palm. “A rainy day, a slip of her bicycle wheel on the corner of the lane. They say she came down awkwardly, hit her head on a stone.”

“How can this be?” I whispered for about the fifth time. “I only spoke to her a few days ago, confirming I’d come…” Hunter touched his lips to my temple. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

I thought of the letter from Penny that I’d slipped into my bag and straightened, intending to show it to him, but before I could, there was a commotion at the doorway and in walked Millie, Hunter’s aunt, in a tangle of shawls and apologies.

The younger sister of his mother Elizabeth, Millie was the opposite of that austere, commanding woman; an ethereal moon to Elizabeth’s blazing sun. The loss of the old governess- companion seemed to have made her more fluttery than usual, and willing to forget the usual desire she shared with her sister to put me in my place.

“Oh, Marina, such a time for you to come! Poor Penny was so anxious to see you, and now gone to her grave in no more than a heartbeat. It’s so distressing! I can barely set a stitch, let alone be a support to Elizabeth. I had warned Penny of cycling on those lanes unattended. But did she pay any heed? No, indeed. No one ever listens to me!”

I murmured something in response. It must have been sufficient as Millie

leaned toward me, eyes oddly glowing. “I predicted it, you know. There’s always a death when my lady walks abroad.”

The shiver of a long-forgotten nightmare trembled down my spine.

“You mean the white lady of the old Rookwood legend?” Millie nodded. “Stuff and nonsense,” Hunter declared. “That ghost story was concocted by my ancestors to generate interest in this house, to keep naughty children in their beds after dark.”

I was shocked to catch a look of malevolence in Millie’s expression as she stared at her nephew. She, like her sister, was devoted to Hunter. Or so I’d always thought. “Well, story or not,” I said, moving closer to him, “It certainly kept me awake at nights. Did Penny mention it, then, before she… died?”

“She did, indeed,” said Millie with relish. “She’d seen my lady walking the gallery in a floating white gown, trying to speak.” Hunter frowned. “She was delirious. She didn’t know what she was saying,” he said.

Millie pursed her lips, then said firmly, “It was a warning, a sign of her impending death.”

“Really, Millie! I thought you too old to put such store in superstitions.”

I had been so wrapped up in the mood Millie had woven round us that I’d failed to notice the arrival of Hunter’s mother. Out of old habit, I jumped to my feet.

She turned, looking down a patrician nose at me. She was an undeniably handsome woman, with an air of elegant authority that never failed to remind me of her aristocratic origins and make me feel inferior.

Yet for the first time in my life, I felt surprise, too, for there was a hint of something almost vulnerable in her face, an emotion I imagined her incapable of. Remembering that she’d already lost her husband this year, I wasn’t sure what to say.

She’d been examining me from head to toe and, from her expression, had found me wanting, as usual. And yet her words, “Welcome back to Rookwood, Marina. I’m sorry you find us such a sorrowful place,” lacked the coldness I’d come to expect. “As I am for your loss,” I stammered. I sat when she did, careful to keep my distance from Hunter, although she seemed not to notice, admonishing Millie for not seeing to refreshments, then forgetting to do so herself as Millie fussed over what food to serve at Penny’s funeral.

It was soon clear that Elizabeth’s thoughts were elsewhere and when she rose with a restless, “Yes, dear. Do whatever you think best,” Millie was shocked into silence. She rounded on Hunter as soon as Elizabeth left.

“You see? I told you she’s not herself! When does she ever take my suggestions seriously?”

“She’s been through a lot lately,” Hunter pointed out.

“I know, but if Elizabeth goes to pieces, there’s no hope for any of us!”

After a much-needed coffee, Hunter took me for a walk in the gardens. “Millie’s right,” he admitted. “Mother’s not coping well with losing Penny. Perhaps it’s the suddenness of it, or it happening so close to Father’s death. Penny’s been her companion here – much more than Millie, bless her – for so long that, she’s… she was like one of the family.”

I sighed and squeezed his arm where it was tucked in mine.

“That’s why I suggested we delay announcing the engagement. You’re everything to Elizabeth and always have been,” I hurried on as Hunter began to protest. “If she’s suffering, it’s not right to upset her further with the news that her precious son is going to marry the charity girl and scupper all her plans for his future.” Hunter’s features hardened. “You know I don’t like you calling yourself that! And I don’t want to wait.”

We’d paused beneath the tangled branches of the shrubbery. I raised my hands to his face.

“Please, just for a little longer. Besides, I have a horrid feeling there’s something not right here.” “What do you mean?” I sighed. “You know I only agreed to return to Rookwood because of Penny. She insisted I come, Hunter. She said she had something important to tell me, about the past.

“It was in response to my confessing to her about our engagement, so I got the feeling that what she wanted to talk to me about was connected to you.”

Hunter was tracing the lines of my palm. “I can’t think what. Perhaps she just wanted you and Mother to be reconciled before we got married, make life that little bit easier.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Did Penny still keep a diary, do you know?” I asked.

“I don’t, but if she had one, I could guess where it would be. If you had a peek at that, would it ease your mind?”

I nodded, grateful for his support. His smile held a hint of desire.

“Then I suggest looking for an old red shoebox in her wardrobe; she’s always kept anything sentimental there. But for now, come here. If we’re still keeping our relationship secret, I’ll have to steal my kisses wherever I can…”

For the FIRST time I saw a HINT of something VULNERABLE in her face

I’d unpacked my things in the attic room and gone to the window to drink in the garden view through the old cherry tree, feeling twelve years old again. It finally hit me then, and tears coursed down my face.

My poor Penny... gone! I’d loved her almost from the moment I’d sidled into her schoolroom over a decade ago.

She had been my guardian in an imposing house of snobbery and shadows, banishing bad dreams, and – I gulped – Rookwood’s legendary phantom lady, by taking me to the wonderful Land of Oz, enchanted castles and a Psammead’s sandpit.

Over the years, she fed my thirst for knowledge. She had also nurtured a burgeoning bond and eventual love between the precious Rookwood heir and the charity girl, despite her employers’ palpable disapproval of over-familiarity toward the Wraxhams on my part.

“Ah, Penny,” I sighed into the silence. “You always were such a romantic.”

We had kept in touch after I left Rookwood for what I thought was forever, even though she knew Elizabeth would prefer that I sever all ties with the place, particularly Hunter, now she’d done her duty by orphan and state.

But Hunter, like Penny, wouldn’t let me fade out of his life. He followed me to the city, pursued me as we both founded careers and refused to let our feelings for each other be ignored.

I resisted at first, more from pride than anything else. Not that this was easy. But I wanted him to live a little, away from Rookwood – and me – so that if he did persist in his affections, we’d know they were real and not a habit better confined to the past.

How I would miss my letters and phonecalls with Penny, discussing the progression of my teaching career, and sharing news about a secret love begun in the nooks of the old house on Rookery Lane.

Maybe I was just being fanciful, imagining something sinister in the air. Yet I knew Penny would never have pushed me to come back unless she had a good reason. And if there was any hint of foul play in the circumstances of my dear friend’s death, I owed it to her to uncover it.

Why would anyone want to kill Penny? That was the thought burning through my brain as I went to the village.

She’d been a harmless spinster who’d remained at Rookwood as my lady’s companion and unofficial housekeeper. Helping at community events and the new local school were her only claims to fame. If she’d ever had romantic or other entanglements in her life, they were long forgotten.

Catching sight of Elizabeth near the glasshouse feeding garden cuttings into a bonfire, I steered my steps round by the longer route of the woodland grove. I was still reeling from the tragic turn of events I’d walked into. I didn’t feel up to a one-on-one with my nemesis.

The village street embraced me with less potent memories… a quintessential blend of old and new, and midway along Church Street, the cottage where I’d been born and raised until my parents’ loss meant I was made a ward of state and given asylum in Rookery Lane.

I’d often sneaked back to the village in the following years, finding the lost comfort of my mother’s care in Edith Raike, the doctor’s wife.

Warmth kindled within as I rapped on their rose-framed front door, deepening when Edith appeared and immediately pulled me into her arms.

“Oh, my darling girl! Come in. I’ve got the gingerbread baking!”

I let her prattle on and pepper me with questions I barely had time to answer, helping her prepare a simple but delicious afternoon tea that we took into the garden.

When she finally sated her curiosity, it was my turn.

Edith shook her head as I expressed my shock at Penny’s death.

“That poor Miss Peniston! She would insist on flying round the village on that rickety bicycle in all weathers!

“And Rookery corner is always slippery when it’s damp. But I think it gave her a sense of freedom she no doubt craved.”

I frowned. “Was she unhappy at Rookwood, then?”

“I wouldn’t say unhappy, exactly. But, well… the Wraxham sisters aren’t the easiest of women to spend your life with, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.”

“Millie said she was suffering from delusions before she died,” I said, “Talking of the old white lady legend.” Edith sniffed. “That’s rich, coming from Millie! She’s always spouting tall stories about that house.

Between you and me, Jacob worries about her state of mind. But it’s true enough Miss Peniston was delirious in her last moments.”

“I don’t suppose you know what she was saying?” I ventured, although without much hope.

Edith, lowering her voice, murmured, “Something about rooks and cuckoos, and the Wraxhams, so Jacob said. Poor love. I’m sorry you never got to see her before she passed.”

I squeezed the warm hand she’d slipped into mine.

“I have her letters, and my memories,” I said, silently adding, and a fear that I could be right about my suspicions of Penny’s “accident”…

I wanted to know his FEELINGS were real and not a HABIT from the past