The young woman was pretty down when her Tommy went into the service. He'd been Jenny Smith's only boyfriend throughout the end of school, and frankly, she was far more depressed and lost than she'd imagined she'd be.
The school term had finally finished and Jenny should have been going off to uni. Things hadn't worked out that way yet because of exam results, but she had hopes of starting in some extra courses and then use that as a back door entrance to uni. She and Tommy were both going to try this.
That day was the one she'd been looking forward to since he'd left: his first leave, but it just wasn't to be. The day before, a letter had arrived, explaining that things had come up and he wasn't going to be able to come for another three weeks, and the girl was devastated. She had been counting on seeing him so much.
Her mum called from downstairs. "Jenny! I've got your tea ready, luv. Come down and have it!"
She got off her bed and pasted on a smile as she made my way down the steep stairs of their cottage. Wouldn't do any good to have mum see her moping around, not with the load she'd been carrying since dad died a year earlier. Since then, it had just mum and her, and not much from the insurance money to keep body and soul together.
They lived in a small town in Dorset and Jenny longed to get out and see the world. She and Tommy had already made lots of plans on what they'd do when he got out of the service. With the conflict in the Falkland Islands going on, they were both hoping he wouldn't get sent over there. At least, Jenny was hoping. Tommy, she wasn't so sure about. You know how boys are.
She found her mum with her head buried in the local paper. On the table was the old teapot, covered with a hand-knitted cosy, two mugs and a couple of biscuits for each of them.
Mum poured. "So, Jenny, what do you fancy on doing over your hols? A spot of work?"
Jenny kept her head down so her mum couldn't see her annoyance. It was obvious what she was hinting at, but in the girl's depression over Tommy not coming home as promised, she really didn't feel like doing anything.
Mum again consulted the paper. "Pub in the next town is advertising for a barmaid. You're a pretty thing. Bet they'd hire you in a minute."
"Mum! I don't want to work in a place like that and I can't believe you'd suggest it!"
Truth was, Jenny always turned heads. Not that she really wanted to, but there it was. Boys had been pestering her since she was 12, and now that she'd turned 18, older men had started noticing.
She'd been blessed with wavy, light brown hair and a good complexion. While not all that tall (5'5''), her figure could be have been described as slender but curvy. She noticed males ogling her chest often enough, and Tommy was always trying to touch her bosom, so she guessed that was all right, too. Her face was expressive and beautiful, and clearly broadcast her naive innocence.
When her boyfriend was around to keep the men at bay, it was fine. Not many were eager to take on a strapping farm lad who was good with his fists. Since he'd gone, Jenny had kept to herself so she wouldn't have problems and it was pretty lonely life.
Mum flipped a page. "Well, would you at this. Flamborough Hall has been given to the National Trust. There's a full page on it. I never!"
That caught Jenny's interest. "Let me see, Mum!"
"Here, darling, swing around and we'll both read it."
The Hall (as it was locally referred to) had been uninhabited for as long as Jenny been alive. The last lord had taken to living abroad and other than the lord's factor and his wife, no one she knew had been ever been inside.
Locally, the place had a bit of a reputation and she'd heard it said that the now-dead lord of the manor, Sir Archibald Fairchild, a bachelor and last of the line, had been forced to make a hasty exit many years before and hadn't been seen around the county since. The couple left in charge of the estate managed things well and stayed spotlessly loyal to their employer, although they stayed aloof from the rest of the village and seldom left the property.
"I wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Reeves are going to do?" mum asked.
"It's right here at the end of the article. It says they've already left, retired, gone away. It's been hinted that Sir Archibald left them a packet."
"I should hope so!" Mum harumphed. "Imagine living there alone all those years and having to take care of that horrible old mansion!"
"Why does everyone say Flamborough Hall is so horrible? I think it's quite a lovely place. The view from the upper floors must be magnificent."
"But you don't know what went on there."
"What DID go on there? Nobody seems to want to talk about it."
"And I don't either. It brings bad luck to talk about evil things."
"Mum, I'm eighteen now!"
But Mrs. Smith wouldn't talk about it.
Jenny's best friend Elaine dropped by that evening, and the topic of discussion as the two young ladies sat cross-legged on Jenny's bed was, of course, Flamborough Hall.
At least Lainey's parents had been willing to talk a bit more about the old hall.
"You just won't believe it," Lainey told her. "Apparently Sir Archibald and his cronies got up to all kinds of nastiness up there. Devil worship, my mum says, but I don't believe that and neither do you. Dad told me that Sir Archibald was a debaucher of young women and that parents hereabouts kept a tight leash on their daughters when the lord of the manor and his friends were in residence. They say he cut a dashing figure as a rogue, and had little trouble seducing anyone he wanted to -- even married women."
