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 service,' I promised. 'As a matter of fact, I could use visitors tomorrow. I'm planning to shift some of the furniture in the sitting room around, and I could do with an extra pair of hands.' ,
Vivien laughed. 'Do you need help, really?" she asked me. 'Because I'm sure Iain would be happy to lend a hand.'
'Heavens, no,' I said, raising a hand in protest. 'I was only joking.' A sudden thought struck me. 'What does Iain Sumner do, anyway? Is he a gardener?'
'Farmer,' she corrected me. 'He keeps sheep. Has a small apple orchard as well, but that's mostly a hobby.'
'Oh,' I said.
'Of course, he does have green fingers,' she went on. 'He put a lot of time into helping Geoff get the gardens up at the Hall in order, before they opened to the public Geoff s father had let the place run down a bit, and the grounds were an awful mess. There's a full-time gardener up there now, to take care of things. Lovely rose garden they have— you really must see it in the summer.'
'I'm sure I shall,' I said. 'After all, we are neighbors, aren't we? My house backs right onto the manor lands, from what I've been told.'
'So it does. You'll like Geoff. He's a genuine aristocrat— his family came over with the Conqueror—but he's very down-to-earth, and great fun. Come to think of it, he may be able to tell you something about Greywethers. He did a lot of rooting about in the local history books when he was writing up the guidebook for Crofton Hall.' She turned to pour herself a cup of coffee from the venomous-looking pot that sat brewing on the back of the bar. 'Unfortunately, he's on holiday at the moment, in France, but when he comes back, I'll be sure to introduce you. In the meantime,' she added, stirring her coffee, 'I'll see what I can find out on my own from my aunt and the local grapevine.'