'Yes, Tom,' Ellie said. 'That locked room directly below the attic. That room and everything contained within it. Even though Jack owns the house and land, you're always to be allowed access to that room and to stay there whenever you want. Jack went pale when the will was read. It means you could even live here, had you such a mind.'
I knew that Jack wouldn't want me near the house much in case I brought something with me; something from the dark. I couldn't argue against that because it had happened once before. The old witch, Mother Malkin, had actually found her way down into our cellar last spring. Jack and Ellie's baby daughter, Mary, had been in real danger.
'Did Mam say anything about that?' I asked.
'Not a word. Jack was too upset to talk about it and then she left the following day'
I couldn't help thinking that giving the room to me now meant that she'd be leaving soon; going off to her own country and leaving us for ever. That was if she hadn't gone already.
The following morning I got up very early but Ellie was down in the kitchen before me. It was the smell of frying sausages that brought me down the stairs. Despite all that had happened, my appetite was beginning to return.
'Have a good night's sleep, Tom?' she asked, giving me a big smile.
I nodded but it was a white lie. It had taken me a long time to drop off and then I'd kept waking up. And each time I'd opened my eyes, the pain had come to me again, as if I was realizing for the first time that Dad was dead.
'Where's the baby?' I asked.
'Mary's upstairs with Jack. He likes to spend a bit of time with her each morning. Gives him a good excuse to start work a bit later too. You won't get much done today anyway' she said, gesturing towards the window. Snowflakes were whirling down and the room was brighter than on a summer's day as the light reflected off the snow piled deep in the yard.
Soon I was tucking into a plate of sausage and eggs. While I was eating, Jack came down and joined me at the table. He nodded and started on his own breakfast; Ellie went off into the front room, leaving us alone. He picked at his food, chewing it slowly, and I started to feel guilty because I was able to enjoy my own breakfast.
'Ellie told me that you know about the will,' Jack said at last.
I nodded but didn't say anything:
'Look, Tom, as the eldest son, I'm the executor of the will and it's my duty to make sure that Dad's wishes are carried out, but I wonder if we could come to some arrangement,' he said. 'What if I buy the room from you? If I could raise the money, would you sell it to me? And as for Mam's things inside it, I'm sure Mr Gregory would let you store them at Chipenden ...'
'I need time to think, Jack,' I told him. 'It's all come as a shock. Too much has happened too quickly. Don't worry I've no plans to keep coming back here. I'll be too busy'
Jack reached into his breeches pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys. He placed them on the table in front of me. There was a large key and three smaller ones: the first was for the door of the room; the other three for the boxes and chests inside.
'Well, there are the keys. No doubt you'll be wanting to go up and see your inheritance.'
I reached across and pushed the keys back towards him. 'No, Jack,' I said. 'You keep them for now. I'll not go into that room until I've spoken to Mam.'
He looked at me in astonishment. 'Are you sure?'
I nodded and he thrust the keys back into his pocket and nothing more was said about it.
What Jack had said was sensible enough. But I didn't want his money. To buy me out, he'd need to raise a loan and, financially, things would be difficult enough now that he had to run the farm by himself. As far as I was concerned, he could have the room. And I was sure the Spook would let me keep Mam's boxes and chests at Chipenden. But I suspected that it was Mam's wish that the room should be mine, and this was the only thing that stopped me from agreeing immediately. It was in Dad's will but had probably been her decision. Mam always had a very good reason for everything she did, so I couldn't make up my mind properly until I'd talked to her face to face.
That afternoon I went to visit Dad's grave. Jack was going to come with me but I managed to talk him out of it. I wanted time on my own. An hour or so to think and grieve alone. And there was something else I needed to know. Something that I couldn't do if Jack came with me. He wouldn't have understood or, at best, he would have been really upset.
I timed my walk so that I would arrive at sunset, with just enough light to find the grave. It was a bleak snow-covered graveyard about half a mile from the church. The churchyard itself was full so they'd consecrated this as additional holy ground. It was really just a small field bounded by a hawthorn hedge with a couple of sycamores on its western boundary. It was easy to find Dad's grave in the front line of burial plots advancing month by month across the field. His grave didn't have a stone yet but they'd marked it temporarily with a simple cross, his name carved deeply into the wood:
John Ward
RIP
For a while I stood near that wooden cross, thinking of all the happy times we'd had as a family; remembering being small, with Mam and Dad happy and busy and all my brothers living at home. I recalled the last time I'd spoken to Dad and how he'd told me that he was proud to have such a brave son and that, although he hadn't any favourites, he still thought that I'd turn out the best of all.
Tears came into my eyes and I wept aloud at the side of the grave. But as it grew dark, I took a deep breath and steadied myself, focusing on what had to be done. This was spooks' business.