Portrait in Stone

By Doreen Hayward

This is the story of Charlotte Woods, who once found an old photograph of a ruined house. She felt drawn to the ruins, and her unexpected good fortune of winning the lottery enables her to fulfil her dream of rebuilding it. When she visits the local pub, she meets Adam Dennington, with whom she was destined to fall in love. Adam tells her about the haunting of the house she has just rebuilt. She is to find out for herself whether it is true or just an old wives tale. Then she finds an old pendant with the picture of a man painted on the centre stone, which, according to legend, Adam says was cursed by an old witch.
Charlotte gradually realises that she has been reincarnated and is living Fern Forresters life in her dreams. She experiences the fear of being accused of witchcraft and chased by Cromwells men through the forest in seventeenth-century England, in search of the man she loves. The hand of God saved Fern from a cruel death the first time, and she offers Edmund another chance. Will his gallant effort save her the second time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496978653

Doreen Hayward

The author was born in Luton in 1932. She was born blind, but this disability has not prevented her from living a full and active life. When she reached school age, she was sent away to be educated at a school for the blind in Buckinghamshire. She was given an ordinary elementary education, which included learning to read and write in Braille. At the age of twenty, she married and had a family of four. During the time she was raising her children, she applied for a guide dog. Throughout her long life, she has known and loved five guide dogs, who have all been as dear to her as any child and the greatest help in her daily life when it came to getting about. At the age of eighty-two, she now lives in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, in a small bungalow with her cat. My thanks to Rachel Blackmore of WTWT (Weston Turville Wells for Tanzania), a poverty relief charity working with the Maasai of Tanzania. Website: www.wellsfortanzania.org Registered UK charity No: 1125141 Further information: Old Crown, West End, Weston Turville, Aylesbury, Bucks, HP22 5TT Email: [e-mail] Phone: [phone] (landline) or ([phone] (mobile)

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CHAPTER ONE

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Charlotte Woods took a long look at the house in front of her and decided it was exactly the house she had dreamed of owning one day. Now it was hers. She gave a long sigh of satisfaction and pleasure as she gazed at the newly erected building that had arisen from the ruins of the previous manor house, which was destroyed by fire and left to decay for many years. With her newly acquired wealth, she had restored it to its former glory.

She had first seen a photograph of the old manor house in a magazine long ago. It showed what it had been like in its former days, when it was the home of powerful landowners. She had felt strangely drawn to the picture of the house that had ended up in ruins. She tore out the page and kept it all through her short but disastrous marriage.

It wasn’t long before the man she had fallen in love with as an impressionable young girl showed his true colours. She began to suspect that he was a thief, going out at night and breaking into the homes of wealthy people. When she confronted him and accused him of what she knew, he beat her up severely enough to earn her a stay in hospital for a couple of days. While still in hospital recovering, the police visited, telling her that her husband had been arrested after he was caught breaking into a house, but he had escaped capture, briefly giving him time to steal a car, which the police chased at high speed. During the chase, Danny had failed to stop and had hit an old man; he was consequently caught by the police in another car which had blocked his way. The man was in that very hospital and not expected to live. They wanted to know if she could give them any information as to what Danny Tarrant had been up too. Being used as a punch bag was not her idea of a happy marriage, so she told them all they wanted to know, not forgetting the constant beatings he had given her.

Danny went on trial because the man died from his injuries. He received a heavy sentence and went down for ten years. After the trial, Charlotte divorced Danny Tarrant, hoping that he would rot in prison and she would never hear of him again. Unfortunately, an attempted escape earned Danny an extended sentence, all of which he blamed on Charlotte. When Danny was eventually released from jail, he was filled with feelings of hatred and revenge towards Charlotte and vowed that one day he would find her and make her pay for what she had done to him. With no home and nowhere to go upon his release, Danny turned back to his old life of petty crime on the streets of London.

Charlotte cared little about what happened to Danny after the divorce, but this unhappy time left a deep scar on Charlotte, who vowed never to allow herself to be drawn into another serious relationship with a man again.

It was her unbelievably lucky lottery win that had enabled her to purchase the land and the ruins. It had taken awhile before she eventually managed to track the owner down and purchase the land and rebuild the manor house. It had taken months of research and discussion with the architect and builders, poring over old plans and trying to follow them as closely as possible, before rebuilding could start. Using modern materials and replanning the rooms inside gave the house a modern touch. Now the job was finally done. It was hers. She felt so strongly that she belonged there. She was so proud at what she had achieved.

She rested her hands lightly on the steering wheel and relaxed, drinking in the sight before her. All she wanted to do right now was sit and gaze at the house in total wonder.

Even after twelve months had slipped by, Charlotte was still trying to come to terms with her good luck. A win of four million pounds in the lottery was enough to make anyone dizzy. One thing was for sure: she was not going to allow it to go to her head as some people did. Oh, no. She had plans. She kept her feet firmly on the ground, although sometimes she had to pinch herself just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. The win had to remain a secret for the foreseeable future. Only a few friends were allowed to know—those she knew she could trust—just in case Danny got wind of it. That would be disastrous.

She’d decided to keep her job for a few weeks so that no one would guess that she was doing anything out of the ordinary, particularly Danny. She loved her job as a journalist at the magazine and didn’t particularly want to give up the day job just yet. She could always freelance if she wanted to. In fact, those few weeks she originally intended to stay with the magazine had stretched into months and she hadn’t left her job at all. It wasn’t as if she needed the money now; she just couldn’t imagine a life of leisure. The extra months she had spent with the magazine had filled time while she waited for the house to be rebuilt and planned her future. She enjoyed her job and got on well with the people she worked with, so she had simply stayed where she was for the time being. Without her friends and colleagues at the magazine, life would be most uninteresting, although she had always fancied a career in film. Her interests lay in making films rather than acting in them. Charlotte also had a particular passion for African wildlife and wanted to plan a safari to see the animals in their natural environments as soon as possible, but first things first. She needed to share her good fortune with her family.

She had done what she could for her dad and twin brothers. She had offered to buy them a house or flat, but all they really wanted her to give them was enough money to set up their own stables to train horses for racing. Charlotte’s father had been around horses from his boyhood and eventually had become a trainer, so with all his experience and the boys following in their father’s footsteps, how could they go wrong? All three of them were crazy about horses. The boys were jockeys, and Charlotte had often ridden as a girl; she had gladly given them what they wanted, knowing that the money would be wisely spent.

Auntie Chrissie was a different matter. When Charlotte asked if there was anything special she would like, her answer was a definite no. She claimed that she was perfectly happy with what she had. Charlotte knew that Chrissie’s one passion in life was her music. She was a great pianist and could easily have chosen music as a career. Charlotte offered to buy her a baby grand piano, but Chrissie just laughed, saying the house was not big enough for one, adding that she would make do with the one she already had. Looking after the family was all she ever wanted, and she stated that Charlotte should take care of her money, just in case something went wrong and she lost it. Charlotte tried to tell her that she was rich now and wanted to give her a present—something that she really wanted and could never have afforded. Dear old Chrissie had stuck to her guns and still refused a lump sum of money. The only concession she made was to allow Charlotte to pay for a holiday for her.

Chrissie had come to the rescue and moved in to live with the family after Charlotte’s mother had died of breast cancer. Dad fell to pieces with grief and just couldn’t cope with raising his children on his own. Chrissie, his sister, had given up her job in a hotel and taken the family over, becoming a second mother to Charlotte and her twin brothers, Darrel and Simon, and they all loved her dearly. In the end, Charlotte had given her a gift of money in lieu of the holiday and said that she could spend it as she wished.

She had also given generously to her favourite charities and others that were not quite as well known. It seemed selfish not to do something meaningful for other people. An advertisement for clean water systems in Africa had caught her attention. On investigation, Charlotte formed the idea of not only making funds available for such a project but filming the progress if possible. The extra time she had spent with the magazine had allowed her to decide on her future. With all her experience in the media, she was planning to launch her own film production company. Charlotte was going to make the film one of her first projects. She was looking forward to a trip to Africa to film some of the wildlife, if she got the opportunity, and at the same time, the search was on for a suitable site to sink a well. The clean water was a worthwhile project, to try to make a difference for at least a few people. She was going out there to film the progress and to note the difference that a supply of clean water would make to the people of the village. Charlotte was fired up with the idea. Let’s go for it! she had thought enthusiastically. Anyhow, that was the plan. The extra time she had stayed with the magazine had not been wasted. It had allowed her the time to gather the information she needed to forge ahead. It felt like starting all over again, Charlotte thought, what with the new house and a brand-new business to set up. Life was going to be exciting. Now was the time to realise her own ambitions, and once she was settled, she might even find time to write that book she’d always promised herself she would write one day.

Looking round, she spotted the car of Frank Frenton, the agent that Camelot has found for her, parked farther down the road. He had become her manager as well as her great friend over the past year, advising her financially and finding an architect to help with the rebuilding of Cherry Tree Manor, who in turn had provided the contract builders who did the reconstruction work. Smiling happily to herself, Charlotte watched as Frank Frenton came nearer and got out of his car to unlock the padlock on the gates to allow her to move onto the gravelled drive. She glanced down at her watch, that same watch her father had given her for her twenty-first birthday, she remembered fondly. She had treasured it all through the ensuing years. Murmuring softly to herself, she said, Exactly on time. As punctual as ever.

The clink of metal on the steering wheel reminded her that the other wrist held another of her twenty-first birthday gifts: a charm bracelet that Chrissie had bought her. The boys had supplied a lucky horseshoe and a lucky black cat. Chrissie had added a shamrock leaf and a little gold heart, and Dad’s contribution had been a lucky charm in shape of a golden key. It was also something she’d treasured over the years. Since then, she had added one or two little charms herself, and now she jingled a little whenever she wore the bracelet. Both of these presents were treasured, and whenever she looked at them, she remembered her whole family with so much love; she would have given them the world if they had asked. She was now into her twenty-eighth year, and such a lot had happened to her since then. Now that she had some money, she was determined to show the world just what she was made of before she turned thirty. She was going to do some good with what she had and make sure others benefitted from her good fortune.

She picked up her mobile phone from the passenger seat, and as she greeted Mr Frenton, she took a couple of quick snaps of the house to show her dad, Chrissie, and the boys. This was going to be interesting, she thought a moment later, bringing her faithful old Renault to a stop on the drive.

Not wanting to bring attention to herself among her friends and acquaintances, she had not yet replaced her old car with a brand-new one. Usually the first thing people did when they came into sudden wealth was buy the cars of their dreams. It was true, Charlotte thought, that she had been sorely tempted to do the same. However, common sense had kicked in, and she just had a good look round and chose the car she was going to buy as soon as she was ready. She had seen a gorgeous new Mercedes, but until she found somewhere to live away from work and London, she was content to wait. Parking cars in London was no picnic, so Charlotte was prepared to wait just that little bit longer. She couldn’t believe that she would ever be able to afford new cars and houses. She still had to pinch herself occasionally from the shock of it all to make sure she was awake and it wasn’t all a dream. It was hard to keep her big secret quiet, but the lottery organisers had been great and helped her keep things under wraps.

Her house was situated at the bottom of a steep hill, some way from the village. It was well back from the road and was surrounded by woodland at the back. Once a flourishing forest, it was now merely a group of trees, many of which were fruit trees that Charlotte believed worth saving. There weren’t many people passing by on foot, so no one was around to show much interest in who was visiting Cherry Tree Manor.

The house in Dennington had attracted her attention ever since she first saw a photograph of it. She couldn’t explain it, but she just felt drawn to it for some reason. She loved the look of it even better now that she saw the reconstruction for real. The builders had done a good job on it. They made it appear exactly the same as in the photograph. With mounting excitement, she waited patiently while Frank Frenton handed her the house keys, saying, Good morning, Miss Woods. Do you want me to accompany you while you inspect the place… or would you prefer to do it on your own?

No. That’s all right. You don’t have to come with me. I have a good feeling about this place. It is going to suit me down to the ground. After all, the architect consulted me every step of the way, so of course I am going to like it, she added.

The agent handed her the keys, and presuming the largest one was for the front door, she inserted it into the lock and pushed hard in case the door was stiff.

I’ll just wait here inside while you look round, Mr Frenton said. Take as long as you like, and if you need help with anything or have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

Yes, of course I know that. I shall make sure I take a good look. They were standing in the delicately decorated hall, where a flight of stairs led up to the next floor. She gazed round with pride before answering, Don’t worry. I am sure everything will be perfectly correct.

The dining room was on the left of the hall, at the bottom of the stairs. A quick look was enough to satisfy Charlotte that it was perfect for the odd dinner party, should she ever decide to give one. The kitchen was directly opposite, on the right-hand side of the hall. It was a long room divided into two sections. The front section looked out onto the front lawns and road and served as a breakfast room, and the back section was fitted out as the kitchen area, with a door from each section leading into the hall. The kitchen was now modernised with plenty of cupboard place and a small table set near the hall door. In an attempt to recapture the flavour of days gone by, the floor was covered with tiles designed to resemble old flagstones. The room was light and airy, with plenty of worktop surface for preparing food. Charlotte was pleased to see that near the back door, there was also a deep sink for washing things.

The area immediately outside the back door was once the herb garden, and Charlotte hoped that she could create something similar herself. As she gazed round her, she imagined how a kitchen in a large house might have looked many years before. She envisaged a large table in the centre, where the servants and farmhands ate their meals, presided over by a rosy-cheeked cook rolling out pastry with strong arms or kneading dough while the table was not in use for dining.

Down the hall on the left was another room, which she could use as a sitting room. A passage branched off to the left and right at the back of the hall, where there were more rooms to the left and right of the passage. Two of these larger rooms on the left branch of the passage were reception rooms, with French windows facing lawns at the back of the house. Turning to the right brought one to the library and a comfortably sized room which could be used as a lounge. The left side of this part of the passage was taken up by utility rooms. At the end of the passage, there was a door leading into the conservatory. Charlotte was enormously impressed with the conservatory and imagined herself sitting amongst the plants in the sunlight, busily writing her book or perhaps an article.

Upstairs proved equally as delightful, with a good-sized bathroom which presumably had once been a bedroom. She loved the view from the master bedroom. It was spectacular. One could see right into the village and for miles around. There was an en-suite bathroom attached to the master bedroom, which Charlotte felt put her house in a class above others. She made up her mind that this was going to be her room. She allowed her imagination to run riot, picturing a rosy pink carpet with matching velvet curtains at the window, white furniture, and a double bed in the centre, with a pretty quilt and little chairs with cushions to match the quilts. She was going to be so happy here, she thought, filled with pleasure as she gazed around. There were three other bedrooms on the same floor and a couple of attic rooms right at the top, where it was possible to see even farther afield. Yes, all in all, Charlotte thought happily, Cherry Tree Manor would suit her fine.

After making her inspection and trying to decide what to do about furniture and decorating, she went back to join Mr Frenton, who was patiently waiting in the kitchen until she had seen enough. She lost no time in telling him that she was totally satisfied with all the alterations and the work that had been undertaken.

After taking her leave from the agent, Charlotte decided to look round her property once again. The gardens would have to be seen to as soon as possible. There were a number of outbuildings that also needed attention. Some of the jobs could be undertaken locally, and Charlotte made a note to look round for local craftsmen rather than bringing in workmen who would probably need to travel distances to reach her.

An hour later, she went back to the little village of Dennington to drop into the local pub for a spot of lunch, after which she intended to have a good look round the village. There were only a handful of customers in the bar, mostly farm workers taking their breaks. One customer immediately caught her attention. He was by the bar and stood out from the rest of the group. She judged him to be in his late twenties. He was tall and had firm muscles on broad shoulders and his chest, making him look athletic. He had light brown wavy hair, and his eyes were a sparkling grey with long lashes and rather thick eyebrows, which Charlotte thought made him look wonderfully attractive. In fact, he certainly took her breath away as he turned and smiled at her, showing a beautiful set of brilliantly white teeth. She seemed to recognise him, but for the life of her, she could not remember where she had seen him before.

Hello. He smiled. Just passing through? he queried.

Not quite. I had a little business here to take care of, she answered.

Well, it’s a nice little village, whatever business brought you to this part of the woods.

She hesitated but wanted to engage him in conversation for a few minutes. I’ve been viewing a property this morning. Cherry Tree Manor House. Do you know it?

Oh, yes, I certainly do. Just been practically rebuilt. Before it was done up, it was just an old ruin with only bits remaining. There has always been a house of sorts on that site right down the centuries, he said. As a matter of fact, at one stage, it belonged to my family. One of my ancestors used to occupy it. It was a farm in those days. We have traced it back to the fourteen century. Of course, the original farmhouse was destroyed by fire in Oliver Cromwell’s time, rebuilt as a manor house, and destroyed by fire again in the nineteen century. It’s supposed to be haunted, not to say that I take any notice of that kind of thing. He grinned.

That should prove interesting. In fact, it sounds right up my street. My friends are always telling me that I am a bit of a psychic myself, so a little bit of haunting shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll soon sort any haunting out. She laughed. Your ancestors obviously go back a long way around here.

"Oh, yes, right back to about the fourteen hundreds, when one of my ancestors, supposedly a relative of the king of those times, was given the title of the Duke of Buckingham. The king granted him a large area of land around here and he built a castle on the hill, which Oliver Cromwell destroyed in the civil war. Of course, we don’t use the title of duke these days. My old dad doesn’t live in Dennington anymore. He moved up to Scotland some time ago and lives with my sister. I visit them quite often and make sure they are OK.

One of my ancestors replaced the old castle with a large house known as Dennington Hall. In fact, that is where I live. The duke had the village built for his servants and workers. There you have it. The living proof is just outside the window. The village still exists today. The duke was a powerful landowner in those days, but as the old fellow became elderly and infirm, his son took over the running of the place and was known as Lord Edmund Dennington. The old fellow spent all his money on building things, and it was left to Edmund to recover the fortune. The only way to acquire money was through marriage. Subsequently, Edmund married a merchant’s daughter, who died without leaving an heir. He married again, collecting another small fortune with the bride, leaving a broken-hearted sweetheart in the village who managed to get herself executed on a charge of witchcraft. She is the one who is supposed to haunt Cherry Tree Manor. I am supposed to be descended from Edmund, but if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to all that rubbish. They are just old wives’ tales so take no notice if you hear any of that nonsense, he added, winking at her boyishly.

Well, thanks for the history lesson. Funny thing, Charlotte said. I seem to know you from somewhere.

Ah, yes. I am a film actor. The name is Adam Thornaby. To be perfectly correct, my name is Adam Dennington-Thornaby. Round here, I am Adam Dennington, but for acting purposes, I go by the name of Adam Thornaby. The Thornaby was added through Edmund Dennington, who married during Oliver Cromwell’s time. The story goes that the woman Edmund Dennington married was a Protestant and our family was Catholic, and the twain never did meet, if you get my meaning. She refused to drop her maiden name and tacked it on the end of ours. Legend has it that she was a social climber and wanted a title in exchange for the money the marriage brought to a hard-up Duke of Buckingham.

No wonder I thought I knew you. By way of introduction, my name is Charlotte Woods.

Well, that bit is out of the way. Are you ordering or can I get you something? he asked.

I’ve already ordered and am just waiting, she told him.

Sorry, I have to leave you now. My lift has just turned up, but I hope I will see you again. Goodbye for now. He made his way to the door. Charlotte sat watching as he strode outside and got into a car. Then her meal appeared, and she sat down to eat and think about the happenings that morning.

Before leaving the area, she took a casual look round the village. The green seemed to occupy the centre of the village, with the road running round it. A little church stood on one side of the green, with the schoolhouse on the opposite side. On the road leading away from the village were a few shops grouped in a line along a paved area. There were general stores, a post office, a butcher, and a newsagent which appeared to double as a bakery, selling bread, pies, biscuits, and a small selection of cakes. There was a greengrocery and a small grocery shop. Right at