Laurel's Gift

By Tricia McGill

The plaintive singing of a ghostly child in the night sets off a chain of events that lead to Laurel learning the dark secrets that dwell in her Great Aunt Maggie’s house in a Melbourne suburb. When Eli comes into Laurel’s life, instead of instantly uncovering the secrets that have been buried in this house for many years, their joint efforts lead them to discover even greater mysteries.

Eli’s past is tied up with the ghost of the child who haunts the house, and there are many hurdles to cross before he discovers just why he also sensed strange vibes in the old house as soon as he entered.

In their search for the answers to an extraordinary mystery they uncover a passionate love affair shared by the people dear to them or those who dwelt in the house at one time of another. Despite their shared psychic abilities can the couple also find such a love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Oct 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773627243

Book preview

Laurel’s Gift

By Tricia McGill

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-1-77362-724-3

Kindle 978-1-77362-725-0

WEB 978-1-77362-726-7

Print ISBN 978-1-77362-727-4

Amazon Print ISBN 978-1-77362-728-1

Copyright 2017 by Tricia McGill

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Chapter One

Laurel awoke with a start, sat up, and stared around the darkened room. Where was she? A furry lump at the bottom of the bed made a snuffling sound in its throat, did a quick turn, then settled back to snoring.

Laurel lay back down. Of course—she was in Great Aunt Maggie's bedroom. The noise that awakened her must have been the dog. Aunt Maggie's King Charles spaniel woke Laurel every night since she moved in here a week ago. She glanced at the bedside clock. Three ten.

A tingling up her spine alerted her to the presence of someone or something. The sensation didn't unduly worry her—she'd experienced such feelings since she first felt the presence of a spirit at the age of five. What did worry her was that she couldn't recognise this visitor or its reason for demanding her attention. Well, it didn't exactly worry her—more like confused her. Usually her spirit visitors made themselves known straight away.

The cat was sitting up now and staring at the door. But then the other cat jumped onto the bed and Laurel sighed. That's what had drawn its interest.

The dog whimpered again. Perhaps it was unkind of her to leave the animal downstairs in the kitchen—but two cats sharing her bed was more than considerate as far as she could see. Never in her life had she allowed pets to share a room with her, let alone a bed. Both cats jumped off the bed and as they moved out of the bedroom in unison Laurel saw by the shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window that their hackles were raised.

Then she heard what she realised must have startled the cats. It sounded like a child singing—softly chanting a nursery rhyme Laurel didn't recognise. Laurel put her feet to the floor and pulled on her dressing gown. The cats came back into the room as she switched on the bedside light, and stayed close to her as she went into the hallway.

Laurel opened the doors to the other bedrooms, switching on the light in each. One was sparsely furnished, containing a narrow bed, bedside chest and cupboard. The other two were cramped with odd bits of furniture but no beds were made up. That's why, when Laurel visited Aunt Maggie in the nursing home, the old lady insisted Laurel sleep in her large comfy bed in the main bedroom overlooking the rambling front garden.

Lord knows what possessed her great aunt to buy such a large house. Although Laurel admitted it certainly possessed charm. Probably built in the thirties, the large high-ceilinged rooms were splendid for hot summers in Australia, with cornices and ornamental roses surrounding the ceiling lighting rarely seen in modern houses. The flowery wallpaper was certainly not to her taste but obviously suited Aunt Maggie to a tee.

The singing definitely hadn’t come from these rooms. As Laurel switched off the light and closed the door of the last room at the far end of the hallway she glanced down over the balcony that ran along the upper floor of the house. The singing must have come from downstairs. It was quiet now, so whoever insisted on gaining her attention must be satisfied it had achieved its goal.

The cats returned to the bedroom, probably once again already curled up and comfy—but the dog still whimpered, so Laurel went downstairs. She might as well get a drink, it was unlikely she would get any more sleep tonight.

The aptly named dog, Charlie, greeted her exuberantly, and then stared past Laurel, her ears pricked. Looking for Maggie are you? Laurel patted the little dog.

Never a great animal lover, it took a deal of persuasion on the part of Great Aunt Maggie's friend and neighbour to encourage Laurel to move in once her aunt was taken off to the nursing home that would no doubt be where she would now stay till she died. After all, when one reached the ripe old age of eighty seven and had a badly fractured leg it was likely you wouldn't be moving around a lot in the future.

Although it had to be said, her great aunt didn’t go without a fight. But even she had to finally admit that when your leg is broken in two places it would be nigh on impossible to manage living alone. She fretted so much about her pets that Laurel considered it might be best to move in—until she decided on the best course of action for the dog and the cats, Marmalade and Plum. The cats were named according to their colors so it was easy to tell them apart. Great Aunt Maggie was what most people would call a character. What Laurel called her, perhaps ungraciously, was eccentric.

After making her cup of tea she sat at the kitchen table, sipping it thoughtfully. The cats had come searching for her and all three animals now sat watching her as if waiting on her next move. I haven't a clue, she said, then shook her head. What had she come to? Telling a bunch of animals her thoughts. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelshelf. This being such an old house, like many others of that period it sported a magnificent fireplace in the huge kitchen.

Her mother would be up and about in her small house just outside London. Laurel went to the phone and dialed the number. When her mother answered, she said, Hello Mum, hope I didn't disturb you.

No, of course you didn't. What's up? Nothing else gone wrong is there?

No, it’s the middle of the night and I couldn't sleep so thought I'd give you a ring. I don't know what to do about these animals. I really should go back to work within a few days—but I don't like to leave them.

In Australia a year, Laurel loved her job in one of Victoria’s larger magazine’s editorial office. Always having a flair for fashion as fashion editor she was in her element. Her boss, Ben, didn’t quibble about her taking a couple of weeks off, perhaps because she hadn't taken a day off since starting the job. Or it could be because she was sleeping with him. That might have something to do with it, but doubtless it wouldn't be long before he was angling for her return. Ben was on the phone every evening. He was getting lonely, he said. And in addition to that, he wasn’t enamored of the woman standing in for Laurel in her absence.

Poor Ben. His ex-wife had remarried, and taken his ten year old son and nine year old daughter to the other side of the country. He'd only seen his kids once in the past year since they settled in Geraldton, where her new husband was born and raised.

What about Maggie's friend, her neighbour? her mother asked. Isn't there any chance she might take them?

Laurel sighed. None. She’s got a menagerie of her own that includes a couple of birds. That would have been the best solution but Aunt Maggie was absolutely insistent I stay here with them. She got quite flustered when I said I needed to return to work, and was thinking it might be best to hire a live-in housekeeper to care for the place and animals. Laurel rubbed her temple. And she said something strange when I visited her yesterday, Mum. She inferred that I was needed in the house as much as I was needed by the animals.

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Then her mother said, You know your great aunt has the same odd powers as you, don't you, Laurel?

Her mother was the only person who knew about Laurel's visions and insights. Since the time as a child she told her mother about seeing angels and ghosts, her mother decided it would be best to keep it to themselves, saying people tended to shun those who professed to be out of the ordinary. Which was true.

No I didn't. Laurel glanced down to the dog, whose ears were pricked again, as if it could hear something she couldn't. I think there's a child in the house.

Her mother made a small sound of distress. Why she'd been given these strange powers and not her mother Laurel had no idea. It never sat comfortably with her parent though. And they'd always kept the truth from Laurel's father right to his death a couple of years ago.

Laurel thought that odd, sure she would tell her husband—if she ever got round to marrying anyone. She'd reached twenty six without coming close to ‘taking the plunge’ as her English friends called it. Ben did tentatively ask her to move into his apartment in Melbourne, but no mention so far was made of matrimony. Laurel had a sneaky feeling he was wary of commitment after the debacle of his marriage and wasn't yet ready to try again.

Did that worry her? Often she thought not.

Oh no! Her mother couldn't come to terms with her sightings even after all these years.

It's all right, Mum. Don't worry yourself. After all this time I've learned to live with it.

Oh Laurel. A wealth of sadness filled those two words.

After a few minutes of small talk Laurel rang off. She shouldn't have mentioned the child. It always upset her mother, and Laurel hadn’t mentioned seeing or hearing spirits for the past couple of years. You'd have thought by now her mother would have grown accustomed to Laurel's talent—or curse—depending on how you looked at it. But she often made Laurel feel like the witches of old probably felt before they were hounded and burned at the stake. So Laurel began to keep it to herself—which grew burdensome at times. It would be lovely to share something that was so much a part of her life with someone who understood.

About six years ago she went to see a renowned psychic, who almost had a heart attack at what she saw in Laurel, who had the feeling she must have been the first genuine case the woman had come across. It was likely she’d never really contacted a spirit before—despite claims she regularly spoke to people from the 'other side'. About that time Laurel was having regular contact with a lost soul; a girl of about fourteen who lost her baby after delivering it alone in a deserted warehouse. Somehow she’d been found out by her parents and her brute of a father killed her in a fit of rage. Laurel helped her make the transition to the other side—and the peace she yearned for.

Laurel sighed, got up and put her empty cup in the sink. The dog appeared restless, her eyes following Laurel's every move, while the cats prowled around the kitchen like caged lions.

What is it about you lot, Laurel grumbled. You'll have to get used to life without your mistress, and I can't stay with you forever.

The dog whined as if it truly understood what she said. The cats ran ahead of her as she left the kitchen. The dog continued to whine behind the closed door. Laurel ignored it and went along the passage, pausing by the door to the basement. She shrugged. No doubt sleep would evade her now, so why not go and look down there? It was the only room left that she hadn’t checked since being awakened. In fact she hadn’t bothered giving the lower room a lot of thought before now.

When she glanced in there on her first day here all she saw was a lot of furniture covered with dust sheets. Not necessarily a very adventurous person, she hadn’t felt like investigating—and since she held no intentions of staying on permanently anyway it was of no great interest what was stored there. Why her great aunt owned and kept so much furniture she couldn’t understand, but nothing would surprise her anymore about the old lady. It was heart wrenching to see a lady who'd been so agile until recently, bedridden.

The cats watched her with interest, and when she opened the door they sat like a pair of bookends, their tails curled about their bodies.

Laurel peered into the dark space beyond. Feeling around, she found a light switch on the wall, then went down the short flight of steps. No doubt Great Aunt Maggie brought furniture from her previous property, which was stored here—but who knows what or who for. It seemed possible that a lot of the current furnishings might have come with the house. But Laurel found that as people got older they did have a habit of collecting things they hated to part with. There were also some wooden crates and large cardboard boxes lined up neatly along one wall. She stood looking around. Dust made her sneeze a few times. The cats now stood at the door, peering down at her but not crossing the threshold.

Fully expecting to see the child who disturbed her sleep, she was surprised when nothing presented itself. No sound, no, sign, nothing. Show yourself, Laurel said, but silence met her demand.

She was unsure how long Great Aunt Maggie had lived here. Since her arrival in Australia last year Laurel’s time was taken up with finding an apartment, a job, then settling into both. Then there'd been Ben taking up her weekends and evenings for the past couple of months. Guilt made her squirm. As the only relative of the old lady here in Australia she should have been more attentive. Living alone tended to make one selfish. But Great Aunt Maggie always seemed so independent—until this dreadful accident. Just what did she do to break bones? Laurel didn't even know. And Maggie wasn’t the type to plead with Laurel to move in with her, so likely also preferred her single state.

Everything was dust laden so it was a good thing the furniture was covered by sheets. No doubt some of the pieces were priceless. There were piles of books, and magazines. Laurel idly glanced at the top of a couple of piles and saw that some of the magazines dated back about twenty years. Were they Maggie's or left behind by a previous tenant of the house? They were yellowed with age, the corners