The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) T. Belshaw (management books to read .txt) 📖

felt, telling herself that if she could stand up to two, bullying thugs, she could almost certainly garner enough strength to face a trip to the attic. Girding her loins, she stomped up the stairs and marched along the landing until, her nerve weakening, she reached the white painted door that stood between her and the final stair to the loft.

Closing her eyes and calling up every last bit of mental strength she could muster, she pulled the door open and slowly climbed the twisting, bare stair treads. At the top, she stopped at the final barrier; an unpainted, panelled door. Jess cocked her head to the side and listened for any noise emanating from the inside, then, giving herself a mental slap, she turned the key in the lock and took hold of the handle.

‘Come on, you fool. What on earth do you think is lurking in there?’

Jess took a deep breath, twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The room was silent, the air hanging like a shroud. She stuck her head into the gap between the door and the jamb and looked into the roof space.

It was just as she remembered it. The room was lit by a dappled light that filtered in through a dirty, Dormer window. It was littered with old suitcases, tea chests, piles of old bedding and curtains. Further into the room were stacks of newspapers, tied into bundles with string. Leaning forwards so she could make sure nothing was lying in wait for her around the corner, she took another huge breath and stepped into the attic.

Trying to avoid looking into the shadows at the back of the room, she hurried past the crates that were laid out randomly, making her journey something of an obstacle course.

As she reached the Dormer, she glanced to the right where an ornate, full length mirror stood on its block-timber feet. The antique mirror was tarnished around the edges and silvered in places. It was covered, almost entirely by a film of dusty cobwebs which gave her reflection a surreal appearance. She blew out her cheeks with relief as she realised there was no shadowy figure, swaying from side to side behind the cobweb screen.

Jess focussed her thoughts on the chest in the left-hand corner of the attic where Alice’s remaining memoirs were stored. Scraping her knee on the sharp, metal strip on the edge of a tea chest, she winced and keeping her eyes straight ahead, stepped around a large, bulging, cardboard box and limped her way to the wooden crate that contained Alice’s old ledgers, seed catalogues and most precious of all, her hand-written notebooks.

She picked them up carefully, and taking a quick glance at each cover, made a small pile on the edge of a neighbouring tea chest.

‘1940… 41… 42… 43… 44… 45… That should be the lot… No, hang on, what’s this?’

Jess crouched, reached into the bottom of the crate and pulled out a leather-bound photograph album. Stacking it on top of the notebooks, she grabbed the dusty pile and turned back towards the door where a sliver of dim but welcoming daylight, spread itself across the bare floorboards at the entrance to the loft.

‘Don’t look at the mirror, don’t look at the mirror,’ Jess chanted as she began to pick a route through the crates and boxes.

As she reached the Dormer, she tried to concentrate on looking directly ahead, but a slight movement broke her will and she flicked her head to the left. To her astonishment, a few of the broken strands of cobweb had begun to float about, although there wasn’t as much as an eddy of air current in the attic.

Jess stopped dead, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to concentrate on the block feet of the mirror and tried to force herself to keep walking towards the safety of the stairway, but a movement behind the matted, spidery silk grabbed her attention. She willed herself to turn away, to ignore the faint, swaying figures that were becoming more distinct by the second. The ghostly shapes were, at first, facing each other, a hand on the waist, the other around the partners back. As the shapes became clearer, Jess could make out two young females, their white, dresses floating around their calves as they danced. One of the girls was fair, the other had chestnut curls falling around her shoulders. As Jess caught her breath, the faces turned towards her.

‘Nana,’ Jess gasped. ‘Is it really you… and… is that Amy? Oh, Nana, I wouldn’t have been so afraid if I’d known you were up here waiting.’

As she took a step towards the mirror the vision began to fade, and she found herself looking at her own, murky reflection.

‘No! Please don’t go. Not yet.’

Jess took a step back, her mouth dropped open as the vision returned, then the dancing figures parted and the darker of the women turned to face her, full on. Her eyes were soft, her smile sad, then she mouthed something. Jess pricked up her ears but the only sound to be heard was that of her own, stifled breath. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated on Alice’s mouth to see if she could make out what she was saying. She appeared to be repeating the same word, over and over again. Then, suddenly, Jess heard her beloved Nana’s voice in her head. Not the age-cracked voice she had grown accustomed to over the last few years, but the light, almost melodic voice of Alice’s youth.

‘Beware,’ it said. ‘Beware.’

The mirror suddenly cleared, leaving only her own hazy reflection standing in front of the Dormer.

‘I’ll be careful. Goodbye, Nana,’ Jess whispered, then turning to her right, she walked briskly out of the room.

Chapter 33

Back in the kitchen, Jess placed her armful of notebooks on the table, then put the kettle on and made coffee. As she sipped it, she opened the leather-bound photo album and slowly worked her