Chapter One

When Tegan Burton arrived at Pencradoc, the first thing she did was to drop her well-travelled suitcase on the ground and stare up at the old building.

‘Hello, Pencradoc,’ she said. ‘Where are all your ghosts, then?’

The grand old house, which stood on the very edge of Bodmin Moor in Cornwall, didn’t respond.

Tegan hadn’t really expected it to. It was just a step too far to believe in the Pencradoc ghosts. Her sister, Merryn, swore the place was swarming with them, but Tegan wasn’t convinced. Tegan had, she liked to think, both feet too firmly on the ground for any spectral visitors to whoosh up to her and go “Boo!”

‘Nobody there? Nope? Okay.’ She shrugged and picked up her case. ‘I guess this is the point where I need to go and meet my new boss. Last call for any ghosts!’ She raised her voice and looked around. Still nothing. Unsurprising. ‘Right. Coren Penhaligon, here I come.’ She walked up the steps into the grey building, which perhaps should have felt foreboding but definitely didn’t.

Pencradoc was an arts centre — it was populated by artists and creatives who taught and learned from one another. Visitors and families enjoyed looking at the galleries and wandering through the centre and gardens — perhaps stopping by the Tower Tearoom for a coffee and a cake — and, if Merryn was to believed, all the while being supervised by ancient members of the Pencradoc family who had lived and loved there years before. Merryn’s husband, Kit, and her brother-in-law, Coren, had inherited the place a few years ago from their Great-Aunt Loveday and turned it into what it was now — not only a highly respected place for the arts, but a beloved local community hub and a place that attracted visitors from all over the country.

And that place, Tegan thought as she looked around the hallway, was the location of her new job.

‘Little Elsie!’ she cried, momentarily forgetting she was trying to find her new boss and hurrying towards a marble bust of a little girl at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Well, I’ve heard all about you , that’s for sure.’ The girl was beautiful, all wild hair, mischievous eyes and a big smile. She was the famous Lady Elsie Pencradoc, an ancestor of Kit and Coren, and someone who had, if all accounts were to be believed, tilted Edwardian society on its axis by her surprisingly modern outlook for the world she’d lived in as an adult.

Patting the marble curls and taking a moment to appreciate the sculpture, Tegan continued through the hallway. Merryn had given her directions to find Coren’s office and Tegan walked confidently towards it.

Starting a new job was exciting and something new, and she always looked forward to the challenges and excitement it brought. Tegan had a very varied CV, it had to be said: hospitality and tourism expertise, barista work, waitressing, a chalet girl in Switzerland. She’d worked in a gift shop. She’d been a tour guide. She’d done nannying and event planning. She had a raft of qualifications in all sorts of things, but she hadn’t yet found her niche.

That was the one thing she envied her sister for. Merryn was the eldest, settled and sensible, working for an art dealer in London, then she’d come here, to Pencradoc. Met Kit. And the rest, as they said, was history. History that was about to become even more settled and sensible with the imminent arrival of Merryn’s first child.

Tegan shuddered. She didn’t envy that . She had too much of the world to see and too much of her life to live yet.

Oh. And lemon-picking in Sicily. That had been Tegan’s most recent adventure. But she was ready for a change of scenery, ready to sort some things out in her head, and this post at Pencradoc — as Merryn’s maternity leave, no less — was the ideal solution. She’d do Merryn’s job for the year, as agreed. Decide what she wanted to do with her life in the meantime. And move on.

* * *

Ryan knew there was a logical order to the boxes and boxes of “stuff” in the family archives at Wheal Mount. It just wasn’t his logical order. That was all.

Tammy, the archivist at Wheal Mount, and the woman who seemingly guarded the archives with fire and brimstone, had worked with a placement student last year to get some of it organised. The student, Bryony, had left, and Ryan had made the mistake one day of mentioning that it sounded like quite an interesting task.

Tammy had reported back to Sybill, the manager of Wheal Mount Arts Centre, and almost straight away he’d been called into Sybill’s office and welcomed with a big smile. Which had scared him a lot. Usually intent and efficient, Sybill had loosened up over the last few weeks and then she and Coren Penhaligon at Pencradoc had announced their pregnancy news, so she’d been smiling much more.

But it had still been pretty scary to stand in her office and be — well — smiled at.

‘Ryan.’ Her smile had grown wider. ‘Tammy’s been telling me a few things.’

‘Sure . . .’ He blinked, confused. He talked to Tammy a lot; the pair of them had been at Wheal Mount the longest out of all the staff and had formed a friendly relationship, so he wondered which “thing” Sybill was referring to.

‘So, the thing I’m interested in,’ Sybill continued, as if reading his mind, ‘was your interest in the archives.’

‘Oh! Yeah. I just said that it seemed there was still a lot of work to do, but the things they’d found had been good. Especially since you’ve got Pencradoc’s stores too.’

‘Yes. We all decided the Pencradoc items were safer here.’ Pencradoc and Wheal Mount had been owned by the same family, and everyone at Pencradoc knew that Sybill had more experience and more staff to deal with them. ‘But, our placement student could only do so much. And Tammy is fantastic, but I’m going to be working more closely with her on the day-to-day management of the centre, because she’ll be covering my maternity leave. It makes a lot of sense.’

‘Yes — it does. Tammy will be great in that role.’ Ryan smiled, genuinely delighted for his friend.

‘She will. But it means there’ll be a big gap to fill in the archives and stores management. Which is where, Ryan, you come in.’ And there was that smile again. Yep. Still scary. ‘Because you’ve been with us a while, I’d like to give you more responsibility at Wheal Mount Arts Centre, and I think that’s a perfect place to start.’

‘Oh! Well — yeah. Thanks. That’s great. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. I’m going to have to start thinking about a career. A proper career.’ He caught Sybill’s horrified look and quickly back-tracked. ‘I mean, I love it here, I really do — and, yeah, it’s a great career for you and Tammy and such like—’ hell, she looked even more cross with him — ‘but do you really want me here on a more permanent basis?’ Yes. Good. That was a good thing to say. ‘What I’m trying to say, is that I’ve worked here for years, through my course and everything—’

‘Just like I did,’ replied Sybill, a little coldly. ‘I started by sitting on a seat and welcoming visitors too, you know.’

‘Yes, I know. But what if — what if . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘What if I decide to go back to Glasgow or something?’ Ryan thought back to the summer job he’d had during his course at a gallery in the west of Glasgow. He loved the vibe up there and he fully intended going back at some point.

‘Your point being?’ asked Sybill. She blinked at him and a chill ran across his shoulder blades.

‘My point is,’ he said uncomfortably, ‘is that I haven’t really decided where I want to settle yet.’

‘But you have no imminent plans to go to Glasgow?’

‘No.’

That was a small white lie. He had, just this morning, sent off an application to a new gallery in that very city, where he would be working closely with art deco items and artefacts relating to the Glasgow Boys group of artists. And while it wasn’t imminent , exactly—

‘Any imminent plans to go anywhere else?’ Sybill’s words made him jump.

‘No.’

‘Any imminent plans to leave Wheal Mount, or indeed Cornwall?’

‘None.’

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and hoped Sybill’s razor-sharp mind was elsewhere today and she didn’t actually pick up on his blushes.

‘So, for the sake of argument, you’re here now. You will more than likely be here for a little while.’

Perhaps.

‘And this whole arrangement we’re talking about here is temporary.’ Sybill leaned back in her seat. She knew she was winning. Ryan could see the little triumphant expression on her face, even though she was doing her best to hide it.

‘I guess.’ He gave up. To be fair, the fact he was here, right here, right now, was true. He loved it here and it fitted his art history background to a T. But there was always that sneaky suspicion that he wasn’t really meant to be there — that one day Sybill would go, “Hmm, you did good handing out tickets, mate, but you’re not that great and Wheal Mount is not where you should be. Bye bye.”

Or that one day, he’d get that next opportunity and decide to up and go.

That was why he wanted the Glasgow gallery job. Most of his memories of that city were fantastic — except for one particularly irritating girl that he’d worked with — and the chance was too good to miss. If he was successful, he knew he would feel awful about leaving the little team at Wheal Mount in the lurch. It wasn’t so hard to replace a ticket seller, or a meet-and-greeter, or even someone who could sit in the galleries or the museum and talk about the place. Or someone who could make a mean cappuccino in the tearoom.

But it would be bad if he left something like the archives out of kilter. Because then that would mean Tammy was tidying up after him, as well as Bryony. And that made him feel a bit guilty.

But he was being rather stupid. There was no guarantee he’d even be invited to an interview in Glasgow and he didn’t want to give up a chance like this at Wheal Mount for, well, possibly nothing at the end of the day. He didn’t really know why he felt he was always competing with some invisible enemy or making something out of nothing. He shook his head. He would be making a huge mistake if he said no to Sybill.

‘Sorry, Sybill. I’m being stupid. It’s not like I think the universe has any plans for me at present or anything like that.’

He looked at her and her face softened. ‘You are being stupid. Can’t you just accept that we want you here and we’re going to do everything in our power to keep you here? We actually don’t want you to bugger off to Glasgow.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘Even if it’s something you might be considering.’

Ryan shivered. Sybill was, he knew, named after a witch — it was something even Sybill joked about — and the suspicion she was aware of his actions this morning niggled at him.

However, she grinned and he relaxed a little. But still — his specialist subject wasn’t archives and what if he messed up? ‘But I don’t want to let you down either — miss something that’s important in your archives, sort of thing.’

Sybill pulled a face. ‘Trust me, Ryan. If there’s anything important enough for you to find up there, you’ll find it. The universe and all that.’

He couldn’t argue with the logic — it was his logic as well, wasn’t it? ‘Okay then.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll do it. Thanks for the opportunity.’

‘Great!’ Sybill sat back. ‘That sounded awfully formal, by the way.’

Ryan felt his cheeks grow hot. ‘Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s just a responsible sort of job and I’d hate to spoil things after everyone’s hard work.’

Sybill laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll let Tammy know and she can set you off. You can pick up from where Bryony left off. I’m sure there’s a ton of stuff that needs mining up there. We’ll be talking to Merryn’s replacement at Pencradoc soon about what sort of things they want us to look out for, but I think if we can just create order out of chaos for now, that would be most useful.’

And now Ryan was up here in the attics, amid all that chaos. He could certainly see why they needed someone to take over from Bryony. Sybill had told him she was setting up a meeting with Merryn’s replacement this week and that they wanted to toss some ideas around for another exhibition, but with the state of the archives he hoped it would be something easily accessible and already listed . . . which might well be the coward’s way out, but, hell, it would be easy.