The House On the Hill

Chapter 5: On the Hill

                                                                                  Chapter 5

                                                        Clitheroe, England September 5, 1887

The train slowed to a stop in the small, but charming "Clitheroe Train Station". I glanced out the window and was slightly surprised by what I saw. I knew Clithroe was small but, three people waiting for the train? I started to question the journey, but I have come too far for that so, I gathered my briefcase and larger leather travel case then exited the train.

"Clitheroe Train Station" was charming in the sense that it was quaint and passed its prime time. The floor boards sagged slightly which gave me an impression that the town used to a lot more busy and some paint was worn away on the wood benches where now only one person remained, waiting for a train. There were old posters advertising past fairs and festivals and a tired-looking man in a railway uniform fast asleep in the ticket booth, a day-old shadow coating his lower jaw. The walls looked like they were once an ivory color but, it was now terribly faded to a sickly yellow and the departure schedule was from October 1833. The man sitting on the bench waiting for a train had dark brown hair with pale blue eyes and a look that said he has done this routine many times. I decided to try to get the local's perspective on a good place to stay.

"Excuse me!" I called to him. "Could I bother you for just a moment good sir?" He shrugged replied in a worn out voice. "Why not?"

"Thank you very much sir," I responded as I made my way toward the chipped bench. "I hope I am not going to inconvenience you."

"I do not have much to do but wait so, might as well." he retorted.

"Well, I shan't be long." I promised and stuck out my hand. "Dr. James Lacy."

He shook my hand with a strong shake. "Dr eh?" He smiled. "How long did it take you to get that title."

"A little over four years of studying."

"Well," He smiled warmly." Sebastian Gill, at your service doctor." I smiled and proceeded with my dilemma.

"Well, Mr. Gill, do you live around here?"

"Born, bred, and probably going to die here." He responded. "Why do you ask?"

"I am visiting Clitheroe," I explained."And I was wondering if you knew of a good place to stay for about a week or so."

"Ha!" Gill exclaimed. "No one ever visits an outdated town like Clitheroe, not if they can help it, what is the occasion I might ask?"

"Funeral."I replied. "In a nearby town."

"Ah, that seems right." He replied. "Well, I suppose you could try the Whistling Pot Inn, it is right down the street, just keep walking until you see the sign with a tea pot on it, then you're there."

"Thank you very much sir." I said. "I appreciate the help." I shook his hand again. "Good day to you."

"And you as well, maybe we will run into each other again." Gill bid good bye and left to sit closer to the tracks. I too went about my way.

Well, if Mr. Gill was right about anything, it is that Clitheroe is outdated. I took in the sight of horse drawn buggies parked at the side of the road, gas lights stood on tall poles as street lights and I could guess why Clitheroe did not get a lot of visitors. But, what I found odd was that the town was absolutely silent. No dogs barking in the distance, no voices carrying from rooms in houses, no rattle of another buggy coming down the cobblestone road, all I heard was my own breathing. I found this quite eerie, even for 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I decided to see if the silence carried into the businesses of Clitheroe and walked into "The Whistling Pot Inn."

Now, I found the inn quite opposite from outside, a small restaurant in the lobby of the inn bustled with whom I assume were residents, their talking making a quiet murmur about the room. I entered unnoticed and proceeded to the wooden desk that which seemed to double as a check in desk and a writing desk, with papers covering every inch of the desk. A woman with her gray hair in a tight bun and a crease in her face for every paper on the desk look up at me. "What do ya need?" she asked.

"I was wondering if there was a vacant  room that I could use for a about a week." I implied. The older woman eyed me and must have decided I had money because next she said;

" £25 per day, no negotiations." she said.

£25 a day! That is £175 for a week! There is no way I was going to be swindled by on old woman.

"Well," she barked. "Ya want the room or not?"

"No thank you ma'am." I answered. "Good day." And left.

      Well, now what do I do? I wandered through the streets a bit more, unsure what it was I was looking for. Finally, I passed an office that advertised houses for rent in Clitheroe. Maybe, i would find something cheap and stay for a few extra days.

   I was greeted by a man in a very nice dress shirt and pants with hair on his head in uniform position. He greeted me and asked if I was visiting. I responded that I was, introduced myself, and asked if he had any houses available.

"Why, yes indeed good sir!" responded the contractor. "By the way, I am William Andrews." We shook hands and he pulled out a leather-bound catalogue with about five houses listed. Three were way too big, mansion size and one was terribly expensive. The last one was of moderate size and cheap, £100 for a week! I couldn't believe my luck. When I inquired Mr. Andrews about the house though, I saw a small crack in his mask of a smile. "The one on Scarlet Hill Dr. Lacy?"

"Yes, is it possible for me to rent it for a week or two?"

His smile faltered again and he stumbled with his words a bit before finally answering. "Of course, w-would you like me to give you directions to the h-h-house?"

"Why, if you do not mind." I responded. Mr. Andrews wrote them down on a piece of paper. "The place might be a bit dusty, it is very old, but still c-charming. I would recommend hiring a maid so you are not alo-, I mean, stuck with the job yourself."

  It took me about 10 minutes to walk to the house which rested on a small hill, Scarlet Hill, and the house was not quite what I had expected. It was about 3 stories high with white paint that was chipped in some places and dusty-looking windows that appear to have seen the sun rise and set many a year. It had a small, worn porch where the wood seemed a bit unstable in some parts and rotted through in others and the lawn was overgrown to almost knee length. Behind the house, lay a garden shed that was barely standing and thick woods that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was indeed in need of repair but, it was only for a week right?

I carefully made my way to across the porch and to the front door and used the key Mr. Andrews had given me to open up the front door. A rush of stale air rushed out as I opened the door, it smelled musty and locked up for a long time. There was a small dinning room, kitchen, gathering room, and a study filled with books that covered the walls and every other surface in the room . The odd thing was, the furniture and such was not faded or anything. Everything looked as if someone still lived there, completely opposite from the outside of the house. The three bedrooms and one bathroom on the second floor held the same restored look too. On the third floor, four cramped bedrooms for hired help were also eerily clean but, with less furniture. The cellar had a dirt floor that was packed solid and felt like rock. It was nearly ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house and held empty wooden crates that awaited food.

"Well," I spoke aloud to myself. "Not that bad, I will send out a notice for a maid as soon as I pay Mr. Andrews for the first week."