Witchstone

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [e-mail] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Witchstone

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE frosty afternoon sunlight was casting a final mellow glow over the rooftops as Ashley Calder turned into Bewford’s High Street and saw the small hotel ahead of her. Already it signified home, and unconsciously her step quickened as she thought of the glowing fire which would be burning in the grate of her aunt’s living room and the homely smell of baking which always drifted from the kitchen. This was something she had never been used to. She had been too young when her mother died to remember much of what had gone before, and although her father had done his best, their home had lacked a woman’s touch.

The Golden Lion Hotel was a stone-built, attractively weathered building that blended well with the row of tall, somewhat old-fashioned shops of which it was an integral part. It had a history, too. It was said that once some prominent member of an exiled royal family had taken refuge there on his journey north to Scotland and safety, and although much of the building had been renovated it still maintained that aura of the past that was so evident in knotted floors and low oak beams. In the few weeks she had lived there, Ashley had already acquired a sense of attunement with the place. She loved history and she was beginning to find her memories of her life in London less painful to contemplate. Her aunt and uncle had been so kind to her, sharing her grief over the sudden death of her father, and making her feel as much a part of their family as her cousins, Mark and Karen, that the future which had looked so black eight weeks ago was beginning to have possibilities again.

All the same, it had been quite a wrench leaving London, leaving everything and everyone she had ever really known to come north to Yorkshire to live with an aunt and uncle she could scarcely remember. She had met them once before, when she was five years old. But that was twelve years ago now, the time when her mother had died and her sister and her husband had come south for the funeral. She had been too young then to appreciate any family differences, but as she grew older she sensed the antagonism her father felt towards her mother’s sister. In any event, he had not encouraged Ashley to keep in touch with them, and distance had lent detachment. It was only now, after the kindness they had shown her since being informed of her father’s death, that Ashley had begun to wonder why her father had not wanted her to get involved with them. Perhaps he had been afraid they would take her away from him, she mused. Perhaps he had sensed that the quality of their life was so much warmer, and that Ashley might have responded to it, used as she was to a somewhat emotionless existence.

Now Ashley shook her head. Surely her father had not believed that she would leave him alone. She would never have done that. She had loved him too much, even if sometimes she had suspected that she could never take the place of her mother in his affections.

But that was in the past now. Her future was here, in Bewford, and she swung lightly through the arched entrance to the cobbled yard at the back of the small hotel.

Her aunt was in the kitchen and looked up smilingly as Ashley came through the door bringing a chill gust of cold air with her. ‘Hello, love,’ she greeted her. ‘Have a good day?’

‘Hmm.’ Ashley came over to where Mona Sutton was spreading lemon icing over a batch of small cakes. ‘Can I have one of these, Aunt Mona?’

Her aunt raised a resigned eyebrow. ‘I suppose so. Though where you put it all, I don’t know.’ She surveyed her niece’s slender figure with a shake of her head. ‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll get fat? Heavens, Karen only has to look at cakes and pastry and the inches seem to appear by magic!’

Ashley chuckled, swallowing the rest of the lemon sponge with obvious enjoyment. ‘I’m just lucky, I guess.’

‘Yes.’ Her aunt sounded less than convinced. In her opinion Ashley’s slenderness owed more to lack of food than anything else. When she first arrived in Bewford, Mona had been appalled at how thin she was, and only now, after several weeks of good wholesome food, was she beginning to have a bit of flesh on her bones. ‘Did you tell Miss Kincaid about the job at the library?’

Ashley unbuttoned the thick duffel coat she was wearing, throwing back the hood so that the heavy swathe of corn-gold hair tumbled in disorder about her oval face. Then she perched on the edge of one of the draining units and said: ‘Yes, I told her.’

‘And what did she say?’ Mona stopped what she was doing to look at her.

Ashley shrugged. ‘I think she was disappointed.’

‘Oh, Ashley!’

‘Well, I know she hoped I’d go on to university——’

‘So why don’t you?’ Mona stared at her.

Ashley bent her head. ‘Do you want me to?’

‘Love, it’s not for me to say. It’s what you want to do that matters. You know there’s no question of a money problem. The money your father left is more than enough to pay for your education——’

‘I know,’ Ashley sighed.

‘Don’t you want a career?’

‘Being a librarian is a career.’

‘I know that. But, Ashley, you’re only seventeen and already you’ve got three “A” levels. That means something.’

‘It means I swotted harder than everyone else …’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ Mona wiped her hands on her apron. ‘It means that you’ve got a damn good brain. And I know your father would expect you to use it to your best advantage.’

‘Yes, my father would,’ Ashley nodded. Then she looked at her aunt. ‘Aunt Mona, will you tell me something?’

‘If I can.’

‘Why—why did I never see you in—in those years after—after Mummy died?’

Mona sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. We lived so far apart, I suppose,’ she said quickly.

‘Was that all it was?’

‘What else could there be?’

‘I’m asking you, Aunt Mona.’

Mona looked uncomfortable now. ‘Ashley, it’s all in the past, and your father’s dead——’

‘So?’

‘Oh, child!’ Mona made a helpless gesture. ‘Your father was a good man. He did his best for you. He did his best for Delia—your mother.’ She paused. ‘But—well, he was a possessive man. At least so far as Delia was concerned. She and I—well, we’d been pretty close before she got married, but afterwards—your father didn’t encourage us to meet. He wanted her all to himself.’ She shook her head. ‘Then they had you. I thought that would make a difference, but it didn’t. Your lives and ours rarely crossed. When Delia died, we did meet. We came to the funeral, as you know. We wanted to help him then—we even offered to have you if it would help at all. But he was furious at the suggestion. He said that you and he would manage, and I’m afraid he became as possessive with you as he had been with Delia.’

‘And yet he never really wanted me around,’ murmured Ashley wonderingly.

‘Selfish people are sometimes like that,’ said Mona quietly.

‘Yes.’ Ashley understood now.

Mona frowned. ‘Ashley, tell me honestly—what do you want to do? About going to university, I mean.’

Ashley looked up. ‘Honestly?’ And at her aunt’s nod, she went on: ‘I want to stay here, with you—with Uncle David—with Mark and Karen. I—I don’t want to go away.’

‘Oh, Ashley!’ Mona came towards her, putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘You’ve all been so kind to me,’ Ashley explained gently. ‘I love being here. I feel—at home.’

‘This is your home.’

‘So I’d rather get a job in Bewford and stay here.’

‘But Bewford County Library isn’t the same as working in some big complex——’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve always wanted to do library work, and if it doesn’t work out—well, I can always go to university later, can’t I? There’s plenty of time.’

Mona nodded, her eyes unusually bright. ‘Of course there is, love,’ she agreed, turning away. Then, more briskly: ‘Now, are you going to go and change out of those school clothes before tea?’

Ashley straightened. ‘What time are we eating?’

Mona shook her head. ‘Food again!’ she scolded, good-naturedly. ‘Well, let’s see. It’s half past four at present. I think I should have it on the table for five o’clock. Then your uncle can enjoy his meal before opening up. Mark won’t be in until later. He said he wanted to go up to the Hall before coming home.’

Ashley nodded, moving towards the door into the hall. Mark was employed by the Setons who lived at Bewford Hall. They were the largest landowners in the district. County people, Aunt Mona called them, but she said it with a trace of affection. Like everyone else in Bewford they were concerned with the affairs of the community, a situation which Ashley sometimes found hard to accept, coming as she did from a district in London where it was possible not to know one’s next door neighbour.

The staircase to the upper floor of the Golden Lion was narrow and twisting, and led to a landing from which all the bedroom doors opened. Once the small hotel had catered for an occasional paying guest, but in recent years the Suttons had needed all the rooms for their own use.

Ashley shared Karen’s room. It was the largest of the bedrooms, the only one in fact which could accommodate twin beds. She had at first expected some resentment from her cousin, but fortunately Karen wasn’t like that. She was a gregarious sort of girl, open and friendly, glad of someone of a similar age to talk to, and it was Ashley who sometimes wished that Karen went to bed to sleep instead of to gossip into the small hours.

Karen was a couple of years older than Ashley, but without her academic ability. She had left school at sixteen and now worked in the Post Office. She had a steady stream of boy-friends, most of whom Ashley had only heard about, although she had met Frank Coulter, the man of the moment. He worked in the local garage and had the reputation of being the local Casanova. From the first, Ashley had disliked him, although she had to admit that part of her repugnance towards him was due to the fact that he had once attempted to make a pass at her when Karen was out of the room. She had been quite angry at the time, and she hoped Karen would soon find someone more reliable.

Ashley had friends of her own at school, of both sexes, but no one special. She wasn’t interested in the casual physical relationships indulged in by most of the girls she knew, and found more enjoyment in books and music than petting on some street corner.

In the bedroom she stripped off the navy skirt and cardigan, the white blouse and navy and red striped tie which formed the uniform of Bewford Grammar School before rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a pair of shabby jeans and a scarlet sweater. The jeans accentuated the slenderness of her body, the curving length of her legs, while the ribbed sweater drew attention to the rounded swell of her breasts.

As she brushed her hair, she pulled a face at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She was used to her appearance and saw no particular virtue in long, slightly slanted green eyes or a warm, beautiful mouth with a full lower lip. She secured the heavy swathe of hair with two elastic bands so that a coil fell over either shoulder and then with a shrug turned towards the door.

Her aunt was in the dining room laying the table for their evening meal, and Ashley automatically took the cutlery from her and began setting the places. Her aunt smiled and took the opportunity to relax for a moment, lighting one of the infrequent cigarettes she smoked throughout the day. She was throwing the match into the grate when her husband came through from the bar.

‘Well, well,’ he remarked mockingly. ‘Is this all you’ve got to do?’

David Sutton was a man in his early fifties, tall and spare-framed, with thinning fair hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was the exact opposite of Mona, in fact, who was inclined to plumpness like her daughter, and whose hair and colouring were definitely dark.

Now Mona regarded her husband with impatience. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ she retorted, casting a resigned look in Ashley’s direction. ‘You see! I can’t even have a cigarette without being caught out!’

Ashley smiled. This good-natured badinage was something she had not experienced before coming to live with her aunt and uncle. Her father had taken life much more seriously, and when she had first come to Bewford she had been concerned at the apparent constant state of conflict between these two. But as time went by her concern gave way to amusement as she realised that their relationship was based on warmth and understanding and nothing they ever said to one another during these petty little arguments penetrated the strength of their real feelings.

David Sutton turned to Ashley then, saying: ‘Do you think you could come and put some bottles out for me later on? We’re running short on ginger ales and tonics, and I could do with a few bottles of stout in the bar.’

Ashley nodded eagerly. From time to time she re-stocked the shelves when her uncle was busy, although he wouldn’t permit her to serve behind the bar. ‘Of course. Do you want me to do it now?’

‘No, later on will do,’ replied her uncle, reaching for his pipe from his jacket pocket.

‘I should think so, too,’ exclaimed Mona. ‘The lass has just got home from school. She’s hungry, aren’t you, love?’

Ashley wrinkled her nose doubtfully. Obviously her aunt had chosen to forget that not too long ago she had been chiding her for eating too much. Changing the subject completely, she turned to her uncle and said: ‘I’ve decided to take that job at the library after Easter—if they’ll have me.’

David looked up from filling his pipe. ‘Have you?’ He looked pleased. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Are you?’ Ashley felt all warm inside. She lifted her shoulders and let them fall again, spreading her hands in an encompassing gesture. ‘Well, so am I.’

Karen didn’t finish work until five-thirty and by the time she got home Ashley and her aunt had usually finished the main washing up of the evening and the Golden Lion had opened its doors to its patrons. David had a couple of women who helped in the bar in the evenings and they arrived about six. They were two young married women, supplementing their husbands’ income by working in the evenings when their husbands could look after their children. Ashley didn’t know them very well yet, but Mark had told her that the husband of one of them worked for the Setons, too.

Ashley looked forward to Mark coming home. They got along well together. Although he was twenty-eight he had not as yet shown any inclination towards marriage and seemed to find his young cousin quite adequate company. He had taken her to the pictures a couple of times, and once to a horse sale at a nearby estate. But mostly he seemed to find the horses more absorbing, and Ashley, with her own love of solitude and the fascination of academic things, could appreciate this. Perhaps that was why they got along so well – because they each had other interests.

Ashley was coming along the hall later than evening, her arms filled with the small bottles of soda water, dry ginger and tonic her uncle needed, when Mark came through the door which led from the cobbled yard at the side of the hotel. It had begun to snow earlier on and flakes glinted on his fair hair. Ashley started to say: ‘Are you frozen——’ when she saw that her cousin was not alone. Another man had followed him into the hotel, a man as dark as Mark was fair, with the kind of tan impossible to achieve in these northern climes.

Mark grinned. ‘What’s this?’ he queried, indicating the bottles. ‘Secret drinking?’

Ashley’s lips twitched. ‘Hardly. Your father needs them. Excuse me——’

‘Wait!’ Mark glanced round at his companion. ‘This is my cousin, Jake. Ashley, I’d like you to meet Jake Seton.’

Ashley could have wished that Mark had waited until she had shed the load of bottles before introducing her to his friend, but it was too late now to do anything about it. Instead, she was forced to stand there and offer a greeting, her face almost as red as her sweater.

‘Hello, Ashley!’

Jake Seton’s voice was low and deep, his eyes disturbingly intent between the longest lashes she had ever seen on a man. But if his lashes were unusual, they were the only effeminate thing about him. He was tall, taller even than Mark who stood a good five feet eleven in his socks, with a lean, yet powerful body. He was not handsome in the accepted sense of the word, but Ashley thought, even with her small knowledge, that there was little doubt that some women would find the deep-set eyes, the harsh planes of his cheekbones and the somewhat thin lips attractive. Sideburns grew lower than his earlobes, while dark hair lay thick and smooth against his head, brushing the collar of his suede jacket. He appeared to use no hair dressing and consequently it looked glossily healthy. She thought he looked about Mark’s age, but she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was nothing to do with her.

Realising that she had been staring, she turned away in embarrassment, making some comment about her uncle waiting for the bottles, and she sensed, rather than saw, Mark and his companion go down the hall and enter the private lounge at the back. In the bar, David Sutton regarded her flushed cheeks with some amusement.

‘What’s happened to you?’ he asked, putting the back of his hand against her forehead. ‘You running a fever or something?’

Ashley unloaded the bottles on to the floor behind the bar and began stacking them on the shelves. ‘Of course not,’ she denied swiftly.

David looked down at her bent head. ‘Well, someone’s responsible for that or I’m a Dutchman!’ he declared.

Sighing, Ashley rose to her feet. ‘Mark’s just come home.’

David frowned. ‘So what did he say to you?’

‘Nothing. He—er—he wasn’t alone.’

‘I see. Who was with him? Don’t tell me he’s brought some girl home!’

Ashley moved her shoulders reluctantly. ‘No. It was a man, actually. Someone called – Jake Seton.’

And only as she said the words did realisation of his identity come to her. Seton was the name of the people who lived at Bewford Hall. Sir James Seton was Mark’s employer. Jake Seton had to be some relation.

Her uncle was grinning broadly now. ‘Oh, I’m beginning to see,’ he chuckled, much to her annoyance. ‘It was Jake who spoke to you, was it? Yes—well, the lassies get a bit hot and bothered when he’s around.’

Ashley assumed a defiant stance, her thumbs tucked into the low belt of her jeans. ‘Do they really? Well, I was just embarrassed, that’s all.’

Her uncle nodded thoughtfully. ‘Of course. You won’t have met him yet. But you’ll soon get used to seeing him. He and Mark are good friends in spite of the differences in their backgrounds. I hadn’t heard that he was back.’

In spite of herself, Ashley was curious. ‘Back?’ she echoed.

‘Yes. From Austria. Jake’s been away about six weeks, I guess. Just after Christmas a group of them went on a skiing holiday.’

‘I see.’ That explained the tan, she supposed. ‘Well, do you need any more—bottles, I mean?’

David looked at the neat rows. ‘I don’t think so, love. You go and talk to Mark and Jake. Where’s Karen?’

‘She’s gone out with Frank.’

Her uncle grimaced. He could have wished his daughter was more like Ashley when it came to choosing her friends. ‘All right,’ he said now. ‘I’ll let you know if I need you later.’

Ashley nodded, but when she left the bar she stood rather hesitantly in the hall, wondering whether she dared to go up to her room instead of having to join her aunt and the two men in the lounge. She was hovering near the foot of the stairs when her aunt came out of the lounge closing the door behind her, obviously on her way to the kitchen.

‘Oh, there you are, Ashley,’ she said, when she saw the girl. ‘I’m just going to make some coffee. You go in there and speak to Mark and Mr. Seton.’

Ashley smoothed her fingers over the rounded knob at the end of the banister. ‘I—er—I was just going upstairs, Aunt Mona,’ she murmured.

Mona frowned. ‘Why? What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. I—well, I knew Mark had a guest, and I thought I’d go and read——’

‘Oh, get along with you!’ Mona clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘It’s only Jake! Go on into the lounge, and stop talking such nonsense. I shan’t be long.’