Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

He watched Charley’s eyes continue to study the building and called out to her, ‘the stories about this place, they’ll no doubt go on.’

She was surprised by his interest. ‘I guess so,’ said Charley, knowing that soon the formidable property which had been part of the scenery of her childhood would be reduced to a pile of rubble, making it impossible to find the facts to disprove the legends associated with it. From here on, the only proof of the house’s existence and occupation by the Alderman family would be the tales passed down by word of mouth.

Shoulders hunched, and with his hands deep in his jacket pockets the young man hopped from foot to foot. His face pinched and grey, his lips held a blue cast. ‘I wish they’d hurry up,’ he said, his voice quivering. The noise his metal toe-caps made on the tarmac made her look down at his work boots – very obviously secondhand, or borrowed.

‘Who?’ Charley furrowed her brow. Her phone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. She took the call but her eyes remained on the young man who now stood under the entrance to St Anne’s Church across the road from Crownest, which provided him a little shelter from the icy wind.

‘Ma’am, since you’re already out and about, Control are asking CID to attend at a property called Crownest. The Fire Brigade in attendance suggest circumstances could be suspicious. I wonder if you’d mind calling on your way back?’ Charley’s eyes raised to meet the workman’s watching her from over the road.

‘Tell Control I’m already at the scene, although I’m not sure what I can do, the fire is still going, but I’ll liaise.’

Much to the young man’s surprise, Charley turned off her car engine and got out of the car. He eyed her quizzically.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Finn, why?’ Without waiting for an answer, he carried on impatiently. ‘Where are t’Old Bill when you need ’em? I’ll tell you where they are, they’re all over mi’ oul’ fella like flies on cow shit. Once a wrong ’un always a wrong ’un in the Old Bill’s eyes.’ Finn looked back at the house with concern in his eyes. ‘He swears he’s done nowt wrong this time. Holy Joe!’

Charley frowned. ‘Holy Joe?’

‘The gaffer, he’s doing his nut. Truth is, if the plod don’t come soon, he’ll have no choice but to send us off site, and that can’t ’appen. I need the money to give to mi Ma for the young ’un’s Christmas party.’

‘Why’s that then?’

Finn’s face fell. ‘The old fella, he’s been sent down this morning by the Magistrates which is why I’m ’ere instead of at college.’

Charley’s look was a wry one. ‘Come on. I guess, right now I’m the answer to your prayers.’

The young man looked at her once, then twice. The silence of the early morning was only broken by the scrape of a snowplough on the road coming towards them. He closed his eyes momentarily. His pale face became suddenly flushed as her revelation hit him.

Finn lowered his head. ‘What an eejit! I’m sorry, Missus. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.’

A smile escaped Charley’s lips. ‘Better show me the way if we’re gonna try keep this site open, eh?’

She followed Finn. The high security fencing erected around the building’s perimeter displayed danger signs as she approached. For her safety, she was taken down the side of the left wing of the building which was mostly a shell, blackened and still smoking. Moving slowly and carefully over debris, Charley took a moment to glance up at the beautiful, high, ornate, carved stone arches that without a roof, reached up towards the sky. Charley’s heart felt heavy, distraught for the sorry state of the property which was rich in history, and once so grand.

The pair picked their way through rubble, which combined with the water from the fire hoses was now a sloppy, wet mess. They managed to avoid the worst of the mud and the deepest puddles, but had to keep an eye out to negotiate where there was fallen debris. As she moved slowly over the site to the front of the house, Charley got a glimpse of a number of yellow hard-hatted heads, huddled together in conversation at the far side of the overgrown bowling green, beyond which was an extensive garden that wrapped itself around the house. The glistening white branches of the leafless trees in the wood beyond looked as if they were frozen in time, and space.

Finn guided her carefully past two site containers. A bulldozer stood next to a cherry-picker.

The idle demolition workers were facing away from Charley, but could be heard joking with the fire crew for putting out the house fire that had been keeping them warm. As the fire crew continued to clean up, the banter made it obvious, quite quickly, that the fire was nothing but a hindrance to the demolition team, as they couldn’t get on with their work. No wonder Finn’s boss was ‘doing his nut’ if he was paying them just to stand around. Charley could see that left to the elements, Crownest had taken a battering from the inclement weather. Ferocious gale force winds, torrential rain and snow had savaged it on all sides for over a hundred years, but yet it had survived – until the unexplained fires had started. Not the first a few weeks ago, but the second had finally destroyed it beyond repair, and now another today, even though this time the house was already in the hands of the demolition services.

Finn touched her arm gently. ‘You wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll go find Mr Greenwood.’

Charley stood with her back to the men, who were beginning to show interest in her. She studied the house frontage which appeared on the face of it barely touched by the fires. That is until her eyes reached up as far as the roof. The skeletal roof was