2. No.7 Mews terrace

 Agatha Gray pulled up to the gates at The Grange in her silver Range Rover. The concierge emerged from his hut and approached the car with a certain air of authority and old-time charm. “Can I help you, madam?” he asked. "Yes, I’ve come to view the Mews house at 11.30,” Agatha replied. "Right, you are, miss. Just pull up there on the left, and I will let them know you are here.” He doffed his shiny hat towards her slightly. She thanked him and drove through the barrier he had raised for her. Agatha parked up and looked around her. She was very much looking forward to viewing this property. Old asylums were her thing; they had fascinated her all throughout her life, so when this listing came up, she just had to go and view it. She slid out of her car and headed towards the reception hall.

As she climbed the steps, a man came out to greet her. "Ah, Agatha Gray, isn’t it?” And he held his hand out to welcome her. She shook his hand, and he said, “I'm Mark Christie; I'm the general manager of the Grange; it's so nice to have you join us here.” Agatha was a little taken aback by his comment. "Oh, I'm just coming to view the Mews property,” she said. “Oh, you will love it here,” he told her. “Trust me, everyone that comes to view ends up buying,” he chuckled at her. She couldn’t make out if he was purely overconfident or presumptuous, but he was still very attractive, she mused to herself. Mark was tall with preppy brown hair and a hint of stubble. She ran her eyes over his blue 3-piece suit and brown brogues; he looked like one of those men in a Hugo Boss advertisement. “So, shall we start with the site amenities, or do you want to cut straight to the chase?'' he asked, flashing his pearly whites at her. “Oh, I'm happy to go straight to the viewing, please," she replied. “No problem; follow me, please, Miss Gray, or is it Mrs?” He looked back at her, waiting to find out if she was single or not. "Actually, it's Dr. Gray,” she said perhaps a little too smugly to him, judging by his face. "Ah, a doctor! How interesting. May I ask what exactly?" he mused. Agatha replied, “I have a doctorate in psychiatry.” An amused expression came over Mark's face. He chuckled as he told her, “So you do know this place used to be an insane asylum?” Agatha's obvious look of disdain showed in Mark's face as she replied, “I'm sorry, what?” “Well, I’m just saying it’s ironic, isn’t it? You're a doctor of psychiatry, viewing an old nut house." He was chuckling along to himself but stopped when he noticed the withering look on Agatha's face. He cleared his throat and said, "Um, so, shall we?” and he ushered her forward. 

They approached the Mews terrace. Agatha had done her homework on the old hospital; the Mews Row was formerly the women’s wing, now split into several two-storey red brick mews houses. They reached No. 7, and Mark opened the door for her. She stepped into a well-lit, spacious reception room/hall, which had a small cloakroom and downstairs toilet. Just ahead of this was a large glass double door leading into the living space, and there were 3 large glass windows to the rear. The pièce de résistance, though, was the black wrought iron spiral staircase leading to the upper floor, situated on the far side of the living space. Agatha was just about to head towards the staircase when Mark said, “Oh, the kitchen’s over here.” She looked longingly at the staircase, these being of the utmost fascination to her, and she pulled herself away. She stepped out into the reception room, where they had first entered, and to the left were the kitchen and dining room, leading on to a private garden through French doors. Agatha eyed up the Aga; she had always wanted one but never cooked; she lived on takeout and restaurants. But now she was planning on slowing down work so there would be time for her to cook. “Well? Do you love it?” Mark asked with his hands held out. "Yes, it’s lovely. May I look upstairs now?” "Yes, of course, after you," Mark beckoned her in front of him. Agatha began the climb up the staircase, all too aware that Mark was eyeing her from behind. 

 As she reached the top, she could see the main bathroom in front of her and a room to the right of her—a nice little office room, she thought. She turned left, and there was the main bedroom with an ensuite shower room and closet. The room had views looking out into the forest behind the mews row. To the front of the house was another large bedroom with views over the courtyard outside, with private parking. She had to admit to herself that it was perfect for her. She wandered down the hallway and opened another door. It was a long cupboard, obviously once an upper-floor corridor but blocked off when converted to houses. That’s where my Christmas tree and suitcases are going, she thought. She was sold, as Mark had rightly predicted. Damn him, she thought, and the smug look on his face let her know that. 

A few months later, Agatha was back at The Grange, with all her worldly goods in a van behind her. The concierge approached her car and said, "Good morning, madam, how can I help you?" His eyes were so kind and smiley; she replied, “I'm moving into No. 7 Mews Terrace today.” His smile was quite sincere as he replied, “Oh, how lovely; nice to have you here," and he bowed to her slightly. “Thank you," replied Agatha”. He walked away from the hut and raised the barrier. She watched him walk away. What a lovely man, she thought to herself. The barrier was raised, and Agatha headed to her new home. Her mobile rang as she got out of her car; her best friend Jennifer was video calling. “Hey you, are you there yet?” Agatha moved her phone around to show Jennifer she had arrived.  “As you can see, yes, I’ve just gotten here; I’ve not even opened the door yet. Let me call you back.” “Of course, darling, and I'm sorry again; I couldn’t be there to help you.” Jennifer sounded sincerely sorry; she couldn’t help her friend. “That's ok, darling; that's why I've paid movers; I'm just going to watch and supervise.” Agatha laughed and bade her friend goodbye. "Ok, call me later. I love you."  Agatha hung up on Jennifer with a warm glow in her heart. They had been friends since they met at school, then went to university together and started their own practice together. Jen then met the love of her life, got married, and had kids (Aggie's godchildren). Agatha immersed herself in her work. She loved her chosen career path, but it got in the way of relationships. She was either too busy working or sussed out the opposite sex in an instant through their body language. She was a natural at evaluating people at 300 yards; she almost had a sixth sense about everyone she met. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time. 

The removal men were just leaving, and Agatha was standing at the door with a coffee to thank them. She slipped the driver a small envelope with beer money in it to show she appreciated their help. She stood in the doorway and breathed a long sigh of relief. She knew the quiet country surroundings would do her the world of good. She closed her eyes, and all she could hear was a bird's song. The intercom phone rang and pulled her from her peaceful moment. "Yes, hello?” said Agatha, slightly agitated at being disturbed in her moment. "Afternoon, madam, it's Henry at the gatehouse; your shopping has arrived; would you like me to send them through?”. Agatha, as always, had planned ahead. “Yes, yes, thank you," she smiled as she put the handset back. Within minutes, the Ocado van was in front of her house. After unpacking her supplies for the weekend, Agatha strolled through the house with a glass of rum and coke. The light was fading outside, and she flicked on lamps as she went. She hadn’t seen the house at night, so lamps were moved and readjusted to suit each room’s mood. A box by the bottom of the wrought-iron stairs was begging to be opened. Agatha placed her glass to one side and reached into the box marked `handle with extreme care`. She pulled out a Tiffany leaded glass and bronze turtleback table lamp; this was the only item she had left to remind her of her parents. She had loved this lamp as a child and would stare at it for hours. Now that she had the perfect place for it to stand, there was a little alcove behind the stairs with a shelf halfway up the way. The colours lit the whole wall up behind the staircase. "Perfect,” she said to herself as she stepped back to admire it. It looked like it belonged there. The truth be known, it had. 

 Agatha has decided the floating chair would be great in the first reception room. The light was fabulous during the day, as all the windows converged the light into this room. She could imagine sitting in the chair, totally relaxed, while poring over a good book. She moved the glass bookcase into this room too, and she realised she was making a nest for herself. She laughed out loud. Jennifer was calling, and Agatha picked it up, smiling. “Hey you, how's it going?" asked Jen. "Oh, I’ve got to show you the wallpaper in the downstairs loo, Jen; you will die."  Agatha opened the door to the small bathroom, and Jen let out a gasp. “Oh my god, I love it; is it original?"  The wallpaper was a dark Victorian green with gold swirls and peacocks. “I've no idea, Jen; it's so gauche; I'm keeping it." The pair fell about laughing. “So, show me around then."  Agatha then proceeded to walk Jen around the house. She started with the kitchen: “Look at that; isn’t it fabulous, Jen?” Jennifer’s reply was, “Yeah, but I bet you won’t use it. When have you ever cooked?” “Hey, I’d like to, and I have more time now; just wait and see; my dinner parties will be the talk of the town."  They both laughed, as Jennifer knew her friend was trying to be domesticated, but she didn’t have a clue about cooking. "And the dining area is just back here, and I’ve got French doors to the garden. Look," she said, opening the doors and flicking on the outside light. “That’s lovely, darling, but I can’t see a thing,” was Jennifer’s retort. “Listen, darling, the kids are not in bed yet and are driving me crazy. I will call you back tomorrow and have a proper tour. "Okay, kids, say goodnight to Aunty Aggie. Night, Aggie. Okay, babe, talk tomorrow; I love you."  Jen waved goodbye, and Agatha blew kisses. She hung onto the night air for a moment before closing the doors. She jumped as she caught sight of a figure behind her, then burst out laughing. The removal men had placed the ornate gold mirror at a slant on the floor, and in the window reflection, Agatha thought someone was standing behind her. “Ok, note to self, don’t be a scaredy cat; you chose to live in a converted asylum, and the only thing scary here is your reflection.” She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, laughing at herself. She flipped the lamp off and headed into the lounge. 

 Had she looked back, she may have noticed the little girl standing in the corner, with arms outstretched and tears running down her face, dressed in a white bedgown discoloured with blood at the abdomen.