Ash Rake House was an impressive stone-built property situated to the south west side of the village of Ashlow in the Peak District. Built by a local landowner in the 17th century it had been in Laura Hobson's family for nearly the whole time it had been in existence. Dominating the hills around the little village, the house, built from the local limestone, rose up from the landscape like it had hewn itself out of the bleak windswept hills. Behind the house, further up the steep hill, was a small copse of lonely ash trees, from where the house had taken its name. The trees, surrounded by a drystone wall, covered an old disused lead mine rake that lay within the boundary.

As Laura drove up the old road to take her to the track towards the house she shivered a little, even though it was a warm spring day. As a young girl she and her brothers and cousins had spent many happy times at the house with her Great Aunt Clara. But now her aunt had died, the life blood and spirit of the house seemed to have diminished a little, along with her aunt's passing. The house seemed different and Laura was reminded of how, as a young girl she sometimes felt the whole place had what could only be described as a bad feeling to it. She had put it down to the ghost stories her older brothers and cousins (who were all male) had told her in an attempt to scare her when she was little. Aunt Clara would scold the boys and tell Laura not to take any notice of her older brothers and cousins or any silly older boys for that matter. Laura smiled at the memories. Aunt Clara had been as tough as old boots, mentally and physically. She had taught Laura a lot about how to deal with boys; it had been advice that had served her well not only as a young girl but as a woman too. Despite this tutoring, along with all the happy memories, Laura still felt a shiver when she saw the house. She shrugged it away. As a strong rationalist, her aunt had certainly not felt any bad feeling in the house and she had stayed there all her life. As Laura and her brothers and cousins grew older the time spent at the house at Ash Rake got less each year. Studies and then university took over and it had been many many years since Laura had been to the house. Her Aunt had a stoic understanding that the children, as they grew up would visit less and less and she hadn't minded, but Laura suddenly felt sad she'd not been to visit for so long and that it had been years since she had seen her great aunt. Now Aunt Clara was gone but Laura knew she'd lived the life she wanted in the house and felt sadness when she had died but was also glad that the old woman had remained in the house right up until the day she had died, which is what she had always wanted.

As the only living relative still in the country, the task of sorting out all the legal matters to do with the house and the estate had fallen to Laura. All of the decisions had been made by the whole family through email and video calls so it was just a case of Laura being the signatory on behalf of the everyone. The main chunk of the legal paperwork had been to do with the old lead mine on the land. A local solicitor who knew the area and the various antiquated lead mining laws had been dealing with the documents had an office nearby in one of the small Peakland market towns. Laura had just been to finish signing the last of the papers and documents.

As she turned her car into into the track that led up to the house, Laura saw a figure, up on the hill, near the rake. She squinted and was surprised to see that the person, a man, was climbing over the drystone wall having been inside the small woodland enclosure. Laura frowned; the rake was dangerous. The ash trees were not there for aesthetics. Planted when the mine fell into disuse long over a century and more before, they covered up the dangerous parts of the mine shafts that were unstable and that would plunge a body hundreds of feet into the shaft. As a child, visiting the house at Ash Rake, all the children had it drummed into them that the rake was an absolute no go area. So it was with some alarm that Laura saw the figure climbing out of the enclosure. She frowned with concern as she watched the man scramble up the steep slope onto the ridge of the hill above the rake before he disappeared out of sight, without seeing her. There was a public right of way on the land but there were clear danger signs around the rake and anyway it was a considerable way from the footpath which only cut through a small part of the land much further away from the house. Laura parked up outside the house and got out of her car. Hopefully it was a mistake, maybe the man had become lost or was searching for an escaped dog.

Deep down, part of her knew this probably wasn't the case, but the feeling didn't rise up enough in her consciousness for her to worry about it. Clearly whoever it was had now gone and surely they knew the dangers of the rake from the signs alone – or so she hoped. The last thing she needed was someone falling down the mine shaft just before the house went on the market.

Satisfied that the incident was a one-off, Laura checked her watch; she had just enough time to wash and change before heading off to the reception drinks at the hotel where Jean Innocent had arranged the teambuilding week.

She unlocked the large heavy oak front door and went inside. There was a familiar scent of dampness in the house that had always been there. Laura idly wondered that whoever bought the house in the future would have a lot of renovation to do to make the house habitable in a modern sense. Her Aunt had put up with the dampness but it certainly wasn't a selling point for the house. Along with the familiar odour of damp, Laura detected another smell. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, a scent of. . . perhaps washing powder or similar. It was very faint and for a few seconds an unease struck her, in the pit of her stomach; but as before, it passed, or she pushed away the feeling. The worry evaporated when she closed the big oak door behind her, locking and bolting it. With the door fastened tight, she suddenly felt safe in the old house and, not thinking anymore of it, headed upstairs to the room she was using for her stay and got ready for the reception at the hotel.

AN: Hi Everyone – I'm so glad you are all up for a new story! I know the readership is dwindling a little but it's good to know that even a few people would like to still read a Robson adventure – so thank you for your enthusiasm! ML x

PS Ashlow doesn't exist as an actual place but it is typical of a Peakland Village.