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Amelia drove slowly up the tree lined drive, tyres crunching on the thick gravel, her beaten up old ford fiesta standing out in sharp contrast to the grand surroundings.

She glanced to left and right as she navigated the winding route. Fields, dotted with the pale forms of sheep, stretched away on either side of her. Here and there the skyline was broken by the twisted trunks of ancient oaks and horse chestnuts.

Finally, she reached the top of the drive, where it divided to encircle an enormous tiered fountain. The water was switched off and from the build up of leaves and twigs in the basin, looked to have been so for a while. At its pinnacle, a weather-worn stone cherub, balancing on one leg and clutching an urn, gazed, blank eyed into the distance. The House lay beyond. A grand stone affair with mullioned windows and an enormous arched entranceway.

The front door was built of solid oak, studded with ancient cast iron nails. At that moment it stood open, her father resting his tall, wiry frame against one side of the archway. Amelia couldn't help but smile at his appearance. He wore a pair of holey overalls that resembled a Pollack painting and his usually dark hair and beard were white with plaster dust. He waved a paint brush at her as she pulled up in front of the stone steps leading to where he stood. As she opened the car door, he bounded down to greet her.

“Wonderful, isn't it?” he enthused, using the brush to indicate that he was referring to their surroundings. Amelia gazed up at the great facade, squinting in the sunlight. “It's certainly impressive” she replied after a moment.

“Let me help you with your things” he went on, stuffing the paint brush into a pocket and striding round to the back of the car. Amelia joined him and opened the boot. Her father pulled out the overstuffed backpack and hefted it onto his shoulder. “Is that everything”? Amelia gave a nod, slamming shut the boot and following him back up the steps and into the vast hallway of the house. "How'd the exams go?" he called back to her. "Ok, I think. Pretty sure I've passed everything." "you're smart, like your mother." he returned with a quick smile. "You'll do fine". "I hope so". She replied with a shrug.

Amelia had just completed her A levels and was taking a few weeks off before it became necessary to find work in order to pay for her planned gap year travels. She'd not had much time to see her father over the past year and this had seemed like the perfect opportunity to spend some time together.

The house was several degrees cooler inside and much darker. It took a moment for Amelia's eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight. As they did, a wide oak staircase took shape in front of her. On either side, doors led off to unknown rooms. Paintings of various shapes and sizes and set in ornate gilt frames hung from the walls, continuing up the staircase and into the gloom beyond.

Her father gave her a moment to take it all in, before moving further into the house, beckoning for her to follow him. “It's a pretty amazing building.' He said, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Oldest parts date back to the late 16th Century. Most of what remains is mid to late Georgian.

Amelia's father made his living restoring historic buildings, focussing mainly on the pre-victorian era. More than a job, it was an all consuming passion. When he was working on a project he became totally absorbed by it, to the detriment of everything else in his life. Amelia's mother had hoped she could change that when she married him, but had learnt the hard way that it would never happen. They had separated amicably when Amelia was six. Her mother had gone on to remarry a man Amelia had grown extremely close to, but her father's work took up way too much of his life to allow for any other sort of commitment.

“I'll show you your room” he called back to her as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. Amelia followed him slowly, gazing up at the faces that peered down at her from the portraits on the walls. There was one of two young sisters sitting awkwardly on a settee in front of a staged backdrop. Their hair had been carefully curled and they were immaculately turned out in matching dresses of lace-trimmed light blue satin. The older of the two sisters had one hand resting on the back of a king Charles spaniel that sat between them. Amelia guessed from their clothing that the work dated from the late Eighteenth century.

Further up the stairs was a beautifully observed painting of a woman in her late teens or early twenties. She sat, smiling serenely, one arm resting on a pianoforte. Her other hand resting in her lap and clasping a small posy of flowers. The lace and ruffles of her dress were picked out so beautifully, they looked almost real. Amelia frowned, there was something so familiar about that face, those eyes. Then she realised, it was the older of the two sisters from the previous painting, some ten or twelve years later. Odd to think these people had been born, had lived their lives and had died all long before she, Amelia, had come into existence. She wondered what had happened to the younger sister. Had she lived, or died of some childhood disease as happened all too often in those days? She glanced about at the other paintings to see if she could spot the face of the youngest girl, but there was no sign of her.

As her eyes moved over the images, they were drawn to a portrait that hung slightly further up the stairs. It was of a man dressed in a high collared riding coat and cravat. She climbed higher to get a closer look and when she did so, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. There was nothing sinister about the portrait, as such. It was set against a romantic backdrop of trees and mountains and, like the other portraits, had been painted by a talented artist. The man's dark hair was swept forward in the style of the day, framing handsome chiselled features. Amelia estimated his age to be around thirty five. It was the eyes that gave Amelia such an unexpected feeling of dread. Darkly sparkling, and filled with such a cunning knowingness it was disconcerting. As well as this, they had an uncanny manner of following her where ever she moved, watching her like a hungry wolf. There was something about the mouth, too. A cruelty to its set. Amelia had a feeling that in life, this man had not been well liked.

“Amelia?” The sound made her jump and she whipped round, wide eyed to find her father looking at her quizzically. “What are you doing?” “I was just-” she began, her eyes drawn back to the painting. “Ahhh, I see!” Her father cut in. “Admiring Lord Blackwood! Handsome chap, wasn't he? Something of a bastard, from what I can gather. ” He flashed her a grin. “Bit old for you, I think” he continued. “Two hundred years or so”. Chuckling at his own joke, he re-climbed the last few stairs, waiting at the top for her to follow. With one last glance at the painting, Amelia joined him, walking slightly behind as he led her down a long panelled corridor towards where she imagined her room must lie.

“It's a bit out of the way” he said, pushing open the door and standing aside to let her past. “I thought you'd prefer some peace and quiet while we get on with the work down stairs.” Amelia moved past him into the room that was to be hers for the next two weeks. It was wide and front facing. Three sets of leaded windows along one wall afforded a panoramic view across the estate and let in plenty of light. The antique furnishings, which included an enormous four poster bed, were of dark wood and skillfully carved. The rich, heavy fabrics of the embroidered curtains and large persian rug that lay at the foot of the bed, gave the room a feel of wealthy comfort.

"It'll do, I suppose". Amelia joked as her father deposited her rucksack on the bed. She went over to the window and looked out at the scene below. Her father joined her. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. "Right" he said eventually, turning back to the room. "I've got to get back to work." Amelia smiled, used to the fact that work always took priority. "Of course you do" she said standing on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. "You'll be alright on your own for a bit?" he enquired anxiously. "I'll be just fine." She gave a reassuring smile. "Think I'll have a bit of an explore. See if I can find any ghosts." "You do that." he replied with a chuckle. "You can go anywhere you like in the house, " he continued, "there's one room that's locked. Precious family heirlooms in there, or something, according to the owners. Everywhere else, you're free to roam. Toilet's down the hall on the left. If you need anything, I'll be downstairs with the boys. Just follow the sound of hammering." Her father's hand-picked team of skilled craftsmen worked with him on every job he did. Luckily they got on with each other extremely well, otherwise living and working in such close proximity over such long periods of time would have been hell. Giving her an affectionate kiss on the top of her head. He turned and strode out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.