Ghost stories: A Woman in White by Jane Rayner

She said: “The story is about a man who is writing a book about characters from Bridport, but there are also ghostly sightings within the story too.

“The George Hotel and South Street are both mentioned in the short story."

I still see her every day, racing up the street. Two years on I have trouble believing what I saw. But it did happen. I'm telling you the truth.

The breakdown of my marriage cost me more than my relationship with the girl I fell in love with. The arguments about my ex's new lover, and late nights drinking with strangers in pubs took their toll. It was no surprise when the cutbacks came in October that my name was top of the list. I was glad, a fresh start would get me out of this malaise.

'Come and stay at mine, Tim,' said Doug, after seeing how my life had fallen apart. 'You can help me with this book, do a few interviews.'

Doug and I had trained together, in the days when you learnt the trade on clanky typewriters. We'd kept in touch on and off and even succumbed to connecting on Facebook. He'd quit journalism and was writing about characters from Bridport's past and present.

'Bridport is a special place,' he said. 'I want to tell the world why.'

It would be easy enough, chat to a few people and write it up. I'd be winning no prizes but I'd used up my last chances over and again. Doug was the only option left.

I arrived after he left on holiday. We didn't discuss the book project in detail, but I was expecting a bulging folder of notes when I reached his house. He was always thorough. And after picking up the key from his neighbour I discovered I was right. He'd spent hours researching who would best represent the town.

I'm not like that. I like to start talking to someone and see where the conversation takes me. It doesn't take many minutes to tell if someone's going to give you a good story. Listening for what they're leaving out is always a sign, or what their body language is saying. Too many people rely on speech these days instead of looking at the whole picture.

If I had prepared, followed Doug's work ethic, would things have turned out differently? On impulse I picked out the handwritten note, the card faded at the edges as if left on a windowsill over a long hot summer, agreeing the time and place to meet. 30th October at 6 o'clock. Its curly black lettering stood out among the typewritten sheets of paper.

I was late meeting Miss Smith and she was already seated in the front room of The George Hotel. It was unusual for women these days to accept 'Miss', though I sat opposite a woman of an age when expectations of a life other than marriage had been low. My hands full with a pint and notebook, I nodded hello and introduced myself.

'Good evening,' she said in turn, not loosening the grasp of her wrinkled hands around the metal tankard which held her drink.

The blackness of the early evening peered through the window, the candle flickering in the pumpkin on the window ledge giving little extra light. The fire was lit in anticipation of a cold dark night but a chill remained and I kept my jacket on. I was glad there were no other locals to contribute their version of the story, though their extra bodies would have provided much-needed warmth to the surroundings.

'Your story dates back to the late 19th century, I believe,' I said, opening my notebook. 'What happened?'

'It is the story of a good woman stabbed by a Bridport dagger,' she said, 'but it's more. It's about two people taken before their time.'

'Bridport Dagger?' I asked.

'You're not local, are you?' she replied. 'That's what we call the hangman's noose. Made of Bridport rope.'

I nodded, indicating to her to go on.

'Mary Beth met Adam as she helped celebrate a friend's marriage. It was rare for her to be out, kept busy looking after her sick mother. They saw each other when they could and it wasn't long before their engagement was announced. They were a good match, Adam's patience compatible with Mary Beth's gentle soul. 'Adam hadn't been in Bridport long, and soon earned a reputation as a hard worker at the rope makers. The boss wished all his workers were like him. Some of the others resented him, a newcomer.'

I made a few notes, not seeing where this was going. How did someone like Mary Beth end up committing a crime? My companion's clothes looked a bit old-fashioned but then I wasn't in London any more. She kept on her navy coat, though opened the buttons to reveal a white frilly collar on a long green dress that almost covered her dusty black laced boots. Her hair was tied in a bun, balancing on the top of her head, a few black strands falling into her cold blue eyes.

'It started with a few choice words,' she continued, 'led by Rufus Stone, a jealous, lazy man. A little roughing up, show Adam how they worked here. He didn't fight back, it wasn't in his nature. Tools would disappear when he returned to his bench, his ropes would be tampered with.

'It carried on like this for a few months until Rufus heard about the engagement. Before her mother got sick Mary Beth went out drinking a lot with the girls. They used to get the men to buy them drinks. Rufus was sweet on Mary Beth, acted differently around her to gain her trust, to get what he really wanted.

'She enjoyed his friendly attentions, but our Mary Beth was a naive girl, didn't understand Rufus' real intentions. One evening after several pints she'd managed to escape his grip just in time.

'Rufus but didn't believe the marriage would happen. He would be patient, he'd put Adam in his place. But with Mary Beth's mother getting frailer by the hour, the date was set for All Hallows' Eve.'

A strong scent of roses brought me back to the present, as if a bouquet had been brought into the room. I looked around and saw nothing new. Had Doug set this interview tonight for a reason? I knew he loved to recreate the right atmosphere. I felt a chill in the air but scribbled in my notebook. Miss Smith continued her story, often pulling down her sleeves, as if to conceal something underneath.

'Rufus bumped into Adam after a night's drinking with his friends, his last before getting married. Adam wasn't a big drinker so was unsteady on his feet, unwary of his surroundings. Rufus had been drinking too and confronted him. They argued, the alcohol giving Adam new confidence.

'Adam was found next morning behind the Greyhound Inn, stabbed and hanging by the ropes he'd finished the previous day. Mary Beth arrived from St Mary's soon after, having heard the news. Family and friends saw her run out of the church, screaming his name. She didn't stay long with the body, but ran off at speed. She found Rufus slumped in a chair at his home; there was a stench of beer and copper, and red-brown stains covered his once white shirt.

'What have you done?' she said, shaking him awake.

'He'll never have you, you'll never have him,' he said before passing out again.

'It didn't take long for the fire to take hold. Rufus' body was found in his chair, his last resting place. Mary Beth collapsed a few doors down, her arms covered in black-red flesh.

'Mary Beth was hanged for the murder of Rufus, the magistrate enforcing the punishment to the letter of the law, despite the known circumstances. Some still see Mary Beth at this time of year, trying to find Adam, calling his name. Me, I think it's nonsense.'

She didn't stay long once she finished her story; the final dregs of cider drunk, she left the pub. I read through my notes, adding a few comments.

'Bit lonely for you sir, sorry,' the landlord said as I returned my glass. 'Everyone getting busy for trick or treating tomorrow. It'll be packed here then.'

The story replayed around my head that night, mixing in with my sleep and waking moments. I woke with a start as I dreamt of being hanged, pulled up by my ex-wife and her new boyfriend. Further sleep eluded me. I decided to go for an early-morning run to clear my head. As I ran back into town a woman in white dashed out in front of me near to St Mary's Church. She ran up South Street, bundles of her white dress grasped in each hand to keep her feet free. Her lace veil billowed behind her, in sharp contrast to her dark hair, as she zig zagged up the deserted road, pleading with the air, like she was talking to people. I had difficulty keeping up and her distress troubled me.

There was a similarity to Miss Smith, though this was a young woman, not the old lady who shared her story with me. And again there was the scent of roses, filling the air. The woman slowed as she came to the Greyhound Inn, as if anticipating something unpleasant. She stumbled in her last few steps and stopped bent double, at the entrance to the courtyard. She paused before disappearing up the narrow passageway beside the town hall.

I carried on up to the top of the street, looking to see what was in the courtyard. Just tables and chairs. I followed her footsteps onto East Street and looked left and right. Nothing. The street was empty, apart from a car pulling up at the traffic lights. Hanging from the top of the lights was a white veil, its delicate lace looking like it was about to fly away.

'Stupid hen parties,' said the driver, winding down his window. 'Why don't they leave the street as they found it, not rubbish the place?'

I was about to agree but looked down and saw a bunch of roses balanced against the post of the traffic light.

Copyright: Jane Rayner, 2014

A Woman in White by Bridport author Jane Rayner can be found in the anthology A Darker Side of Dorset, edited by Anne Denham and Lucy Goodison, ISBN 9 780993 093203. The anthology can be bought in bookshops in Bridport.