I looked at the clock. I felt sick with nerves. My first guests would be here any moment. It had taken me the best part of the morning to scrub the red paint of the front door.

I expected a family of four from London seeking a peaceful holiday, along with an historian who was travelling alone. He said he planned to study the local lore when he was in town.

I was grateful Willow Grove wouldn't be full, as the idea of entertaining guests was daunting and not all of my rooms were ready.

I had been up since dawn, getting ready for them. There were now fresh flowers in each room, the scent of which mingled with the smell of fresh bread and coffee. That's what you were supposed to make the place smell like if you want it to be welcoming, wasn't it?

I had spent most of the morning cleaning, trying to remove any trace of the red paint. Since the door to the murder scene was locked, there was no reason for anyone to see the bloodstains.

The stains. I frowned and looked towards the room where I had done my best to clean the stains, but they were still there. I could still see faint brown marks on the once pristine carpet, but that might be because I was looking for them. They were a reminder of what had happened.

I would need to replace the carpet once I could. Could I cover it with a rug? Or move a piece of furniture over it? But would that look suspicious? My heart raced at the thought of my guests asking about it.

"Stop it, Evie," I said to myself, making a conscious point of turning away from the room. "You're overthinking."

I walked into the kitchen, breathing in the smell of the fresh bread. At least that was something that had gone right.

The historian would be the first to arrive. Mr Elias Greystone, who had booked to stay for 2 weeks. His polite emails expressed anticipation in discovering Llyncroft's history. He seemed like the idea person to have as a first guest.

I put the fresh loaves of bread into a basket. I wondered what he would think of Llyncroft. Would he find it as charming and quaint as I did? Or would he think it was a strange village with strange people, but to get past the wards, there must be something unusual about him as well?

I shook my head and focused on what I could control. The bread, the flowers, the smile I would greet my guests with. The stains? Well, they were just part of the house's history now.

As I finished laying the table, there was a knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat. It was time to welcome my first guest. I took a deep breath, patted down my apron, and headed to the door.

"Welcome to Willow Grove Inn," I said to the family of four, the Pembrookes who greeted me. They looked like they had stepped out of a London fashion magazine. They were all smiles and politeness as they took in the B&B's charm.

Not far behind them was Mr Elias, his glasses glinting in the afternoon sun. His gaze darted around the place with a curiosity that was almost infectious.

"Miss Hartwell," he said, shaking my hand and taking in the entrance hall. "This place is even more delightful than I pictured."

I felt a wave of relief. At least they seemed to like the place.

"I'm glad you think so," I said, leading them to their rooms to freshen up after their journey.

Once they had settled, I invited them for a cream tea in the conservatory. The glass structure was full of plants I'd nurtured, their leaves brushing the transparent ceiling and walls. In the middle of the room was a large wooden table covered with scones, jam, clotted cream, and a selection of loose leaf teas.

I poured tea from my grandmother's antique silver teapot for everyone. Fragrances of tea, warm scones and living plants combined, creating a feeling of homeliness.

"Help yourselves," I said. "There's strawberry and raspberry jam, clotted cream, butter if you prefer, and there's tea, English Breakfast, Earl Grey, and a local blend."

The family dug in, their politeness giving way to enthusiasm. Mr Lawson lingered, gazing at the surrounding plants. He ran a finger over the leaves of a fern next to him and smiled.

"This is amazing," he said. "The plants, they're so green."

I nodded. "They seem to like it here," I said, sipping my tea. As they settled down to tea, I allowed myself to feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe I could run Willow Grove after all.

I poured myself another cup of tea and left the conservatory, allowing my guests to talk amongst themselves. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, with the sound of their voices mixing with the soft rustle of the leaves. I'd done it, I thought. I'd held my first afternoon tea as a B&B owner, and it had gone better than I could have hoped.

I could still hear them talking as I moved into the kitchen. They were discussing the history of Llyncroft.

"I heard that this place has been at the centre of several land disputes over the years," said Mr Lawson. "Tension exists between the locals and developers over the modernization of Llyncroft. The locals are pushing back against the idea of a supermarket and large hotel."

"We heard something similar," said Mr Pembrooke. "Something to do with conservation areas and planning permissions?"

I was curious so returned to the conservatory. Mr Lawson continued. "Well, certain parts of Llyncroft are designated as areas of outstanding natural beauty and therefore protected from any kind of development. But we all know sometimes certain individuals have tried to bypass these rules."

I frowned. Land disputes? Conservation areas? Was this something I should be worried about?

Mrs Lawson added, "It must be hard for the locals, trying to keep their heritage alive in the face of such pressure."

I headed back into the conservatory. Mr Lawson's conversation had given me more to think about than I had expected. I needed answers.

"Mr Lawson," I said. "You mentioned land disputes and conservation areas?"

He looked up from his tea, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, it's a bit of a bone of contention here in Llyncroft."

"Do you know if Willow Grove is in one of these conservation areas?" I asked, feeling a little clammy.

Mr Lawson paused. "I'm not sure," he said. "But there would be a record of it somewhere."

"A record?" I said.

"Yes," he said. "There would be a paper trail of all the details of the land and its status. You could look for it at the council office or the town's historical archives."

"And if someone wanted to do something about local conservation?" I asked.

He smiled at me over his teacup. "Then they should look at that paper trail. You need to know the past to change the future. I'd love to talk to you more, if you have the time."

I felt the earth shaking. I wasn't sure it was real until I heard crockery falling in the kitchen.

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