Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 25
Welcome back to my queer & paranormal gothic novel, Hauntings of Claverton Castle!
My weekend was quiet and pleasant with gentle rain and high temperatures in the sixties. And so many cats.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 24:
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 25
Seated with Roland, Samantha scanned the long screens passage and saw several others seated or standing and talking quietly. A few of them were couples having a tête-a-tête. Perhaps people would gossip about them, too. She sipped her punch, which proved quite sweet, though it contained more alcohol than fruit: she tasted rum, champagne, and arrack, in addition to lemon, lime, and orange juice.
Roland and Samantha discussed apparitions, demons, and the supernatural for some time, until Margot appeared. Samantha’s heart skipped a beat.
“Ah, there you are.” Margot smiled at both Roland and Samantha. “I thought I had quite lost you. Tongues are wagging about you.”
“I suspected as much.” Samantha felt her cheeks warm. She opened her fan and used it languidly, resisting an urge to fan herself vigorously; she wished to hide her agitation.
Margot smiled wider and sat between them. “Here, my presence should slow down the wagging tongues.” Margot arranged her skirt.
Roland smiled. “You may have gained disapproval yourself, wandering about without a chaperone.”
Margot nudged him with her elbow. “I was on my own only briefly, and this is a country ball, not the London Season.”
Roland tipped his head to the side. “Such conventions seem silly, considering our nocturnal visits with ghosts and demons.”
Samantha scanned their faces. “Have you spoken with Harriet—that is, Miss Prendregast?”
Margot blinked. “About what?”
Roland said, “Samantha has been experiencing a great deal of ghostly action in this manor house.”
Margot sipped from her glass. “So have I, but I figure it is to be expected—”
“—in such an old building,” Roland finished.
Samantha described in detail her ghostly experiences since her arrival at the manor house.
“It is quite an exciting manor house.” Margot’s large, dark blue eyes twinkled, and Samantha fluttered her fan rapidly. “More so than I anticipated.”
Roland’s eyes wandered the room. “I perceived numerous entities clustered together in the hallways.”
Margot raised her eyebrows and her glass. “Yes, yes, they are concentrated there.”
Roland briefly tipped his head to the side. “Very young and unhappy spirits. And what you have described—”
“—is consistent with what we have been encountering,” Margot finished.
Fishing through their memories for anything reminiscent of specters at Claverton, Margot and Roland described a variety of their ghostly encounters over the years, as though they were much older than twenty. Samantha listened in rapt attention. She doubted the topic would fascinate her quite so much if it didn’t involve Margot.
Margot set down her glass and rose. “I should commit to my social obligations and refrain from sitting through the next dance. Reginald Prendregast awaits me.”
Samantha and Roland rose from the bench, and Samantha noticed her glass was empty. Margot strode away through the crowd. Samantha kept her eyes on her, until Roland cleared his throat.
Samantha hastily looked up at Roland and waved her fan slowly. “Do excuse me. I fear my mind is elsewhere.”
“Where, might I ask?”
Samantha felt her cheeks burn. She opened her mouth to say, With Margot, but dared not reveal her secret even to Roland. “On the ghosts, of course.”
“Of course.” Roland smiled faintly.
Noticing that smile, Samantha gulped and wondered if he had figured out her feelings for Margot.
The Marquis of Uppington drifted toward Roland and Samantha, as though he’d been awaiting an opportunity to interrupt their conversation. Samantha pressed her lips together tightly and didn’t care if the Marquis noticed her glare. She tapped the floor with one of her slippers and awaited an impertinent remark.
After an exchange of aloof greetings, the Marquis gazed up at Roland and said, “Exquisite cravat.” Samantha blinked, surprised the Marquis gave Roland more attention than she. “You are quite the Nonesuch, I must say, though you could wear a bit more color.”
“Thank you,” Roland said. “My valet is a great benefit to my wardrobe.”
Uppington smirked. “Ah, yes, that valet of yours. Montague is his name, eh? If you ever desire to give him up, Montmorency, do let me know.”
“I fear you will have a long wait if you wish to hire Herman,” Roland said.
“Oh, yes, you do have that eccentric habit of calling your valet by his first name. People wonder which means more to you: Montague, or Lord Percy?”
Roland froze. “What are you talking about?”
The Marquis chuckled. “Playing innocent? I think you understand my meaning. Well, Roland, old chap, which are you more intimate with: Lord Percy, or your valet?”
Roland glared. “I am not intimate with either. Cease believing malicious gossip.”
The Marquis chuckled and began walking away. He turned back without heeding Samantha, gazed at Roland, and smirked. “Have it that way, then. You cannot fool me.”
Roland continued glowering as he watched the Marquis drift into the crowd at the edge of the great hall.
“What an utterly odious man!” Samantha hissed.
“Yes, indeed. I have met him a few times before, and my impression never improves.”
“I met him this evening and had the displeasure of dancing with him.”
Roland emptied his glass of punch. “Shall we dance and prevent any other unpleasant persons from accosting us?”
“Excellent plan!”
Samantha and Roland headed for the dance floor. They managed to share two dances before a stout matron charged toward Roland. Two girls followed her.
“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Montmorency!” The matron’s voice was loud. “It is oh so charming to see you again!” She whacked Roland with her fan, and his eyes widened. To Samantha, he seemed tense. “I haven’t introduced you to my dear… and eligible… daughters. This is my elder daughter, Miss Holloway, and my younger daughter, Miss Honora Holloway.”
“How do you do,” Roland murmured to the floor with a slight bow. Samantha watched behind her fan, and both girls giggled. Only Roland glanced toward Samantha. “Mrs. Holloway, may I introduce you to my childhood friend—”
Mrs. Holloway belted out, “You must dance with each of my girls, Mr. Montmorency! Now, do be a good boy and oblige me.”
Roland’s eyes remained on the floor. “Of course, Mrs. Holloway.” Samantha sensed that he wished the floor to swallow him up, but she didn’t know how to rescue him from the Holloways.
Throughout the exchange, Samantha eyed the younger daughter, Miss Honora, a dark-haired and plump damsel with wide brown eyes focused entirely on Roland. Samantha wished they could become friends but figured Miss Honora would perceive her as a rival. Roland accompanied Miss Holloway to the dance floor, whilst Samantha felt Aunt Thirza’s claw on her elbow. Samantha exhaled and resigned herself to the taciturn chaperone’s presence.
During a reprieve after participating in six dances in a row, Samantha headed with her latest partner for the punch bowl, where she encountered Harriet taking a glass of punch from a footman. Harriet wore a pink silk and net gown, and her dark, curly hair was piled high with an enormous pink bow. They smiled a greeting at each other. Samantha noticed her latest dancing partner was no longer by her side.
Samantha glanced about to figure out if any of the nearby guests were Harriet’s dancing partner. “Where is your father?”
“La, he is a negligent chaperone.” Harriet raised her punch as though toasting negligent chaperones. “I last saw him dozing on a sofa.” Harriet gulped down punch. “The Marquis of Uppington has been searching for you.”
“He found me some time ago, unfortunately.”
“He seems to have taken a fancy to you.”
“I hardly think so!” Samantha took the glass that the footman offered her. “He struck me as rather contemptuous toward me.” The footman scooped pale pink punch into Samantha’s glass.
“La, I daresay you misread him, Samantha!” Harriet gulped some punch.
Samantha took her glass and resolved to sip slowly. “Despite all the Marquis’s wealth and his high position in society, I would not marry him if someone held a dueling pistol to my forehead.”
“Surely you do not dislike him to such a great degree,” Harriet murmured between sips. Her eyebrows were trying to meet each other, and she stared at Samantha in astonishment.
Exasperated, Samantha regretted broaching the topic. “Would you be willing to marry and live with—for the remainder of your life—a man you despised? No matter how wealthy he was? No matter how admirable his property?”
“La, it wouldn’t be ideal. But it wouldn’t necessarily be so bad. On a large estate, you needn’t spend much time alone with him.”
Samantha clenched her jaw and shook her head. Not for the first time, she suspected Harriet couldn’t comprehend a life devoid of marriage. Admittedly, she was beginning to suspect this applied to most people.
“So sorry, I have the next dance with Douglas.” Harriet gulped the last of her punch and placed the empty glass on a tray floating past, thanks to a footman’s powers.
Clutching her glass with both hands, Samantha watched Harriet and the ginger-haired young man, Douglas, heading to the center of the dance floor.
Samantha sidled to her left, closer to a group of guests. Her eyes drifted away from them and around the room, but she saw Aunt Thirza nowhere. The dancers wore a brilliant variety of colors: red, pink, maroon, eggshell blue, baby blue, electric blue, apple green, and peacock green. Samantha admired the beautiful scene, never mind that she felt awkward. Her eyelids drooped, and she yawned until her eyes watered, after so many hours of socializing.