Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 7
A healer is taking care of Samantha at Claverton Castle, and for the first time we get Harriet’s perspective.
After my dad passed away in 2014, I was overwhelmed with grief. One coping mechanism was reading numerous gothic novels, including some of the earliest gothic novels that Ann Radclyffe wrote in the 1790s. I decided to write my own gothic novel. Initially Claverton Castle was going to be a queer and supernatural version of Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen’s satirical gothic novel. My novel strayed from that initial idea.
Before I began writing, I recalled a slightly different Regency England I made up back in the 1990s—a Regency England where it’s normal to encounter ghosts, demons, faeries, and vampires. I decided to set the novel in that world and to incorporate characters I wrote about years ago—in particular, the ghost hunting twins, Margot and Roland Montmorency.
To begin at Chapter 1 of Claverton Castle:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7 and the rest of Hauntings of Claverton Castle is only available to paying subscribers.
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 7
Harriet stepped into the parlor and beheld Miss Marilla Thackeray, the healer she had known all her life. In her late forties, Miss Thackeray was somewhat short and plump, her dark hair speckled with hints of gray, and her owlish eyes hidden behind round, gold-rimmed spectacles. She was sitting in an armchair with a small portmanteau clutched in her lap.
Harriet stepped forward. “Miss Thackeray! La, it is a pleasure to see you. Oh, of course, the situation is hardly what I would call a pleasure—my dear friend is in a terrible situation. Her uncle has positively brutalized her, the brute. Odd’s bodkin, I used the word ‘brute’ twice. I really am careless in my language.”
“You always were unfashionably poor at expressing yourself, dear, but I have always found it endearing.”
“Let us hope my future husband feels the same way.”
“Oh, do you have a fiancé?”
“No, I fear that is not the case. La, I fear it will never be the case at this rate.”
“My dear, I am most certain that such a beautiful and vivacious girl will have no trouble finding a husband. You are charm itself.”
“Why, thank you ever so much, Miss Thackeray! I never considered it that way.”
“But please do take me to the patient, the poor girl.”
“Oh, my, yes, of course! Do let’s go upstairs now. She is in the best guest room.” Embarrassed at her addle-pated behavior, Harriet nearly ran out the parlor door before she reminded herself: Decorum. She slowed, turned back to give the healer a little smile and was satisfied to see her only two feet behind. The healer smiled back, and Harriet returned to the door and opened it with a sense that Miss Thackery looked as though she were humoring a lunatic.
Harriet frowned as she stepped into the hallway. She wondered exactly how often people considered her silly, even a bit touched. Recalling Samantha lying in the large four-poster bed, Harriet shook these thoughts away and rushed down the corridor. The thumping of the healer’s footsteps behind her satisfied Harriet that Miss Thackeray was accompanying her despite the inelegant speed of her own pace.
Harriet tapped the door to the guest room before she led the healer inside. All was quiet except the ticking of a mantel clock. Harriet bounded to the bedside. “Samantha dear! I have a healer here for you!”
The bed curtains were not drawn, and though the window curtains were, Harriet espied Samantha lying under the white linens and stirring. It belatedly occurred to Harriet that perhaps she had spoken too loudly, especially since Samantha must have fallen quickly asleep after such a night.
Samantha rolled over slowly, murmuring, “Mmmm?” before opening her eyes. She yawned and blinked.
Harriet could scarcely look at her friend’s eye. “Oh, I hope I did not disturb you!”
Samantha managed a slight smile. “I don’t mind. It is fortunate if you brought a healer.”
“Yes, indeed! This is Miss Thackeray, a prestigious healer from Midsomer Norton.”
“How do you do.”
Harriet introduced Samantha to the healer; the invalid’s face turned a bit red in response to Harriet divulging her full name. Miss Thackeray placed her bag on a small table and removed a couple of objects before turning back to the bedside and approaching Samantha.
Harriet leaned slightly forward to observe the healer’s work. She didn’t wish to obstruct, so she backed toward the foot of the bed. Miss Thackeray uncorked a circular, pale blue glass container and used her fingers to scoop out a small portion of what appeared to be a thick black paste. Harriet wrinkled her nose at the smell, a cross between licorice and horse sweat. She watched the healer spread a generous portion of the salve on Samantha’s face, completely covering the bruise. Whilst she worked, the healer whispered an incantation that sounded like nonsense words to Harriet.
Miss Thackeray stepped back and peered into Samantha’s face. “Where are your other injuries, dear?”
“Oh, that was certainly the worst one—indeed, I actually feel as though my headache is finally receding.”
The healer took a step back. “Excellent.”
“The other wounds are under my nightdress.” She bit her lip and glanced at Harriet.
Harriet pulled shut the bed curtain along the foot of the bed. “I shall not watch. I’ll be in front of this delightful fire.” True to her word, Harriet kept her eyes on the paltry flames as Miss Thackeray applied more salve with occasional tongue-clicking and comments such as, “Poor dear,” when she was not uttering the same incomprehensible incantation.
Harriet sat back and grasped the arms of her chair. It was too warm for a fire, anyway. “I suppose those incantations are in Welsh. I never did fancy learning Welsh. I only learned French, and la! Even that was a struggle. I was not one of those clever girls. I suppose you know quite a few languages, do you not, Samantha?”
Samantha did not reply. Harriet gulped and thought it might be because she was in pain. Harriet feared she was babbling and sounded like a fool. Her father always said so, but she couldn’t seem to remember to grow silent at the proper times.
Harriet closed her eyes and began to doze off when Miss Thackeray raised her voice. “There, all done! You will be back to health in a few hours. You must rest, poor girl. The best treatment for you now is sleep.”
Samantha’s nightdress and the bedclothes rustled. “Thank you ever so much.”
Harriet bounded out of the chair and returned to the bedside. She fluttered her hands about and peered down at her friend, who was lying on her back with her eyes closed and the covers pulled above her shoulders. The one eye still looked awful, now smeared with the unpleasant-smelling salve.
Samantha’s closed eyes did not discourage Harriet from speaking. “Dear Samantha, you will look ever so much better soon!”
Samantha blinked rapidly at the healer. “I shall feel better, too.” She reached up and almost touched the salve on her eye, and she smiled at the healer.
“Very well, Miss.” Miss Thackeray rose and curtseyed. “Miss Prendregast is correct. In a few hours, your bruises and swelling will have entirely disappeared. At least, that is how this salve and incantation customarily work.”
Harriet grasped a bedpost and gazed earnestly at the healer. “Will you promise not to tell anyone about this, including any information about our houseguest?”
Miss Thackeray knit her brow and peered into Harriet’s face. They were nearly the same height, so it was not difficult. “What’s this, Miss?”
“I am merely attempting to protect a friend from her despicable uncle.”
The healer knit her brow. “Very well, Miss, then I shall be happy to keep it a secret.”
“Thank you.”
“Though I… would appreciate a generous tip.”
“Oh!” Harriet stared at Miss Thackeray and fluttered her hands about.
“No offense, Miss, but healing does not pay as well as it should, leastways in a small community such as this. I suppose if I lived in London… if I were the healer for the Prince Regent himself… it would be quite a different matter, you understand.”
Harriet continued fluttering her hands and staring at the healer. Though her acquaintance with this healer had lasted all her life, perhaps she had not known her as well as she believed. Admittedly, Harriet knew not what it must be like to earn one’s living.
Harriet dropped her hands. “Very well.”
She slipped a rhinestone bracelet from her wrist and wished it were only paste. She held it out to Miss Thackeray. The bracelet had been a birthday gift from her father. The healer took the bracelet, smiled, and curtseyed low before departing with Harriet close behind her.
Harriet closed the door behind Miss Thackeray and looked over at Samantha, who smiled softly. “Thank you, Harriet. I do not wish to cause scandal for your family, or for myself.”
Harriet clutched her hands together and strode toward the bed. She peered down at Samantha and smiled back. “Scandal would most certainly ruin your marriage prospects. I am most certain Father will be glad to find a wealthy and respectable man for you. In the meantime, you can remain at Claverton as long as you wish.”
Samantha’s smile wavered, and she closed her eyes. Harriet pulled the covers higher, up to her chin, and tip-toed out of the room.