Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 6
Welcome back to my gothic novel, Hauntings of Claverton Castle.
To begin at Chapter 1 of Claverton Castle:
Chapter 5:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/hauntings-of-claverton-castle-chapter-d2d?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Chapter 7 and the rest of Hauntings of Claverton Castle will only be available to paying subscribers. Enjoy the last free chapter:
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 6
Samantha shook her head and smiled slightly. “It is not as severe as all that, surely.”
Harriet turned to Samantha whilst the door clicked quietly behind the servant. “La, nonsense, Sam! A healer is exactly what you need.”
“I am not dying of consumption.”
“No, but you are no doubt in a great deal of pain. La, you will adore our healer. She is top notch.”
“Thank you so much.” Samantha felt a lump in her throat; sympathy was painful.
“There, there. The healer will arrive as soon as she can, and you will be yourself again. That black eye will be gone before my father and Reginald meet you. But of course I don’t think your appearance is more important than your well-being. I certainly did not mean it that way. Oh dear, that did not sound quite right, to be sure. I fear that I blurt out the most foolish things.”
Samantha smiled faintly and reached out, lightly touching her friend’s arm. “No matter. So do I.”
“It was ever so delightful meeting up with you in Bath. The time since then, in this drafty old manor house, has been so long and dull.”
The corners of Samantha’s mouth curled upward. “Does not Reginald liven the mood even in the country?”
“Well, hmm, I suppose I exaggerated a bit.”
Samantha returned to her seat. “I am frightfully sorry arriving like this.”
Harriet followed Samantha and plopped down into a chair beside her. “Oh, it is certainly no matter! No need whatsoever to apologize, dear, I am very glad to see you again, despite how terrible you look. Oh, dear, do excuse me. Really, you are customarily beautiful.”
“I would have arrived in an entirely different manner if I were not in desperate circumstances.” Samantha gulped down a lump in her throat. “I could not stay with my uncle any longer. It was as I feared.”
“Your uncle?” Harriet widened her eyes and stared at her friend whilst still holding her at arm’s length.
“Yes. He lifted his hand—and his boot—against me. He is horrible, especially in his cups.”
“Oh, dear! I would not believe it possible, if it were not for your swollen eye. Poor, poor Sam!”
Samantha closed her eyes. The reminder seemingly made her bruised one sorer. “I tried to defend myself, but he managed to batter me. I—I thought I was strong, but he proved stronger despite the gin. It is customary for him to come home drunk, but he usually only yells at me. I am certain he beats at least one of the servants. This time he kept hitting and kicking me and threatened to marry me off to a stranger. He would do it, to be sure. To one of his disgusting friends.” Her voice shook, and she felt a lump in her throat. She gulped and bowed her head.
Harriet’s mouth dropped open and formed a circle almost as wide and alarmed as her large, staring eyes. She lowered her hands and wrung them. Samantha continued to explain her untimely visit.
Samantha gulped. “I ran up to my room and locked the door. I doubt he would cease such brutal behavior.”
“No, I suppose he would not. Oh, dear.” Harriet reached over and held Samantha’s hands. The latter noted that her friend’s hands trembled. “You most certainly did the right thing—remaining with that odious uncle would have been intolerable for even a second. You poor dear.”
Samantha blinked back tears. “When I turn twenty-one and inherit the cottage, I shall also inherit an annual salary. My life, I fear, seems precarious until then.”
“But who lives in the cottage now?”
“Renters,” Samantha said. “My aunt and uncle rented to someone.”
“Did they pay you the money, since it is to be your house, not theirs?”
“No, they never have. Aunt Roseanna paid me a weekly allowance, a pittance. At least, it was nothing compared to the rent of Thyme Cottage.”
“Oh, dear. It sounds like your aunt was stingy.”
Samantha blushed.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Harriet exclaimed. “The utterly tactless things that come out of my mouth at times, I do declare! It will be the death of me someday! The social death, anyway. And then I shall become a lonely spinster because nobody will love an indiscreet, gossiping chatterbox like me.”
“Pray stop fretting. It cannot be so bad. That is to say—becoming a spinster cannot be as bad as all that.” Privately, Samantha found Harriet’s perception of spinsters peculiar—she did not consider it an unbearable fate, especially for an heiress like Harriet. Samantha thought spinsterhood far better than marrying someone with whom one was not in love—or worse, whom one despised.
Harriet smiled. “The things you say, dear Samantha. I do declare, you are… unconventional, like one of those poets. But without any scandal, of course.”
Samantha chuckled.
Harriet clasped Samantha’s hands and squeezed them. “Have you had breakfast? Oh, I see you have.”
Samantha glanced at her empty plate and cup.
“Come, let’s sit down and talk.” Harriet began leading Samantha toward the fire. “How did you travel here? A dog cart?”
“No, indeed, I walked.”
“Gracious! How taxing! You must have walked a good twelve miles in one night! You have all the more reason to be tired. I suppose you are in dire want of sleep, are you not?” Samantha closed her eyes slowly, and Harriet continued. “Do you wish me to ring for the maid to show you to a guest room? You can rest whilst we await the healer.”
“That would be splendid.” Samantha smiled faintly.
Harriet rang for a servant and glanced at the stack of four volumes in the chair Samantha had not sunk back into yet. Harriet wasted no time picking up the books and observing the title page.
“La, you are reading my favorite novel!” Harriet explained. “Do excuse me—curiosity got the better of me. I simply had to snoop.”
Samantha’s smile spread despite her injuries. “No matter. It does appear well-read.”
Harriet gently placed the volumes back in the chair. “Yes, I visit it ever so often.” She fluttered her hands around. “It is an old friend of mine. Of course, new gothic novels are published every twelvemonth, but I love this one the best. It positively makes me swoon!”
“It certainly makes the heroine swoon. Do you still enjoy poetry, too?”
“No, I fear that went to the wayside once I left Sidlecotte.” Harriet fluttered her hands briefly before clasping them together. “I only read gothic novels now. I should like more adventure in my life. Oh, dear, here we are going on about books, and you must be in horrendous pain!”
Samantha winced and shifted cautiously. “It is not excruciating, really.” She flourished one hand toward the room in general. “Perhaps you do not consider your life adventurous, but at least your house is gothic.”
“Yes, indeed! I do so love this ancient manor house! I have lived here all my life, but I never tire of it.” Recalling Harriet’s claim that the country house was boring and dull, Samantha smiled faintly. “When we were little, Reginald and I wandered about, hiding from each other. It made our father positively furious.”
The left corner of Samantha’s mouth lifted for a second, in a spasm of perplexity rather than amusement. She wondered about Harriet’s father. She had yet to meet him, and his anger over normal childhood behavior denoted that he was controlling, if not violent. She recalled her uncle and gave her head a shake; she had escaped Uncle Bradford.
Harriet said, “When we were little, I envied your lack of siblings. Reginald used to squabble with me so, it quite vexed our father. He would add to the noise by shouting at us.”
“Oh, dear.” Samantha had acute hearing.
“But I was such a selfish thing, I did not often consider that you had scarcely any family to speak of, and you were an orphan. I could not possibly abide being an orphan. To whom would I talk? You are so much stronger than I.”
“Oh, you do what you must do.”
The same petite young maidservant arrived and curtseyed. “Would you like me to show you to your room, Miss?” She cast her eyes on the floor.
“Certainly. You can wake me when the healer calls.” Samantha faced Harriet and added, “I happily anticipate talking with you, but I am exhausted and suffering from a headache, among other pains.”
“Oh, you must be!” Harriet fluttered her hands. “You have been up all night, poor dear, and not owing to your attendance at a ball! I declare, that is the only way I have ever stayed up all night. I was never one for losing sleep over study, and I know too well my marks reflected this. No matter. I shall let you rest for as long as you need. I shall tell Reginald you are here, the first chance I have. Let Jane help you to your room.”
Samantha smiled, and with one last squeeze of Harriet’s hands, she turned to Jane, who now held Samantha’s luggage. She followed the maid into the front hall, up a corridor, and up a flight of stairs that occupied the tower. When they reached the second floor and paused in another long corridor, Samantha felt eyes on her.
She stood still and quickly looked behind her. However, the moment she turned around, she lost awareness of someone’s presence. Figuring it was a spirit, she shook her head, disappointed that her powers were not strong enough to see the phantasm, likely an ancestor of Harriet’s.
Jane led Samantha to a spacious and elegant suite, one flight up. It included both a pale blue bedroom and a matching dressing room, with modern furnishings rather than gloomy archaic décor such as a heroine of Ann Radcliffe’s would encounter. The bedroom featured tall windows adorned with light blue velvet fringed curtains. Small blue, white, and pink rugs lay here and there on the shiny hardwood floor.
Jane helped Samantha out of her clothes and into a nightgown before curtseying and departing. Samantha’s eyelids drooped, as did her shoulders. She closed her eyes to immerse herself in solitude and silence before burrowing under the covers and relishing the linen’s soft texture and its slightly starchy and clean scent. Lying in the four-poster bed, Samantha reminisced about her past with Harriet.
Samantha feared she must be gloomy company for Harriet. She gulped down her guilt. She had assumed Harriet genuinely meant her invitation to Claverton Castle, but now she recalled how serious she was compared to her friend and how impulsively Harriet spoke sometimes. Samantha began drifting off to sleep despite birdsong outside her window. She hoped Harriet did not regret the invitation.