Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 14
Harriet wants to know more about ghosts and the Montmorency twins… especially Roland.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 13:
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Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 14
Harriet and Samantha headed for another door and entered a sparsely furnished antechamber before they stepped into the original great hall. Harriet skipped into the center of the enormous room, and Samantha followed her swiftly whilst turning about, left, right, and back again, to gaze in awe. Its splendor matched its name: a vast room with stone floors, high rafters decorated with rosettes, walls adorned with tapestries and swords and the family’s coat of arms. Along one long end of the hall ran a series of archways, behind which stretched a screens passage.
Harriet clasped her hands together and smiled. “Although this is no real castle—only a manor house—it does date back to the fourteenth century.”
“It is breathtaking.” Samantha approached a fireplace centered at the back wall. Like that in the drawing room, this fireplace featured lions supporting the mantel. “So evocative of the past. It is quite appealing to an enthusiast of gothic literature.”
“It is positively feudal, really. I imagine the ancestors of Father’s tenants worked on our ancestor’s land. They live in many cottages roundabout here.”
Samantha raised her eyebrows. “This house is so very old.” They stepped through an archway. The screens passage was a narrow room featuring red velvet benches between each archway. “No wonder it has so many specters.”
“Ah! Has it? I cannot think what it must be like to be able to see ghosts.”
“Yes, a great many.” They drifted to the far end of the passage until they came to the last bench. Samantha sank down. “It is more than a matter of seeing.”
Harriet plopped down next to Samantha. “How—oh, I suppose you really do mean you can smell ghosts.”
Samantha gazed about. The high-vaulted room emanated a slightly eerie silence. “You can simply… sense them. Everyone, living people, have their own energy. Sometimes sensing the presence of a ghost is no different than sensing the presence of another person.”
“I do wonder about… these spirits,” Harriet said. “You scarcely mentioned them when we were children—oh, save for the little gray cat that always wandered into our room. Do you remember that?”
Samantha smiled. “Yes, I could never forget Smokey.”
“Do you see ghosts all the time now?”
“Indeed, no. Rarely.” Until I came here.
“I declare it would drive me mad if I saw ghosts all the time, flying around, walking through walls, moaning, and shaking chains. It might be interesting occasionally, but la, I’d wish to shut it out now and again.”
“It is not so simple, I fear.” Samantha bit her lip. “I am not the strongest of Sensitives by any means, as I informed Reginald.”
“Oh, the Montmorency twins are! They are positively famous for their communication with ghosts and demons! Thank you ever so much for introducing me to them.”
Samantha smiled faintly. “You are welcome.”
Harriet grinned and, clasping her hands together, leaned toward Samantha. “La, do you know if they have any powers about which the newsletters and gabble-mongers are unaware?”
“As a child, whenever I was with Margot or Roland in the presence of ghosts, they inadvertently shared with me their significantly more powerful Sensitive ability. I could simply hold Margot's hand or clutch Roland's sleeve and see a ghost as clearly as I saw the living.”
Harriet’s mouth and eyes were enormous. “Odd’s bodkin! Could you truly?”
“Yes. I saw them as clearly as I see you.” Samantha stared off into the distance. Her mind drifted from Claverton Castle to Goblin Hall. Her child-self ran through a grove and giggled. “Do you know, it is a bit odd, but I have yet to meet anyone else who has that effect on me.”
“Not another Sensitive?”
“No, indeed. It occurred to me but this moment.”
Harriet shrugged. “Perhaps it is uncommon for Sensitives to pass their powers on like that. The Montmorency twins are quite uncommon!”
Samantha smiled in agreement and stroked the velvet upholstery beside her.
“Do tell me: what is Goblin Hall like? Such a name! It sounds positively delightful! Do you remember it?”
“Oh, you must see it. It is an enormous, rambling country estate—a manor house with endless gables and towers. I believe some of it dates to the sixteenth century. Oh, the turrets.”
“It sounds magnificent! I truly must see it!”
“Next time I call on Goblin Hall, I hope you may accompany me.”
Samantha recalled that after her parents’ death, she remained at Thyme Cottage with servants until her aunt and uncle came with much pooh-poohing and tongue clicking and demanded she live with them. They had insisted it was no place for a girl at the tender age of eight to live alone.
Since then, Samantha’s association with Margot and Roland had been much sparser. Ever since the Montmorencys attended the Assembly Rooms with her, Samantha frequently missed Margot. She realized that nowadays Margot was never far from her thoughts.
After departing from the great hall, Harriet and Samantha followed a long corridor until they entered the square tower and began ascending the staircase. Harriet slid her hand along the banister. “I hope we can call on the Montmorencys at home some time.”
Samantha smiled. “Yes, indeed.”
On the second floor, they progressed down a hallway. Harriet rapidly opened and closed a door. “These are Father’s rooms. We best not tarry here. He dislikes people nosing about his possessions.”
Samantha recalled Bluebeard and shook her head as though the thought would spill out of her ears.
They moved on to the next door, a guest bedroom, followed by a door Harriet threw open. “This is my bedroom, and beside it is my dressing room.”
They crossed the threshold. Along the far wall was a bed with a blue brocade-draped canopy, a blue velvet coverlet, and decorative pillows. A blue willow pattern papered the walls above the paneled wainscot, and the remainder of the room contained white furniture that could not have been more than a hundred years old. Covering much of the hardwood floor was a blue, white, and green rug.
Samantha smiled. “This is quite lovely.”
Harriet smiled. “Thank you.”
“Though it is not gothic.”
Harriet fluttered her hands about. “You must know… if you don’t mind… having Roland and Margot for friends must make you feel proud. It is almost a status symbol, a step up into society. It is a great honor.”
Samantha shrugged. “But I enjoy their company regardless of what people think. They are delightful, intelligent, and compassionate.”
“Oh, yes, certainly! I did not mean to imply otherwise. Really, they made a thrilling impression on me. Goodness, especially Roland. I doubt you wish to see the servants’ rooms.” Harriet led Samantha back outdoors to explore the property. She chattered all the while, bringing up childhood memories that caused Samantha to feel wistful.
“The gate is the only way through which we can exit?” Samantha admired rose bushes.
“Yes, owing to the moat.” Harriet swung her reticule gaily with each step before she realized what she was doing and carefully tucked the strings behind her right arm. Now she looked more dignified, or at least more self-conscious.
Samantha smiled. “You need not fret about my judging you.”
Harriet looked at her out of the corner of her eye and smiled. Then she giggled. “I suppose you are correct.” They kept walking, traversing through the gatehouse’s arch.
They crossed the moat, where Samantha again perceived numerous pixies and even a pair of gnomes. The pixies were as small and delicate-looking as those she previously encountered. The gnomes were about a foot tall each and quite coarse in their rugged, wrinkled features. They dressed simply, in leaves and bark of a medieval cut: ankle-length tunics with long sleeves. They were barefoot, displaying sharp, pointed toenails. They froze, squinted, and glared at the young ladies traipsing past. Samantha wished to refrain from antagonizing a gnome. Harriet curtseyed to them.
As they reached the other side of the moat, they passed through the outer gate. Harriet led Samantha in a sharp left turn. “Let me show you the sacred grove.”
“Ah, you have your own grove. Such a delight! Thyme Cottage has a sacred grove. I do miss it so.”
“I hope you will live at the cottage again someday. I am absolutely certain you will, even if you cannot live there until you are twenty-one. It is a pity… however, I shall enjoy your company here! That is frightfully selfish of me, do you not think? Reginald and I shall have you to ourselves, and the county of Kent must wait its turn.”
Samantha chuckled. She stopped and became quite sober. “When I have taken up residence in the cottage again, I shall see Roland and Margot as much as I wish. So much to anticipate.”
Harriet hopped in place. “Oh, yes, they are quite enchanting twins.” After meeting the Montmorencys, Harriet had the pleasure of dancing with Roland. She had giggled and babbled about it for at least an hour afterwards, Samantha recalled with a faint smile. “I daresay Roland would be a fine hero for a gothic novel. I would read it eagerly.”
Samantha chuckled. Remarkably, it struck her as a splendid idea—but even better, she liked the idea of a gothic novel about Margot.
They occupied a narrow, gravel path leading to a large cluster of oak trees. Birds perched overhead sang in sundry voices and tunes. “Here is the sacred grove.” Harriet lifted both arms in a dramatic gesture straight ahead. “We shall be here for Lughnasa. Father and Reginald are atheists, so we cannot expect them to schedule any diversions. Ever since I finished school, I’ve had ceremonies in the grove with the servants. Father disapproves, so we must be discreet, but he always finds us out.”
“If you practice such discretion, how does he find you out?”
“The gates close at sundown, except during parties.”
They reached the grove. Some birds became more vocal; crows especially became over-excited and cawed loudly whilst flapping their wings toward higher branches. Many fluttered away, and their voices became quieter in the distance. The girls strolled through the sudden shade—Samantha flipped down her bonnet—and allowed their feet to crunch branches. Samantha felt glad she wore boots. Moss blanketed the ground, but twigs and pebbles lay underfoot.
Harriet stumbled and resumed walking without comment. “Father is very strict about closing the gate. It is quite the medieval tradition, keeping the portcullis closed so invaders cannot enter, at least not easily. The portcullis is gone now, but I quite think that Tudor gatehouse matches the rest of the house. I think those ancestors even used the same type of stone.”
“Sandstone.” Samantha shook her finger playfully at a chattering squirrel.
“According to my father, the gatehouse only dates to the sixteenth century.”
Samantha smiled. “Oh, is that all? My uncle’s townhouse is not yet twenty years old.”
Harriet chuckled. “Yes, that does put it in perspective. Bath is steadily growing. Rows and rows of identical houses.”
“In another twenty twelvemonths, Bath may be downright fashionable again.”
“The new London!” They both laughed, knowing full well the opposite seemed to have happened: Bath was more fashionable when Samantha’s parents were born.
They reached the edges of the grove and faced what Samantha surmised must be the original location of the garden. It was much more spacious than the courtyard flower garden. Brilliant marigolds, like tiny suns, edged the plots, and above them loomed purple lupins. Samantha pulled her bonnet back up in hopes of preventing freckles. She hurried forward after Harriet.
“Here is the kitchen garden,” Harriet said on the same path, along the edge of a garden full of vegetables. “We also have a greenhouse, of course. Everyone has greenhouses.”
Samantha recalled passing public greenhouses in Bath. Even the poor could help themselves to a ration of free vegetables all year round. Her uncle owned a modest greenhouse behind the townhouse.
Harriet turned around. “La, I suppose you have seen enough. The rest of our land is for farming and the tenants who work the fields. I am certain they would not fancy seeing a pair of spoiled damsels traipsing through their wheat.”
“No, I suppose not!” Samantha grinned. “Spoiled? Perhaps so. I suppose I should remember someone is always worse off than I.”
“Hmm, I do not think about that sort of thing much,” Harriet said. “Many someones are far worse off than I am, truth be told.”
“It is wise to remember that and to feel grateful for what we have.”
Samantha and Harriet spent much of the day in the garden, where they drifted past the various plants. Harriet identified each flower for Samantha, who was impressed at her supposedly less clever friend’s knowledge. Not all learning, she reminded herself, came from books. They eventually settled onto a stone bench and read novels under the shade of a willow tree.
Though Samantha was accustomed to the suffocating presence of Uncle Bradford, she was also accustomed to Bath and its urban diversions. Yet she did not feel bored, she reflected, as she inhaled the subtle aroma of a pale pink rose. Since she was hiding from her uncle, it was far better to lie low in the country, maybe until she was of age, unless her uncle died before then. Samantha bit her lip and reminded herself: she should never wish for anyone’s death. She considered the very real possibility that her uncle might come back and haunt her.