Chapter 1:
Chapter 25:
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Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 26
Many guests still occupied the great hall in the small hours of the morning, although fewer were dancing, and more were imbibing in punch. Samantha, seated by a snoring Aunt Thirza and scanning the crowd with bleary eyes, yearned to see Margot again. She knew it would be her last opportunity before Margot departed in the morning. With a glance at Harriet’s aunt, Samantha rose. She had yet to ask Aunt Thirza about Gertrude and Uncle Jonathan and wondered when she should.
Samantha sidestepped other guests through the crush toward the screens passage and glided through an archway. Sipping from a glass of punch, Margot sat on a side chair, and two other young women stood speaking to her. Samantha smiled widely and spotted an empty chair beside Margot. Samantha filled it instantly; the other young ladies frowned down their noses at her.
Margot turned to see at whom the others frowned, and her eyes, under drooping lids, settled on Samantha. She smiled and widened her eyes. “Dear Samantha! I should introduce you to—” She turned, and Samantha followed her eyes, but the other two young ladies were gone. “Oh. No matter. How are you?”
“Sleepy, all told.”
“No doubt. I declare, I miss you already, and I have not yet departed.”
Samantha’s heart fluttered. “Oh!”
“But the ghosts here must wait a bit. I daresay Roland and I are clever enough to quickly banish one demon. And you are clever enough to refrain from marrying for money before Roland and I return.”
Samantha chuckled. “Do you know… I have been thinking that—before you depart, please tell me in earnest if you think this is an absurd notion—”
“I doubt anything you conjured out of your imagination could be absurd.”
Several guests walked past, chatting. A woman’s puffy sleeve brushed against Samantha’s forearm, but she continued gazing at Margot. “Ah. I… I have a notion to compose music for a living. Compose and perform it.”
Margot smiled and lifted her glass as though toasting Samantha. “That is not absurd in the least. I think it a splendid idea.”
“Thank you so much!” Samantha reached forward and lightly laid her hand upon Margot’s. “Your opinion means so much to me.” She pulled her hand away.
“That is delightful. Now I regret to say I cannot stay awake much longer. Lady Starcliffe, Roland, and I must away, far too early tomorrow. Or do I mean today?”
“With bated breath, I shall await your return.” Samantha felt her cheeks grow warm and hid them behind her fan.
“Farewell.” Margot set down her empty glass and rose with unconscious grace.
Samantha jumped up without taking her eyes off Margot. She dropped her fan and grasped both of Margot’s hands. The latter gazed at her with a fond smile. Samantha felt her cheeks grow warm. “Farewell, dear friend.”
Samantha watched Margot until her tall figure disappeared in the crowd.
After dancing with Reginald and then another partner, who accidently stepped on her toes, Samantha and her clumsy partner sank onto a sofa next to Harriet. Surrounded by guests, Samantha yearned for solitude and silence. With heavy eyelids, she imagined her head resting on a pillow. Recalling the open bed curtains, she widened her eyes, thought of the eerie veiled ghost, and sat up properly.
“Have you two met?” Samantha asked. “I fear my manners are hardly up to snuff—”
Harriet fluttered her fan and smiled at the gawky young man to Samantha’s right. “La, indeed we have met! Oh, you were one of the eight proposals—never mind. Would you be willing to please fetch us lemonades?”
Seconds later, Samantha and Harriet occupied the sofa alone. Harriet leaned forward and held Samantha’s hands. “I must apologize beforehand for telling you this, dear Samantha.” The latter frowned, wondering what Harriet might be scheming. “One of my dance partners spoke of you in such a way that I must give you a piece of my mind.”
“Yes, but is it a piece I would like?”
Harriet grew still and blinked twice. “I don’t know if you have noticed this, but some men, at least this particular dancing partner, interpret you as having a quiet and mild demeanor.”
“Mild?” Samantha frowned, recalling Harriet claiming she had a will of iron.
“They take this as an indication that you are passive. I fear that some may wish to manipulate you, even take advantage of you.”
“That is preposterous!” Samantha yanked her hands away from Harriet. “They would treat me with cruelty because I am quiet and good-natured? Well, comparatively good-natured. Well, comparatively quiet. Why would anyone consider me passive?” She recalled Reginald and Harriet herself acting astonished at how boldly she spoke to their father. True, my seeming boldness is an impetuous tendency to blurt out thoughts.
“Now, it is not for you to murder the messenger, dear. I thought I should warn you. Hmm, truth be told, one of my dance partners indicated considerable alarm at your bluntness.”
“That sounds more accurate. But are so many of your dancing partners talking about me?”
“What I mean to say is, that dance partner believes you fail in the art of witty conversation. But I myself utterly fail in the same art.”
Samantha persisted. “How odd that you… that your dancing partners have brought me up in conversation all evening.”
“I daresay it doesn’t reflect terribly well on some of my dance partners,” Harriet said, fluttering her fan. Samantha wondered if that was true, or if Harriet kept talking about her. Still fluttering her fan, Harriet continued, “But I digress…. Men will propose to you, and if you say no, they might bully you into changing your mind. They might even—well, they might behave in a manner unlike a gentleman. It is important to keep on your guard.”
“Has someone… has a suitor treated you that way?” Samantha clasped her hands together tightly. She imagined a man roughly dragging Harriet into a dark corner and grimaced, forgetting her indignation toward Harriet.
“Oh, la, certainly not!” Harriet waved such a notion away with an elegantly gloved hand. “I am not meek enough—well, I do not come across to strangers as so meek as you do, and I have an inheritance that is considerably more than yours. Men know better than to try such behavior on me. As an heiress, I don’t come across as desperate like a poor orphan would seem—but even if I were not an heiress, I am very loud, so they would be foolish to try taking advantage of me.”
Samantha clenched her fist. “Did you say I seem desperate since I am a poor orphan?”
Harriet emitted a shrill giggle, and Samantha sat back and grimaced. She smelled the punch on her friend’s breath. Harriet tried to take Samantha’s hand again, but the latter unfolded her fan and turned away. The breeze caused by her fan cooled Samantha’s overheated brow.
Harriet waved her glass around, sloshing punch. “No, no, dear, I have such an addled brain I did not explain my meaning well. I meant men think you are desperate because you are a poor orphan. That is, they think they could take advantage of you for that reason—that you must surely be desperate to marry as soon as possible. Of course, I know you are not desperate for a husband. But they don’t know it.”
“Do… do you mean that men might try to… seduce me, assuming I am eager to marry them for money?”
“It is a possible danger in your situation, I fear. They might abduct you, or persuade you to elope with them, only to not marry you after all.”
“I may be rash on occasion, but I am not so foolish as that! If anyone were to attempt such a thing, they would find I am quite capable of being loud. I should promptly scream for help and yank on the nearest bell pull.”
Harriet smiled. “I am so glad.” Her smile disappeared, and she gazed with wide eyes at Samantha. Harriet glanced around at the thinning crowd, turned back to Samantha, and dropped her voice. “I remember a girl… this was in London—who was quiet and timid and had no fortune. A rake abducted her. I do not know what happened to her afterward—I fear she has… well, she is a fallen woman.”
Samantha’s mouth dropped open, and her fan slipped out of her hand and slapped the floorboards at her feet. “Oh, no!”
“You know, you do often come across as meek. That is, to people who have met you for the first time.”
“Society often tells young ladies to behave in a meek manner.” Samantha glanced around the room. Hoping nobody would ask her to dance, she pretended not to notice a few young men looking their way. “My behavior is hardly extraordinary. If anything, people tend to not appreciate my comments. Both my uncle and your father accuse me of impertinence.”
“Yes, that’s undoubtedly true.”
“Never fear that I shall become meek in a crisis.” Recalling how she slapped her uncle and managed to run out of his drawing room, Samantha felt her lip tremble.
Harriet rose from the sofa. “You have reassured me, dear. Do know that if I am available in a crisis, I shall help you.”
“Thank-you. You have.” Samantha fluttered her fan and, relieved by the coolness on her face, closed her eyes.
Samantha opened her eyes and scanned the room. The remaining dancers had formed a circle and were performing a lively boulanger. “I am glad to say that the number of guests appears to have dwindled considerably.”
“Ready to retire, are you?” Harriet smiled widely. “The sun is rising. I declare I could dance for several more hours, though.”
Samantha observed streaks of sunlight entering through the windows. “I cannot.” She raised her eyebrows. “The Montmorencys bid me good-night an hour past. I must now bid you the same.”
“La, I wish the Montmorencys could delay their departure! What a pity they leave so early tomorrow—oh, this morning.”
Harriet and Samantha parted with affectionate words before the latter slipped out of the great hall, into the hallway, and up the staircase. Alone at last, Samantha felt relieved and allowed herself to yawn as she slogged up the staircase. The stairs creaked more loudly than usual under her evening slippers. She cast her eyes upward but saw no specters. She conjectured that, at rising, the veiled apparition would not appear in her looking-glass.
Samantha entered her bedroom and softly closed the door. Harriet’s words about marriage and about her alleged meekness smarted. Impatient to be under the covers, Samantha began pulling off her long evening gloves. Removing her slippers, she recalled Harriet’s remarks about her status as a desperate orphan. She would rather remain with Harriet’s family for four years than marry someone she despised. She removed her necklace and lay it on the table beside the bed, which she noticed had drawn curtains again.
Samantha began unbuttoning her frock and grimaced. Perhaps she needed to marry for money. Mr. Prendregast could accuse her of ingratitude, if a wealthy man like Uppington proposed to her and she refused. She felt increasingly aware that she was not attracted to men; even if she were, the Marquis would repel her. She slipped out of her frock and draped it over a chair. Pulling the bed curtain aside, she noticed that a servant had draped a nightgown on the bed.
Samantha picked up the nightgown, draped it over one arm, and carried it into the dressing room, where she draped it onto a settee. She placed one foot on the bench, untied her left garter, and rolled her stocking off. She had every reason to believe she was in love not with a man, but with a woman. Untying her other garter and slipping off her stocking, she pictured Margot and exhaled. Falling in love was not simple, but Mr. Prendregast cared not how she felt about a future husband. She reached behind her and began unlacing her corset. A glance in the looking-glass confirmed that the veiled specter was absent.
Samantha kept imagining she was alone with Margot, carrying on intimate conversations with her and taking walks with her whilst holding her hand. Relieved of her corset, she slipped her nightgown over her head and padded with bare feet across the floor and into the bedroom, where she happily climbed between the soft, fresh, faintly scented linen sheets.
Despite exhaustion, Samantha lay awake embracing a pillow. She imagined kissing Margot and sat up in alarm. This would not do! She lay back down, closing her eyes and willing herself to fall asleep.
Samantha rarely imagined what marriage would be like. Whenever she did, she pictured sitting before a fire with a lapful of mending. But usually she blotted out the prospect of marriage.
She recalled her aunt and uncle’s marriage and had found it repellent: all that bickering and manipulation and sharp words and shouts. They had almost certainly had an arranged and loveless marriage. She remembered her mother and father smiling fondly over the breakfast table… and her eyelids felt heavy. She finally drifted to sleep.