I’m recovering from a cold… or from a severe case of allergies mimicking a cold. Years ago, I could easily distinguish between the two. I heard colds are going around right now.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 61:
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 62
“What are you babbling about, girl?” Mr. Prendregast glared at Samantha. He shifted position; his book fell and thudded against the floor. “A pity Harriet and you are such noisy girls. One of you is quite enough. I prefer you when you’re quiet. What might you possibly know about my family’s genealogy?”
Samantha clenched her fists and felt her cheeks burn. She’d had quite enough of her uncle’s abuse. Mr. Prendregast, no Uncle Bradford, was merely curmudgeonly and irritable. This controlling man’s words no longer intimidated Samantha.
Harriet rose from her chair. Buttons flew and rattled against the floor. The white linen shirt onto which she’d been stitching the buttons drifted more quietly downward. “Father, Samantha is not babbling nonsense, as I am sure you know.” Her father spluttered, and Samantha stared in astonishment, but Harriet continued in a trembling voice. “I must know. Have you been keeping ghastly secrets about our family? About our ancestors and… and… your generation, for that matter.”
Mr. Prendregast glared. “What are you blathering about now, girl?”
Samantha surmised that Harriet’s father understood, but it was a forbidden topic.
“No doubt you know perfectly well to what I refer.” Harriet grasped the back of an armchair to stop fluttering her hands. She tilted forward slightly, toward her father. “What happened in this house long ago?”
Samantha realized she’d been holding her breath ever since Harriet asserted herself. She exhaled. Mr. Prendregast frowned at his daughter. His customarily ruddy face appeared ashen, and his lips trembled as though he were about to weep.
Samantha kept her hands still on the partially embroidered tablecloth. “I must apologize, sir, for I must out with it. We know details about your family’s past. I am a Sensitive. Not a formidable one such as the Montmorency twins, but I have some power, almost certainly enhanced by the ghosts of your family.”
“What the deuce!” Mr. Prendregast sat up very straight.
Reginald approached as quietly as he could in fashionable Hessians and picked up his father’s book. He held it out to Mr. Prendregast, who snatched it out of his hand. Reginald shrugged and returned to his seat.
Samantha clasped her hands in her lap. “This house has been full of ancestral ghosts, and they communicated with me. They also spoke to the Montmorencys. They told us things. Disturbing things about your family’s past.”
Clutching his book, Mr. Prendregast shifted in his seat again; it squeaked. “What disturbing things? What nonsense are you speaking?”
Samantha gulped. She could fathom no delicate way to describe what happened to Mr. Prendregast’s ancestors and siblings. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet’s hands fluttering about in the air. Samantha finally looked down at her project and resumed embroidering.
Mr. Prendregast sat back. “Even if I were to believe my family has such a dark past…. What the deuce has that to do with the family tree?”
Roland cleared his throat and stepped forward. “She means that, among other things, your uncle… mistreated… some of the children in your family.”
“No.” Mr. Prendregast glowered at Roland.
Roland grasped one of his lapels and swished his brandy with the other hand. “I regret it is true. I am a stronger Sensitive than Miss Ponsonby—”
“I know about your supposed magic powers!” the older man snapped. “And you have the impertinence of poking around Claverton Castle. What gives you the right?”
“We acted with the approval of both your children,” Roland continued. “I confirmed what happened. We connected with the ghosts.”
Margot sat back, and her elbow brushed against Samantha’s, sending a tingle up the latter’s spine. “The ghosts spoke to me, too, and I saw them clearly. I can give you detailed descriptions of them, if you wish.”
Mr. Prendregast glowered. “I wish no such thing!”
Samantha bit her lip. “Mr. Prendregast, your uncle, your father’s brother, Jonathan… abused children, members of your family. His own children, in addition to nieces and nephews.”
“This is outrageous!” Mr. Prendregast rose from his armchair. He stumbled, nearly falling over his foot stool. Reginald leaped forward as though to catch his father, but he stopped. The dogs backed away from their master. One tipped her head to the side, as if questioning Mr. Prendregast.
Samantha looked up from her embroidery. “It certainly is an outrageous aspect of your family’s past. Your Uncle Jonathan wasn’t the only perpetrator. It appears to have lasted through numerous generations.”
“No!” For all Mr. Prendregast’s bluster, his trembling voice betrayed his diminishing confidence.
Samantha pricked her thumb with her needle and dropped her embroidery. “The ghost revealed names of other perpetrators over the ages. They include Gershon, Averil, Blasé, and Claude.”
Mr. Prendregast stared at Samantha. He looked pale despite his tan. “I do have ancestors by those names. How did you know?”
“The ghosts.” Samantha bit her lip again, anticipating more yelling from Mr. Prendregast.
Samantha wondered if Mr. Prendregast’s disbelief in the spirit world was sheer stubbornness. She suspected his anger stemmed less from indignation and more from shame. Perhaps he’d found the ghosts of dead relatives and ancestors—especially of his sister—unbearable. Because of this agony, he may have suppressed his Sensitive abilities.
Mr. Prendregast paced back and forth across the room. Everyone watched him in silence. The fire crackled and hissed. Samantha instinctively shifted closer to Margot, who lightly wrapped an arm across her shoulders. Roland rose and joined Margot and Samantha on the sofa.
Mr. Prendregast shook his head. “I come from a proud line, a fine genteel family. Do you comprehend how humiliating this is?” He stopped pacing long enough to glare at Samantha.
Samantha winced and hung her head. “I am so sorry, but it seems best if you know. You have more right to know your own family’s secrets than I have.”
Mr. Prendregast scowled. “What must I do to prevent you telling anyone about this?”
Samantha lifted her head. “I have no intention of gossiping. I am not that sort of person.”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “The same applies to Roland and me. Gossip about such matters would be remarkably cruel.”
“Must I pay you? I wish you out of my house. I don’t wish to ever see you again, or those two.” Mr. Prendregast nodded toward Margot and Roland.
Samantha stared at Mr. Prendregast and grasped her hands together over her neglected embroidery. She noted his pallor and perspiration on his brow; he was deflated and defeated. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that both Harriet and Reginald were silent and still. No doubt they were excruciatingly uncomfortable seeing their father so agitated, and Samantha surmised that they also felt humiliated by their family’s shameful past.
“Very well.” Samantha began folding her embroidery. “I shall leave. But truly, Mr. Prendregast, I promise I shan’t tell anyone.”
“Neither shall I.” Margot vehemently shook her head.
“Nor I,” Roland added. “And as soon as we resolve the issue of the ghosts, we shall take our leave.”
“Samantha,” Margot said, “you may reside with us at Goblin Hall. You need not worry about impinging on the Prendregast family’s hospitality or returning to your uncle.”
Samantha felt a lump in her throat and tears in the corners of her eyes. She grasped her throat. Margot embraced her, lightly patting her shoulder with one hand.
Roland and Margot sat up simultaneously and looked toward the door. Following their gaze, Samantha espied the translucent and gray ghost of Gertrude and slipped her arms slowly and reluctantly away from Margot. Samantha stood, still eying the ghost.
“What is it now?” Mr. Prendregast swiveled toward Gertrude and whispered, “Oh.”
Samantha rose, nodded at the ghost, and blinked at her host. “Do you see her, Mr. Prendregast?”
With his eyes on the ghost, he nodded and remained standing before the fireplace. He turned away… and scanned Gertrude’s general vicinity. “Aha, I must have been imagining it! I behold no phantom whatsoever. Humph! Listening to you, Miss Ponsonby, is vexing me greatly!”
Samantha turned back to the little ghost.
Gertrude stared unblinkingly at Samantha. “Will you swear on your love for Margot that I shall soon depart from this world?”
Samantha inhaled sharply and stared at the little specter. Margot stood so close to Samantha that the latter was aware of her starting or otherwise making a subtle movement and her energy seemed faintly less calm. Anguished, Samantha didn’t dare look at Margot. She trembled all over and felt unsure that her knees could support her. She hadn’t dared—she hadn’t meant for Margot to know how she felt about her.
Margot shook her head at the ghost. “Impudent puss.”
Undoubtedly Margot and Roland heard Gertrude, but Samantha hoped against hope that nobody else had heard the ghost or comprehended the significance of her words. Gertrude had casually blurted out Samantha’s most embarrassing secret.
Samantha couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, least of all Margot. She glanced at Reginald and Harriet, who knitted their brows at the Montmorencys. She turned to Mr. Prendregast, who’d settled back down at his customary chair, with his back to Gertrude. Apparently, he’d only seen his sister for mere seconds.
Samantha wondered what Margot must think and feel in reaction to such a revelation. Samantha recalled the footman and admitted that his secret was more devastating than hers. Her shoulders sagged, and she looked at Gertrude. “Yes, I promise.” Margot stood a fraction closer to Samantha. Their arms brushed; Samantha felt a flutter of excitement.
Gertrude wholly solidified and, for the first time, transitioned from translucent gray to full color. She stood smiling faintly at Samantha. The phantom glided forward until she stood beside her unseeing brother, who was reading. Samantha glanced at the Montmorency twins; they focused on the specter.
Gertrude stared up at her brother. Mr. Prendregast seemed completely oblivious to her presence. Gertrude faded into nothing.
Samantha exhaled before regarding Mr. Prendregast and crossing her arms. “I have something more to say to you, Mr. Prendregast. I fear you have heard enough distressful news today and desire no more.”
Mr. Prendregast frowned. “Well, out with it, girl! No doubt you have more impertinence to say.”
Samantha threw up her hands. “You are too infernally pig-headed to face the truth before you! Forgive me for saying this, sir, but you are closed-minded and out of touch with your emotions! Your sister Gertrude would be ashamed of you, hiding behind delusion instead of helping her ghost. I am glad you are not my elder brother.”
White as an unpainted canvas, Mr. Prendregast stared at Samantha with round eyes and an equally round mouth. Now that she’d spoken impulsively, Samantha felt guilty and regretted such rudeness. She knew he must acknowledge the truth of what happened, at least to Gertrude, but her choice of how to deliver the information, she belatedly acknowledged, exhibited poor judgment.
Samantha twisted her hands together and felt a lump of regret in her throat. She’d meant no harm. She noticed her pulse thudding in her temple. The tension in the air felt like it might crackle like lightning. The fire in the hearth did crackle.
Mr. Prendregast regained enough composure to splutter at Samantha for several seconds. She resisted an inclination to step backward to avoid the flying saliva. If she retreated, he’d consider that relenting. She didn’t wish to give him that satisfaction… though she was appalled that she’d confirmed her uncle’s accusation of impertinence.
“Depart immediately!” Mr. Prendregast pointed a finger at the door. “You are absolutely not welcome here anymore! You ungrateful hussy, imposing on my hospitality when you don’t even respect me.”
“Contrariwise: you have no respect for Truth… or for your dead sister. She has been trying to attract your attention all this time, and you turned your back on her. You turned your back on her and all your brothers and sisters!”
“Out!”
“Oh, I shall certainly leave. But I am not leaving in disgrace.”
Mr. Prendregast, throughout this entire exchange, opened and closed his fists convulsively. Samantha observed the sheen of perspiration on his high forehead. He reeled in the center of the room. Reginald and Harriet both noticed and hastily stood. However, they didn’t reach their father in time. Samantha watched with her mouth hanging open, as Mr. Prendregast fell in a faint onto the rug.