Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 57
Samantha has a good night’s sleep, undisturbed by a ghost.
One less ghost haunts Claverton Castle, thanks to Margot.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 56:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/hauntings-of-claverton-castle-chapter-496?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 57
The following morning, Samantha arrived in the breakfast room after the Montmorency twins and Harriet were already seated. They exchanged morning greetings, but the twins watched Samantha with raised eyebrows. She smiled, observing how they leaned forward. They weren’t touching their plates. She glanced at Harriet, who fluttered her hands about. Clearly, they all anxiously awaited her update on the ghost.
“I fear your breakfast will become cold.” Samantha’s lip twitched in amusement. She swiveled and began walking toward the enticing spread. It included a great deal of fruit, in addition to eggs, mushrooms, cooked tomatoes, roasted potatoes, apple sauce, and various breads and jams. At one far end stood a samovar for coffee and another for tea.
Harriet turned around in her chair to face her friend. “You appear well-rested.”
“I am well-rested.” Samantha sat directly across from Harriet, placing her full plate on the table. Margot and Roland sat back, exchanged a smile, and resumed eating.
Samantha wondered how to broach the topic of Harriet’s mother’s apparition. She turned to Margot. “You, dear Margot, do not appear well-rested.”
Margot raised her eyebrows and her fork. “I require some time for recuperation.”
Roland turned to his sister. “I wish my Sensitive powers included your manner of channeling spirits, and your method of interacting with them so much more closely.”
Samantha finished chewing a mushroom. “Pray do not be hard on yourself, Roland. At least you can carry on conversations with spirits—and long ones, at that. Before I came to this house as a guest, I never conversed with ghosts. They hardly resembled people so much as shadows. I wonder if my powers will diminish after I leave here.”
Roland said, “Excellent question. It may be merely that the Claverton ghosts are drawn to you. But such powers, for you, may require that you occupy this particular house.”
Margot mixed mushrooms and tomatoes with her eggs. “Do you think she is particularly connected to the ghosts of young girls?”
“It is likely.” Roland thoughtfully sipped hot chocolate.
Samantha regarded Harriet. “I hope this isn’t too indelicate a question…”
“It matters not,” Harriet said. “You are my dear friend, Samantha, not a stranger.”
“Very well. Do you remember your mother? Or… do you remember how your mother died?”
Harriet stared at Samantha. The latter blushed and belatedly realized that she crossed a boundary inappropriate even between close friends. How exactly did one with propriety broach the topic of a friend’s murdered mother?
“I am so sorry—please forgive me.” Samantha spoke more rapidly than usual. “I realize now, too late, that I overstepped propriety. I fear I am a horrible and blundering friend—”
Harriet dropped her fork with a clatter. “No, no, dear, you are no such thing!”
Samantha raised her eyebrows. “Are you not cross with me?”
“Certainly not! La, I didn’t mean to give you a turn. That is a perfectly acceptable question to ask one who is as close to you as I am. Really, we have been friends for many winters. Not to worry.”
Samantha wiped her lips. “Well, then, all is well.” She picked up her teacup and sipped the brew.
Harriet pushed away her plate. “Ah, but I haven’t answered your question! I am so unaccustomed to anyone asking about my mother. Even Reginald and my father rarely mention her.”
Margot put down her teacup. “How odd.”
Samantha put down her teacup. “It is passing strange that they do not. She was… your mother.”
“Yes, you are correct, I declare.” Harriet fluttered her hands about.
Samantha nodded and raised her eyebrows. She was beginning to feel impatient for the answers to her questions. She recalled that she’d yet to directly state whether she saw the ghost last night, so her impatience struck her as hypocritical.
Harriet cast her eyes down to the table. “As to how my mother died, I understand she had a weak heart... and it stopped. As it happens, I cannot remember my mother. I was too young when she died.”
Samantha pictured her own mother, and her gaze softened. “A pity.”
“Yes, I suppose. But don’t you think it would be even more of a pity if I remembered her and grew attached to her before she died?”
Samantha bit her lip. “Perhaps. But Shakespeare said, ‘Better to have lived and loved than never to have loved at all.’”
Margot drew her eyebrows together. “You probably were attached to her and simply don’t remember.”
Margot and Roland both stared off into the distance. Samantha surmised they must be thinking of their own mother.
“That’s as it may be.” Harriet’s voice shook. “You could ask Reginald if he remembers her. He must have been three years old when she left this world, and he has occasionally spoken as though he remembers her, whether or not he remembers how she… died.”
Roland nodded. “Thank you. We shall ask him.”
Samantha said, “It can be hard for a girl to grow up without a mother. It is such an important early connection, I think. I hope Sidlecotte instilled in you a connection with at least one mother goddess.”
Harriet shook her head. “Despite my atheistic family, yes, I did enjoy the stories at school. The… mythology.”
Samantha lifted a pear from her plate. “Splendid. My point is that sometimes connecting with a mother goddess can help compensate for the lack of a mother in your life. It has certainly helped me.”
Harriet nodded and eyed her empty teacup. Everyone ate in silence for several minutes, and Samantha hoped she hadn’t ruined Harriet’s mood.
Harriet sat back and wiped her chin. “Do tell us.” She leaned toward Samantha. “I cannot abide waiting any longer. Did you see the ghost after you went to bed?”
Samantha smiled. “Have you been rearing to ask all this time?”
Margot opened her mouth to comment but stopped. Samantha recalled that she’d already said she slept well; no doubt Margot and Roland had interpreted that as meaning she hadn’t seen the ghost.
“No, I had not a single glimpse of her!”
Harriet exhaled and sat back, her plate empty. “What an enormous relief.”
“You can’t think how at ease I felt, knowing I wasn’t sleeping near that ghost anymore. Though she only appeared in the dressing room, it was unsettling. And so much worse after I started sensing her presence in the bedroom, without seeing her. It was eerie.”
Harriet looked abnormally pale and stared at Samantha. Samantha reached out to her friend, who leaned away from her. “You asked about my mother’s death… and now you’re talking about a ghost. Do you mean…?”
Samantha gulped. “Yes.”
Harriet rose and poured herself more tea. She was silent until she sat back down. “Maybe I am fortunate I am not a Sensitive. I could not abide it. I would surely have as many fainting fits as an Ann Radcliffe heroine.”
Margot emptied her cup of chocolate. “It is as I suspected. The ghost of Mrs. Prendregast simply needed to speak with someone and tell her dark secret.”
Samantha reached over and grasped Harriet’s hand. Her palm was perspiring.
Margot looked at her brother. “Now that she has spoken, it appears she has ceased haunting.”
Roland nodded and glanced at Harriet. “Let us hope that is permanent.”
Margot followed his gaze. “Oh, I suspect she has moved on, to her next rebirth, or at least to the Summerland.”
Harriet pulled her hand away from Samantha. “It seems to be like I am the one who should have asked how my mother died.”
The Montmorencys and Samantha silently exchanged glances, and Samantha nodded. Harriet needed to know. Samantha quietly told Harriet what they’d learned about her mother’s death.
Harriet shook her head and slumped in her chair. She gripped its arms with trembling hands. Samantha, grimacing, reached toward her again, but Harriet shifted away. Samantha dreaded Mr. Prendregast’s blustery reaction to the cause of Mrs. Prendregast’s death.
Margot exhaled shakily. “Forgive me for adding this, Miss Prendregast, but it seems your mother married Mr. Prendregast for his money and his lovely home.”
Samantha considered the deprecating remarks Mr. Prendregast continually directed at Harriet. “I declare, that is not surprising.” Harriet gasped and stared at her friend. Samantha flushed. “I must apologize to you, Harriet, and to Reginald.”
“Whatever for?” Harriet asked.
Samantha hung her head and spoke, as she gazed at the tabletop. “Until I knew the truth, I… suspected your father of killing your mother, dear Harriet.”
Harriet gasped and fell into silence. Samantha barely lifted her head and attempted to look at Harriet from the tops of her eyes. Her friend’s lips drooped downward, but she wasn’t glaring. Will you ever forgive me? Samantha grasped her shaking hands together.
Reginald strode into the breakfast room. His eyes immediately alighted on Samantha. She’d never seen the expression currently on his visage: he glowered at her. “Did I hear you correctly, Miss Ponsonby?” Feeling a flutter of panic, she hastily put down her fork with a shaky hand and wondered how much he’d overheard. “You thought our father was a murderer?”
“I… hadn’t noticed you standing outside the door.”
“Answer me.”
“Surely he could never do such a thing!” Harriet said.
Reginald glared. “Are you bamming me? You cannot seriously believe that our father is, as Shakespeare would say, ‘False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand!’ It is unthinkable. He is certainly irritable and curmudgeonly, and he clearly relishes digging into Harriet, but he is not a murderer. How could you think such a thing?”
“I-I-it was merely a possibility that crossed my mind.” Samantha lowered her head and placing the palms of her hands on her burning cheeks. She felt tears stinging her eyes and imagined running to hide. “Everyone is so secretive about your mother’s death.” She wondered where she would hide; probably under her bed.
“La, is that it? It happened long ago,” Reginald said. “Seventeen years ago. I do not wish to sound cold, and no doubt it was tragic, but it was quite long enough ago to have passed from my father’s immediate thoughts and mine.”
Samantha wrung her hands. “Yes, yes, of course. Please forgive me.” Her voice was a whisper.
Reginald glared around the room. “Or has this something to do with those blasted specters you keep seeing?”
“Actually, yes.” Samantha cleared her throat but still spoke quietly. “Only one of them. I can’t think what the others would have to do with him—unless. No, I don’t believe that.”
Reginald paused over the serving table. “Don’t believe what?”
“Do not trouble yourself.” Samantha’s voice shook. “I fear I have babbled on entirely too much. I am terribly sorry if I have offended you.”
Reginald shook his head slightly and began serving himself. Samantha was so accustomed to his levity, that she found his anger unsettling. She felt queasy.
“You need not trouble yourself,” Reginald said. “But please, no more suspecting your host of dastardly deeds. He is a bully, that is all.”
“Very well. I am terribly, terribly sorry. I hope you will forgive me.” She took a deep, trembling breath. “But do you remember your mother’s death?”
Reginald rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Samantha gulped and started to lower her eyes to the floor again… but then she saw him freeze and frown slightly. He gazed off into the distance.
Samantha widened her eyes. “You truly don’t know.”
Reginald put two muffins on his plate. “She never returned from a house party. That is, she never returned alive.”
Samantha felt her cheeks burning. She gulped, aware that she was experiencing the collywobbles. “I am terribly, terribly sorry. I did not mean your family any harm—I was genuinely concerned about your family’s past. And perhaps I have made myself silly from reading gothic novels.”
Harriet smiled ruefully, “Do not fret about it, Samantha. I am not severing our friendship. And I should as easily, if not more easily, be accused of an obsession with gothic novels. Maybe it is not entirely healthy.”
Samantha turned to Margot. “So Mr. Prendregast did not kill his wife—his abusive uncle did. The very same person who traumatized his sister.”
Roland peered at Reginald. “Thus your Uncle Jonathan’s secret is out at last.”
Reginald spluttered. “Well! So easy for you to say!”
Harriet frowned. “It isn’t his fault.”
Reginald ignored her and continued glaring at Roland. “Er… that is… I suddenly don’t think I like Sensitives.” He set his plate before his customary chair.
Samantha gasped and stared at Reginald.
Margot and Roland exchanged a look and excused themselves from the table before slipping out.
Reginald glowered at her. “Odd’s spot, how the deuce did you expect me to react to this information? And look at Harriet—I do declare she is about to faint.”
Harriet sat back and raised her hand. “No, no. But I dread how our father will react to such information. I would not dare cross Father.”
Margot asked, “Cross him? Do you mean by speaking openly about how your mother died?”
Harriet nodded. “He expects unwavering loyalty and obedience from his children.”
Samantha said, “Perhaps he spends more time with his dogs than with his children. I daresay he has confused the two.”