Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 56
It's already September, & I'll celebrate my birthday all month long.
We’re nearing the end of this gothic novel.
I’m thinking the next work I publish on Whimsical Words will be a novella that’s currently a rough draft. I’ll be revising it as I go along. I chose it because it’s at least as whimsical as Witch’s Familiar, the novel with which I started this Substack.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 55:
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 56
Margot froze. She heard a gasp behind her. At least Samantha is conscious. Keeping her free hand close to her body so the ghost wouldn’t notice, Margot raised her pointer finger within sight of Roland and Samantha. Margot figured Samantha was most likely the one who gasped, since Roland was as accustomed to such ghostly experiences as she was.
Margot exhaled slowly, continued staring at the ghost, and resisted the inclination to yank away her hand from the chilling one. “I notice you have the same surname as your husband, quite an unusual practice. I know some families have a tradition of the husband taking the wife’s surname….”
The ghost stared at Margot. “Yes, I married my cousin.” She continued holding Margot’s hand.
Margot exhaled. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for cousins to marry, though she never knew it to happen in her own family. She figured a family in which many girls were incest victims wasn’t likely to be particularly matriarchal or display much respect toward females. Her family came from Kent, a county where such abuse was forbidden.
Too aware of the excruciating cold of that tightly grasping hand, Margot braced her teeth. “Can you tell me why you are here?”
“I am what you might call a restless spirit.”
“How did you die?”
“A pillow was pressed against my face whilst I slept. I was a houseguest of the Duchess of Bathhampton.”
Margot’s heart fluttered in alarm. “Were many other guests staying at the Duchess’s house?”
“I was one of many houseguests.”
“Do you… know who smothered you?”
“Yes, I know who did it! I know who killed me!”
The ghost was trembling. Margot shivered convulsively, more likely because of how the apparition spoke, not because of the cold hand. The specter rocked back and forth and from side to side. Her veil was tipping sideways, displaying diaphanous folds.
Margot frowned. “Who was it?”
“It was that evil man, Jonathan Prendregast!”
The veiled specter was shaking more and more. Margot began trembling with her and felt as though she were losing control. Her teeth rattled, and she felt her hair loosening from its hairpins. She couldn’t retain this connection much longer.
The apparition opened her mouth wide, and a tunnel of gray mist emerged, shooting from her mouth and across the room. Margot heard scrambling, Samantha and Roland moving out of the mist’s way. Margot didn’t know what might happen to them if the mist touched them; they would probably feel ice cold.
Margot struggled to steady her chattering teeth. “Why did he do it?”
“Because he was an evil monster!”
“Did you know something he did not wish you to know?”
“Yes! I spoke with the little girl ghost Gertrude. I was the only one who listened to her. After many a twelvemonth of this, I finally confronted him at the Duchess’s house party. I told him I knew. I demanded that he give me five hundred guineas and his family jewels, or I would tell everyone. I would break open his horrible secret!”
The spirit continued shaking and rocking from side to side.
Margot frowned with trembling lips. “We shall reveal his secret to his surviving family.” She hoped they would all believe evidence supplied by a ghost. “Please move on. You must move on instead of remaining in this house.”
The shaking continued. The apparition opened her mouth and began to scream. Margot saw her shrieking mouth open behind the veil.
The scream continued, and Margot stood frozen and staring. She saw through the ghost more, as she became less opaque. The grip on Margot’s hand began loosening. Margot peered down at their hands and saw her own directly through the other. Margot heard running footsteps. The apparition’s hand was now translucent and gray.
Near the doorway, someone was breathing heavily, presumably the person who had been running. But Margot couldn’t take her eyes off the ghost. She scanned the wraith’s veiled features—what remained of them. The visitant faded… until nothing remained of her.
Margot quickly pulled away her hand, now holding nothing. She tucked her left hand under her right armpit and realized her icy cold hand was stiff; it had fallen asleep. With it tucked under her arm, she flexed her fingers and curled her hand into a fist. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Samantha rising from the day bed.
Margot surmised that since the living Prendregast family members were not Sensitives, they probably heard no ghostly screams; if they had, they would be beating the dressing room door. With a glance, she noticed Gwydion Ewen staring at her from the doorway. She nodded at him in reassurance, so he bowed his head and left.
As someone’s palms descended upon Margot’s shoulders, she jumped slightly. She realized it was Roland. He grasped her shoulders more tightly, in a reassuring rather than painful grip. His hands were normal room temperature. The dressing room was no longer full of cold brought on by the apparition, and Margot looked around the room in wonder. She felt relief to touch someone solid.
Margot rose, and Roland and Samantha followed her into the hallway. Roland closed the dressing room door behind them and raised his eyebrows at Margot.
Samantha appeared peaked and pressed her back against the wall. “What do you think of all that?”
Margot lay a hand on her shoulder. “I think—I hope—that my interaction with the ghost has solved that haunting. If so, then you will not encounter the ghost in your looking-glass tonight, before bed.”
“That would be wonderful.” Samantha exhaled. “Though I almost feel a bit disappointed. It was exciting and mysterious to see a ghost in the looking-glass every evening.”
“Sometimes parting with a ghost is like losing a friend,” Roland said.
Samantha gazed up at him and beheld a melancholy and far-off gaze in his large, dark blue eyes, so much like his sister’s eyes. Perhaps Roland had been friends with at least one phantom; she considered asking, but if he wished her to know, he would tell her.