Urgh, sorry I keep forgetting to post new chapters on my Substack by Monday. It does make sense, because my distractions from my regular routines have included Pagan Pride (and houseguests), Pride (many rainbows and the same houseguests—they’re vendors), and now I have a friend staying over, and we’ve enjoyed favorite haunts and places she;s never visited. We went to two bookstores in one day!
Chapter 1:
Chapter 47:
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 48
“Margot!” Samantha yelled.
Margot inhaled in loud and uncontrolled gasps. She blinked. She was still in the tower, holding onto the stair rail behind her. The window no longer had red stained glass. Roland and Samantha stared at her.
Samantha reached out and lightly touched her arm. “Margot. Are you… quite well?” She pulled her hand back.
Margot took a long breath in… paused… and took a long breath out. “Yes, I am well, though severely fatigued.”
Roland peered into her face. “Yes, no doubt.”
“I kept calling you, and you kept ignoring me,” Samantha said. “What happened?”
“I…was Gertrude. I was Gertrude on the night she died.” She felt wobbly-kneed and reached out to Roland.
Roland wrapped an arm around her to hold her up. “We shan’t do any more tonight. Indeed, you should cease ghost hunting for several evenings, Margot. You mustn’t tax yourself too much.”
Margot reached up a trembling hand to wipe cold perspiration from her brow. “Surely one night of rest will be sufficient.”
“Yes, you need rest,” Samantha said. “Do you need assistance to your bedchamber? I do not wish you to faint on the way there.” Roland loosened his grip on Margot but kept his arm lightly around her shoulders.
Margot straightened her limbs and stood firmly. “That would be wonderful. And please, I dislike sounding cowardly, but I wish for a maidservant to occupy my room with me tonight as a precaution.”
Samantha clutched her hands together. “Of course, of course. I shall ring for a maid.”
Margot hoped she hadn’t stirred the ire of Gertrude’s apparition. She surmised it was possible Gertrude would resent her, since Margot had presumably not saved her yet. If her channeling had led the child to the ghost realm, or—even better—to the blissful Summerland, then Gertrude had no reason to exhibit hostility toward Margot. But Margot didn’t believe she had accomplished that… yet.
Most ghosts, in Margot’s experience, were benign. Admittedly, Margot was but twenty years old, for all her vivid awareness of otherworldly visitants, so she hardly considered herself one of the most experienced Sensitives regarding spirits; she anticipated meeting a great many more ghosts in future. She often wished her mother were still alive to share her supernatural insights.
#
A few evenings after Margot channeled the little girl Gertrude, she felt sufficiently rested to continue ghost hunting. Discovering Samantha reading in the library before dinner, Margot smiled faintly and approached her friend. She took comfort in Samantha’s presence; here was someone who deserved her trust and confidence.
“Samantha.” Margot sank onto the window seat beside her friend, who smiled broadly. “I feel inclined to eschew for now the nightly gatherings in the dining room and drawing room.”
Closing her book, Samantha reached toward Margot’s hand, as though she wished to grasp it. Apparently changing her mind, she withdrew her hand, adjusting a loop of ribbon in her hair instead. “That is understandable. It will give you more time to devote to the spirits. I hope you will not find yourself as exhausted as you were last time.”
Margot took Samantha’s hand. “Thank you for demonstrating so much concern for my wellness.”
Samantha’s eyes widened, and she stiffened. Margot hoped she wasn’t offended, but Samantha squeezed her hand and gazed at her before finally speaking. “Do… do you realize, Mr. Prendregast has had many guests for dinner every day this past sennight? So much socializing is becoming tedious.”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “No doubt.”
“But you need not participate—the ghosts are more important by far. As the guest of honor, I am more obligated to socialize. I am exceedingly grateful to have this roof over my head.”
“Yes, indeed, you must continue behaving graciously toward your generous… if somewhat disgruntled… host. I would not necessarily call you the guest of honor, though.”
“Oh, you cannot know—according to Harriet and Reginald, most of these dinner guests are my suitors! They find it far more amusing than I.”
Margot grimaced. She reflected on how fortunate she was, having inherited so much wealth that she need not worry about marriage. What a pity that Samantha cannot say the same. Margot felt a twinge of misgiving—even jealousy—that Samantha would marry one of her suitors. Margot wished she could spend more time with Samantha; startled at herself, she swiftly pushed that reflection away.