Something weird Substack has apparently been doing lately is publishing some of my chapters earlier than I intended. I’m not sure why, since I’ve definitely made sure I’m setting the publication to the date and time I intend. Maybe there’s a delay in the Save button… or something like that.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 31:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/hauntings-of-claverton-castle-chapter-3db?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 32
Walking past the dining room and toward the drawing room, Samantha pressed her palms on each of her cheeks as she considered how she had approached Gwydion Ewen. She’d felt timid speaking to the footman and suspected she’d risked fueling gossip in the servants’ hall. She imagined Ewen snorting and raising his shoulders whilst suppressing laughter. But he didn’t seem malicious. If he didn’t respect her, he wouldn’t have confided in her.
Whenever Samantha began to almost believe her uncle’s accusations and feel convinced she was unworthy of love and respect, she reminisced about her parents. She considered herself fortuitous to have had loving and kind parents for the first eight years of her life. Trotting along the corridor, she reflected that some—including herself, depending on her mood—might consider it a pity this had only lasted for eight years.
Grasping the doorknob to the drawing room, she reminded herself that if she were unworthy of love and respect, her parents wouldn’t have treated her as they had. Her parents’ opinion of her, like that of the Montmorencys, struck her as more valid than that of Uncle Bradford. Surely Lord Percy’s parents consider her worthwhile.
In the drawing room, Harriet and Reginald sat before the hearth. Reginald was reading aloud and dramatically gesturing, whilst Harriet sewed. Reginald looked up as Samantha entered the room, and he closed his book.
Samantha lightly shut the door behind her and adjusted her grin into a ladylike smile. “I have absolutely splendid news.”
Reginald raised his quizzing glass. “What, what?”
Samantha skipped to the fireplace. “Margot replied to my letter asking if the Danburys would be willing to be my patrons!”
Harriet peered up from the linen she was mending. “She responded promptly.”
Samantha pounced into the armchair and sat on its edge. With much crinkling of paper, she slipped Margot’s letter out of her bodice and waved it in the air. It still smelled of Margot’s rose water.
Reginald directed his quizzing glass at Samantha. “And?”
“She spoke to Lord Percy’s parents already, and the Earl and Countess are interested in becoming my patrons. First they wish to listen to me play some of my compositions. Margot mentioned the opera house they are funding and suggested I might perform there.”
Harriet gasped and clapped her hands. “Odd’s bodkin, that’s splendid!” Samantha’s smile widened; Harriet had become more tolerant about Samantha making a living.
“I say, that’s spot-on!” Reginald said.
#
The housekeeper, Charis Dunn, knew Miss Ponsonby interviewed Gwydion Ewen the previous day; she’d stood by the closed servants’ hall door and, with a scowl, a sniff, and a disapproving shake of her head, overheard them through the keyhole. But she didn’t fancy such an interview herself. She didn’t intend to share any information this young busybody sought. Miss Ponsonby could turn that footman’s head easily enough, but not hers.
Miss Ponsonby, sure enough, approached Charis as soon as the housekeeper swung open the door and stepped out of the servants’ hall. Charis put her hands on her hips.
Miss Ponsonby stepped forward. “What serendipitous timing, Mistress Dunn. I wish to speak with you.”
“What is it, Miss? We are busy canning currant jelly. Can’t spare a minute.”
“Oh, please! It is important. I shan’t take long.”
Charis eyed the hand that Miss Ponsonby firmly pressed against the door, keeping it wide open. Charis scowled again but stepped back, until she stood on the threshold. “It had better be quick, Miss. Another silly serving girl ran off, complaining about a ghost. I’m still training the replacement for the last one who ran off.” Charis gestured toward the young maidservant who peered at them with wide, innocent eyes. Miss Ponsonby raised her eyebrows at the word “ghost.”
Charis followed Miss Ponsonby’s gaze. At the end of a long central table, the maidservant stood before an enormous pot. Miss Ponsonby watched the maid using a ladle to scoop up red jam from the pot and into glass jars. On the table sat many jars topped with lids. Charis imagined tasting that sweet, sticky jam on a slice of bread before she locked eyes with Miss Ponsonby.
“Mistress Dunn, I have a few questions for you.”
Charis stared at Miss Ponsonby without blinking. Though much younger than the housekeeper, the young lady returned an unwavering gaze. She stood tall, with her hands clasped behind her back. Her facial expression was more aloof than Charis’s.
With a sniff, Charis reflected that no proper houseguest would set foot here. She crossed her arms. “I know you interrogated that footman.” The corners of her mouth drooped downward.
“How observant of you.” Miss Ponsonby smiled slightly. “I see you are more than intelligent enough for your position, and you are undoubtedly very organized.”
“Yes, Miss, and don’t you forget it.” Charis’s arms remained crossed. Miss Ponsonby glanced at the maidservant and raised her eyebrows. She turned back to Charis, who glared at the maid screwing tight the lid of a jar. The girl hastily lowered her eyes. “Leave off for a bit and go to the kitchen. We need a spot of privacy.”
The maid curtseyed and bumbled to the kitchen door, tripping and fumbling with the doorknob before she left Miss Ponsonby and the housekeeper alone in the servants’ hall.
Miss Ponsonby relaxed her eyebrows and cleared her throat. “I simply would be obliged to know… a ghost has informed me of disturbing things about this family.”
Charis scoffed. “A ghost, indeed!”
“I wish to know what you know about the family’s history, anything that would cause such unhappy ghosts to wander the house.”
“What makes you think I’d know about that, Miss?” Charis pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes.
“I am under the impression that you have worked here for many years.”
Charis smirked. “I have worked at Claverton Castle since I was a mere sixteen years old, a girl your age. Now I am sixty-two.”
“No doubt you have worked long and hard to make your way up to the prestigious position of housekeeper.”
“That’s as it may be, Miss.” Charis shifted her feet and blinked. “I don’t reckon a lady such as yourself would know much about the likes of me.”
Miss Ponsonby pressed her lips together. Her pupils grew slightly. Charis smiled, satisfied that the girl felt her verbal jab. “I have reason to suspect you are covering up a dastardly deed of Mr. Prendregast’s. For the sake of justice, I think you should confide in me. Are you his accomplice?” Miss Ponsonby raised her eyebrows.
“A dastardly deed!” Charis crossed her arms and knit her brow. “That is preposterous! You are given to melodrama. What possible deed could I be covering up?”
“Perhaps the murder of Mr. Prendregast’s wife.”
“Miss Ponsonby, you do not seem a fool, but you have been reading too many novels. Mr. Prendregast may be of an irascible temperament, but he is no murderer.”
Miss Ponsonby bit her lip and flushed. Charis smirked; apparently, the girl was over fond of gothic novels. No wonder she was close to Miss Prendregast.
Miss Ponsonby stepped slightly forward. “Then what exactly are you covering up?”
“Young lady, you are meddlesome and suspicious.” Charis’s spectacles nearly hung off the end of her turned-up nose. Miss Ponsonby stared at her. The silly girl must think her impertinent, but she was considerably older than this chit. “Why do you assume I’m covering up anything?”
“Are you not paid more than most housekeepers?”
Charis sucked in her breath. This was true, but it was none of her business. “Nonsense! I am paid a handsome wage because I am of a higher station than the other servants. What has that smitten footman said about me?”
Miss Ponsonby’s cheeks reddened. “I asked him about you, but he refused to tell me anything.”
Charis wondered if she had noticed the footman’s feelings for her, the silly boy. “It is absurd to accuse Mr. Prendregast of murder. The ghosts of Claverton Castle are hundreds of years old.”
“So you believe in the ghosts? Do you sense them?”
“I suppose I believe in them well enough. But as for sensing them, no. I leave that to hysterical maidservants.” Charis tossed her graying head toward the closed kitchen door. “Anything dark about the family’s history is unassociated with Mr. Prendregast, and that is all you need know, Miss. I must return to my work.”
Miss Ponsonby raised her chin and her fine eyebrows. “I have one more question.”
Charis put her hands on her hips and glared. The ring of iron keys hanging from her waist rattled. “You best not stick your nose into business what isn’t yours, Miss. Don’t think I won’t inform the master, if you keep this up.”
Miss Ponsonby frowned. “Then I shan’t ask you anything more. But the truth will out.”
Charis muttered, “And I say folks should mind their own business and not stick their nose in what isn’t about them.”
Miss Ponsonby opened her mouth. Charis scowled and waited for her to speak. Miss Ponsonby shook her head. “Very well, Mistress Dunn. Thank you… for what information you have given me.”
“Good afternoon, Miss.”
“Good afternoon, Dunn.” Miss Ponsonby turned on her heel.
As soon as Charis firmly shut the door behind Miss Ponsonby, the housekeeper sniffed. This girl, for all her gentility and golden hair, was no better than she. The housekeeper figured Miss Ponsonby had a few secrets herself. She was but an orphan, relying on the hospitality of the Prendregast family. Charis doubted the girl would wish suitors to know this. And showing up the way she did, waiting by the gate at dawn, without a chaperone! Respectable people with good family connections don’t do that. Charis sniffed again. She headed toward the pantry and opened its door to assess what needed restocking.
This girl was an orphan like Charis, who’d never been an arrogant social climber. Ingratiating herself with the Prendregast family, indeed. The nerve of her! She must think she can climb her way up in society. She should be mopping floors instead. That Miss Ponsonby was trying to fly high above her station… and succeeding, merely because she was beautiful. People were impressed by appearances, no matter that the girl got her comeliness naturally rather than earning it or working on it. No doubt she aspired to marry an aristocrat.
Despite herself, Charis felt some envy over Miss Samantha Ponsonby’s youth and beauty. As the latter walked away from her, after having had their interview, Charis had seen the back of her head—with its elaborately braided and wrapped pale hair—and reflected that someday Miss Ponsonby would be sixty-two years old, homely and unwanted. Or more likely she would be a handsome matron married to a marquis.
Charis knew the secrets of the lady’s death and even the nightmarish secrets of mistreated children. She recalled Basil Prendregast’s screams… Charis shuddered and shook that memory out of her mind. She figured her generous pay from Mr. Prendregast was earned. She felt more inclined to spread word about Miss Ponsonby’s odd arrival at the manor house, than to inform on Mr. Prendregast and his family. Charis recalled the handsome face of the Marquis of Uppington. She cleared her throat and focused on her immediate surroundings. She would not be surprised if Miss Ponsonby had designs on marrying the Marquis.