Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 55
Mr. Prendregast isn’t impressed with ghost hunting young whippersnappers.
I considered writing another Daffodil the Dragon vignette to post here, but I haven’t gotten around to it—so many other things to do—and I don’t want to hastily share a rough draft. So maybe another time.
Meanwhile, I have a birthday coming up in September and sometimes in a frenzy I query agents and/or publishers and/or submit stories to magazines this time of year. So far that hasn’t started. I much prefer creating art (and fiction is art!) than querying and marketing.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 54:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/hauntings-of-claverton-castle-chapter-216?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 55
“I don’t know what exploits you young people have after supper.” Mr. Prendregast pushed away his chair and scowled. “Nor do I particularly wish to know.”
Samantha lowered her eyes and wiped her chin. She wondered what she could say without making Mr. Prendregast blustery.
Reginald fondled his quizzing glass. “What are you gabbing on about, Father?”
“Demmed indecorous boy, I mean our houseguests and their avoidance of the drawing room after dinner of late! I’ve grown accustomed to Miss Ponsonby’s music and look forward to it. Instead, I have you and your infernal sister’s silly talk after dinner. Or worse—deplorable pianoforte music.”
Samantha inhaled. “Please, I beg your forgiveness, sir. The twins and I have our research to do.”
“Don’t think I’m unaware of your hocus-pocus flummery,” Mr. Prendregast said. Samantha felt a brief flutter of panic. “Humph! No doubt your research is on the alleged demons of the Kent countryside.” Samantha raised her eyebrows and stared in astonishment at the level of his denial. “Utter codswallop. I’m off to the drawing room now. I suggest you follow suit.”
He headed for the door with the Border collies. As though she’d understood the conversation, Fiona paused before the open door and glanced back at Samantha. The girl smiled, and the dog tipped her head to the side before walking out, nails clicking against the floor.
Everyone watched the door close behind the dogs and Mr. Prendregast. Chairs dragged across the hardwood floor in low-pitch squawks as all the young people pushed away from the dining table. The sound and movement covered up the butler and footmen’s departure. Samantha figured Mr. Prendregast must be profoundly hurt, to have so much denial.
“Brave ghost hunters, I bid you adieu.” Reginald bowed and trod toward the drawing room.
Harriet peered up at Roland through her eyelashes, blushed, and curtseyed. “I shall do the same. Good evening.” The instant Harriet exited, Roland exhaled and loosened his shoulders with relief.
Samantha said, “It seems Harriet isn’t directing her resentment at you, Roland.”
Margot frowned. “I suppose she has reason to direct it at me. I fear I spoke too brusquely.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “Yes, dear sister, that happens.”
The three Sensitives, each carrying a candlestick, advanced down the corridor and up the tower stairs. Samantha heard, more than usual, every creak of the floorboards and stairs. Whenever she heard the whisper of wind outside the open tower windows, the hair stood up on the back of her neck.
When a nightingale burst into song just outside the window, a few feet away from Samantha’s ears, she jumped, nearly lost her footing on the stairs, and grabbed the bannister. She felt solace when they reached the second floor, and she hastily distanced herself from the stairs.
“I wish to focus on the veiled entity in the looking-glass.” Margot was the first to stand in the center of the hallway. “We shall accompany you, Samantha, to your dressing room. But you might prefer to step out of the room. We shall try this with you in the room, and with you out of the room. This experiment may take two nights.”
Samantha nodded. “Very well.”
They tiptoed stealthily down the second-floor corridor, toward Samantha’s dressing-room. When they reached the door, Samantha twisted the handle and pushed the door open. Candle held high, she peered inside and felt glad the maidservant had tidied the room. It would have been mortifying if Roland saw her unmentionables draped over a chair. As for Margot… she wouldn’t have minded as much.
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Raising her candle and peering around, Margot entered the room. She observed the dressing table. She didn’t glance back, as she heard Roland and Samantha’s steps on the hardwood floor. Margot stared at the dressing table and began walking toward it and hearing every creak of floorboards. When the door creaked shut, she focused her concentration on the dressing table’s looking-glass. She simultaneously dreaded seeing the ghost—which might be a demon or an otherwise malignant spirit—and hoped to see the veiled figure and solve the problem.
Margot marveled at Samantha’s courage. For months, she’d walked into that room and sat at the dressing table every night, aware that the veiled ghost was on the other side of the glass. Margot sat down before the dressing-table.
“Do you see it?” Samantha whispered.
Margot heard the soft rustle of Roland’s frock coat sleeve as he raised a hand for silence. She closed her eyes slowly and visualized a dark, veiled figure in the looking-glass before her. She opened her eyes… and as though her mental image had conjured the spirit, the veiled ghost was there in the looking-glass.
The apparition stood several feet away from the dressing-table. She stood still, mostly hidden by a black veil. Margot saw a hint of her face. She saw fair, high cheekbones and the tip of the specter’s nose, since these features stuck out and touched the veil. But she also saw the dark hollows where the ghost’s eyes were located. Margot sat watching. The other two stood still, visible in the glass a few inches away from the veiled form.
The apparition reached toward the looking-glass. She moved toward it, until she left scarcely any space between her and the glass. She leaned forward and stared. Margot clearly saw her wide, dark eyes behind the veil. Margot held her breath.
The apparition cast upon Margot an unblinking stare. She reached toward the glass, like a kitten fascinated by a dangling toy. Slowly tipping her head sideways, she lifted a small white hand and reached forward.
Margot’s heart fluttered in alarm. She unpleasantly perceived that the spirit was about to become confrontational. With graceful, mindful movements, Margot pressed the soles of her shoes onto the floorboards and rose from the chair. She moved slowly and as silently as possible and kept her eyes on the ghost.
As soon as Margot stood completely upright, she sidled to the left until the chair no longer stood directly behind her, and she stepped backward. She realized she’d been holding her breath. Exhaling, she perceived movement behind her, and a glance behind the apparition proved that Roland and Samantha had stepped aside and stood staring from the edge of the looking-glass’s reflection.
Without moving her head, Margot returned her gaze to the phantom.
The specter didn’t stop with touching the surface of the mirror. She reached her finger through it. She raised her torso, like a graceful woman rising from a chair, and climbed onto the reflection of the dressing-table. As Margot watched and held her breath, the specter smiled grimly and pressed her hands against the glass surface.
The veiled woman silently slipped through the glass, whilst its surface bubbled beneath her fingertips. She leaned forward until her head emerged like her hands, and she walked on her hands and slid across the surface of the looking-glass table… onto the surface of the real dressing table. She crawled through the glass and sat on the table. Somewhat alarmed despite her experience with otherworldly entities, Margot froze. “She has become stronger with us here.”
Roland cleared his scratchy throat. “Yes, but we must help her heal. Help her depart from this world for the spirit realm.”
The specter gazed at Roland. Margot saw the hint of a smile appear behind the veil, shifting it with the slightest rustle. She’d be unable to hear the rustling veil if not for the room’s utter silence.
The apparition slipped forward a fraction and, facing Roland and then Margot, slowly and silently lowered each leg from the table to the floor. She sat with her limbs dangling slightly above the floor. The bottles and tins on the dressing table may as well not have been there. Margot assured herself that the ghost wasn’t solid, since she saw the small items through the ghost.
The veiled woman was clad entirely in black, in a high-waisted frock with a standing collar open at the center front of the bodice. The long sleeves featured two puffs each at the top and a ruffled wristband. The veil was also black.
Samantha whispered, “She—she resembles a corporeal person.”
The spirit slowly turned her head and stared at Samantha. She cocked her head sideways, as though she considered Samantha a cat toy. Samantha became deathly pale and began drifting toward the floor. Roland caught her as she fainted. He carried her to a day bed far from the dressing-table.
Margot widened her eyes at Samantha and returned her gaze to the ghost, who now stood before the dressing-table. Margot blinked, surprised that the apparition had climbed down. The veiled entity stood with her back to the looking-glass.
“We wish to help you.” Margot made one step toward the veiled ghost. “We mean you no harm.”
Margot lifted her left foot and, through her flat-soled satin slippers, felt the ball of her foot press down onto the wooden floor as her foot sank down onto it. She began lifting her right foot. She stepped backward whilst keeping her eyes on the visitant and holding out her left hand in what she hoped was a welcoming manner.
The ghost stood staring at her with a blasé facial expression. Margot didn’t know quite how to interpret it. She thought it promising that the apparition hadn’t vanished and displayed no hostility. When Margot saw spirits manifest fully, it was common for a ghost to emanate anger and fly at her with an eerie howl. The fact that the veiled woman did no such thing—and now appeared solid—was a sign of progress.
Margot stood a mere two feet away from the apparition’s left hand, which the veiled entity whipped forward to grasp Margot’s hand. The ghost’s grip was firm and extremely cold; Margot inhaled sharply and stared at the ghost. It felt like holding a hand consisting of ice. This would be unbearable for more than a minute, but she instinctively knew that if she let go, she’d lose the connection with the phantom and fail to heal the lost spirit. “My name is Margot. May I ask, who are you, please?”
“I am Onora Prendregast.”
“What is your relationship to the current members of this household?”
“I am the mother of Harriet and Reginald Prendregast, and the wife of Basil Prendregast.”