by Alicia Hope
She first spent an enjoyable hour re-acquainting herself with the castle’s interior. In the morning light it felt more welcoming than when shrouded in night’s gloom, but some of its rooms and hallways still held a damp chill. She found herself glad of her cardigan’s warmth.
After exploring its top and middle floors, she made her way to the castle’s lower level. There, she found a room whose carved timber door bore a musical symbol. She felt a tingle. Wasn’t that what Gran had told her to look for, a room with a door bearing the treble clef? Ignoring the ‘Staff Only’ sign on the door, she turned the nob. It was locked. She stood thoughtfully outside the room for some time before moving on.
Later that morning, armed with a large shopping bag in preparation for the city tour, she called into the reception office. She wanted to collect a castle information brochure from the bundle she’d noticed on the desk when checking in the day before.
Emma was again on duty. ‘Good morning Miss Brande, I hope you enjoyed an agreeable first night with us?’
To Claire-Rose’s ears, Emma’s pleasantries again sounded a little mechanical.
‘Why yes, thanks. I’m very happy with my room and enjoyed a cosy, comfortable night after a fabulous dinner – you missed a lovely meal, by the way.’ It was an obvious cue for Emma to mention why she hadn’t joined them at dinner the night before; but even as she said the words, Claire-Rose could see Emma was ignoring the bait and moving on.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ she enquired of Claire-Rose, and carried on without waiting for an answer, ‘We serve it in the Lodge’s common room.’
‘Yes, I’ve re-filled the tank, and am ready to roll.’ Claire-Rose grinned and watched Emma’s reaction. She was met with a plastic smile that didn’t quite reach the young woman’s heavily made-up eyes.
‘That’s good.’ Emma’s voice had a far-away quality, as though for her the tedious conversation was already over. ‘Well, have a pleasant day, and don’t forget we’re here to make your Lorienne experience enjoyable.’
Claire-Rose was intrigued. Why did this fortunate young woman seem so discontented with her lot?
Perhaps her absence from dinner last night was due to family problems. What was it Sally had said about the McAlisters?
She pursed her lips, lost in thought.
Oh come on, what’s the big deal? She’s entitled to forego dinner if she chooses. Dining with a bunch of tourists could be just another tiresome duty, and who could blame her if she prefers going out with friends for some fun? And speaking of fun, I’m here on holiday, so I shouldn’t be psychoanalysing everyone I meet!
It was sometimes hard for Claire-Rose to switch off her natural talent for human analysis, an ability that proved invaluable in her career and in establishing the human resources department for her mother’s budding consultancy firm. ‘Queen of the People Watchers’ her friend, Penny, called her. And Claire-Rose didn’t – couldn’t – argue with that.
But this is not the time or the place to be analysing everyone I meet, so I’d better find the off switch.
When another guest came into reception, Claire-Rose turned her attention to the open brochure in her hand. It was fairly detailed, so she decided to sit and read it while waiting for the city shuttle to arrive. But as she went to pop the brochure into her bag, something slipped out of it and fell onto the floor at her feet. It was a postcard.
Oh, what a good idea, she thought, including a free postcard with each brochure. Might send this one to Mum today....
She bent to pick up the postcard and turned it over to see what sort of picture was on the front. It was of a ship – a postcard-sized copy of the painting gracing the wall beside her.
The Polly Brown, the ship from my dream ... er ... nightmare, last night.
Disturbing scenes from the dream flittered across her mind as she stood staring at the postcard in her hand.
Emma looked at her curiously before remarking, ‘Someone had the great idea of having postcards made with pictures of the castle’s artwork on them.’ Raising a contemptuous eyebrow she sniffed, ‘And now we have to give them all away in our brochures.’
Claire-Rose gave a polite nod and slipped the postcard into her bag, before turning and pushing her way through the leadlight doors. As she stood on the stone staircase at the castle’s entrance, the sun came out from behind the clouds and a bright shaft of sunlight highlighted a bench seat in the circular garden in front of the stairs. Seated there, under an arbour of twisted wisteria dripping with lilac blooms, she’d be able to see the shuttle arrive. It was the perfect spot to sit and read the brochure.
Settling herself comfortably, she put her shopping bag at her feet and extracted the brochure. After glancing up to admire the blooms dangling aromatically overhead and the butterflies hovering around them, she opened the brochure and began to read....
Lorienne Castle has presided over the peninsula since the 1880s, when Richard Lorienne chose the site to build his dream home. He and his young son rode along the peninsula searching for the best location for the castle, and Richard often had the boy scramble up a tree to check for views.
Lorienne was a titled gentleman and a well-to-do timber merchant. He wanted to be able to watch the ships ferrying his timber make their way into the harbour port from the often unpredictable Pacific Ocean. Sadly, he did not live to enjoy the views or even to see his castle finished, but his dream was kept alive and realised by his son, Edward.
It took many years for the large workforce of craftsmen to finish building the castle. They lived on the grounds, even after the family moved in, finishing the fine wood carvings and fretwork you see today.
Edward spared no expense in making his father’s dream a reality. Materials were sourced from all over the world – Italian marble, Welsh slate, Venetian glass and tiles from France. Native New Zealand woods like kauri, rimu and honeysuckle, were used for flooring and panelling.
Edward and the rest of Richard’s family enjoyed many happy years at the castle until Edward’s death in a shipwreck in 1902, amidst a family scandal. This tragedy was followed soon after by the death of Edward’s wife, Elizabeth, for whom he had the ballroom built.
Claire-Rose looked up from the brochure. There it was, in black and white, the ‘family scandal’ her grandmother had told her about. Elizabeth’s alleged ‘fall from grace’, that resulted in Edward’s death and then her own. And which tarnished her family’s name to such a degree, her brother, Henry, Claire-Rose’s great, great grandfather, changed their surname to Brande to distance them from the gossip.
With a slow, pensive nod of her head, Claire-Rose continued reading.
The magnificent three thousand square foot ballroom extension to the east of the main castle building has multiple fireplaces, stained glass windows, chandeliers and highly polished timber floors, and is testimony of Edward’s love for Elizabeth. When you visit the ballroom, look up as you enter and you’ll see two entwined ‘E’s in polished brass above the main doorway.
The early deaths of both Edward and Elizabeth under a scandalous cloud, and the subsequent legal battles over the estate’s ownership, tore the Lorienne family apart. They deserted the castle, abandoning it to the whims of the windswept peninsula. Thus neglected, the grand property steadily deteriorated. It became so rundown, a neighbouring farmer used the castle’s once magnificent ballroom as a barn for his sheep.
It is only due to the skilful workmen employed by the current owners, the McAlister family, that the ballroom’s original splendour has been restored. If you stand under one of its chandeliers and listen carefully, you might hear the faint sounds of a ball in progress – the clink of crystal glasses, the hum of conversation and the swish of silken gowns.
Claire-Rose gave a shiver, almost of familiarity....
The government of the day commandeered the deserted castle as an insane asylum for a number of years, and evidence of its more disturbed occupants can be seen in the scratchings on some of the stone walls. One notable etch
ing reads, ‘You’ll never know’, signed, ‘the Oyster’. Fred Chalmers, nicknamed ‘The Oyster’, was an infamous thief who spent the last days of his life in the asylum. And he was right, no-one knows for sure what he meant by that cryptic note in limestone.
There may be a clue, though, in the newspaper article on display in that room. Under the headline, ‘Oyster Holes up in Deserted Castle’, it gives an account of Chalmers taking refuge from the authorities in the then vacant castle. He was being pursued for the theft of a priceless pearl and diamond necklace called ‘The Bedazzler’, which he’d brazenly snatched from the throat of a visiting dignitary’s wife.
Another article from the same newspaper, dated some eighteen months later, reported that the Oyster had been found and apprehended, but that the necklace was never recovered. Chalmers was pronounced clinically insane and committed. In a strange twist, the asylum he was sent to happened to be his old bolt-hole, Lorienne Castle. Not long after being consigned there, he took the secret of the Bedazzler’s final whereabouts to his grave.
During the war, the castle was used to billet soldiers, some of whom also left their marks on the walls, in what they must have found to be cramped, cold rooms. Naturally, the officers were housed in Edward’s and Elizabeth’s grand quarters, while the ‘grunts’ shared the smaller children’s and tiny maids’ rooms on the upper floors, near the castle’s battlements.
Your attention is drawn to an etching in the age-softened window surround in one of the maids’ rooms. It was made by a soldier, who we assume carved the words while lying on a stretcher – his death bed perhaps – under the window. He wrote, ‘Is a hero still so if no-one knows?’ One can only guess at the meaning behind his words....
Chapter Five
The Ten Dollar Tourist
The sound of tyres crunching on gravel brought Claire-Rose back to the present, and she looked up to see the shuttle lumbering its way into the car park. Hurriedly closing the brochure and pushing it into her bag, she rose to make her way over to the little bus.
The driver, a sandy-haired young man with a boyish grin, looked at her appreciatively. The fresh air and filtered sunlight had brought soft colour to her face, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity after reading the castle’s colourful history.
She was the last passenger to join the shuttle, which already held a dozen people.
‘Where to, Miss, or do we have the plisure of your company on our full, round-the-world tour of this fascinating mitropolis?’
‘How can I refuse such a tempting offer?’ Claire-Rose mirrored his grin and took a seat close to the front of the mini-bus. ‘On, James, and don’t spare the horses! We’ve got a lot of sightseeing to do.’
As they bumped along the castle’s access road and through its impressive wrought iron gates, the driver introduced himself as ‘Jiff’ and gave a run-down of the stops on the tour.
Claire-Rose was puzzled at first, wondering how any parent could name a child after a bathroom cleanser. But she realised it was just his strong New Zealand accent making ‘Jeff’ sound like ‘Jif’ to her Australian ears. She recalled being told this ‘Kiwi’ brand of English was a legacy of the area’s Scottish pioneers.
‘Right ladies and jints, we’re on our way to our first stop, the city centre. Then it’s on to the hestoric railway station.’
Claire-Rose grinned at his quirky accent and turned to watch the passing landscape.
They arrived not long afterward at the plaza in the city centre. Jeff slowed as they passed one of its cathedrals, and stopped the bus near the town hall and art gallery, so everyone could get out and explore.
‘Just fefteen minutes, folks. We’re on a tight schidule!’
When the final stragglers had been herded onto the bus, they set off once more. After going a short way Jeff stopped again, near a statue in the central gardens.
‘Now this is a wonderful symbol of the city's hestoric past. When the statue was unveiled in the eighteen eighties, a crowd of eight thousand turned out for the ivint, which was a lot in those days. Today it’s the site of annual poetry reading competitions which draw good crowds. One of the city’s founders also had a statue erected in his honour here, but it was ... er ... taken down when he fill out of favour.’
Taken down or smashed down, Claire-Rose pondered with salacious curiosity.
Jeff paused to negotiate some traffic before continuing, ‘Now we’ll head west from the plaza toward one of the country’s most photographed buildings, the hestoric railway station. So git your cameras riddy, folks.’
* * *
Over afternoon tea in the castle later that day, Jill was describing the hotel where she and Peter had eaten lunch. ‘It’s set up to be like the pubs in the UK,’ she enthused. ‘They describe it as being “more British than England”. And it doesn’t just have a great atmosphere, our counter meals were delicious. Although I wish I hadn’t eaten so much ... don’t think I’ll be up for any dinner after such a big lunch. But one simply can’t resist a good “bangers-n-mash” meal!’
Jill’s description of the pub sounded interesting, and Claire-Rose decided to check it out herself for dinner that night.
* * *
Claire-Rose was looking forward to mixing with the locals, and took extra care dressing for the evening. She was pleased the Meiers, Thomas and Selena, had decided to come along as well. The three of them met at the bottom of the stairs to wait for the taxi.
‘Ah, but you look wery nice, yah?’ Tall, blonde Thomas was clearly devoted to his pretty wife Selena, but was still gallant enough to pay Claire-Rose a well-deserved compliment.
She’d chosen an ankle-length shift in a rich shade of cream. Made of silky knitted fabric, it fell elegantly, glancing softly off her curves. Over it she wore a tailored battle jacket in bronze velvet. Peeping from beneath the shift’s flowing hem were the toes of light tan leather boots. Her hair was up again in a shiny clasp, and the usual honey-gold wisps had come loose and were drifting around her face in the evening air. She’d applied her makeup carefully, and her skin glowed like satin in the dusky light.
‘Almost as nice as your Selena, eh Thomas?’ Claire-Rose smiled at his wife, who grinned coyly.
Thomas beamed proudly. ‘Oh yah, she is – how you say? – wision vunderful?’
Claire-Rose laughed at the eagerness of his compliment. ‘Yes Thomas, she is, how you say, vunderbah’.
She found herself liking this young couple more and more. They were smart – he was a civil engineer, and she an early childhood teacher – but there was an innocence about them, a willingness to laugh at themselves that was very appealing.
When their cab arrived, she was pleasantly surprised to see ‘Jiff’ at the wheel.
‘What’s this, Jeff? Doing a spot of moonlighting are we?’
He grinned into the rear view mirror. ‘You know how it ez. A man’s gotta do what he can to make a qued these days, even if it means driving you lot around.’
Claire-Rose could see from the Meiers’ puzzled expressions that Jeff’s accent and rapid speech were making it difficult for them to translate his words. They turned to look out the window, obviously exiting the incomprehensible conversation. She realised this was an opportunity to maybe find an answer to a question, one that had been jiggling around her brain since the night before.
‘Jeff, you’re a local, right?’ At his nod she went on, ‘So what’s the go with the McAlisters? I hear Kathryn’s marriage broke up because of her obsession with the castle. Is that right?’
‘Oh yes, it’s a sad story really. The family went into the vinture with big plans, but then reality het, as it has a knack of doing. Didn’t help that Kathryn grew more and more obsessed with restoring the castle to its original splindour, even though the money she’d inherited from her family was runnin’ out. Got so the big fella couldn’t cope.’
‘Yes, that is sad.’ Claire-Rose gazed thoughtfully out of the window.
‘Got so bad he gave her an ultimatum, “Me or the cas
tle”. And the castle won.’
‘That would’ve been a jolt to his male pride.’
‘You bit, ‘specially as he’s a very proud man. Anyways, when he and Kathryn parted, the three of them had to pay him a fourth share in the place. A pretty pinny they didn’t have to spare, so they’ve been struggling financially ever sence.’
‘Leaving them without much to pay for the continuing renovations I guess?’
‘Yep, pretty much nothing after the first stage was done, if the gossip’s right. And renovations are expinsive, ‘specially when it’s a castle you’re doing up. Emma’s been campaigning for them to sill up ever since.’
‘Do you think they will though, sell the castle I mean?’
‘Who knows? Kathryn and Byron are stell totally committed to the castle, but if they have to pay Emma a third share ... I don’t like their chances of recovering from that.’
The cab came to a stop outside a brightly lit pub.
‘Here we are, folks.’
They paid the fare and thanked Jeff, who promised to ‘hover’ later in the night for their ride home. Claire-Rose found that a comforting thought as she opened the cab door and stepped into the sights, sounds, and smells of a strange city.
Before closing the door she leaned down and said, ‘Been good talking to you, Jeff, and thanks for the info. Oh, and it’s good to know there are still a few New Zealanders living over here, instead of in Australia.’
‘Hah!’ he chuckled wickedly, ‘and it’s good to have an Aussie here on holiday instead of incarcerated at her Majesty’s plisure!’
Smirking a silent ‘touché’ at him, she closed the car’s door and turned to the Meiers. ‘OK you two, I’m starving! Let’s go eat.’
