Ghost of a Chance

by Susan Maupin Schmid

  “Who are you, sir?” she said.

  “Prince Sterling, this is Mrs. Lavish, Superintendent of the Orphaned Children’s Home,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle said. “She’s here to take charge of one of the castle’s orphans.”

  “An orphan wearing the Princess’s livery?” he asked.

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle blushed. “It’s a long story,” she said hastily. “I’d be happy to explain it all to you later. For now, let’s—”

  “She hasn’t done anything wrong!” I insisted. “You don’t lock up innocent little girls.”

  The crowd around us muttered their disapproval. They pressed closer, as if ready to pounce on the child-stealing women.

  “Nobody is locking anybody up,” Mrs. Lavish said in a clipped tone.

  “She’s had difficulties,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle explained, eyeing the crowd. “She’ll be better off in the orphanage.”

  “Prince Sterling,” I said, “don’t let them take her. She’s done nothing. Nothing!”

  “I don’t call hiding all over the castle, being disheveled, and sobbing uncontrollably nothing,” sniped Mrs. Pepperwhistle.

  “If you’d lost your whole family, you’d sob too,” I shot back.

  “Good gracious, it is court day! Must we have all this commotion?” a voice demanded.

  A hand bearing a silver-topped cane swept people aside as the Baroness Azure strolled into our midst. Prince Sterling smothered a grin at her approach.

  “What on earth is going on out here? We can hear this fussing in the throne room!” she said.

  “We’re escorting a child to the orphanage,” Mrs. Lavish began.

  “Who asked you?” Lady Kaye demanded. “Pepperwhistle, explain yourself. What are you doing dragging my ward about?”

  “Y-your ward?” Mrs. Pepperwhistle gasped.

  “Yes, mine. Her late parents were my tenants. The whole family succumbed to the fever; she’s all that’s left. I’ve taken a personal interest in her welfare.”

  “She’s had a great many difficulties,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle said.

  “Such as?”

  “Hiding, refusing to wear proper underclothes, sobbing, hysterics—”

  “Has she committed any crime?” Prince Sterling asked.

  “Well, no, but I can’t have disorder among the Girls.”

  “It seems to me you’ve tolerated a great deal of disorder in the past,” Lady Kaye said, eyeing me. “Darling, turn her loose.”

  Mrs. Pepperwhistle tugged at her collar, the picture of embarrassed bewilderment. I let Dulcie go, rescuing the shawl and smoothing out the wrinkles. Dulcie blinked up at the Baroness, rubbing away her tears with her fist.

  “Now then,” Lady Kaye said in a quiet voice, “have you had difficulties, my dear?”

  “Uh-huh,” Dulcie said.

  “Sobbing and so forth?”

  Dulcie nodded, red-faced. A woman in the crowd clucked her tongue and murmured about poor little chicks. I handed Dulcie my handkerchief, one of Marci’s mauve-colored cotton ones.

  “She’ll be happy in the orphanage, and we’ll find a new family for her,” Mrs. Lavish protested.

  “We’re her family,” I said.

  “Do you think you can settle down if you stay here?” Lady Kaye asked Dulcie.

  “I want to stay with Darling.” Dulcie grabbed my arm. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “She will be,” I added. “Extra good. She’s the fastest runner the Princess has. We need her. Ann twisted her ankle running up for this!” I held up the shawl, which I remembered the Princess had been waiting on for some time.

  “In that case, Dulcie, you should deliver that shawl to Her Highness,” the Baroness said with a twinkle in her eye.

  I handed Dulcie the shawl and she was off, messy braids flying, petticoat-free skirt glued to her legs. Mrs. Lavish watched her go with a grimace of disapproval. Mrs. Pepperwhistle had recovered herself and was tidying her bun.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lavish, that will be all,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle said.

  With a humph, Mrs. Lavish bowed and took her leave, walking stiff-backed to the doors.

  “Good riddance,” I muttered under my breath.

  The Baroness rapped me on the top of my head with her cane’s silver knob.

  “I’ve got an eye on you, my girl,” Lady Kaye said. “Watch your step.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, rubbing my scalp.

  “Go back upstairs now,” Mrs. Pepperwhistle said in a tone that suggested she’d deal with me later.

  “The Baroness is watching me,” I told Gillian at supper.

  “Maybe you should try staying out of trouble for a while,” she said, toying with a curl.

  I gaped at her. What was I supposed to do? Let them steal Dulcie? Give the ghost free rein to ruin my life? Stand back and forfeit the Princess’s good opinion?

  Roger slid next to me on the bench. He wore a buff-colored leather cap. He grinned at me.

  “You’re a First Stable Boy!” I said. “That was quick; the Stable Master must have been impressed.”

  “Yep. Got charge of Lady Marguerite’s horses.”

  “That’s nice,” Gillian said.

  “Horses?” I said.

  “Two.” He held up two fingers. “You know what that means?” His grin widened.

  “No,” Gillian said.

  “It means that when Lady Marguerite don’t ride, it’s my job to exercise her horses for her.”

  “And she’s got two,” I said. “You’ll get to ride most days! That’s great.”

  Nodding, he turned pink with pleasure.

  “Wonderful,” Gillian chirped at Roger. And then she turned back to me. “The Baroness is a wonderful person,” she added.

  “You two chums, then?” Roger asked, pulling off his cap. He laid it on his lap; my missing mitten lay stuffed inside its crown.

  Gillian frowned, winding a curl around her finger.

  “I didn’t say she wasn’t; I said she’s watching me,” I protested.

  Under the table, Roger slid the mitten out of his hat and onto my lap. I grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket. It caused an unseemly bulge in my apron; I’d worry about that later.

  “The Baroness is too important to bother about children,” Gillian said.

  “She tells you stories,” I argued. “What are you? An old lady?”

  “That’s different,” Gillian said, waving my comment away. “I listen.”

  “You really think this is all my fault, don’t you?” I said.

  “Of course not,” Gillian said. “But you could try staying out of trouble. Then maybe someone will promote you.”

  My face burned. Gillian wouldn’t be where she was if I hadn’t gotten into trouble.

  “I’ll remember that if anyone tries to drag you off,” I said.

  Gillian turned to Roger. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Never met her,” Roger replied, tucking into his supper.

  “Not about the Baroness—about Darling being in trouble!”

  “I trust Marci to pound some sense into her,” Roger said with a shrug.

  Gillian scooted off her bench and grabbed her tray.

  “There’s no talking to the two of you,” she said, flouncing off.

  Roger watched her go, an amused gleam in his eye.

  “Now that we got rid of her, we can talk,” he said.

  “I wasn’t trying to get rid of her!”

  “Were you going to tell her about the passage?”

  I stewed over that, crumbling my roll onto my casserole.

  “I didn’t think so,” Roger said. “But now we need to figure out what other passages exist.”

  “You think there are more?”

  “I bet this whole place is like one giant anthill full of secret tunnels. We just need to figure out where the doors are.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said, and told him my theory.

  —

  We strolled across the main hall soon after s
upper. Servants and nobles rambled here and there, but most were preoccupied with their own business. The nobles were on their way to the main dining room, and the servants pursued their errands. Guards stood at attention. No one paid any attention to us; I carried a covered basket and looked purposeful.

  I figured that if secret doors existed right under their noses, then most of them weren’t very observant. We aimed to arrive at the alcove about the time dinner was served to the Princess. The main hall and the corridors leading to it were emptiest then.

  I tripped up to the little table by the alcove where my ribbon had disappeared and placed my covered basket on the floor. I stood directly in front of the niche. Roger slipped behind me. I made a big face at my bootlaces. Then I bent over and arduously retied both of them. Roger sank to the floor and began searching under the mirror for the hidden door’s trigger.

  A quiet snick sounded behind me. Roger tugged on my apron. With a quick glance around, I scooped up the basket and ducked through the hole in the wall. Roger waited on the other side, grabbing the lever and shutting the door.

  The wall slid closed. We’d done it! We’d found another hidden passage.

  I yanked the cloth off the basket and dug out our scrounged-up supplies.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing Roger one of the two carriage lamps he’d procured.

  Not only were they small and lightweight, but each one boasted a tin reflector. We could curl our hands around their leather straps and point the light wherever we wanted it to shine.

  Next, I handed Roger the matches. He struck one on the bottom of his boot and raised the glass shield to light my lamp candle. Because they were thicker than regular candles, the squat lamp candle would burn the same length of time. Roger had calculated that we had two hours to explore. The lantern held oil and would burn longer, but it was bulky and heavy. If caught in tight quarters with a pin-stealing, room-wrecking ghost, we wanted to be able to maneuver with ease.

  I loaded my pocket with chalk and string. Then I handed Roger the pocketknife. I slipped my locket under my apron’s bodice—no sense alerting this jewelry-happy ghost to its presence. Then I folded the cloth into a triangle and tied it over my hair to keep it clean. Roger wore his cap. I tucked the basket into a cranny by the wall and dusted off my hands. We’d decided that carrying the basket would slow us down and that we could sneak back to rescue it from behind the wall later.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  Roger shined his lamp around the narrow space. Cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling. Dust powdered the floor. The passage led a few paces back and then up a stair.

  “Here we go.” Roger set off.

  I followed, flashing my handy lamp around, ready to squash any spider I saw. The steps were lower and wider than the ones before, easier to climb. As we went up, I tried to imagine where we were in relation to the outside. But I quickly lost my way as the steps ended and a new corridor appeared. It took several sharp turns. Light broke in from time to time, spilling between cracks and crevices, brightening our way for a moment before the next stretch of passage engulfed us in darkness. We wound around and up and beyond. And up again.

  We reached a split where three openings led in different directions. Roger picked the one on the right, and I marked it with a big chalk X.

  “Have you figured out what you’re going to say to the ghost?” Roger asked.

  “Mostly,” I answered, shining my light on a funny rippled spot on the wall. “What’s this?”

  Roger ran his light over it. An iron knob glistened on a support beam.

  “Whoa! Found one!” he hooted. He reached for the knob, and I stopped his hand.

  “We don’t know where that comes out or who might be behind it,” I said.

  He wrinkled his forehead, his freckles swarming together.

  “We should find the ghost first,” I reminded him.

  “But—”

  “We can open it later.”

  He dropped his hand. I stepped back. His fist darted out and punched the knob. The funny slice of wall rolled open. The outline of a bed blocked our path. Two kids gawked at us from across the darkened room.

  Roger yelped.

  “It’s us in a mirror,” I told him, “in a boring, empty bedroom.” I punched the knob and shut the wall. “Satisfied?”

  I borrowed the pocketknife and cut a bit of string to tie on the knob.

  “Everyone’s at dinner; this is the perfect time to open doors,” Roger argued.

  “Find the ghost,” I said. “Convince it to cooperate. Then, I promise, we will open every last one.”

  “You’ll be afraid of getting caught.” He tugged at his cap the way he always did when he was angry.

  “Nope, I won’t.” I crossed my heart. “It might get me in trouble, but it’s not like I haven’t been in trouble before.”

  He rolled his eyes and started off again. Down a stair, around a corner, under an arch we walked. Our lamp candles had dwindled to the half point. Anytime the way split, I marked our choice. Roger whistled under his breath as he strolled along.

  At one spot, we found a wide space like a little room or a large closet. Roger’s light glanced off a metal object. He sucked in his breath. A partially used-up candle sat in an elaborate brass candlestick on the floor.

  “How’d that get in here?” he asked.

  “Someone left it, probably ages ago.”

  He ran his light up and down it.

  “It don’t look too dusty.”

  “Neither is the floor,” I said, waving my light across his boots. “There aren’t many places for dust to come through. And you know how fussy the Maids are.”

  “I don’t like it.” Roger chewed his lip.

  “Want to quit and go back?”

  “Not enough candle left,” he said. “If you’re quitting, then you need to find a door to open.”

  It was the one flaw in our plan. If we didn’t find the ghost before we ran out of light, we’d have to bail out wherever we could. And who knew where that might be? It was dicey: pick a random secret door to pop through and hope no one was waiting on the other side.

  I’d sort of hoped we’d run into the ghost in time to head back the way we’d come. But the more we climbed up and down and wound around and around, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. We’d have to take our chances at some point. I hoped we wouldn’t land in some nasty place, like Mrs. Pepperwhistle’s room.

  “Good thing that ghost didn’t see our trap. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot that way,” Roger said.

  “We weren’t trying to hurt it,” I said, conscious that the ghost could be listening. “We just want to talk to it.”

  Roger wore a puzzled frown for a moment, and then he winked.

  “Yeah, if only it would talk to us. Get to know us,” he agreed.

  “We could use its help,” I added.

  Silence. A dust mote wandered through my lamp’s beam. With a shrug, we set off again.

  “There are miles of these things,” I said as we walked. “It’d takes ages to learn your way around them.”

  “We’ll have to figure out how to lay up a supply of candles. I can’t keep swiping them. It’ll get noticed,” Roger said.

  “You swiped them?”

  “No, Darling, my fairy stable mother give ’em to me.”

  “Roger,” I said, stopping suddenly. “Do you have one? A mother, I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean, living like.”

  “Yeah, she lives in a mill by a river. My uncle is the miller.”

  “You never talk about her.”

  “Nothing much to say.”

  I sighed. Sometimes Roger could be downright irritating.

  “Look.” He pointed with his lamp.

  The passage ended in a T. One branch went right and one went left.

  “We should split up,” he said.

  “We agreed to stay together.”

  He gestured with his lamp. “Burning l
ow. We’ll have to get out soon. It might be better if we picked different doors. We’d learn where there were two doors instead of only one, and maybe one of us wouldn’t get caught.”

  So far the passages had been dusty and cobwebby but reasonably warm and dry. There hadn’t been any steep stairs or sharp drops. Other than confronting the ghost alone, the only real danger was when we went back out.

  “Okay. Pick,” I said.

  “Left.”

  “See you at lunch tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Roger said, and tipped his cap. “We’ll trade stories then.”

  I headed off, swinging my lamp from side to side, eager to find a door. I wouldn’t tell Roger for anything in the world, but the sooner I got out, the better. I’d had enough dark spaces to last me for a while. I walked on until I found a stair leading down.

  The stair wound like a snake, leveling off for a brief space before recommencing. The air grew colder and damper. My candle began to sputter. I would have turned around, but my legs trembled from exhaustion. I didn’t think I could climb back up. I figured I must be near the kitchens again, and I was looking forward to a nice warm hearth.

  And then the stair ended and the passage sloped down. I crept forward, raking the walls with my light, searching for a lever. Ahead, the passage came to a dead end. What now?

  I combed the lichen-covered dead-end wall with my light. It sparkled on a rusty chain hanging from the ceiling. With a deep breath, I stretched up and yanked on it.

  The wall rattled and then cranked aside, revealing a black void. I stepped out. The wall closed behind me. I squinted, wondering where in the castle this could be—and how much longer my candle would last.

  Then I saw it.

  A wavering shape lingered in the air before me. I was all alone in a dark hole somewhere in the castle. No one knew where I was. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And worst of all, no one to hear me scream.

  “Yipe!” I squeaked.

  That’s when the ghost reached out and grabbed me.

  The hand that held me wasn’t filmy or foggy; it was solid. It yanked me so hard that my boot heels scraped the stone beneath me. Arms flailing, I tumbled into its grasp, dropping my carriage lamp. The ghost snorted in surprise.

  It pulled me close. Fringe tickled my face. The smell of unwashed socks assaulted my nose. The hand holding me felt icy cold through the fabric of my sleeve.