Kate's Story, 1914

by Adele Whitby

  “I’ll run and tell Hank,” Shannon said. “He’ll be as grateful as I am, Miss Kate. And then I’ll return at once to help you finish packing, Lady Beth.”

  After Nellie and Shannon had left, I reached for the brush to help Beth with her hair. “Kate, you’re American through and through,” she declared. “I don’t know how you came up with such a brilliant idea!”

  It was still dark the next morning when I was awakened by a sliver of light shining through the doorway to my bedroom.

  “Lady Beth. Miss Kate,” Shannon whispered. “It’s time to get up.”

  I bolted upright in bed. My twelfth birthday had arrived; that night, the entire town would arrive to celebrate. But what should’ve been the happiest day of my life had brought a tremendous sadness instead.

  “Happy birthday, Cousin Kate,” Beth said sleepily as she rubbed her eyes. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “So do I,” I replied. I wiggled into the dress that Shannon had laid out for me.

  “I’ll have to say good-bye here, Lady Beth,” Shannon said. “I can’t risk being seen outside.”

  I didn’t want to intrude on Beth and Shannon’s last moments together, so I excused myself and went downstairs. The stars were twinkling high above Vandermeer Manor when I found Hank and Nellie standing by the car. Nellie had left her uniform behind. Instead, she wore a simple blue dress with a gray traveling coat over it. The trunks had already been loaded; as soon as Beth came out, they would leave for the train station.

  “I can’t ever thank you enough, Nellie,” Hank was saying, his cap in his hands. “This is a kindness that we’ll never forget. We’ll do our best to repay you.”

  “Nonsense,” Nellie said. “I’m thrilled for this chance, Hank. A week from now I’ll be in England!”

  Then Nellie saw me. “Miss Kate,” she began. She stopped, at a loss for words.

  My smile felt crooked. “I suppose this is good-bye,” I said. “Nellie, you’ve been—”

  My voice trailed off. How could I begin to tell Nellie how much she meant to me? She’d been by my side for years now, helping me solve every problem, meeting my every need. I could hardly bear to face the reality that we would never again share a story in the stolen minutes of our days.

  “You’ve been more than my lady’s maid,” I finally said. “You’ve been my friend.”

  “And you’ve been mine,” Nellie replied. “Please, Miss Kate, I know I’ve no right to ask, but you will keep in touch, I hope. I’d be so excited to receive a letter from you.”

  “Of course I’ll write to you,” I told her. “Otherwise, how will you ever find out the secrets of The Hidden History of Castle Claremont?”

  Nellie grinned at me as I reached out to hug her. We both heard something jangle in her pocket.

  “My keys!” Nellie gasped. “I almost forgot. Would you give these to Shannon? There’s a key here for every lock in the house.”

  “Certainly,” I replied as I took the heavy key ring from Nellie.

  Then my cousin appeared in the doorway. My stomach clenched; the time to say good-bye had come.

  Beth crossed the courtyard quickly. “Cousin Kate,” she said. “It’s not good-bye. It’s not. I’ll see you again soon; I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes,” I said, wishing I could sound as certain as Beth seemed to feel. “I know.”

  “Listen. I left Essie’s journal under your pillow.”

  “But—”

  “I want you to have it,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find something that I missed. And keep working on the puzzle. I’m sure you’ll be able to crack the code.”

  In those last moments with my dear cousin, I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth: that the paper letters read APART FOREVER. Instead, I nodded, which was just as well, since the lump in my throat was making it hard to speak.

  “Convince your parents to send you to England,” Beth continued. “Better yet, all of you should come—even Alfie.”

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” I said. “Your second transatlantic voyage in as many weeks. You’re so brave.”

  My cousin shook her head. “I’ve always thought you were the brave one,” she replied.

  Hank cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s time to go,” he said quietly.

  Beth threw her arms around my neck. “Write me!” she cried. “Write me every day! I love you, Cousin Kate. The last few days have been the most wonderful days of my whole life.”

  “Mine too,” I said as I kissed my cousin on each cheek. “Travel safely, dear Beth. Please—please send us a telegram when you arrive. And if war should come—”

  Beth shook her head. “It won’t,” she said. “And even if it does, I’ll be safe at Chatswood.”

  “Be careful all the same,” I told her. “Nellie, take care of her for me, will you?”

  “You have my word, Miss Kate,” Nellie replied.

  “Good-bye! Good-bye!” I called, waving so hard I thought my wrist would break.

  Hank helped Beth and Nellie into the car, then closed the door behind them. I watched the car travel down the long driveway and turn onto the main road.

  And just like that, they were gone.

  The silence surrounding me was so steeped in sadness that I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew Shannon was awake, hiding somewhere in the house . . . but I wanted to be alone. I wandered through the empty hallways until I found myself in the little alcove where Beth and I had joined our necklaces. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a silver light over everything I could see. A few tears trickled down my face, but I wiped them away as fast as I could. I was twelve years old now, like my cousin, and I felt certain that she wasn’t crying in the back of the car. If Beth could be so brave to cross the Atlantic Ocean twice in two weeks, I could certainly buck up. I cupped my hands around the Katherine necklace. The cool weight of it made me feel better . . . a little better, at least.

  Then something out the window caught my eye. I hardly breathed as I leaned forward for a closer look.

  She was back.

  And she was walking toward the house.

  The mysterious figure moved slowly in the moonlight, once again dressed from head to toe in black. Her floor-length veil trailed behind her through the dewy grass. It is Blythe Fontaine, I thought. She’s spent the night searching the shore for her lost love.

  I was frozen to my spot; I felt as though I could do nothing but watch in horror as the ghostly figure approached Vandermeer Manor. Then, to my surprise, a second figure appeared. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a better look. It couldn’t be—it wasn’t possible—but—yes—

  It was Great-Grandmother Katherine.

  There was no mistaking her snow-white hair or the diamond-tipped sticks holding her hair in place. But what is Great-Grandmother Katherine doing outside at this hour? I wondered, suddenly feeling more curious than afraid. The veiled figure seemed to fall into step alongside my great-grandmother. I remembered that unsettling feeling Beth and I had experienced the day before—the sense we had that someone was watching us. I’d thought it was the ghost of Blythe Fontaine, but she had wished it was her great-grandmother. Then the most astonishing thought struck me.

  What if the ghost isn’t Blythe Fontaine? What if it’s . . . Elizabeth Chatswood?

  I didn’t dare blink.

  Does Great-Grandmother Katherine see her? I thought as the pair moved, side by side, toward the East Garden. Does she even know she’s there?

  Before I could figure out the answer, they vanished behind the hedge.

  My heart was pounding; my mind was whirling with questions. But I didn’t feel frozen anymore.

  I’m not sure what compelled me to move toward the door in the wall—the one that led to the closed-off East Wing. Then I realized that I needed to know just what was behind that door. I took a deep breath and reached for the brass knob. It was locked, but that was to be expected. And it wasn’t a problem.

  After all, I had Nellie’s keys.


  The smallest, most tarnished key on the ring fit perfectly. I heard a series of small clicks as the key turned in the lock. Then the door swung open.

  I stepped cautiously into the gloomy hallway. Heavy brocade curtains covered each window. They looked for all the world as though they hadn’t been opened in decades. At the first door off the hall, I paused to listen. When I didn’t hear anything, I turned the knob.

  I’m not sure what I expected to find—perhaps an empty room where my footsteps would echo across a bare floor. Or perhaps clouds of dust would rise as I walked among the hulking shadows cast by sheet-covered furniture. But I know I never imagined that I’d step into a tidy and perfectly furnished sitting room, where the open windows admitted silver rays of moonlight. Three doors at the opposite end of the room made me believe I was in some sort of apartment.

  These rooms aren’t closed, I thought as I looked at the ticking clock on the writing desk, the tall bookshelf, and the comfortable settee crowded with embroidered pillows. They’re very much in use. I think . . . I think someone lives here! But who?

  I stepped closer to the writing desk and reached for a shimmering silver chain. A dozen tiny attachments hung from it; they chimed as I lifted it off the desk. The necklace was as lovely as it was useful. The attachments included a tiny notebook and silver pencil, a thimble, a vial made of red glass, an oval locket studded with rubies, and even a tiny paint set.

  I was about to try it on when something else caught my eye: a framed daguerreotype of two girls. With one glance I could tell that they were twins—and I knew exactly who they were.

  “Hello, Katherine. Hello, Elizabeth,” I whispered. They looked to be about my age, wearing lacy white collars on their dresses. Though the image was somewhat grainy, there seemed to be the hint of a chain around each girl’s neck. Unfortunately, the daguerreotype had been cropped at their shoulders, so I couldn’t know for sure if the twins were wearing their special necklaces. And with their hair woven into braids, it was impossible to tell which twin was which.

  I studied the daguerreotype for several long minutes; then, with a sigh, I put it back on the desk. The image had survived for decades and traveled thousands of miles, but there was nothing it could tell me.

  Or was there?

  I looked closer and saw a thin edge of paper peeking out of the frame.

  Be still, I scolded my trembling fingers as I fumbled with the clasp on the back of the frame. It was stuck, as though it had been shut for many years; at last it gave, and I swung open the frame to reveal a folded piece of paper.

  It was a letter.

  I was about to read it when I heard something.

  “I hope she won’t be too grieved—”

  “No doubt the disappointment cuts deep—”

  A pair of voices at the other end of the apartment. And they were coming closer!

  I shoved the daguerreotype back into the frame and jammed the clasp closed. Then I dashed away from the East Wing as quickly as I could, pausing only to wrench Nellie’s keys out of the lock.

  It wasn’t until I had returned to my bedroom that I realized I was still holding the letter.

  I paced back and forth. Who had I heard talking in the East Wing? Who were they talking about? Was my mind playing tricks on me . . . or did one of them sound like Great-Grandmother Katherine?

  The letter. The letter. I turned it over and over in my hands. I knew that I shouldn’t have it. I had no right to take it, let alone read it . . . but how could I resist?

  9 January 1848

  My dearest daughter,

  The fates have not been kind to us, that my life should dim at the dawn of your adulthood. It is my greatest regret that I will not live to see you and your sister as women grown, married, perhaps mothers to girls of your own. I hold hope that the hole I leave in your life will be filled many times over with others who will cherish you as much as I do. Yet there may come times when you wish you could seek my counsel, and so I write this letter now for whenever you find yourself longing for your mother’s advice.

  This is it, I thought. This is one of the letters that Great-Great-Grandmother Mary wrote to the twins and Essie Bridges mentioned in her journal.

  My sweet child, it has been my privilege to watch you grow for the past eleven—nearly twelve—years. And though your childhood has yet to end, your father and I have been charged with the challenging task of deciding your future. Let me assure you that our decision was made with great care. When you are of age, you will marry your cousin, Maxwell Tynne, to fulfill the rules of inheritance. Maxwell is an honest and honorable young man and, I think, well suited for you. It is my great hope that your marriage will be a long and happy one, filled with love.

  So this is Elizabeth’s letter, I thought. Elizabeth Chatswood, who married Maxwell Tynne and stayed in England as the lady of Chatswood Manor while my great-grandmother journeyed to America. How strange that it had found its way to Vandermeer Manor when Elizabeth herself had never been able to make the trip. Maybe Great-Grandmother Katherine inherited it after Elizabeth passed away, I thought. But in that case, why was it in the East Wing—and not my great-grandmother’s room?

  I wonder if you have noticed yet how others look to you to lead them. Doubtless they are drawn to your strength, which I see reflected even in the fiery hues of your favorite color. Your dedication to your family; your commitment to everyone you meet; your compassion for those less fortunate. Daughter, you have been graced with all the characteristics you will need as the next lady of Chatswood Manor.

  I paused. Fiery hues . . . that must mean red. But everyone knew that red was Katherine’s favorite color. After all, I was wearing the ruby Katherine necklace at this very moment. So this letter must have been written to . . . Great-Grandmother Katherine? Now I was thoroughly confused.

  The hour grows late, and I still have one more letter to write before I retire. And so, my darling Elizabeth, I will conclude here. Please know today, tomorrow, and every day of your life how very proud you’ve made me and how very much I love you.

  Your loving mother

  A sudden chill overtook me as the words blurred before my eyes. So this really is Elizabeth’s letter, I thought in astonishment. How in the world did it end up in a hidden-away room of Vandermeer Manor?

  My teeth were chattering; my toes felt like ice. The sun was just starting to rise, but I felt like I’d been up for an entire day. Even though I’d already gotten dressed, I crawled back into bed and pulled the comforter all the way up to my chin. I was so lonesome, missing my cousin and Nellie, who were already on the train to New York. A few tears spilled from my eyes, soaking into the satin pillowcase. Don’t, I told myself fiercely. Don’t start.

  At some point I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I heard was footsteps in my room and a voice saying my name.

  “Miss Kate!”

  “Nellie, I’m awake,” I mumbled. “I’m awake.”

  “It’s not Nellie who’s calling you. It’s me, Gladys.”

  I bolted upright in bed. Of course—Nellie was gone now, and so was Beth. And if Gladys, my great-grandmother’s lady’s maid, had come to fetch me—

  “What time is it?” I asked, squinting at the clock. “Two o’clock? In the afternoon? Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

  Gladys raised an eyebrow. Of course, I thought. Who would wake me, with Nellie gone and Shannon hiding?

  “You’re wanted downstairs,” Gladys said. Her tone sounded ominous.

  “Why—for what—” I stammered.

  “Everyone knows. About Nellie.”

  “Oh,” was all I said. I followed Gladys down to the parlor, where I found Great-Grandmother Katherine, Father, Mother, Mr. Taylor, and Mrs. Taylor waiting for me. Shannon stood against the wall, with her head bowed. She refused to meet my eye.

  “Kate,” Mother said, breaking the tense silence in the room. Her tone was clipped. I could tell she was angry. “How could you think Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t notice that one
of her maids went missing? Where is Nellie?”

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I hated to see my mother upset. “In New York, I guess.”

  “So you knew about this cockamamy plan?” Father asked. His face looked stern, but I could see his eyes twinkling.

  “It’s not funny, William,” Mother said. “I don’t even know where to begin. How will we tell the Etheridges that we’ve sent a stranger to serve their daughter and live in their home?”

  “Nellie’s not a stranger,” I spoke up.

  “She’s a stranger to them,” Mother replied.

  “So what if one lady’s maid swaps with another—I don’t see the problem here,” Father said.

  “If I may, sir, it reflects poorly on the house,” Mr. Taylor said. He pulled off his spectacles and wiped them nervously with a large handkerchief.

  I felt a sudden pang of remorse as I watched Mr. Taylor fiddle with his specs. We all knew about the trouble he had with his sight, despite the pains he took to hide it. It had never occurred to me that our little switch would make him feel foolish.

  “They’ll think that Mrs. Taylor and I don’t have control of the staff, that such shenanigans are acceptable at Vandermeer Manor. And all because of a lovesick chauffeur and an impulsive lady’s maid!” he continued.

  “Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. Taylor said reproachfully. “Perhaps you and I should not be so quick to judge.”

  “I completely agree,” Great-Grandmother Katherine announced. “And on Kate’s twelfth birthday, no less! What a tempest in a teapot.”

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “I assume Nellie has free will,” my great-grandmother continued. “Perhaps she should’ve given proper notice, but if she chooses to vacate her position, so be it. I should think that if Nellie was good enough to serve our Kate, she’s good enough to serve anyone, anywhere—even at Chatswood Manor. And I ought to know. Really, it’s a tremendous stroke of good fortune that we had such a capable young lady willing and able to assume the role on such short notice. That’s you I’m talking about, Shannon. No need to stand there looking shamefaced. You’re not the first lass to fall in love, and you’ll not be the last.”