by Jack Murray
As he arrived, he caught sight of a lone figure walking in through the snow at the back. It was hard to tell but it could have been Cavendish. The figure seemed to be heading towards the cottage he and Miller had seen earlier. Probably just a Christmas visit, he thought, and turned away from the window.
Chapter 9
All of the guests sat at the long dining table. The table had been elaborately laid with flowers in the centre and holly leaves scattered around. Little reindeer and snowmen were also present on the table creating a sense of delight in the guests as they entered. The room was lit by the warm glow of candlelight. At each place on the table rested silver cutlery glistening on either side of white porcelain plates.
Cavendish sat at the head of the table with his granddaughters either side of him, the gentlemen sat in the middle with Lady Emily at the opposite end of the table from Cavendish. The atmosphere was now more relaxed than Kit had expected. The good humour of Strangerson, the vivacity of the sisters as well as the apparent ceasefire between Lady Emily and Cavendish worked to create a happy feeling in the group that even the glum features of Henry could do little to dispel.
Kit took a look at the printed menu card. There would be seven courses, which struck Kit as excessive. Not all of them appealed either. Oysters were definitely something he regarded with suspicion, as evidently did the girls but Cavendish and Strangerson enjoyed them immensely. Curtis made a great show of serving an excellent Bouillon, this was followed by salmon freshly caught that day, then quail with truffles, all of which were superb. Kit resolved to pay his compliments to Elsie.
Three dessert courses followed consisting of crackers with cheese, Nesselrode pudding and, finally fruit with coffee. By the end, Kit was rather full despite his best efforts to avoid over indulging. Throughout the meal, Curtis had ensured all of the wine glasses were constantly topped up although Kit observed all the ladies drank sparingly and Henry did not drink wine at all.
The gentlemen were determined not to be so temperate and the table was relatively convivial. Lady Emily maintained her good behavior and chatted amiably to Strangerson. It was clear from occasional overheard snatches of conversation that Strangerson was telling them about time with Robert. Naturally, he painted a very positive portrait of a brave officer loved by his men. Lady Emily was delighted to hear such a good opinion of her dead husband. Henry listened intently, said little and offered no hint of what he was thinking.
Once the coffees were finished the group stood up, whereupon Mary said, ‘I hope we are not going to be so old fashioned as to have the gentlemen retire for brandies and ever so serious conversation about the state of world.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Esther, ‘I think the men should join the ladies for conversation about clothes, hairstyles and puppies.’
‘Hats, let’s not forget hats Essie,’ said Mary in a mock shrill voice and gesticulating with her index finger. ‘We need to understand what’s being worn, this season in Paris. It simply won’t do, not to know.’
‘We must know Mary. We simply must know otherwise how can we, possibly, be seen in public?’ agreed Esther.
Cavendish put his arms up in the air to indicate surrender. ‘An old soldier knows when it’s time to make a tactical retreat. As it looks like the ladies are not going to permit us to escape to our brandy and cigars, I propose we go into the drawing room instead.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Strangerson.
They all moved to the drawing room except Lady Emily who decided to retire early. This was the first time Kit had been in the drawing room and he liked it on first sight. A welcoming fire greeted all and Curtis had laid out several glasses along with a full decanter of a fine brandy. Strangerson looked at it appreciatively as Cavendish lifted it and offered to pour the drinks
The room was large and was decorated with many fine paintings including one Gainsborough, if Kit was not mistaken. ‘I say, what a beautiful piano,’ said Strangerson upon seeing the grand piano in the corner of the room. ‘May I ask who plays?’
‘Do you play Mr Strangerson?’ asked Mary teasingly.
‘Not a note, I’m afraid. Matched by my singing, really,’ admitted Strangerson, untruthfully, but to everyone’s amusement. Even Henry managed a smile. Kit looked towards the Esther and Mary and raised an eyebrow.
In answer to this unasked query, Mary said, ‘Well, I can tell you Essie plays beautifully, and her voice is angelic. Isn’t it true, grandpapa?’
‘Nonsense, Mary,’ interrupted Esther turning red.
‘It’s true, gentlemen, Esther plays as beautifully as she sings,’ confirmed Cavendish.
‘Then I’m afraid, Esther, you are out voted.’ said Kit.
‘Hmmm, as usual, a woman is disenfranchised by the men,’ observed Mary sardonically.
‘You’re right Mary,’ agreed Kit. ‘How would you vote if you had the franchise?’
‘I vote Essie should play,’ said Mary, turning to her sister with a grin.
‘Whose side are you on darling sister?’ laughed Esther but she duly sat at the piano as the rest of the party surrounded her. This brought a round of applause and a “Brava” from Strangerson.
‘Well, I think a Christmas carol would be appropriate,’ said Esther and she began to caress the ivory keys. Her voice was as angelic as Mary had promised. Kit was entranced.
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan;
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
The sombre melody and the singing captured the melancholy that hung in the air of Cavendish Hall. Kit also felt he could get carried away by the emotion and gripped his seat tightly to retain control. By the end of the carol, Mary had joined her. The effect of the combined voices was intoxicating. Mary’s voice was exquisite also, however, she let Esther lead and sang harmony except on keynotes when their voices soared in unison and became one. At the end of the hymn the performance drew rapturous acclaim from all. Esther broke into an embarrassed smile as Mary hugged her.
‘I much prefer the Holst version also,’ said Kit, adding, ‘Beautiful.’ It was not clear if he was only referring to the singing. This brought a glance from Mary and a satisfied smile from Cavendish.
For the next half hour, the two girls played a selection of Christmas hymns and managed to rope Kit in to sing on a couple. He had a fine tenor and had clearly sung before, but not in Kings College, he added. With the end of the music, the party sat down on the two large sofas facing one another in the middle of the room.
‘What shall we do now?’ asked Esther.
‘Well, I’m doing rather well with this brandy,’ interjected Strangerson, causing a ripple of laughter.
‘It’s an Armagnac, 1870 I think, if you’re interested,’ replied Cavendish. ‘Anyway, I think I have an idea for what we can do next, and it involves, you, Mary.’
All eyes turned to Mary, who rolled her eyes, as she guessed what Cavendish was about to say. Esther clapped her hands delightedly, ‘Great idea, grandpapa, we haven’t done this in ages,’
‘Well, we’re all fascinated,’ said Kit gazing into the eyes of Mary. In response, Mary narrowed her eyes seemingly to declare war, which made Kit smile even more.
-
In the kitchen, a fragile peace existed as the staff enjoyed their dinner. Miller complimented Elsie on a wonderful meal and was seconded by Godfrey. Elsie beamed with pride and thanked everyone. It would be fair to say she had been beaming for most of the last hour the inevitable consequence of her natural disposition towards sociability. Curtis guessed another five minutes would see her sleeping head first on the table. He glanced meaningfully at Miss Buchan, who had also read the signs.
‘Elsie and Polly, I think we should, perhaps, retire. Leave the gentlemen to their festivities. It will be a long day tomorrow,’ said Miss Buchan.
Polly looked like she was about to object but a stern look from Miss Buchan dissuaded her from saying anything. However, she hoped her face communicated enou
gh of the protest she felt. Rising up with a sigh she stropped over to Miss Buchan in order to help Elsie up from the chair and to her room. Curtis smiled benignly at Miss Buchan to acknowledge his foresight.
As a manservant, treading a line between nobility on one side and domestic staff on the other, Miller had ample opportunity, which he rarely refused, to make sport of the people he encountered. Often these people would be blissfully unaware of what he was doing. With a wink towards Devlin and Godfrey he said, ‘Very sensible move, Mr Curtis. I could see Elsie was perhaps over-indulging.’
‘Quite so,’ said Curtis with just the hint of a slur. ‘I believe I have a duty to take care of the staff and protect them from themselves.’
‘Your actions do you credit Mr Curtis,’ continued Miller.
‘Thank you Mr Miller. Of course, I seek no credit, nor expect it. It’s all part of the job,’ he finished modestly.
Devlin, by this stage, was struggling to contain his laughter and excused himself under the guise of a coughing fit. He went outside. Miller took this as his cue to bring an end to his mischief. He excused himself and joined Devlin outside.
‘Hope you don’t mind all that, just a bit of fun,’ said Miller.
‘No, I enjoyed it. Needs taking down a peg or two sometimes,’ replied Devlin.
‘Gets above himself then?’ suggested Miller.
Devlin offered Miller a cigarette, ‘He does with us. Not with the Cavendish’s though. He knows better.’ He struck a match and lit both their cigarettes, then continued, ‘If anything ever happened to Lord Cavendish, I wouldn’t be sorry to see Curtis out on his ear.’
‘Doesn’t seem to be any love lost with Lady Emily and company.’
‘None, that’s for sure, I think there’s a lot of history there though, so who knows? Not sure about the rest of us. I think we’d be alright, one thing or another.’
The night had a chill, both could feel their skin freezing. They quickly finished their cigarettes and stuffed their hands in their pockets. Miller looked up at the moon. It shone clearly in the cloudless night sky. Snowflakes fell quietly onto his upturned face. They melted on his skin creating the impression of tears trickling down his cheek. He went back inside.
-
Mary smiled at the party then glanced at her grandfather who seemed to be enjoying the suspense he had created. ‘I believe that my troublemaking grandfather is suggesting I tell you a ghost story.’
This brought laughter from Cavendish, excited clapping from Esther and a warm smile from Kit, who folded his arms and settled back into his seat. ‘Comfortable my lord?’ she asked archly.
Kit laughed and said he was very comfortable and looking forward to the tale while Strangerson added to the pressure on Mary by concluding that it was a capital idea. He, too, looked on expectantly.
Mary made a face towards Esther, who merely shrugged then grinned. ‘I must add, I do this under mild duress. It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these and I’m, sadly, somewhat out of practice.’
‘Objection noted,’ said Esther without sympathy, ‘Please proceed.’
Mary rolled her eyes once more. Although clearly reluctant she finally began her tale, ‘This story is entitled,’ she paused for dramatic effect, but also to think up a suitably macabre title, ‘The Curse of Cavendish Hall.’
Chapter 10
The Curse of Cavendish Hall – A Ghost Story
It was, as far I can ascertain, Christmas Eve in the year of our Lord 1810. On a night such as this, a wintry wind blew, and snow fell heavily leaving all of the Lincolnshire countryside draped in white. It was so cold nobody from the village of Little Gloston dared show their face outside lest they suffer a very real danger of exposure.
On this night, an old man, a tramp probably, walked along, what he took to be, a trail leading towards the village. The lights were visible not half a mile away. He trudged with difficulty through the thick snow, his feet cold and wet, ill protected by the old boots that had long since seen better days.
The intense cold burned through his meager clothing and made tenancy in his bones. Worse still was his hunger, which made him weak and ensured progress to the village was slow. Without access to heat and some food, he knew he was in serious risk of dying from either hunger or exposure. This was no weather for a man, such as he, of over three score and ten years.
On and on, he trekked, occasionally stumbling. Every time he dragged himself up, it sapped more of his spirit. But give in he would not. With the last of his strength he made it to the village.
Little Gloston has barely changed the last two hundred years. Then, as now, it comprises no more than a dozen or two small dwellings, a public house, a village Post office and store. This is what the man encountered as he entered the village. He made his way to the public house praying it was open.
It was not. The doors were locked and, looking inside the front window, there was only darkness. Perchance he perceived a light in the village store. The door was locked but he knocked. For a few minutes he rapped at the door until he heard the noise of a man with keys grumbling on the other side, ‘Who is it?’
‘A traveler, please, help me.’
‘What are you doing out on a night like this?’
The traveler was too tired to answer. Unable to stand any longer he collapsed against the door. However, his spirit rose as he heard the sound of the keys in the door. It opened whereupon he was met by the aggravated appearance of the shopkeeper Isaac Nettlestone.
‘What do you think you’re about then?’ said the shopkeeper gruffly.
‘I’m sorry sir. I am lost and desperately in need of some hot food and a place to sleep. Could I trouble you for a little food?’ said the old man.
Nettlestone was a crotchety man just past fifty years. However, he was not a bad man and took pity on the plight of the old stranger. Helping him up, he brought him inside and gave him a seat.
‘Wait here,’ said Nettlestone. ‘Mrs Nettlestone, we have a visitor.’
‘A what?’
‘You heard me Mrs Nettlestone. A visitor. Don’t ask me what he’s doing out on this night.’
Mrs Becky Nettlestone arrived to take charge of the situation. She was a formidable lady. Short but plump, she contrasted with the tall, lean figure of her husband. She looked at the stranger and then at her husband. Nothing on her face suggested the sight of either of them gave her any pleasure.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ she asked both.
‘A little food madam, and I’ll be on my way.’
‘Where?’ asked Mrs Nettlestone.
‘Can you recommend anywhere I can stay? I have no money.’
‘Well there isn’t any room at the inn, that’s for sure,’ laughed Nettlestone. ‘Where do you think he could go, Mrs Nettlestone?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know, but we have no room here.’ She emphasized, before leaving the front of the shop and going into the back. ‘I’ll bring you hot soup in a moment.’
Nettlestone raised his eyes in the universal way men do when they want to indicate how the distaff side has neither sense nor rationality, when clearly the opposite is true.
‘You’re very kind,’ said the man. ‘I can never repay your kindness…’
‘I know, but let’s put our minds to where you can stay.’ He eyed the stranger’s attire. Clearly, he was at risk from exposure. A thought occurred to him. He had an old coat he was looking to throw away. It was not without holes, but it looked distinctly warmer than what the stranger was wearing. It would serve to be worn over the other coat allowing an extra layer of protection. He went to retrieve the coat from a wardrobe.
When he returned, the stranger was greedily partaking of a bowl of steaming soup. Liquid clung to his beard. It was clear he had not eaten ere a long time. When he had consumed the soup, in what seemed like seconds, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and began to offer thanks to Nettlestone and his wife. Nettlestone waved him away, graciously.
‘So, do we h
ave a solution to this problem?’ asked Mrs Nettlestone, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide the edge in her voice.
‘What about the old stable at Cavendish Hall? It’s hardly a quarter of a mile up the road. Best of all, it will shelter him from the snow and it has plenty of hay to keep him warm.’
‘Mr Nettlestone!’ exclaimed his wife, ‘You have arrived at an excellent solution.’
Excellent because it took away the problem of the stranger, thought Nettlestone, but he remained silent. The old man, stood up and tried on the coat. It fitted well over his other coat. Nettlestone had also managed to find a hat. With expressions of gratitude from the old man, the couple waved him goodbye, wishing him a happy Christmas, with no sense of irony.
The old man felt refreshed, warmer if not quite full following his repast. He set off in the direction they had told him. He tramped through the snow towards a large wooden building, a few hundred yards ahead. It had stopped snowing and the wind had dropped. However, it remained bitterly cold. There were no windows in the stable; protection against the cold would be a limited affair. As he neared the building, he could see, with some relief, there was a lot of straw. This would offer some protection and he gave thanks to the almighty for this small mercy.
A few minutes later he spied, further ahead, Cavendish Hall. In the purple gloom he could make out the large silhouette against the sky and the luminosity of the snow. All of a sudden, he detected a light in a downstairs window. A part of him was surprised but he could not explain why.
Reinvigorated by the temporary stop with Nettlestone, he resolved to continue his progress up to the Hall with the intention of going to the back door and attracting the attention of the domestic staff. They might be able to find a warmer situation for him than the stable, perhaps even a bed in the staff quarter, dare he hope even some food?
He turned and began to walk towards the large house. The wind rose and blew into his face, almost like it was trying to prevent him reaching his destination. The cold had made it icy underfoot. At one point he fell. There was a stab of pain in his leg so strong it caused him to pass out.
