‘There is a page who is supposed to walk the length of the old corridor, said to be in search of his master. The corridor now being narrower, means that his route is through all the bedrooms, walking through the stone walls between each, as if they weren’t there.’
A howl of anguish sounded from Hugo. ‘You know I’ve got this thing about the supernatural. Why did you bring me here, when you knew it was reputed to be haunted?’
‘I didn’t realise you felt that strongly about it,’ Lady Amanda replied, with surprise in her voice. ‘I just thought it was one of your little idiosyncrasies.’
‘What idiosyncrasies?’ Hugo exclaimed, startled that she could think he had anything of the sort.
‘Well, I’ve heard you say ‘white rabbits’ on the first of every month since you’ve moved in. If you spill salt, you always make sure to dispose of it over your left shoulder; you never walk under Beauchamp’s ladder, and I have noticed that you sleep with a night light on. I thought your disapproval of “ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night” was like those: just things that you’d always done habitually, but nothing serious. You surely don’t believe in ghosts, do you?’
‘I’ll let you know when I see one,’ he replied, inching closer to the fire and carelessly tossing on another log. ‘Have you ever seen anything here?’
‘Of course I haven’t. I’m far too pragmatic to be seeing ghosts. They’d be wasting their time showing themselves to me, and they probably know that, and just don’t waste their psychic energy. But my mother always claimed she’d seen every ghost supposed to walk this castle.’
‘Thanks a bunch. I was just calming down a bit because you’d never had a sighting, and then you have to go and tell me about your blasted mother.’
‘But she would say anything to get attention, and you know that, because you knew her.’ Lady A was perplexed by what seemed to be a real fear.
‘To tell the truth,’ Hugo offered in explanation, ‘I’ve never really recovered from a trip on the ghost train at the seaside, when I was a child. I’ll admit to you, as I know it will go no further, that I messed my pants on that ride, and it seems to have scared me for life. I did think I’d got over it, but it would seem not.’
‘Come on – let’s have some of that cognac. A few nips of that, and you’ll sleep like a baby, and if you don’t think that’s enough, I’ve got a rather drinkable bottle of red wine that I secreted in my hold luggage, and a corkscrew in my handbag.’
‘Manda, you really do think of everything.
Chapter Three
Hugo woke several times in the night, but for a variety of reasons. A nightmare about ghostly apparitions had him awake in a cold sweat; the howling of the wind outside and the resultant smoke from the chimney woke him up coughing; finally, an urgent need to empty his bladder drove him from beneath the covers at five o’clock, giving him just enough time to contemplate the folly of drinking half a bottle of wine, as well as three cognacs, immediately before retiring.
At seven o’clock, he was roused again, this time by the family piper marching up and down outside, playing his bagpipes with infuriating enthusiasm. Hugo took a sudden and instant dislike to the pipe music that had always stirred his blood in the past, when he realised it was not just a quick rousing blast, but a performance that eventually lasted for a full half hour.
Exasperated beyond endurance, he made his way groggily to the bathroom in his dressing gown, and drowned out some of the volume of the music (!) with the running of water and the gurgles and bangs that the ancient water pipes made as they delivered the medium in which he would bathe. He could, after all, stick his head completely under the water, thus deafening himself to everything but the noise of the workings of his own body.
The hot water ran cold sooner than he expected, however, and he remembered Manda’s declaration of the night before, that the water was only scaldingly hot in the evening, and was determined, thereafter, to bathe before he went to bed. Maybe the warmth of the water would soothe him into the right state to get a good night’s sleep, if the piping devil was going to ply his anti-social trade right outside his bedroom window at the same time every morning during his stay here.
There had been no hot soothing cup of English Breakfast tea brought to their beds, as Beauchamp had not yet arrived, and the tea at breakfast proved as unedifying as the muddy coffee, being both lukewarm and almost too weak to be identified as tea. When Hugo tasted his, then looked at Lady Amanda in accusation, she stated bluntly, ‘Be careful what you ask for, Hugo, because you might just get it.’
The meal itself was of a similar quality. The bacon was fatty and over-cooked, the tomatoes from a tin, the eggs with yolks as hard as bullets, and the toast both dry and at the same time limp. There were no sausages or mushrooms, and what there was was offered in chafing dishes that completely lacked the ability to keep food warm.
At the breakfast table, his plate loaded with a selection of the poor fare on offer because he couldn’t bear the thought of being hungry as well as cold, Hugo noticed that he wasn’t the only one looking groggy from lack of sleep. Others, too, were gazing with bloodshot eyes at the other guests to check their condition, bags appending below their lower lids in protest at the lack of any real rest. Others, however, looked as fresh as a daisy, and this wide difference in the others’ appearance led him to ask Lady A about it.
‘The ones that have been here before use either ear-plugs, sleeping tablets, or both. I didn’t like to offer you any sleeping pills last night, as you always moan so much about the drugs you have to take for the pain in your joints.’ Lady A spoke roughly, her conscience troubled that she had not even thought of offering him some of her pills.
‘I say, that’s a bit unfair, when you knew how scared I was when I went to bed. You could’ve said something,’ Hugo replied, his voice like that of a petulant child.
‘I’m so sorry, old chap. I’ll let you have some of my sleep bombs tonight. I’ve brought plenty with me, and if they don’t agree with you, you can have my spare pair of ear-plugs for the night after.’
‘That’s more like it, although I’d like to strangle that damned piper,’ he retorted.
‘You won’t want to, after the hoolie we’ll be having tonight. He plays like a dream for the reels and other dances. He’s played for the Queen, you know. There aren’t many as good as him in the whole of Scotland.’
‘Then I shall beg to borrow your earplugs for the occasion. He’s very loud. Although, I suppose if I didn’t wear them, I might go to bed quite deaf, and then nothing could disturb me.’
‘Except for the glowing figure of a spectre leaning over you,’ Lady A retorted, with conscious cruelty. It was time Hugo got over his childhood scare, and faced up to his fear like a man, albeit an old one.
Beauchamp and Enid arrived halfway through the afternoon, Beauchamp not a jot worried about the snowfall, which had not been heavy, his companion, Enid, totally relaxed as she had complete confidence in his driving skills, and the weight of the old car to keep them from skidding too much.
Angus Hamilton tottered out to relieve them of the car, and directed them round to the servants’ entrance, which was to the east side of the castle, and both of them surveyed the monstrous edifice of the place, both having fairly accurate thoughts as to the level of comfort offered by this huge pile of forbidding stone.
They let themselves in carrying only their suitcases; everything else could wait a while before Beauchamp transferred it to his quarters. There was not much activity at this time of day, because luncheon was over, and it was not quite time to start the preparation of the evening meal. Afternoon tea in this household was only a broken dream confined to the past.
They located the servants’ hall by the sound of two female voices raised in anger, and followed this to find a large room with a small number of staff sitting about taking no notice whatsoever of the row, which had now progressed past the insults and curses stage to hair-pulling and scratching.
Taking a look round at the others, who still ignored the fight and the new arrivals, Beauchamp strode across to the two women, now locked in the throes of a bitch-fight, and pulled them apart, holding each at arm’s length, until he could extract what the cause of this unseemly behaviour was.
‘Behave yourselves, ladies!’ he ordered them, his voice slightly raised to gain their attention. ‘What has driven you to such disgraceful behaviour? I insist that you explain yourselves.’
An extremely fat woman, who had been sitting quietly knitting, slowly turned round, laying her needlework on her lap, to see who owned this unfamiliar voice, and was intervening on what she considered to be her territory. ‘And who might you be?’ she asked, looking daggers at the two interlopers, one of which had definitely trodden on her toes, metaphorically. She was the one who meted out discipline, as and when she thought it necessary.
Rising from her seat, she hollered, ‘Who the hell do you think you are, molesting those girls like that?’
‘And who the hell do you think you are, not intervening in what was becoming a very unpleasant fight?’ Beauchamp yelled back at her. It wasn’t often that he lost his temper, but the way the two girls were clawing at each other, without a soul to come to their aid, had really riled him.
‘I am the cook in this household, and responsible for staff discipline,’ she answered, red in the face from the sudden flood of anger at his transgression on to her territory.
‘And I am a peaceable visiting valet,’ he replied, his dignity recovered. ‘I’m with Lady Amanda Golightly and Mr Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump. And this is Mrs Enid Tweedie, lady’s maid to her ladyship.’
He still had both girls at arms’ length, and he surveyed them now, as they calmed down. ‘Is it safe for me to put you two down?’ he asked, ‘or will you start up again where you left off?’
‘I’ll see to them,’ replied the obese woman, who certainly looked like a woman who was in charge of all the household food. ‘I’m Mrs MacTavish,’ she informed him, her own temper also reined in. ‘Mary, Sarah: wait in my parlour, and I’ll deal with you later when I’ve welcomed these two to our establishment,’ she ordered the two combatants, rolling her ‘r’s at them, like marbles across the stone floor.
Approaching Beauchamp and Enid, she held out a work-roughened red hand, and greeted them both with, ‘Please call me Janet, and I hope we haven’t got off on the wrong footing.’
‘What was all that about?’ Beauchamp asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
‘Both visiting, like yourselves. They’ve been here before, and they always go on like that, so we just ignore them now. Sarah, the big one and lady’s maid to Mrs Ruthven, is a Fraser. Mary, the little one, who’s lady’s maid to Mrs Smellie, is a Campbell. Fraser’s always taunting her by saying it was the Campbells who betrayed her family, and therefore they’re mortal enemies.
‘Mary defends her name by pleading that it was all hundreds of years ago, and nothing to do with her, as well Sarah knows, but that doesn’t discourage her from starting a fight whenever she can. Sarah’s impossible, dwelling too much on the past and old grudges, and doesn’t seem capable of understanding that it’s wrong of her to persecute Mary so, so I just leave them to it. They’ll be gone in a couple of days, and peace will return – until their next visit, which I hope is a vera long time in the future.’
‘I can see now how tedious it must seem to you all,’ admitted Beauchamp. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce us to the other staff, before someone tells us where our rooms are.’
‘Of course. I was distracted by the circumstances under which you arrived. Mary and Sarah you’ve already had a run-in with. The lady sitting by the fire reading is Evelyn Awlle, lady’s maid to Lady Siobhan, although why her mother gave the mistress an Irish name, I’ve never understood.
‘The gentleman leaning on the fireplace cleaning out his pipe is Walter Waule, the master’s valet and butler, should the occasion arise when he needs both. The gent sitting at the table tying flies for fishing is Jock Macleod, the piper, and – ah, here he comes now,’ she said, as the elderly man who had taken charge of the Rolls entered the room.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is Angus Hamilton, chauffeur of this establishment. Everybody, may I introduce you to Beauchamp and Enid Tweedie, who will be joining us for the duration of the Burns’ Night visit.’
‘Is this all the staff?’ asked Beauchamp, looking around him in wonder at the sparse number of bodies.
‘It’s Sir Cardew’s doing,’ she told him. ‘He went on an economy drive about two years ago, and got rid of a deal of bodies from the inside staff, and it’s been vera difficult to cope ever since. That’s why folks ha to bring their aen staff this past two years,’ she explained briefly.
There was much shaking of hands for introduction, before Janet told them where their rooms were, and asked Evelyn if she would be good enough to show them the way, as she was based in the castle. ‘And if you would be good enough to direct me to where the car is kept, I have some things to transfer to my room,’ Beauchamp requested.
‘Angus,’ Janet named her victim. Please go out to Mr Beauchamp’s car and transfer the contents up to his room, while Evelyn shows them their quarters. They’ll need some time to unpack, so I think that’s the least you could do for them.’
With a muttered, ‘Havers, woman!’ Angus vacated the seat he had just taken, and tottered off to do Cook’s bidding.
Evelyn led them from the servants’ hall down a long corridor, and then up the twisting spiral of an ancient and worn stone staircase, which enjoyed virtually no natural light. Enid squeaked with anxiety, but Evelyn merely said, ‘Don’t worry, dearie. You’ll soon get used to it. You’ll probably be up and down enough to have learnt it before tomorrow bedtime.’ Her accent was not quite as strong as Cook’s.
Enid squeaked again, this time with trepidation, at this awful prediction.
At a quarter to four, a discreet knock on the door of Lady Amanda’s bedroom produced a squeal of delight from within, and she hurried away from the hand of whist which she and Hugo were playing, to answer the familiar knock. ‘Beauchamp!’ she cried, as if she hadn’t seen him in years. ‘Enid! How lovely to see you. Do come in.’
They entered, Beauchamp carrying a large tea tray which he had filched from the kitchen, the rest of the ingredients necessary to providing afternoon tea now being safely established in his room, including a small camping stove. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of choosing Earl Grey – I have lemon, should you require it – and Enid has the biscuit barrel with some of your favourite thin arrowroot biscuits.’
‘Oh, Beauchamp, Enid, seeing you here is like a castaway sighting a ship,’ said Lady Amanda with real sincerity.
‘Hear hear!’ added Hugo. ‘This is an absolutely ghastly place, and I can’t believe I let Manda talk me into this trip. I can see why she’s always been unavailable in the past.’
Lady A gave him an old-fashioned look, but did not defend herself, all present knowing the real reason they had come all this way. Instead, she said, ‘Would you please be mother, Enid, dear?’ the wording of this request enough to convince anyone of how genuinely pleased she was to see the new arrivals.
Halfway through tea, Lady A, dunking her biscuits in a most vulgar manner, explained, ‘As tonight is the big celebration, and they seem to be a bit short of staff, here, since I last visited, I expect you’ll both be asked to help out in the dining room. Beauchamp, you’ll probably have to take the part of a footman, because of your height, and I expect you’ll be asked to aid with the serving, Enid.’
Enid squeaked again. It was beginning to herald the forming of a habit. ‘But I’ve never served at table before in a place like this,’ she piped, her voice shrill with anxiety. ‘I’ve never even been in a place like this before.’
‘Don’t worry about a thing. It’s the same as serving at much less grand tables. Just serve everything from the left, and try not to drop any ‘neeps�
� or tatties down any of the ladies’ décolletages.’
‘Great! Now you’ve said that, I’m probably going to do it. And what the heck are ‘neeps’ and ‘tatties’?’ she asked, wondering what exotic ingredients these could be. She had led a sheltered English life in Belchester.
‘Turnips and potatoes, Enid. The Scots have little imagination when it comes to food,’ replied Lady A, with a sweeping denunciation of Scottish cuisine in its entirety.
‘I won’t have to serve the haggis, will I?’ she almost squealed, just thinking about the accidents that could happen.
‘Absolutely not!’ Lady A assured her. ‘Cardew always does that. Just don’t worry about it and everything will be fine.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Enid would not let herself be reassured.
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it,’ replied Lady A, unsympathetically.
The dressing gong boomed dismally at six o’clock, and the guests departed for their rooms to dress for this, the object of their visit. At least the food would be edible, Burns’ Night always considered one of the great celebration days, in this household.
Beauchamp and Enid had been requested not to help them dress, as they had been perfectly capable of carrying out this personal task since they had been children. Lady A and Hugo would be dressing in their new tartan finery, and both paid special attention to their appearances for the occasion. At least the huge grim wardrobes boasted full length mirrors on the interior of their doors.
At six-twenty, the discreet knock on Lady A’s door heralded the arrival of Beauchamp and his silver tray, holding only two glasses this evening. Enid floated behind him like a little cloud, a small ice-bucket held with two tea-cloths, to stop her freezing her fingertips. ‘What, no cocktail for you two tonight?’ queried Lady Amanda. ‘And why’s Enid carrying a blasted bucket?’
‘All will be revealed in due course. I’m afraid we’re both on duty, your ladyship, and it would not be seemly for us to appear with alcohol on our breath,’ he replied, with dignity.
Belchester Box Set Page 38
