Clementine shrugged sulkily. “I don’t know but, you’re right, something amazing did happen and I just thought … that we should enjoy it for a moment - even celebrate it - instead of killing it with scientific study.”
“Celebrate it?”
“Yes!” Clementine said irritably. “By that, I mean ‘do something fun’!”
“Fun?” Gilbert said, as though it were a foreign word.
“Yes, Gilbert Thackeray! Fun! Something you do simply because it makes you feel happy to be alive!” She leaned over his desk and glared at him. “Try to think of it as a good thing rather than an annoying distraction from work,” she exclaimed, trying to infect him with some of her enthusiasm. “What do you think of that? We could go for a walk and sing like we did the other day. That was fun!”
“For you, maybe. I thought I was going mad.” Gilbert picked up his pen again. “We can go for a walk later, once we have something tangible to work with.”
Clementine stared at him in narrowed-eyed fury. “Fine! Then I shall go myself!” she said and flew from the study. She went down the hallway, brushing past Hetty who shrieked and frantically spun around in circles. Ignoring the silly girl’s histrionics, Clementine reached the front door. She would show Gilbert she didn’t need his permission for anything. After all, she was a spectre now and she could exactly what she liked! The garden was beckoning. She pushed through the wooden door - and came to an abrupt halt. She was still inside! Why hand’t she simply passed through? She tried again. This time, just in case the problem was a lack of speed, she took a run up - and slammed into the wood.
Fuming, the Princess stormed back to the study. Hetty was still in the corridor where Clementine had left her. “Boo!” she shouted in the maid’s ear and smirked wickedly as the girl ran screaming into the kitchen. Gilbert was exactly where she had left him. His head was bent over his papers and he was scratching his pen furiously across the page.
“What did you do to the front door?” Clementine demanded furiously. Gilbert kept his head down, his pen barely pausing.
“What are you talking about woman?” He asked, clearly amused by her accusatory tone.
“I mean I cannot pass through the front door!”
Gilbert looked up at that. “Interesting!” he said excitedly, quickly scribbling a few more notes.
“No, Gilbert Thackeray! It is not interesting. I wish to go outside!”
Gilbert rubbed his chin as he sat in his chair, deep in thought. “This has to be something to do with the connection we share,” he said finally. Moments passed while he stared at her impassively but said nothing. Then: “I wish I knew what it was.”
“Hmm?” Clementine mimicked his pose. “Perhaps it has something to do with my intense desire to throw things at you.”
He smiled at that. “I’m not sure that’s enough of a connection. Have you perhaps been harbouring a secret affection for me? That might explain it.”
Clementine’s eyes widened. “Oh, I think we can rule that out as a possibility, Gilbert Thackeray!”
Much to Clementine’s enormous irritation, he laughed. “Then we shall just have to think of something else then,” he said and bent his head back to his papers as if there was nothing more to be said.
Stubborn man! Clementine thought crossly. If Gilbert would not entertain her, she would find a way to amuse herself. With that thought firmly in her mind, she left the study.
“I tell you, ‘twas a ghost!”
“What nonsense!” Mrs Finn said, handing Hetty a cloth. “Dry your eyes and get on with the job you’re paid to do.”
“I’m not going back out there! It’s after me!” Hetty squealed and then started to blub again.
Hill shrugged and, leaving Mrs Finn to deal with the hysterical maid, returned to the task of preparing the beef for dinner.
“It was probably just a draught,” Mrs Finn said, more gently this time in an effort to appease the girl. “Mr Thackeray has complained of that himself.”
“No it weren’t!” Hetty hissed, “I bet it were the ghost of old Granbury, come back to haunt us!”
“That mean old codger is well and truly gone and good riddance too!”
“Hush Mrs Finn!” Hetty shrieked, crossing herself. “He’ll hear you and then we’ll all be done for!” Mrs Finn poured some tea into a cup and passed it to Hetty.
“Here, drink this and then you can give Mr Thackeray the package that arrived from the Booksellers.”
“I’m not going in there,” Hetty repeated, but sulkily this time. “He’s a raving lunatic, talking to ‘imself and waving his arms around as though there’s summat there when none of us can see owt!”
“Hush yourself, girl!” Mrs Finn said furiously. “You’ll not speak of the master that way!”
As Clementine watched the drama unfold, she had an idea. It occurred to her that it was better for the servants to see the ghost for themselves than to believe Gilbert was going mad. She snatched one of the serving cloths from the work top and ran around the table, flapping it behind her. At first, the three women just stared in amazement as the cloth danced around the kitchen, Then, Hetty and Hill ran screaming from the kitchen. Mrs Finn, being the most stoical of the three, waited for the cloth to pass by and wrenched it from Clementine’s grasp.
“What in the blue blazes is going on?” she muttered as she looked the cloth over. “Hill! Get back in here!”
The cook poked her head nervously around the kitchen door, “Is it safe?” she asked. Clementine chose that moment to bang the saucepans hanging over the hearth, setting them swinging and clattering together and creating a dreadful din. This time, even the staid Mrs Finn rushed out of the kitchen and all three women ran screaming up the corridor.
Clementine was quite pleased with herself. Not only had she proved Gilbert wasn’t mad but she had thoroughly enjoyed herself to boot!
Hearing the usually steadfast Mrs Finn hollering his name, Gilbert stepped out of his study and was confronted by the sight of all three of his servants running at full pelt down the corridor.
“What on earth is going on?” he demanded as they all started shouting at once. “Ladies! Calm yourselves!” he instructed them firmly. “Mrs Finn, perhaps you would care to tell me?”
“A ghost!” screamed Hetty.
“A ghoul!” cried Hill.
Gilbert held up his hands. “Thank you both for your contribution - but I actually asked Mrs Finn,” he said, looking pointedly at the housekeeper. “Mrs Finn - and Mrs Finn only - please explain what is going on.”
The housekeeper, her hand still pressed to her chest, took a deep, calming breath. “In the kitchen, Mr Thackeray,” she said, looking fearfully over her shoulder, “there were a cloth. And it were floating. And the pans - well they just started banging and clanging ….”
“And someone shouted ‘Boo!’ in my ear!” Hetty cut in.
“All right, ladies. I think I understand, ” Gilbert said. “If you would all like to go into the parlour and wait there for me, I will go and investigate.” He opened the door to the parlour and showed the three, nervous servants inside. They were more than happy to wait. None of them was willing to face the horrors of the kitchen again. Once they were all seated in the parlour, Gilbert strolled down the corridor, trying to look stern. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear bottles being tapped and pans being banged. His lips twitched in exasperated amusement. “Would you care to tell me what you are doing?” he asked calmly.
Clementine whipped around to face him. “Oh, Gilbert! It’s you!” she cried, as though surprised and delighted by his sudden appearance.
“Yes, it’s me.” He fought to keep his expression dour as he watched Clementine dancing around the kitchen. “A silly question, I know, but is there, by chance, a good explanation for you terrifying my staff?”
Clementine wrinkled her nose. “Goodness! I was only trying to save your reputation, Gilbert Thackeray,” she said, dropping the wood
en spoon which she had been using to clang the pots and pans. “There’s really no need to be so cross with me.”
“Well the ladies you scared out of the kitchen didn’t enjoy the experience,” he told her sternly. “They are presently hiding out in the parlour.”
“Oh.” Clementine chewed her bottom lip. “Well I thought only of them seeing it was a ghost you were talking to and not yourself.” Gilbert considered her statement.
“I’m not sure this was the best way of reassuring my staff,” he said eventually.
“Well it worked!” she told him proudly. “If you are mad then so must they be!”
Gilbert nodded his agreement. “Indeed. At this rate, I shall have plenty of company when I am interned at the asylum!” He looked sternly at Clementine.. “If I agree to going for a walk with you, do you promise not to help me from now on?”
Clementine nodded. “You should have seen their faces though!” She caught Gilbert’s steely glare and bowed her head contritely. “Yes, Gilbert: I promise not to play ‘ghost’ with the staff again.”
“Good. Now come along,” he said, just as though he were talking to a naughty child.
Clementine stuck out her tongue behind his back but she followed him anyway.
Chapter Nine
Gilbert returned to the parlour to reassure his staff that all was well again. “There, you see!” he told them. “It was just an unusually strong draught which was playing tricks on you. I shall have a glazier in next week to fix the windows.” Mrs Finn, Hill and Hetty looked at him doubtfully but, reluctantly, they allowed him to escort them back to the kitchen. Leaving them still searching suspiciously for imaginary draughts, Gilbert hurried Clementine out of the house and though the garden gate to the fields beyond.
“Do not think you will always get your own way, Clementine,” Gilbert told her sternly. “And don’t think I am not annoyed with you about the display you put on for the servants.”
“No, Mr Thackeray.”
“I’m serious, Clementine. What you did was foolhardy.” He frowned as he considered the implications. “Accusations of madness can be passed off as eccentricity but think of the furore it would cause should it get out that I have a ghost in the house!”
“I’m sorry, Gilbert,” Clementine said and meant it. She should simply have told him what the servants had been saying and let him deal with it. “Please don’t be cross with me; I was only trying to help.”
As she was so obviously contrite, Gilbert took pity on her. “Very well. Let us enjoy our walk,” he said. “There’s a magic waterfall not far from here.”
“Magic?”
“Oh yes.” He scowled and, in a doom-laden voice, intoned, “‘Tis said that fairies guard the waterfall and take any who should pass beneath its tumbling waters.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Clementine cried, clapping her hands.
“Well, that is not the reaction I was going for,” he told her drily. He pointed up ahead. “Do at least try to look awestruck.”
The reality was a little less dramatic than Clementine had expected. “Hmm,” she said, doing her best not to look too disappointed. The waterfall dropped a distance of about three foot into a small pool below before rejoining the stream.
“Who, exactly, would be small enough to pass beneath it?”
“Pixies,” Gilbert said, straight-faced, and Clementine laughed with delight that Gilbert Thackeray could be silly.
“Or sprites!”
“Or evil leprechauns!”
“Why evil?” Clementine asked, “Surely they can fit under the waterfall whatever their intentions?”
“There’s not much point if they’re not evil,” Gilbert told her solemnly. “Without that, they are just short redheads with a drinking problem.” Clementine’s laugh was so infectious that Gilbert couldn’t help but join in. It struck him then that he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so freely.
“Are there any other magical places for you to show me, Gilbert?” Clementine asked, her smile lighting up her face. “Maybe a Tree of Doom or a Meadow of Mayhem?”
Gilbert stared at her, mesmerised. At that moment, he wanted nothing so much as to take her into his arms and kiss her. He shook his head to clear it of the ridiculous thought. “I’m afraid you have seen all there is to offer on this magical tour,” he told her, striving to keep his tone light.
“Well, magic or not, it’s a lovely spot.”
Unaware of what had passed, Clementine slowly turned in a circle, absorbing the beauty which surrounded her: the clear blue sky; the tree-lined stream and the meadow covered in tiny wild flowers. “How, it makes me wish I could smell the air and feel the breeze on my face,” she sighed.
“I wonder ….” Gilbert said. “Give me your hand, Clementine.”
Clementine overlaid his hand with her own and immediately felt a jolt. A strange sensation of detachment overcame her and the world felt suddenly like a place filled with darkness: she was a small boy crying next to a grave; and then the same boy looking up at an old man whose face was cruel and unforgiving; and now she was a little older and wandering alone in these fields, consumed by loneliness.
Gilbert wrenched his hand away and she turned to him, her face betraying her sadness and pity for the young boy. “Was that you, Gilbert? ” she whispered. But, instead of answering, Gilbert spun round and started back across the fields towards his home.
“Gilbert! Wait!” Clementine called after him - but he didn’t break his stride. She followed behind and wondered what had happened to that little boy. And from whom had she felt a soul-wrenching sense of yearning? Had it been that little boy or had it been Gilbert the man?
Gilbert sat at his desk, resting his face in his hands. Why was it that, after all this time - all these years of being content in his own world - he should now feel this … need for something to which he could not even put a name?
“Liar!” he accused himself as the image of her face appeared in front of him.
His parents’ death had taught him nothing in life was constant; that no one could be relied on. Unfair, maybe, but it was the only thing that had helped him through the miserable years growing up with a grandfather who despised him. Still, he had long ago come to terms with that. He was no longer that lonely little boy. He had people with whom he shared his interests, some he might even call friends. He was content.
He jumped up and started pacing his study. It was his sanctuary. Why then did it now feel like his prison? He looked around at his books, his telescope and his maps of the stars and wondered why they weren’t giving him the peace he usually felt when he was among them. They had been his solace for so many years now that to lose them would leave him with nothing.
Clementine.
Her presence was disrupting him. He hadn’t accomplished any work since she had been here and he was no closer to discovering what kept her in Slumber. He had promised the King he would help him. And he would - for his sake and for the sake of Princess Clementine. She deserved to live, to marry her Duke and to see her children grow up. But he couldn’t help her if she was here with him. She was too much of a distraction. With her out of the way, he could concentrate and perhaps find his peace once more.
He made up his mind. Tomorrow, he would return the Princess to the Palace.
Chapter Ten
“Is it because I frightened your staff?”
“No. I told you: I think it would be better for you at the Palace.” Gilbert stared straight-ahead as he steered the horse and gig through a blind bend in the narrow lane.
“Does it have anything to do with what I saw when you took my hand by the stream?”
“No.”
Even now they were on a straight road with no bends or carriages in sight, Gilbert refused even to glance her way. Clementine was tired of his evasive answers. She still didn’t understand his sudden change of heart. There had to be a real reason for making her stay at the Palace. Losing patience
, Clementine hopped onto the horse’s rump and faced Gilbert.
“What the hell are you doing, woman?” Gilbert pulled the horse to a stop and glared at Clementine. “Off!”
“No!” She crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Not until you tell me the real reason you are making me stay at the Palace!”
“Because of things like this!” Gilbert shouted. “You seem to have no true understanding that the world does not revolve around you!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Isn’t it, Clementine? Ever since you showed up at my house, I have done precious little work. I have failed in my promise to find a cure for you and I have neglected my other responsibilities at the University.” Gilbert shook his head ruefully. “I can tell from your face it had never even occurred to you that I might have other work.”
Slumber Page 7
