by M C Beaton
They painted their faces with white grease-paint and dusted their clothes down with flour. ‘It’s a pity there aren’t any chains,’ said William.
‘It’s just as well there aren’t,’ pointed out Deborah. ‘We have to get up the back stairs to her room quietly. Leave your shoes. We’re not supposed to make a noise. What are you doing with that omelette pan?’
‘Magnesium powder,’ said William with a grin. ‘We light this just when we finish our haunting. There’ll be a tremendous flash. Got to light it in the pan and take the pan away with us so as to leave no clues that we are human.’
Lady Carsey had fallen into a heavy drunken sleep, which, like most heavy drunken sleeps, only lasted an hour. She began to twist and turn, beset with worries. Why had she sent John Fotheringay off to kill that pair? It had been different at Portsmouth, when he had hired smugglers to try to do the dirty work. Her own nephew! She sat up. If John were caught, then he would talk and talk.
Francine had made up the fire before she went to bed, and red flickering flames set the shadows dancing.
And then she distinctly heard a low moan. She put one white hand up to her throat and stared wildly around and then reached for the bell-pull beside the bed. But before she could even touch it, they were there in the shadowy corner of her room, two terrible figures, their faces blanched and white, their dark clothes outlined in white.
‘Woooo!’ said a sepulchral voice. ‘I am Benjamin Stubbs, most foully murdered.’
‘And I too. I am Hannah Pym,’ wailed the female figure.
Lady Carsey opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out.
‘We will haunt you until the day you die,’ moaned the Benjamin ghost.
‘Till you die,’ echoed the Miss Pym ghost.
Like nearly everyone in this modern age of 1800, Lady Carsey still believed in ghosts. ‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘It was a joke. A little chloral.’
‘We will drag you down to hell,’ said William. He was beginning to enjoy himself immensely. Then he thought he heard a footfall somewhere in the house. He motioned Deborah to stand in front of him and bent down and lit a taper at the fire.
‘We will return,’ he moaned and lit the magnesium powder. There was a hellish flash, William having been over-generous with the powder. Lady Carsey screamed and screamed as the twins made their escape.
Francine came running in, her lace nightcap askew. ‘Ghosts,’ whispered Lady Carsey. ‘There. By the fire.’
‘You’ve had a bad dream, my lady.’
‘But the smoke. The foul smell of the pit.’
Francine wrinkled her small nose. A coal from the fire was lying smoking on the hearth. She picked it up with the tongs and put it back on the fire. ‘Nothing but a burning coal, mem,’ she said scornfully, and flapped at the smoke from the magnesium powder, which was still drifting about the room. ‘I saw them, I tell you,’ muttered Lady Carsey, her teeth chattering.
‘Nobody there, mem,’ said Francine. ‘I tell you, you’ve had a bad dream.’ She cast a speaking look at the nearly empty brandy bottle beside the bed.
‘I didn’t. They were there,’ muttered Lady Carsey. ‘I cannot be left alone this night. Get into bed with me.’
Francine backed away. She had heard all about Lady Carsey’s odd tastes and, like most servants, learned more about sexual vagaries in her youth than most ladies would learn in a lifetime. ‘Oh, no,’ said Francine. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning,’ and fled from the room.
Lady Carsey lay back against the pillows, trembling. She forced herself to rise and to light every candle in the room. Then she dressed and sat shivering, waiting desperately for daylight, when ghosts returned to their dark world.
‘So,’ said the Earl of Ashton the next morning at breakfast, ‘I shall ride over to Rochester today and arrange seats for you all on the Dover coach which leaves the day after tomorrow. I do not think you are in any danger. The fact is, or so Langford tells me, that Lady Carsey has fallen on hard times and will find it difficult to evade justice in future.’
‘Another day,’ said Abigail softly.
‘Yes,’ said her mother and then, deliberately misunderstanding her daughter, she added, ‘My pet is anxious to meet her beau.’
Hannah noticed that the captain looked gloomy and Abigail miserable and hoped that sister Jane was the competitive minx that Abigail had led her to believe she was.
‘Have you any objection to lending me one of your hunters?’ asked the captain abruptly. ‘I would like to take a ride about the estate. I have a mind to end my military days and purchase a little property of my own.’
Mrs Conningham put down the piece of toast she had been about to munch and stared at him. ‘A ride around this magnificent estate will not give you any idea of how to run a cottage and garden,’ she said.
The captain ignored her. ‘I had in mind a tidy little estate, nothing like this, but with some good fishing and rough shooting.’
‘Indeed!’ The earl looked at him in surprise. ‘Travers’s place over at Spurry Ridge is due to go under the hammer. He’s in sore need of funds and you could probably have it lock, stock and barrel for a bargain. Let me see, there’s one hundred and fifty acres of quite good land, three farms in need of some cash being pumped into them, good stables and outbuildings. All Travers’s money went on the hunt. Three thousand a year he spent on his hounds. Take my advice, Captain, and avoid hunting if you want to stay solvent.’
‘And the house?’ asked Captain Beltravers eagerly.
‘Quite modern. Built around 1750. Good brick and no dry rot as I recall. Six bedchambers and, let me see, the usual – dining-room, drawing-room, saloon, muniments room, gun-room, library, and then all the usual servants’ quarters, pantry and still-room, kitchens and so on. I’ll take you over this afternoon, if you like. Beltravers! There was a Mr John Beltravers who had a tidy property at Deal.’
‘My father,’ said the captain curtly. ‘I inherited the lot and sold it. My wife was dead, you see, and … well …’
‘I understand,’ said the earl sympathetically. ‘In any case, it would pass the afternoon.’
‘Would you care to come?’ the captain asked Mrs Conningham.
‘We should be delighted,’ said Mrs Conningham, eyeing the captain with a look half-calculating, half-surprised.
‘I am not a very good rider,’ said Abigail timidly.
‘We’ll all go in my carriage,’ said the earl. ‘Miss Pym?’
Hannah smiled. ‘I shall be quite happy having a quiet afternoon here in your beautiful home.’ Hannah felt sure her presence would not be needed. Mrs Conningham had found out the captain had money. Let her see the house and let her begin to imagine the possibility of her daughter living there. Then she, Hannah Pym, would get to work on her when the party returned.
The earl returned at midday with the coach tickets he had insisted on paying for, and then set off in his carriage with the captain, Mrs Conningham and her daughter. Hannah watched them go. Abigail’s pelisse and gown were sadly dashed and no man liked a girl in a dashed gown, thought Hannah. They expected everything to be bandbox fresh. Nothing she had herself would fit Abigail.
She was just about to send for Benjamin and take a walk when Lady Deborah and Lord William were announced. Hannah rose to greet them, noticing with quick eyes that William appeared to take the news that Lord Ashton was absent with equanimity, but his sister looked a trifle put out. Also, Deborah was wearing a handsome carriage dress of blue velvet, the colour of her eyes, and a very modish bonnet.
‘Lord Ashton was most upset when he learned you had gone off on the coach,’ said Hannah. ‘You are lucky you did not come to any harm.’
‘Pooh. It was all so tedious,’ said Deborah, flashing her brother a warning look. ‘Perhaps Lady Carsey found her long-lost conscience.’
‘Such as she was born without one,’ remarked Hannah tartly. She studied Deborah’s handsome dress again and then her eyes glowed green. It was time in any case tha
t Lady Deborah forgot her hoydenish ways and settled down to becoming a lady. ‘What a splendid gown, Lady Deborah,’ said Hannah. ‘I was led to believe that you did not care for frills and furbelows.’
‘She wouldn’t if left to herself,’ laughed William. ‘Papa gets a London dressmaker to make up the latest.’
‘It is just that I cannot help hoping you might assist me in a plot to further a romance,’ ventured Hannah.
Deborah looked amused while William snorted in disgust, his feelings for Clarissa not having made him view the idea of anyone else’s romance with a kinder eye.
‘If I can,’ said Deborah cautiously.
‘I wish to help Miss Conningham, Miss Abigail Conningham. You met at the Crown?’
Both nodded.
‘She is in sore distress because her uncle in Dover has picked out a husband for her. The future husband is in his forties. She does not wish to marry this Mr Clegg. She does, however, favour Captain Beltravers, who is part of our coach party. The captain, thanks to Miss Conningham, has decided to leave the army, buy a tidy property and settle down. To that end, Lord Ashton has taken him to look at a place for sale, I believe, by a Mr Travers.’
‘The captain must have a tidy bit put by,’ exclaimed William.
‘Exactly. But the problem is this. The captain still mourns his late wife. Mrs Cunningham has learned that the captain has money and will look on him with a favourable eye. Oh, I should have gone with them!’
‘Why?’ asked Deborah.
‘For I now realize that Mrs Conningham will look on our captain with too favourable an eye. The daughter will no longer be forbidden fruit. She is plain and could look considerably better with a little help. She went off wearing a gown and pelisse that had seen better days.’
‘Dashed?’ asked Deborah sympathetically.
‘Very dashed. Also, she has a muddy brown-coloured silk with the waist at the waistline instead of up under the arms where it should be. She will no doubt wear it at dinner. Mrs Conningham will gush over the captain. Abigail will be crushed.’
‘And where do I feature in your matchmaking?’ asked Deborah.
‘Perhaps you could lend Miss Abigail a pretty gown.’
‘Miss Pym! She would be most humiliated.’
‘Not if you put it the right way. You could say, for instance, that her grand gowns are no doubt being sent on to Dover from London and you thought she might like to borrow something of yours, particularly as the earl is going to invite you for dinner.’
‘He is?’ asked the twins in unison.
‘Oh, I’m sure he is,’ said Hannah earnestly. ‘I mean, if you were to pay a call about one hour before the dressing gong with the gown for Miss Conningham, he is bound to ask you to stay.’
‘Won’t he think it deuced odd if Debs and I call in all our evening finery?’ asked William.
‘Not at all,’ said Hannah primly. ‘You tell him you dine at home like that every evening.’
William roared with laughter. ‘Famous! But I am afraid we can’t be doing with such flummery, and the less I see of Ashton the better.’
‘Miss Pym asked me,’ said Deborah quietly, ‘and yes, Miss Pym, I do have the very gown and I will bring it over along with some bits and pieces to embellish it.’
‘I say,’ said William crossly as they rode home, ‘whatever are you about to promise that crooked-nosed Pym female to help in her meddling matchmaking? Now we’ll have to get all titivated up and Ashton will no doubt bore us with a sermon over dinner.’
‘Do as you like,’ replied his sister indifferently. ‘I shall most certainly go.’ They rode on in silence, each with their own thoughts, the old closeness between them gone.
Hannah summoned Benjamin and said she would like to take a walk in the grounds and wished him to accompany her – ‘for you are becoming like all footmen, Benjamin, too fond of the butler’s port and pantry and not enough of the fresh air.’
‘Hardly a day for a walk, modom,’ complained Benjamin when they were outside. Mist was rising from the ground and crawling snakelike around the bowls of the trees.
Hannah strode on, ignoring his remarks. ‘Take deep breaths, Benjamin, and throw out your chest.’
‘I’ates the bleedin’ country,’ mumbled her footman from somewhere in the mist behind her. ‘Fog an’ bleedin’ damp and poxy hanimals slaughterin’ each uvver.’
Hannah thought it politic to ignore him. Despite the mist, the air was quite warm and pleasant, and somewhere above, the sun was trying to struggle through.
Lady Carsey had tumbled back into bed exhausted at dawn and did not wake until nearly noon. She recollected the events of the night before with a shudder and assumed she had had the Horrors, which was how the polite described delirium tremens, the curse of a hard-drinking society.
She was not surprised to find that her hosts had not left. Her bags were packed and her coach brought around. She did not tip any of the Langford servants and made Lady Langford a curt goodbye.
As she climbed into the coach, she ordered the coachman to drive her to Ashton Park. Her visit must not be wasted. She would think of some way in which to persuade the earl to let her stay the night.
Soon the coach was bowling up the long drive to Ashton Park. She peered out into the thickening mist, wishing she could see more of the property her optimistic mind was already beginning to regard as her own.
The butler told her solemnly that the earl and his guests had ridden out to the Travers’s place.
‘I am an old friend of his lordship. I shall wait,’ said Lady Carsey grandly.
She was shown into the drawing-room and, after being served with tea and cakes, left to her own devices. She looked about her with a critical eye. The furniture was sadly old-fashioned, and moth had got into the curtains, but the carpet was good and an effort had been made to cheer the room with several excellent flower arrangements. There was a piece of discarded embroidery lying on the sofa. Lady Carsey frowned. That butler had said the earl had guests and obviously at least one of the guests was female. A faint glow at the windows showed that the sun was beginning to shine through the mist. Hopeful of seeing something now of the park, she rose to her feet and walked to the windows and looked down.
The mist was still coiling around the trees, blown by a fitful breeze.
And then suddenly she saw them.
The ghosts of Hannah Pym and Benjamin Stubbs. Benjamin was in black velvet livery and Hannah had put on one of her old black housekeeper’s gowns.
They were walking slowly, gliding across the grass. And then they disappeared.
Down below on the lawn, Hannah heard a plaintive miaow. She peered up into the branches of a tall oak tree. ‘Benjamin,’ she said, ‘there is a kitty up there.’
‘It’ll come down if you leave it alone. Moggies allus do,’ grumbled Benjamin.
‘But it sounded such a small cat,’ said Hannah, betraying once more how far she had moved from the servant class, for servants did not have the luxury of having tender thoughts about animals.
‘Enjoying itself,’ commented Benjamin repressively.
‘Benjamin! I thought I had made myself clear. Go up that tree this minute and rescue that animal.’
Benjamin sighed but nipped up the broad branches of the tree like lightning.
The upper branches of the tree were on a level with the drawing-room windows, but over to the left, where the branches had been trimmed back so that they did not obscure the view of the park, Lady Carsey was still staring out, chalk-white and shaking. She caught a little sign of movement to her left and looked straight into the face of Benjamin. Benjamin’s face contorted with fear at the sight of her and he let out a wail.
Lady Carsey screamed and screamed. She blundered from the drawing-room, shouting desperately for her coach. She crouched in a corner of the hall while it was being brought round, babbling incoherently and making the sign of the cross. Francine tried to burn feathers under her nose, but Lady Carsey only screamed the harder
and pushed her away.
When her coach arrived, she scrambled in and crouched on the floor and stayed there muttering and shaking until the coach was several miles away from Ashton Park.
Benjamin scrambled down the tree and handed Hannah a small fluffy kitten. ‘You’ll never guess, modom,’ he panted. ‘I looked in the drawing-room window and I saw ’er, Lady Carsey. She was as white as a sheet, like she’d seen a ghost.’
‘Fustian!’ said Hannah roundly. The sound of a hastily departing carriage reached their ears. Hannah quickened her step and entered the hall. All the old and creaking servants were gathered there, talking excitedly.
Hannah was soon told about the strange visit of Lady Carsey and how she had suddenly gone mad and run off. ‘How very odd,’ said Hannah Pym. ‘The woman must have a conscience after all, Benjamin, and when she saw you, she must have remembered how you were nearly hanged because of her spite and lost her wits!’
6
Anything awful makes me laugh. I misbehaved once at a funeral.
Charles Lamb
Hannah knew that things had gone very badly for Abigail as soon as she saw the girl’s sad face and her mother’s excited one.
The captain looked withdrawn. Mrs Conningham was hanging on to his arm as they entered the hall of Ashton Park, chattering nineteen to the dozen. Was not that property sublime? Everything in perfect order and as neat as a pin. Of course – slyly – it lacked a woman’s touch.
Right behind them came Deborah and William. The earl, startled, invited both for dinner, and all dispersed and went upstairs to the rooms allotted to them instead of gathering in the drawing-room to chat and await the ringing of the dressing-bell: Mrs Conningham because she was tired, and the captain because he was tired of Mrs Conningham; William and Deborah in case the earl might change his mind; and Hannah because she wanted to get to work on Abigail.
