Castle Walk Page 4

  She dragged herself out of bed and glanced at the clock. Just after nine.

  “What about breakfast?” she asked.

  “Downstairs. You’ll have to get your butt in gear.”

  She did. Ignoring Sam’s snickers, she dressed in record time. Luckily her hair only needed a quick brush; she must not have moved all night long. Noticing the deep red color of her hair, framed in the elegant mirror with the Victorian furnishings behind her, she thought again of the painting last night.

  “Ready?” Sam asked. He stood at the door, looking as if he’d never heard the word jetlag.

  “Ready.” She grabbed her pack and followed him out.

  Downstairs they followed small signs and wonderful aromas to the dining area. Lacey caught her breath at the breakfast buffet: eggs, hashbrown potatoes, bacon that looked more like ham, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, and several kinds of bread. There were two offerings she wasn’t sure of: white pudding and black pudding. Both looked like sausage to her. She filled her plate, wondering how she was going to work it off. Did they have a weight room here? She’d have to ask.

  They sat at a table and were brought their choice of coffee or tea. The downstairs staff was friendly and attentive. Lacey guessed their reputation had preceded them.

  Halfway through breakfast, Harley joined them.

  “Good morning, all,” he said cheerfully. He took a chair and waved away the girl with the coffee pot. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a rock,” Lacey said. “I think I basically died last night.”

  “Very good,” Harley said, smiling. “So you feel ready to meet our ghosts?”

  Sam nodded over his coffee cup. “Where do you recommend we start?”

  Harley pursed his lips, pushing his mustache up against his nose. “I would suggest… the tower room. That’s a simple room. The other ghost tends to… wander.”

  “Wander?” Lacey asked.

  “Yes. You’ll see.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sam said. He arched an eyebrow at Lacey. His plate was clean, while she was still working on hers.

  She held up a finger to stall him, and forked a piece of sausage into her mouth. She groaned at the juicy taste.

  “Quite good bangers, eh?” Harley laughed.

  Lacey blinked at him. “Bangers?”

  He pointed to the sausage.

  “Oh. Yes, those. Very good.” She ate the last piece, wiped her mouth and gulped a swallow of coffee. “Okay. Ready.”

  Harley led the way back to the elevator and to the Ellsworth’s residence. Lacey noticed his tan three-piece suit and supposed that was de rigueur for him, although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen an American man in one.

  The Ellsworths were ready as well, and quite excited. Lacey could see it in their eyes. Peter waited with them in the sitting room as Mavis went to round up the staff. Finally the eight of them set off for a far corner of the castle.

  Lacey smiled at the mismatched group. Sam’s knee-high moccasins and long black ponytail were in strange contrast to the neat and tidy Irish.

  The bright, clean area of the Ellsworth’s residence gave way to a less-used section: dimmer hallways, unfurnished, and with no pictures on the wall. The light that slanted in through the windows danced with dust motes.

  “As you see,” Mavis explained, “we have areas that we haven’t gotten to yet. It’s a long process. And we weren’t sure it would be worth the work unless…”

  “You get rid of the ghosts?” Lacey guessed.

  Mavis nodded. She angled her head closer to Lacey’s. “It’s all very expensive, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  Harley finally reached a heavy wooden door set into the gray stone. Pulling out a ring of keys, he found the one he wanted and unlocked the door. It swung open on protesting hinges. Harley reached inside and flipped a switch, and lights in sconces on the curved wall flared to life.

  The stairwell was all gray stone, curling around in a tight circle.

  “Watch your step,” he said, leading the way.

  Lacey reached out and touched the rough stone wall. She was almost surprised to find it dry to her touch; she’d half expected cold condensation. She edged to the outside of the stairs, where the steps were wider, and climbed upward.

  Their quiet footfalls echoed off the walls. No one spoke.

  After wending their way around at least three hundred and sixty degrees, they reached a landing. Harley stopped before another door and waited until everyone had caught up. Another key, another locked door. Lacey dug in her pack for her phone and set it to video.

  Harley pulled open the heavy door and stood aside to give Sam and Lacey access.

  Sam stood at the threshold and scanned the single round room. Lacey peeked over his shoulder and noticed there was nothing there—no furnishings, nothing on the wall or floor. It smelled of dust and mold.

  Sam stepped inside and turned to the others. “Why don’t you all stay here?” he asked quietly. Mavis nodded. Peter stood back against the wall, letting the shorter folk step forward. Mercy’s eyes were wide with a fearful wonder.

  Sam glanced at Lacey. “Ready?”

  She held up her phone and nodded.

  He stepped forward. He held one hand out toward the wall, but didn’t touch it. He walked a few paces and stopped.

  “Sickness,” he said. He held his hand close to his nose. “Stuffy smell. Unwashed. Vomit, urine.” He stared down at the floor near the door. “A chamber pot.” Raising his head again, he took in the whole small room. His eyes were half-closed, barely slits.

  “The bed was over there,” he said, pointing across the room. “She was young. Thirteen, fourteen. A scratchy woolen gown. White. Dirty white.”

  He took a few steps, raised a hand as if he carried something. “No mirror,” he said softly. “She can’t see her face, but she can feel it. The sores, the pus, the scars. She’s hot, burning up. Sometimes she lies on the cold stone floor to ease the burning. Her throat is sore, scratchy. The whole inside of her mouth is blisters.”

  He walked slowly to the one tall window. The bottom sill was just above waist-high. He held his hands over the sill and stared out through the thick, imperfect glass.

  “Left to die,” he said. “Shut up, and left to die. Tossed food like an animal.” He stepped over to the far wall. “Sick, dying, blind in one eye. Forsaken. Rolled up in a ball.”

  For a moment, he just stood quietly, hands clasped. Lacey watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She could feel his sorrow.

  Abruptly he lifted his head and turned back toward the others. “That’s all.”

  The startled staff scrambled to get out of his way as he strode through the door. Outside on the landing, they stood back against the wall. Sam stopped a few paces away, just staring down the stairs.

  Lacey and the Ellsworths followed. Mavis touched Lacey’s arm.

  “Is he all right?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes. He just needs a few minutes. As you can understand, I’m sure, the impressions he gets are often difficult to witness, difficult to feel.” She included Harley, Peter and the staff in her explanation. “This isn’t easy for him.”

  Mavis and Aileen nodded understanding. Mercy looked scared to death. The men all held themselves in stoic silence.

  After a long moment, Sam turned back to the others. “We’ll wait until I’m all done before we talk about this,” he said, waving back toward the room. “Where next?”

  Harley quickly locked up the small room and led the way downstairs. He carefully locked the tower door, then guided the group through more disused areas. Lacey was glad he was leading; she had no idea where they were in the castle, nor how to get back to familiar territory.

  Harley led them to double doors set in a wide, dark-paneled wall. He unlocked the doors and pushed them both open, revealing the residence within.

  A few thick rugs on the flagstone, dingy with age and ne
glect. Some scattered pieces of furniture: a small table, a lamp, a torn settee. Two paintings on the floor, propped against the walls, pastorals rather than people.

  “Anyplace in particular?” Sam asked.

  Harley shrugged. “Almost everywhere at one time or another.”

  Lacey readied her phone as Sam stepped forward.

  He walked the main sitting room in a slow circle, his arms loose at his sides. He stopped now and then, stared at the floor, nostrils flaring, then walked on.

  “Loyal,” he said in a firm voice. “Dependable. Stoic. This is his realm. His… protectorate.” He spread his hands, indicating the residence. “His life is here, within these walls, meting out the lord’s wishes, the lord’s rules. No ego, no sense of self. He lives to serve.”

  Abruptly he spun and headed for what was probably a dining room. Long and narrow, it held no table, but a couple of broken chairs and an old, chipped sideboard.

  “Service,” he said. “Service, first, last, always. Pride. No resentment.”

  He went from the dining room into the kitchen, did a quick circuit and came back out again. Lacey, used to his abrupt movements, stepped back to allow him passage. The others scrambled to get out of the way.

  From the sitting room, he went through a door into a suite. Here, he stopped on the threshold and stood very still for a moment.

  “Unquestionable,” he said. “Absolute dependability. If the lord wished it, it was done. He could no more disobey an order or do a less than perfect job than he could grow wings.”

  Sam made one slow turn about the room, then pointed out the door. “This isn’t where it happens,” he said. “It’s out there.”

  Everyone backed out of the suite, and Sam headed across the sitting room to another door, another suite, this one slightly smaller. He stepped inside slowly, walking to the center of the room and staring down at the floor.

  “Despair. Failure. Loss of control. Dishonor and… overwhelming grief. The loss of everything. Literally, everything. Nothing left but… poison.”

  He put out his hands in front of him. “He died here. On the bed. By his own hand. All is lost. All is lost.”

  His words echoed away in the empty room. Lacey watched him on the screen of her phone, the dejected sag of his shoulders, the slow, shallow breathing. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Were some of the others getting restive? She glanced up from the phone and yelped.

  Her cry of shock bounced off the walls, and every head in the room swiveled her way.

  “What?” Sam asked. He strode to her. “Lacey, what?”

  She put a hand to her heart, willing it to calm its breakneck pace. She dragged in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly.

  “I saw something… out there.” She waved a hand to the empty space beside her. “When I looked over, I saw eyes. As if someone was staring at me, right here, right up close.” She held her hand up no more than eight inches from her face. “Jesus, he scared the crap out of me.”

  “What did he look like?” Sam asked.

  Lacey shook her head, remembering nothing but those eyes, but she caught the intensity in Sam’s face, imploring her to reach deeper.

  “Uh, tall, thin,” she said. She had no conception of an image, but feelings only. “Very neat. Dapper. Not a hair out of place.” The feeling faded much as the eyes had, and she turned her gaze to Sam.

  “That was him,” he said.

  Lacey switched off her phone, her hands still shaking. “He’s supposed to talk to you, not me,” she muttered.

  Sam put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, a smile curving his mouth. “Maybe he thinks you’re a better listener,” he joked.

  “So we’re done?” she asked.

  “Yeah. We’re done.” He turned to the others. “We’d like to hear what your experiences have been,” he said. “Where’s a good place to do that?”

  Mavis blinked as if just awakening. A few of the others still looked spellbound.

  “Uh, the residence? Perhaps we could manage an early lunch?” She looked to her staff, and Aileen nodded, nudging Mercy. The three of them left hastily.

  “My goodness,” Mavis said as they left the suite. “That was… amazing. Do you always get such detail?”

  “More emotional detail than anything else,” Sam said. They filed out of the residence and Harley locked up behind them. “It’s harder to pick up aspects that aren’t colored by emotion, which, unfortunately, are often the everyday details that would make identifying the spirits easier: names, dates, things like that. I’m hoping I got enough so we can all pool our knowledge and find out who they are.”

  ~~~

  EIGHT

  They retreated to the Ellsworth’s and assembled in the sitting room. Mavis went to the kitchen to check progress there.

  “We’ll have coffee and tea shortly,” she reported, “and then some sandwiches.” She settled beside Peter. “Do you want to wait until the others can join us?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “They’re probably interested in hearing what you’ve got, and I’m guessing they may have stories of their own.”

  Harris was the first out, bringing the large silver tray with service for coffee and tea. He poured and served each his or her choice, then disappeared back to the kitchen. After only a few more minutes, the three paraded out. Aileen carried a tray of quartered sandwiches, Mercy brought another tray of small cakes, and Harris brought small plates, forks and napkins.

  “Please, help yourselves,” Mavis said. She made sure the trays were easily accessible to all, and let Sam and Lacey take their pick. Once they had chosen, Mavis, Peter and Harley took a few things, then Mavis signaled the others to indulge. Harris pulled up straight chairs for himself and the two maids.

  “This is rather like a picnic, isn’t it?” Mavis said, smiling.

  Lacey bit into one of the small sandwiches and thought she recognized the taste. “Lamb?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s very good.” She saluted the staff with the other half of the sandwich, then popped it in her mouth. Aileen and Mercy smiled at the praise.

  “So,” Sam started after everyone had had a chance to eat a little. “Let’s start with the tower room. What things have people experienced there?”

  “We’ve known for some years that people often see a light in that window from outside,” Peter said. “They describe it as a flickering light like a candle, and some have seen the shadow of a person as if they walk by carrying the candle. There’s a legend that it’s a young girl, but we don’t know who she is.”

  “Yes, it’s definitely a young girl,” Sam said. “Anything else?”

  He glanced over at the staff. Harris looked properly stoic, but Mercy elbowed Aileen.

  “Yes?” Sam prompted.

  Aileen cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve not seen it, but a woman who used to work here told me she’d been in there once, and she saw a young girl. She said the girl raised a hand to her, beseeching her, and then her face turned into a mess of sores and blisters, and the skin began to fall off the bones. As you can imagine, the woman ran out and never went back.”

  “Yes, that would be a normal reaction,” Sam allowed. He looked to Mercy, who shook her head, and Harris.

  The butler seemed to hesitate, then come to a decision. “I have seen her,” he said in his low, deep voice. “I was outside, talking to one of the stable hands one evening, and we both saw the light in the window. I hurried upstairs and went directly there. I opened the door and she was there, just standing in the middle of the room. She did not reach out to me, just looked incredibly sad. Then her face began to decompose and waste away.”

  He delivered the last in a very controlled voice, as if he were reporting a normal, everyday event. Aileen and Mercy gaped at him.

  “What did you do?” Aileen asked.

  The barest hint of a self-deprecating smile curved one corner of his mouth. “I left.”

  Lacey stifled a laugh. The man was cool as
a cucumber, even in the face of a decomposing ghost.

  “Well, all that certainly coincides with my impressions,” Sam said. “A teenaged girl with some sort of awful disease, shut up in that room until she died. Whatever she had must have been extremely contagious, or at least people thought so.” He looked to Peter and Mavis. “Are you aware of any outbreaks of disease in this immediate area?”

  Peter looked perplexed. “That could have been hundreds of years ago,” he said.

  “And probably was,” Sam said, “judging by the use of candles.”

  Peter gaped rather helplessly. Then Mavis touched his arm.

  “The Chronicles,” she said softly.

  Peter’s head snapped around to his wife. “The Chronicles?” he repeated.

  “Yes.” She sighed at her husband’s lapse. “I’ll get it.” She rose and headed toward a back room.

  “Chronicles?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, aye,” Peter said. My great uncle wrote up an extensive history of the Fitzpatricks and the castle back in the 1970s. It was his life’s work, actually. I believe it took him over thirty years to complete.”

  Mavis returned with a large leather-bound book that was at least three inches thick. She took her seat and settled the book in her lap.

  “I’ve not looked at this in years,” she said, opening the book to the front. She ran a finger down a table of contents.

  “Where did he get all the information for the book?” Lacey asked.

  “Our library, mostly,” Peter said. “Also church records, county records. As I say, he spent years gleaning as many facts as he could find.”

  “Listen to this,” Mavis said. She read an entry in the table of contents. “’The Speckled Monster: Smallpox outbreak of 1694.’” She immediately began to search for the page designated.

  “Smallpox,” Sam repeated, sitting forward. “Sores, blisters. That could be it. Very contagious and often fatal.”

  “’Smallpox, or the Speckled Monster, began to take hold in late summer of 1649,’” Mavis read. “’By late fall, when people were cloistered indoors during inclement weather, it was raging. Entire families were wiped out, villages decimated. The people became desperate, and turned to desperate measures. If a family member became symptomatic, they might be quarantined in a separate room, if available, or in a separate structure like a barn or coop. In the worst situations, a person might be moved outside and condemned to freezing to death, or dying of the pox, whichever occurred first.’”