‘Hardly the weather for walks by the lake, eh ? Never mind, never mind, let us pile up the logs . . .now, you sit there, Miss Carlyle, out of the way of the draught, and we’ll make space here for Mrs Burton here, plenty of cushions, now where’s the girl with the tray . . .’ Their host pulled at the bell rope by the now raucous fire and stood before them, hands behind tails.
‘It is certainly wonderful land you have here, Mr Hadley,’ remarked Mrs Burton, settling herself and rearranging her shawl about her,‘if a little isolated.’
‘Isolated ? Why hardly, there’s the town barely half a mile away, and with its own theatre – not bad stuff they put on, either – why, we might make an evening of it, if you like,’ this with a nod at Miss Carlyle, who looked suitably enthusiastic. Rather pale and retiring, she had so far offered hardly a word since their arrival the day before but now she plucked up courage to ask after the other guests. ‘I believe there were new arrivals after lunch ?’
‘Indeed there were, and I am expectin’ them down any moment now – young Lord Huffam and Mr Gore.’
‘Would that be Mr Titus Gore ?’ asked Mrs Burton, ‘the Phantasmogrifier ?’
‘The Phanta – eh ? Oh, he may well be, I can’t keep up with all the new terms. Ghost-catcher I always call him, and he doesn’t mind, very entertaining chap, hope to draw him out over dinner – perhaps have some ghost tales afterwards by the fire ?’
‘Oh yes, very seasonable,’ agreed Mrs Burton with a restrained simper. Miss Carlyle even managed a nervous smile.
They spent a good part of the dinner listening mostly to Hadley and Lord Huffam exchanging their thoughts on enclosures and farming rights, when Mrs Burton was not administering advice on winter ailments. Mr Titus Gore was much taken with arranging his magnificent cravat. Occasionally he took out a round, flattish object from his waistcoat pocket that might have been mistaken for a watch, had it not been of solid crystal. Miss Carlyle showed a timid fascination for the object and he held it up for her to admire by the candlelight.
‘Interesting thing you have there, Gore – one of your ghost-catcher instruments, I’ll be bound,’ quipped Hadley when its gleam caught his eye.
‘Not quite – a memento thereof, rather; I take it with me everywhere – although it can prove handy at revealing things like tomorrow’s weather and the occasional quote from the classics.’
‘Eh? Quotes? What, engraved on it ?’
‘I doubt it. I have never seen a scratch on it.’
‘Well, how do you mean, then ?’
‘See for yourselves.’ And Mr Gore passed the crystal around.
Mrs Burton looked at it first. ‘Why goodness, what a pretty thing,’ she exclaimed, ‘how did they do it?’
‘Do what ?’ came the various voices.
‘Looks like a piece of fine writing paper embedded in it – with handwriting on it.’
‘What does the writing say ?’
Mrs Burton peered a little closer.
‘It says . . . “Brevity is . . the source . . of . . wit . . . ” Is that not the Bard?’
‘Think so,’ chuckled Hadley. Lord Huffam was next. ‘Don’t know why you thought it was parchment,’ he commented, amused. ‘Looks like writing carved out on a panel of wood.’
Mrs Burton was quite definite it had been parchment.
‘ And it don’t say anything about brevity, either,’ he added.
‘Well what, then ?’
‘Music hath charms to sooth a savage breast. Ain’t that the Bard too ?’
‘Congreve, I rather think,’ suggested Miss Carlyle. Mr Gore gave a quick laugh and bowed in Miss Carlyle’s direction. ‘Pipped at the post, I was about to say the same.’
‘I say, but how do you do it ?’ asked Huffam of Gore.
‘I ? I do nothing. It is the crystal that does it all.’
Hadley had hold of it by now. ‘By Bacchus , it ain’t wood at all, ye know. Some sort of engraving. Most peculiar light . . “Something evil this way comes . .” Hmph.’
It was Miss Carlyle’s turn next. She blushed and hesitated. ‘Oh, I think it’s from Macbeth.’
‘Shall I read it out for you ?’ offered Huffam, seeing her unease. But on her passing it to him, he could make nothing of it. ‘Gone all misty. What does that mean ?’
‘You already read yours. You had better pass it back to Miss Carlyle,’ advised Gore.
‘Well, now my curiosity is piqued, what was written ?’asked Mrs Burton.
Miss Carlyle was staring at the crystal now with more attention and not a little fear.
‘It is carved in stone . .. and it looks like . . a tomb stone,’ she quavered.
‘And the words?’ Everyone was leaning forward, Titus Gore was frowning a little.
‘Ask not for whom the bell tolls . .’she quavered, ‘ . . . it tolls for thee . . ‘ She placed the crystal on the table and clasped her hands together.
‘Humph. That’s a pretty toy you have there, Gore,’ grunted Hadley. ‘Don’t know that I should like to have it in my possession.’
‘Quite a good party trick though, eh ? Guess the quote – new parlour game, what ?’ Huffam thought his own witticism acute enough to chuckle at it. Nobody joined in, however.
‘In which case Miss Carlye loses the point she gained. It was not Macbeth she read, but John Donne,’ returned Gore, blithely. He held it up and looked at it.
‘Well ? See anything ?’
‘Hmmm . .. . a storm now.’ He quizzed them through it, then put it away.
Mrs Barton was concerned for the still nervous Miss Carlyle. ‘Come,come, my dear, you will surely not take it to heart ?’
‘It looked so real . . . I thought it must be meant for me . . . ‘
Mr Gore frowned briefly. After dessert, it was generally decided the library with its cheering fire in the grate was the place to be. As they passed into the room a distant roll of thunder could be heard.
‘Ah, now, I had the fortepiano tuned in time, as I hear you, Miss Carlyle, are quite of concert level, and you did promise us a little taste of your prowess this evening, did you not?’
Huffam showed immediate enthusiasm and escorted Miss Carlyle who was not, it seemed, loath to distract herself from the business of the crystal. She and Mr Huffam did entertain the company for quite some time with their renditions of Ravenscroft, starting off merrily enough with ‘Tomorrow the fox,’ but growing increasingly funeste and melancholy with ‘There were three ravens’. But the mood was upon the whole party, and nothing would please but to try out ‘A Robyn, gentyl Robyn,’ in which all joined in (although Titus Gore states categorically that he had his ears fixed with corks at the time) with moving sentiment.
This was dissipated quite rudely by a hideous flash of lighting, cutting across the sky, making Miss Carlyle jump and lose her place.
‘By thunder, it’s a cracker all right,’ commented Hadley, crossing over to the window. The sky was not yet quite dark, but the clouds were violet enough to add a dramatic contrast. Over to the west a sulky yellowish glow still remained, as if to remind the world that the sun had not yet quite decided to pull the covers over its head.
Strangely, it did not rain althought the sky continued to rumble threateningly.
The talk became lively and mention was made of winter tales of storms and shipwreck, ghouls and imps, banshees and spirits from the other world – as normally happens when a few guests are brought together during inclement weather by a healthy fire and after a satisfactory dinner. Huffam recalled someone talking to a figure in the street who then calmly walked through a wall. Mrs Burton remembered tales her nurse told her as a child of the Old Woman of Somesuch who came out at night to chase after naughty runaway children. Titus Gore sniffed at this.
‘But you must have so many tales to tell – come now, we were fairly promised that as well.’
‘Well, there is my latest case,’ he offered modestly.
‘Oh tell, do tell !’
‘It was nothing much. A place much like this, only they couldn’t live in it, because their resident phantom had a habit of walking through their dining room every evening.’
‘Was that all?’
‘Well, I should mention it walked through their dining table as well. Made the food rather chilly and rather took away their appetite. Turned out it was the ghost of an ancestor of theirs who had forgotten to tell them where the stocks and shares were kept and was trying to explain it to them. Not very successfully, it must be admitted, until I was able to communicate with him.’
‘Oh dear. Sounds rather mercenary,’ commented Mrs Burton.
‘It often is. Money or power I find to be the driving forces behind most beings, whether this side or the other. Now Mr Hadley on the other hand, has altogether a different kind of tale to tell, I think.’ He glanced enquiringly at his host who for the first time that evening looked a trifle uneasy. But the company was now eager to know and would allow him no escape.
‘Well, I am not certain it ain’t more of a legend than a ghost tale,’ he began, ‘to tell the truth I am not certain what to make of it as a story.
‘Tradition states that a phantom white horse visits here when one of the community is about to depart this life – there are other versions, suggesting that it is looking for one person in particular – but I am running ahead when I should tell it from the beginning. Very well.
‘It starts like this : originally this house belonged to a family from William’s time – Hertmonds was the name ; in fact, the foundations are supposed to date back to the 12th century or so. Well, there was a son of the family who went off to the Crusades, and came back with this magnificent white horse. Probably an Arabian mix or something – its speed, according to tradition, was phenomenal. People said it was bewitched, or a familiar of the Crusader – his name ? Something like John or Geoffrey – yes, Geoffrey, that was it. Not the most likeable of men apparently – a trifle heavy handed with the people on his land – or so the story goes. He did some injustice or other, had a young man hanged for supposed robbery or poaching. The boy’s mother was reputed to be a wise woman who laid a curse on Geoffrey. She came to his wedding day and pointed at him, saying ‘You’ll not find your wife this night nor any other night – how ever fast you ride that horse of yours – you’ll run the centuries long looking for her, as I and my son shall haunt this place, until justice is done.’
She may or may not have collapsed or died on the spot, I cannot remember. But the curse came true in one sense – for Geoffrey’s wife did indeed disappear later that same day, never to be seen again. Geoffrey went wild looking for her on his white horse, until he too disappeared and never came back.
‘So locals still say, when a white horse is seen in the neighbourhood, one of the community is to be carried away.
‘Of course, Geoffrey may have found his wife and moved to another part of the country. I have no idea. But the white horse . . . has been seen within living memory too.’
‘Indeed ?’ The ladies were most intrigued. ‘By whom ?’
‘My uncle. It was a night like this too -’ Hadley broke off at a particularly violent clap of thunder. This was followed by a startling bolt of lighning that illuminated the room almost as powerfully as a winter’s sun. Gasps and grunts from the guests as the ghostly scenery outdoors briefly showed up.
Far off in the distance in the brief lull that followed they all heard clearly the sound of a horse neighing.
‘Must be one of Bellingham’s got loose – I had better send stable-lad to see if it has strayed over . . .’ began Hadley, hurrying towards the door. He broke off as Miss Carlyle raised a hand and pointed at the long windows that opened onto the terrace.
They all followed the direction she was pointing in. Another flash of lightning and this time even Titus Gore could not refrain from letting out a hiss of surprise at the sight of a magnificent white horse outside.
The windows blew open, the horse came cantering up and jumped onto the terrace, and careered straight into the room. I t made for the sopha on which Miss Carlyle was seated and pounded in a circle around her. Miss Carlyle’s eyes fluttered and she fell sideways in a faint. The horse completed its circle before leaping back out through the windows.
‘What the . . .’ was the inevitable response, followed by ‘After it !’ Too late, however, for the animal had vanished into thin air. Mrs Burton meanwhile was attempting to bring Miss Carlyle round with smelling salts and Titus held her wrist between thumb and finger, frowning slightly.
‘It’s a very deep faint,’ he said after a whle. ‘The pulse is there, but very weak.’
‘What is to be done ?’
In the distance, they heard a horse whinnying and all turned to look through the windows.
Miss Carlyle stood up calmly and walked slowly outside. The others followed her, mystified, and saw the outline of horse and rider approach.
A cry from Mrs Burton broke the spell. She was pointing at the sopha, where Miss Carlyle was still lying. Yet at the same time Miss Carlyle was standing by the horse, its rider now bending down to help her up.
‘Quick!’ yelled Titus to Huffam, ‘catch hold of her – and don’t let go!’
They rushed to the group, Huffam caught hold of the girl’s dress, Titus of the horse’s tail. A feeling of strong air movement, a sense of spacelessness that went on and on – and they vanished completely from sight, leaving Hadley and Mrs Burton with the still unconscious Miss Carlyle on the sopha.
Hadley ran out of the room, bawling out orders for the doctor to be sent for.
The doctor when he came was unable to offer much more help than Titus or Mrs Burton.
‘It is one of the more obstinate fainting fits I have yet come across,’ he commented in some puzzlement. ‘Make her comfortable here meanwhile, and have someone sit by her until she comes round,’ was all he could offer by way of treatment. He did however offer to visit early the next day.
Titus and Huffam meanwhile hung on for dear life, or death, until they felt grass under their feet again.
A glade, moonstruck and unearthly, filled with any number of people in the most unexpected costumes : ruffs jostled with coal-scuttle bonnets and coat-tails swept past mountainous wigs. The people themselves were also a strange assortment of the bizarre and the fascinating : swan necked, hump-backed, long-legged, four-legged, sometimes two-headed (although tose might have been masks). In the middle of it all sat one who was surely a queen – for one thing, she was the only person there with a train, one that required at least ten maidens to lift off the dewy grass. And to this queen was being led the spirit of Miss Cecily by the horse rider.
‘Ah,’ said the queen, extending a hand, ‘you have found me another handmaiden. Very good.’
She beckoned to Miss Carlyle who wandered obediently to her and knelt on the grass before her.
At last the horse rider spoke. ‘I have found you her – now let me see my wife.’
‘Your wife ? Why, she is here . . . somewhere . .. ‘ replied the queen carelessly, waving her hand vaguely about. A woman stepped forward, a dainty piece of porcelain who raised her eyes in a flash and droped them again.
‘There, you have seen her, now g0 and fetch me more, the last one faded away after a mere fortnight.’ And with a snap of her fingers, the queen sped the dainty piece of porcelain back into the shadows. The horse rider let out a groan, the saddest thing Huffam had yet heard in his sorry shallow life, but stood his ground.
‘Well, what is it ?’ replied the queen, raising an arrogant eyebrow. She caught sight of Titus and Huffam and clapped her hands, ‘why, you have brought me footmen as well, how clever of you . . . now let me see – why yes, you may observe your . .. wife . . .a little while longer.’
Lady Geoffrey drifted forward again from the shadows and hovered, her eyes gazing hollow at her husband.
‘Enough !’ snapped Titus. ‘Madam, we are not servants. We have come to reclaim that which you have stolen.’
The queen was too struck by surprise to speak. Then she smiled, which was most decidedly not pleasant to see, and raised both hands in a claw-like pose. Titus and Huffam rolled forward in the wet grass, their faces were rubbed harshly against the soil then they were jerked up and held invisibly, facing the queen, frozen and helpless.
‘I see, you are rebellious, ill-natured guests. I must see what can be done.’
Titus rolled his head briefly and muttered something indecipherable. Huffam watched in fascination as the queen’s face grew pale, sickly, fearful. Gradually she lowered her hands.
Titus stood up and Huffam found he was also able to do so.
‘Well ? What is it ?’she asked sulkily, not raising her eyes to looks at them.
‘You have taken one tonight who has no business here,’ replied Titus.
The queen snorted. ‘Nonsense!’ she cried, and lifted her hand. A thick veil of cobwebs fell in front of Titus and Huffam, sticky and clingy.
‘Don’t step forward,’ hissed Titus at Huffam, and scrabbled in a coat pocket for something.
‘All my servants come to me willingly,’ continued the queen proudly.
‘After you have hypnotised them, you mean,’ commented Titus. He drew out a small book and rifled through it. His lips moved silently – Huffam just faintly heard outlines of words, nothing more.
‘What is that you are saying?’ called out the queen sharply, and raised her hand again – but the cobweb was too thick for her to cast anything more.
Titus finished reciting whatever he was reading in the book. ‘Not the most intelligent of beings, it is one small advantage,’ he murmured to Huffam.
‘Your Majesty,’ he addressed the queen, ‘You have at least two maids who are not there willingly – one you have stolen from life this very evening, the other from the shadows of time.’
The queen laughed. ‘Prove it !’
‘We can ask the king,’ he said and held up something green that glowed in the moonlight. Smoky patterns played across its surface.
‘NO!’ shouted the queen.
But too late; a figure materialised, walked across the glade and stood facing her.
‘Ill met again,’ it rumbled at her. ‘ becoming something of a habit, wouldn’t you say ?’
The queen fretted and mewed.
‘What have you been up to this time ?’ asked the king, more in weariness than anger.
‘I have not been up to anything – it is these intruders – they are attempting to steal my handmaids!’
‘Steal ? That is rich, coming from you – why, only the other day you walked off with my spare set of hunting horns – you never bring them back either, I always have to come and ask –’
‘I do not –’
‘You do –’
‘Do not.’
‘Do.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Do.’
‘Pshaw, they are a lot of children after all,’ whispered Titus.
While the couple quarrelled, he took hold of Lady Geoffrey’s hand; it was icy cold. He led her away. Huffam took hold of Miss Carlyle’s dress – they were moving away when they heard the shrewish squeals of the queen and a curse: ‘Titus ! Titus Gore – I have seen what you are doing – beware, I shall avenge me on thee !’
The king approached the queen and raised a hand; it held a garland of flowers that glowed eerily in the moonlight. The queen leapt to her feet and snarled: ‘You keep away with your potions and drops!’ But the king was too quick for her : the garland was already hanging around her neck. She swayed slightly, eyes flickering, then the light faded from them and she sat down again. She smiled dreamily and waved at one of her maids.
‘Bring me that toadstool over there,’ she murmured, ‘I have a desire to pay homage to it.’
The king stepped behind her and sprinkled a handful of broken petals over head. He moved away and motioned Titus and the others towards the white horse. The rider helped his wife up, not once letting go of her; Titus, Huffam and Miss Carlyle all held onto the saddle, the bridle, the stirrups.
The horse lifted its head, stamped and vanished, taking them with it.
The maids watched the whole group disappear without a flicker and continued watching over the queen.
*
Miss Carlyle opened her eyes and sat up on the sopha.
Outside, the sound of hooves was fading into the distance. Around stood the company, Mrs Burton with her smelling salts at the ready, Titus Gore staring down at his crystal lens, Huffam gazing at Miss Carlyle steadily. Mr Hadley was pouring out brandy.
‘Well, that all went smoother than expected,’ commented Titus, putting away the lens. He stepped forward to take the glass Hadley offered him, and immediately over the rug.
Over the next few days, he had a series of similar accidents, tripping, knocking into things. His cravats likewise suffered somewhat mysteriously. No matter how meticulously ironed, they managed to crumple immediately and remained in a state of continual crumple for the rest of his visit.
The queen had taken some petty revenge after all – which only wore off after his return home. Hadley was careful to put away all fragile breakables for the duration of his visit.
The horse has not been heard since, nor has it paid any more visits.
Just occasionally Miss Carlyle (now Lady Huffam) is observed to go slightly transparent – this rarely lasts more than half an hour, and is only troublesome if she happens to be pouring out tea at the time. She never recalls anything of such incidents and nobody is so discourteous as to comment on it.
The queen does not lose her grip easily or lightly.
