Here is my entry for last years ghost story competition over at
http://onthetudortrail.com/Blog/ Good luck to all of you that have entered this year, and Happy Halloween!
A picture tells a thousand words, an echo, a
voice a footstep heard.
Darkened corners, shadows loom, a whisper, a
lie a secret burns.
A tortured soul seeks its truth, reaching out
showing proof.
Climbing through the dark divide where ghosts
are king no longer hide.
Christmas is a magical time of
the year, no fellow can deny that. But spirits also feel that magic and they
are drawn to it. And when the souls of the dead are determined, the veil is
parted.
Nightjar Court, December 1567
I am completely exhausted from the Yuletide
preparations. For days now this old house with its endless corridors and secret
stairs has been alive with the sights, sounds and smells of Christmas. There is
no merrymaking for me though, only hard work. I fetch and carry, scrub and
polish, bob and curtsey until I think every bone in my body will break. I take
my leave now the last reveller has collapsed on the floor in a drunken heap and
I make my way wearily across the courtyard from the stifling kitchens to the servants'
rooms, unpinning my hair as I go. What a relief to be out in the night air. The
house looks enchanted in the dead of night, with a ground frost encrusting its
sculpted stone. I glimpse up at the night sky, and draw a deep relaxing breath,
when I am startled by a window closing high up in the courtyard walls, and the
sensation of something hitting me on my back. I turn on my heel instantly and
touch my back as if to check if something is still there. I wish I brought a
taper from the kitchen to guide my way as I cannot see a thing, only the
moonlight reflecting on the diamond panes. 'Who goes there?' I call out as I
strain my eyes to make sense of the shadows of the night. The silence is
deafening apart from my heart thudding in my chest. 'Is anybody there?' I call
up at the little window in the curve of the turret, watching a cloud of my
breath disappear into the air. My voice is weak but echoes around the cobbled
courtyard. All I can hear is a fox barking in the distance looking for its
mate. It reflects my feelings as I stand here alone wishing I had a friend with
me so that we could laugh this off together and be glad it is the end of
another hard day.
I make my way to my room all the time quickening my
pace and checking back to ensure no one is behind me. I am relieved to be back and
I shut the door with force nearly waking another maid. I quickly get undressed
and take the wool blanket from my bed and wrap it around me. I sit on a stool by
the fire wondering if the last few moments really happened, I am so weary, maybe
I dreamt it. I comfort myself with the thought that it was just someone merry
playing a trick on an innocent maid for jest. But what were they doing in my lord's
private chamber?
I am up well before daylight breaks, and the dawn
chorus is replaced by the clatter of servants running from the kitchen to the
great hall, carrying food and jugs of small beer ready for the household to
break their fast when they rise. Orders are being barked out as the servants
come running from all corners of the house like bees to a hive ready to serve
another day.
As I enter the courtyard, I can still see the moon smiling
at me and I smile back thinking what a fool I was last night. Mrs Craven's
tales of ghosts and strange goings on in this house have gone to my head. I
should never listen to that woman. She lives in a dark damp cottage at the bend
in the river and often comes up to the house bent double with frailty trying to
sell her herbs. I feel sad for the old lady but Mrs Grove the housekeeper has
warned me never to speak to her, and said that she could be a witch; the
thought of it makes me shudder.
Just then
something glistening in the frost catches my eye, and I bend down to pick it
up. It is a silver sixpence, laying on the cobbles with our Queen Elizabeth's
head facing up at me shining in the last glow of the moonlight. I scoop it up
quickly as I don’t want anyone to see my little treasure and claim it for their
own. I give it a kiss as if for good luck and tuck it deep into my pocket for
safe keeping. Today will be a most lucky day.
I am to serve the ladies and gentlemen visitors to the
house with their first meal of the day. I enquire whether I am to visit my lord's
private chamber to serve his guests.
'Mrs Grove, shall I be serving in my lord's chamber
this morning?' 'Why ever would you? You are not to go anywhere near the master
someone of your position.' She amuses herself with the thought of someone like
me in the master's presence. 'But there are people staying in my lord's rooms in
the tower, should I serve them?' 'No one is using the master's private rooms,
they are for his use only.' She carries on about her business. 'Forgive me, but
last night someone was in the tower room as I heard them shut the window.' With
that, she turns to face me seething with anger. 'There is nobody in that room,
and you are not to go anywhere near it. It is forbidden, no one is to enter
that room, especially not a maid like you. If I ever catch you up there,' she
threatens. I am shocked at the attack, I have never seen her so angry. I look
around the kitchen and several people have stopped working to see what the
noise is about. I feel small and wounded and lower my head to hide from the
glare of the other servants. Mrs Grove aware of the show she has just put on
calms herself. 'You are mistaken girl that is the end of it.' I turn around and
quickly get on with my work. When I am out of view I wipe a tear from my eye, and
think to myself this is not a lucky day at all.
I pass by the tower stairs several times today, not
daring to even glance up at the door. I am relieved when the end of the day
nears and I cross the courtyard again. Perhaps I am mistaken, and maybe the
wind caught the window and slammed it shut.
In the shelter of my room, I dip my hand into my
pocket to retrieve the coin I found this morning which now seems like a
different day. I am sad and lonely, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I feel no
one in the world loves me so I decide to make a wish. I wish Mrs Grove had not
scolded me, I wish I was not here, I wish I had a family, and a home, I wish I
had a mother. I kiss the coin and put it under my sack bed. I think of Mrs Craven
in her damp cottage with no one to love her.
Just then a thought
flashes through my mind; I am back in the courtyard feeling something strike my
back. My heart begins to race as I realise it was the coin I found on the
cobbles this morning that struck me. Someone must have thrown it from the tower
window and then slammed it shut. I knew someone was in that room, I did not
imagine it.
The next morning I over sleep and leap from my bed to
get straight to work. I hurriedly put on my clothes and reach under my bedding
for my lucky coin. It is gone. I search about franticly in the blankets but it
is not there. The day is in full swing outside my room and I do not have time
to look further. Within a minute I am in the kitchen awaiting my orders, but
with a new determination to find out what secret the tower room is hiding. People
of the household are merry, and there is music being played all over the house.
The men have gone out to hunt and the ladies are delighting in exchanging small
gifts.
I over hear Mrs
Grove say she will visit her family today in the village whilst everyone is at
chapel, this will be the perfect time for me to climb the tower stairs and
enter the forbidden room without fear of being caught. The house becomes quiet
and calmness falls as it always does at this time on Christmas Eve. I watch Mrs
Grove walk the long tree lined avenue to visit to her family, she has a full
basket brimming with leftovers from the kitchen, she will not be back for a
while.
The sky has turned a blue black as twighlight falls
and I make my way to the master's private rooms. I ascend the stairs quietly being
careful not to make a sound, I feel no fear but my breath is quicker and it is
difficult to swallow. I climb the stone stairs, twisting around each curve of
the tower feeling the cold stone with my hand and when I reach the top I can
see a light shining underneath the door. I am deciding whether or not to enter,
what if the master is inside? 'Hello my dear'. My heart leaps to my mouth and
my whole body feels the prickles of fear, I turn around quickly to where the
voice has called out and cling on to the wall behind me. 'Mrs Craven, what are
you doing here?' I clasp my chest as if to slow down my heart and I feel a
sense of relief that it is a friendly face staring back at me. 'You should not
be here, it is forbidden. You should not even enter the house, you should go
now.' She keeps her smile and looks at me with great expectation. 'Please Mrs Craven,
leave the house now, there is no reason for you to be here.' She gestures to
the heavy oak door of the room and climbs the stairs using her willow carved
stick till she is standing right next to me. She points her long spindly
fingers down to the foot of the door and I watch, eyes wide open as my lucky
sixpence is pushed under the door from the other side. I step back in shock and
I topple down a step. Mrs Craven steadies me, I can smell damp and fire smoke
on her shawl which is strangely familiar to me. 'Go forward, someone wants to
see you.' She lifts the latch for me and pushes the small of my back urging me
to enter. I instantly check the small room, expecting to see a person waiting.
There is only a table and two chairs, a fire which is lit and a beautiful
tester bed covered with the finest hangings. I look to the window which was
once slammed shut in the middle of the night. 'There is no one here. Do you mean
to frighten me Mrs Craven, because this is a terrible trick for you to play and
I do not like it?'
'This is my lady's room,' she says still smiling admiringly
at me. 'She wants to see you.' 'My Lady is dead and we must never speak of it
for fear of angering the master,' I chastise. Still she smiles as if my words
are like a foreign language to her. I take a moment to look at the beautiful
room with its ornate oak carvings as I have never seen it before then I turn to
leave.
'No dear, you must not go, not without greeting my lady.'
I loose my patience and push the frail old woman out of the way, but her
strength is that of a man and she spins me back around and shoves me toward the
fireplace and points up at a portrait hanging above the fire. Glowing in the firelight
is the portrait of a lady, resplendent in all her finery. Her hair is draped
down over her shoulders and she is almost wearing a smile. The same smile I see
looking back at me when I peer into a mirror. The same hair I brush at the end
of a day, the same dark eyes that cry longing to be loved. I am shocked to see
my own face looking back at me.
'She has been trying to talk to you Martha, this is your
mother.'
I have learned that my mother
died shortly after giving birth to me. My father was so grief stricken that he
ordered the baby to be taken away from house and that my mother's room be made
a shrine. The baby was given to Mrs Craven and when I was of an age to start
making memories I was taken back into the household as a working girl under the
care of Mrs Grove, my birth right to be kept a secret between the wise woman
and the housekeeper.
I will never know if it was Mrs
Craven that threw the Tudor coin from the window, or if it was my mother's
spirit trying to rescue me.
My only challenge now and I
shall bear it well is to seek my fathers forgiveness.
© Debbie Fenton 2011
