Authors: Cynthia Luhrs
“I’d like to go to Wapping and the Museum of London Docklands.”
“Straight away.”
On the way, she read through the documentation she’d printed out before she left. The driver promised to pick her up before dinner so she could check in at the hotel and get settled. With her trusty black backpack slung over one shoulder, she was ready to explore. The museum had an exhibit called Sailortown, which sounded interesting. It was supposed to be an immersive display re-creating the atmosphere. Back in the day, Sailortown was a narrow strip of taverns, slums, and houses situated on the north bank of the Thames, downriver from the Tower of London. It was the center for the merchants of the time with networks extending around the world. From China to Australia, and to the Caribbean and Hudson Bay. From what she read, the merchants were vital in keeping the Navy supplied for their voyages. Had Merry walked these same streets before she met her end?
Execution Dock was where Merry Huntington took her last breath. Elizabeth felt it was important to see the spot, pay her respects to the ancestor who’d gifted her with curly hair and a spirit of restlessness.
What must it have been like? The rope around her neck, the crowds jeering in the square. Elizabeth shuddered. To acclimate herself to the time change, she planned to stay up until her regular bedtime tonight. Seeing the place where Merry died, Elizabeth couldn’t believe she’d gotten away with dressing as a man. More likely, the crew knew but chose to accept her.
The air coming off the water was frigid, and she was glad she’d dressed warmly. Her jeans were tucked into knee-high black boots, the sweater a dark gray wool. The gloves and scarf were cream colored, which was good, considering her hair added enough color for the whole outfit. Never one to wear a hat, she’d attracted plenty of looks due to the pastel colors. No matter what, she’d never fool around with her hair again after a breakup. As if to protest, a purple curl blew in front of her face and she sighed, tucking the lock behind her ear.
By the time the driver picked her up, she was frozen halfway through. As she slid into the darkened interior of the car, a cup of steaming tea was waiting for her.
“Thank you so much. This is exactly what I needed.”
“I figured as much. A spot of tea will warm you up a bit. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. It’s about an hour drive to Highworth.”
An honest-to-goodness castle. She rubbed her hands together, thinking of exploring the rooms, touching objects that belonged to people long gone. Wondering about their day-to-day lives. Maybe something at the castle would help her figure out what came next in her own life.
After she checked in to the hotel, Elizabeth popped into a pub across the street. There was an open table by the fireplace and she inhaled a hearty dinner of beef stew with crusty bread and a pint to wash it all down.
Warm and full, she went back to the hotel, took a nice, hot shower, and fell into bed, eyes fluttering closed before her head hit the pillow. As she fell asleep, her last thoughts were of Highworth.
The black sedan turned a corner and Highworth Castle came into view, making Elizabeth squeal.
The driver jumped, the car swerving a bit to the left. She bounced up and down in the seat. “Sorry. I’m just so excited. It really does look like some kind of maniacal wedding cake come to life.”
The guy chuckled but refrained from commenting on his employer’s home. California had been Elizabeth’s home until she left high school. Then her grandmother inherited a house in Kentucky from an old sweetheart. A man she’d dated before she married Elizabeth’s grandfather. The man had never gotten over her grandmother, and when he passed had left her the house and plenty of cash. Elizabeth went to college in Kentucky, found a job after graduation, and worked all the time, convinced the travel bug had skipped her as well.
Living in Kentucky, winter had become her favorite time of year. The cold and the snow turning the landscape into a winter wonderland. There was nothing like a horseback ride through the snow as she watched the sky turn to fire. She’d been so busy with work that her passport had gathered dust in a drawer until she’d won the contest.
The driver parked outside the castle walls. He helped her out of the car. “We walk from here.”
As they passed through the gates, she touched the walls, a sense of déjà vu flowing through her. “I’d like walls and a gate like these to keep those door-to-door sales guys away.”
He grinned. “And archers on the battlements.”
“Exactly.”
“The walls are forty feet high and fifteen feet thick. The portcullis is closed every night, so if you’re not back by eleven, you’ll be stuck outside.”
She touched the grooves in the wall, imagining the gate slamming closed, trapping her. “What are they made out of?”
“Oak and iron.”
Unfortunately, she could imagine all too well the iron spikes on the bottom landing on the enemy. Picking up the pace, she passed the driver, ignoring the chuckle. Maybe in the spring she could come back to see the gardens in bloom. In the pictures they’d looked breathtaking. Now the landscape was sleeping, waiting to come to life again when the weather turned. The gardens were laid out in a formal design, and she itched to walk through them, positive there would be a secret garden waiting to be discovered.
The huge wooden doors to the castle opened, and an older man wearing a dark suit came out to greet them. He looked to be in his mid-seventies.
“To the rose room?”
“Thank you, Francis.”
The driver smiled at her. “I’ll take your bags up, miss. Have a lovely stay.”
“I will, thank you.”
The man in the dark suit with bright blue eyes clasped his hands before him. “Miss Elizabeth Smith. Welcome to Highworth.” He sounded very serious when he said, “I am Featherton. My family has served Highworth since ’twas built.” His eyes twinkled, “I read your essay. A lovely piece. We’re glad to have you for the week.”
“I still can’t believe I won.” To his credit, he pretended not to notice her hair. Sure, she could have gotten it colored back, but she’d run out of time and decided to take care of it one day when she was out and about or when she returned home.
She followed him inside the castle, telling herself to close her mouth and not act like a country mouse come to the city for the first time. It was as ornate and over the top inside as it was outside. There were priceless tapestries on the walls—walls covered with elaborate wainscoting and what looked like silk fabric in a vivid shade of royal blue. From the inside she almost forgot she was in a castle, which was slightly disappointing. A small part of her had hoped for gray stone walls and torches. Perhaps a big, shaggy dog in front of the hearth.
The space was luxurious, the smell of hothouse flowers scenting the air. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It was like being inside a mansion. The floors were tiled in ornate patterns and covered with sumptuous-looking rugs that she was afraid to step on, for fear she’d soil them with her muddy boots.
“This is the great hall. After you’ve unpacked, perhaps the lady would like to sit by the fire. Martha will bring tea and biscuits.”
“That sounds divine. This place is amazing.” There were dining tables lined up in a row with benches and high-backed chairs. Enough to easily seat fifty or more people. At the end of the cavernous room was a raised dais where she could easily picture the lord of the castle sprawled out in a chair, looking down on all that was his. Resisting the urge to shout “off with their heads,” she followed Featherton through the ornate room.
“The kitchens are there. Breakfast is served at eight, luncheon at noon, cocktails at five, and dinner at seven.” The man sniffed. “The cleaning women were here yesterday, so other than Martha and I, you won’t see anyone about.”
He opened a set of doors, through which she spied a masculine-looking study. More rugs from faraway lands, dark green walls covered with paintings surrounded by thick gold frames, and the desk. The desk alone made her drool, pulled a thread inside, unraveling a need to put down roots with this desk at its center. She wanted this desk something fierce.
“If you’ll follow me, the library is this way.”
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from the desk, the temptation of a library pulling her forward. Elizabeth thought she might pass out from bliss. The reality was so much more than her imagination. He opened the doors with a flourish and her dreams burst forth in full Technicolor. The room was two stories high, with an ornate iron staircase to the second floor. There were so many books, she could read one a day and never finish them all. Leather-bound volumes, old, new, books strewn about and piled everywhere. Books as far as the eye could see.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I may never leave this room the whole time I’m here.”
Featherstone huffed. “The room is disorganized. One of the village girls left before she could finish ordering the shelves. You may read any of the books except the ones on the second floor. They are extremely old and should not be handled.”
“No problem; there are more than enough books on the first floor to keep me occupied.” She wandered over to the large windows overlooking the gardens. Cold seeped through the glass. The window seat was huge. The cushion and pile of pillows beckoned her to climb in and dive into another world. Warmth from the fireplace to her left warmed her back. All she needed was a blanket to wrap up in, a cup of hot chocolate, and she could easily curl up all day reading as a fire crackled in the hearth. The only thing to make it picture perfect would be big, fluffy snowflakes.
With a sigh, she turned to stand in front of the fire. Ten people could stand in the hearth. The mantel was carved with flowers and leaves, a work of art in itself. She couldn’t wait to see the rooms upstairs. Her room.
As if he’d read her mind, Featherton spoke. “Ready to see your chamber, Miss Smith?”
“Call me Elizabeth, please.” With a last longing look at all the books, she followed Featherton upstairs, past several closed doors.
“The other rooms are currently under restoration, so please stay out of them for your own safety.” He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “The lord’s chamber is locked and remains empty until he graces us with his presence.”
“Does he visit often?”
A look crossed his face. “No. A distant relative owns the castle and has no use for an old pile of stones.” He opened the door and stood back. “Your room.”
The room was done in varying shades of pink. The hair on the back of her neck stood up the moment she crossed the threshold. The sensation of a malevolent presence made her touch the back of her neck, as if protecting herself from a blow. The cold, creepy feeling remained as she moved around the room, but she forced her mouth to curve into some semblance of a smile.
“It’s very pretty. Do you and Martha live here at the castle?”
The dour look on his face softened. “We’ve been married almost forty years. Spent our honeymoon in Paris and then came here straight away. Our cottage lies at the edge of the woods. If you need anything, you only have to ring.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m so excited to be here.”
“I’ll leave you to unpack.” As he left the room, he turned to her. “Remember what I told you: do not enter the other chambers.”
Her hand was in the pocket of her coat and she crossed her fingers when she replied, “I promise.” Sunshine’s voice filled her head.
Everyone knows if you cross your fingers when promising, it negates the promise.
The driver had left her bags at the foot of the bed. The four-poster was piled high with pink floral pillows and thick blankets. A fire crackled in the fireplace, yet her unease lingered. The walls of the room were covered in a pale pink silk, and beautiful impressionist paintings hung on every wall. Her room had its own bathroom, which she assumed was a later remodel. It boasted a cast iron tub that sat under a window.
It didn’t take long to unpack. She wandered around the room, looking at the pretty vases and trays scattered around on the tables. Elizabeth kept returning to the same spot to the right of the window seat. What had happened here? Cold hands pressed against her head. The sensation of being punched in the stomach made her fall to her knees. Doubled over, she gasped for breath even as she knew it was illusion. When she could breathe again, she leaned against the wall, centering herself.
“There is nothing here. You haven’t eaten enough today, that’s all.” She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
When she came down for dinner, the aroma wafting through the hall surprised her. It was odd sitting at a large table all by herself. Martha sang to herself as she brought the dishes out.
Seeing Elizabeth’s look, the woman laughed. “I thought I’d make Italian for your first night with us. You’ll be eating enough stews, soups, and potatoes the rest of the week.” Martha’s silver eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Oh bother. I can’t keep a secret at all. On Thursday you’ll have a proper Thanksgiving feast. We wanted you to feel at home while you’re staying here.”
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “I don’t know how to thank you. Thanksgiving is my favorite meal of the year.” She eyed the dishes. “These look really old. I’m almost afraid to eat off them.”
“Nonsense. As long as you don’t toss them at the walls, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“They’re beautiful.” The dishes had gold edges and a floral design around the rim. The pasta was calling her name. “So delicious. This sauce is to die for.”
“Eat up. You’re too skinny.”
“I won’t be if you feed me like this all week.”
Dinner consisted of fresh bread with olive oil for dipping, along with a side salad and a Chardonnay. The pasta was divine. Bowtie noodles in a cream sauce with chicken and spinach. Martha had done an outstanding job, and Elizabeth bet she’d gain five pounds this week. After dinner she made a beeline for the library.