Christmas at Hembry Castle

A Meddling Ghost The shadows were about again, long along the winding roads, high upon the hills, deep into the valley below, casting a deathly pallor over the tree-lined path leading toward the grand old manor. The castle, known as Hembry in polite society, looked a specter in the night. Accompanying the shadows were the echoes, a sense of a haunting. And why shouldn’t Hembry Castle be haunted? The house was ancient enough to have seen three centuries pass and the comings and goings of more souls than it could ever be expected to remember. Who knew from whence such sounds came? The old floors groaned under whatever weight crossed them. Church-like beams cracked like decrepit bones as they leaned closer toward each other, ever closer. Certainly, the stately home was well tended and much loved, but still it creaked occasionally as the old will do. If you listen closely you might hear footsteps on the curving stairs, whispers in the halls, and flutters of damask curtains caught in open drafts. The later the time the more menacing the shadows grew. With the disappearance of the moon behind rain-filled clouds there was little light, leaving long, distorted shapes. Cumbersome trees shed their red, orange, and gold leaves, pointing finger-like branches at the black-looking grass. And still the shadows. Shadows have always provided a good place to hide, especially on a dark autumnal night that threatened wet and cold. Especially for a ghost. He was a patient ghost, standing back, not wishing to intrude. He hovered near the window and peered into the servants’ hall, squinting through the opaque glass that could have used a good scrubbing, hardly a surprise since the servants were busy polishing and buffing upstairs all hours of the day. The ghost glanced about, perhaps a bit nervously, perhaps not. He knew to take care not to be seen. He was not an iridescent spirit, pale and translucent. Had most people in the castle seen him they would have fainted. Has he come back from the dead, they would ask? Has he been stricken by some preternatural magic that gives life to the lifeless? It was the right time of year for it, certainly, as they headed toward All Hallows’ Eve. Throughout England were those with their fascinations about magnetisms, perceptionisms, spiritualisms, and other isms. Let the family think what they may. Rather, the ghost decided, let me stay out of their sight so they don’t think of me at all. It’s better that way. The ghost was comforted by the sight of the housekeeper at Hembry Castle along with his dearest niece, both on their way upstairs, back to bed, presumably. The ghost glanced at his pocket watch and shook his head, annoyed by the time. What were they doing awake at this hour? The thought of Daphne, his niece, left him hollow inside. How he wished he could be at her wedding! He could not have wished a better husband for her than Edward Ellis—of that he was certain. Edward and Daphne were perfect for one another. He knew it the first time he saw them together at luncheon at Hembry, the way they gazed at each other until they felt other, intrusive eyes drilling them with relentless curiosity, when they turned tomato-red faces to their wine glasses, which couldn’t be refilled quickly enough. The ghost moved away from the castle, not floating, merely walking, certain to stay under cover of darkness. He crossed the grounds at a quick pace and found himself on the outskirts near the decorative mock castles and the Greek temple façades. He stopped at the tree-lined avenue, contemplating his childhood home. He exhaled with pride at the dignity of the place, the sand-colored limestone that rose majestically heavenward, as though its very presence had been ordained by a Higher Force. The winding river crackled as it jumped the stones, the water running faster from the constant rains they had been receiving. He turned to leave, the ghost. He meant to be on his way. Though he was still well hidden, the morning sun would break soon and his cloak of invisibility would vanish. And yet he could not leave. He walked toward the castle once again, close enough to see through the library window. The ghost sighed. He had been cursed by his birth, landed into an earldom he was not suited to. He wanted to travel. He wanted to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. Suddenly, the ghost saw his younger brother, Frederick, looking rather ghost-like himself as he wandered into the library. Seeing Frederick slumped and downcast, rubbing his hands together for warmth since the fire had died away, the ghost felt guilty. Suddenly, every mistake the ghost had ever made weighed on him. Now he, the ghost, was slumped and downcast, feeling the burden of Hembry Castle that he had thrust on Frederick’s shoulders. Checking upward to see the sky still covered in obscurity, the ghost crept closer to the old house, sneaking forward like a thief in the night. The library glowed gold from the candles Frederick had lit on the mantelpiece, the light surrounding Frederick like a halo. Finally, with a sigh the ghost felt rather than heard, Frederick sat at the desk, though he stood again just as quickly, pulling his mouth into a flat line. Frederick, Earl of Staton, looked as though he wanted nothing more than to go, perhaps to Sicily, or Luxemborg, or Boston. Frederick ran his hands through his graying hair. Now nearly seven-and-forty, the Earl of Staton was handsome with his bold features, not unlike the ghost, who would have been 50 years of age on the 12th of August of the Year of Our Lord 1871 had anyone thought to celebrate his last birthday. But the ghost checked himself. He had seen the flowers on his grave in the family plot at the edge of Hembry grounds. He knew they thought of him, spoke of him with great warmth and even a tear or two. He knew they missed him as he missed them. “I should have given it more thought,” the ghost said aloud to the rain now splattering his bowler hat. “I should have considered how my actions would affect my family. Perhaps I’ve only ever thought of myself when there are so many who think of me.” He was embarrassed, the ghost. Ashamed, even. Peering through windows is never as much fun as one thinks it will be. The ghost wanted to be on the other side of the glass. He wanted to speak soothing words to his brother. The ghost guessed that his brother was thinking of his life before he had been left with the never-ending task of being earl, dreaming of his life in Connecticut with his American wife and American daughter, of a time when he was his own man and free to do his own bidding, which, as earl, he no longer was. The ghost wanted to examine his brother more clearly but he didn’t dare risk being seen under any circumstances. He didn’t want his brother or his mother to collapse of a heart attack at the sight of him standing before their eyes, plain as day even in the darkness. These brief glimpses of his beloved family were all that were available to him. This would have to do. Forever, the ghost thought sadly. I cannot be with them. I cannot speak to them. I cannot help them when they need me. I cannot help them when they need me. The ghost pushed an inconvenient lock of chestnut hair under his hat. Despite his misgivings, he crept closer still, his eyes focused on his brother’s careworn brow. I cannot help them when they need me. And then he wondered. Might I help them? When they need me? He was nearly in his brother’s line of sight now. He watched Frederick, now seated again, his head languishing in his hands. What was causing Frederick such grief? Was there some problem that could be solved, or was it the weight of the mantle of the Earl of Staton? Yet Freddie is such a natural at this, the ghost thought. He handles everything with diligence and ease in a way I never did. It’s better that I’m on this side of the glass and he’s there. It’s better for the castle, the estate, the people who live and work here. Better for everyone. Except, perhaps, for Frederick. “How might I help?” the ghost asked the sky. Even from a distance there must be something I can do. But Freddie cannot know that I’m here, that I’m heartily sorry for what I did. And then the ghost had a thought. He covered his mouth with his hand to stop the laughter from drawing Frederick’s attention his way. Of course! He had not done right by his family in life, but he would make up for it now. He would make amends for the havoc caused by his untimely demise. He would help them all. A glimmer of pink glowed along the bottom of the sky, the rain easing its dart-like pelts with the coming light. The ghost knew it was time to disappear. But it was all right. He could wait. He would bide his time until he had a plan. It was the least he could do. It would be a challenge since he could only work under the cover of the shadows. After all, ghosts do their best work when no one else can see.