Birdie and the Beastly Duke by Sofi Laporte
Chapter 11
There are ghosts and then there are ghosts, her friend Lucy used to tell them at the seminary.
During one particularly eery night, the girls huddled around her in their local graveyard with nothing but a single candle burning in a lamp.
“Most ghosts,” Lucy explained, “are not really ghosts at all. They’re but figments of the imagination. Real ghosts are not visible to the rational eye. A draft of cold air. A feeling of apprehension. Goosebumps covering the arm. This is how genuine ghosts make themselves known. They’re mostly harmless.”
“But Lucy. What about poltergeists, creatures who throw down porcelain cups and knock on doors?” Arabella asked. “Apparently, we have several of those at Ashmore Hall.”
“Pooh. I will tell you a secret. Come closer.” The girls huddled closer.
“The secret,” Lucy whispered, her low voice hollow, caused Birdie to shiver in anticipation. “The secret is”––she paused dramatically as the whites of her eyes glittered––“that there are no such things as poltergeists! Whoo hoo!” With a howl, she pulled out a white sheet and threw it into the air. It fluttered in the night wind, like a spectre. The girls screamed. The sheet fluttered to the ground and looked, well, like a sheet. Huddling closer, the girls clung to each other and burst into laughter.
“You’re terrible, Lucy. Giving us such a fright!” Birdie’s heart hammered against her chest, but she laughed.
“Oh pooh. Keep this in mind. If you ever try to impersonate a ghost, remain normal. Ghosts used to be people with personalities once upon a time. No white linen sheets, for pity’s sake! Lest you encounter the same fate as poor Thomas Millwood. He was mistaken for the Hammersmith Ghost and shot.”
“The Hammersmith Ghost? Oh my. What happened?” Birdie asked as she clasped the hands in front of her breast.
“Poor Thomas Millwood was wearing white linen work clothes that fluttered in the wind. He was a plasterer. He crossed the graveyard when an officer mistook him for the Hammersmith ghost.” Lucy shrugged. “Rather stupid of the officer, I must add. Thinking he could shoot a ghost!”
The girls looked around nervously, glad they were wearing dark coats.
“Mind you, it’s the frightful atmosphere of the graveyard that plays on your imagination. Not this old sheet on the ground.” Lucy nudged it with her foot. “If I’d done this in plain daylight, you wouldn’t have blinked an eyelash. Remember this: things never are what they appear to be.”
Lucy pulled out a book and read them a wonderfully spooky tale. It had been one of the scariest and most delightful outings during her time at school.
Birdie grinned in fond memory as she trudged down the dark hall of the castle.
Having been previously initiated in the lore of ghosts, in a cemetery no less, she felt more than ready to confront the Ghost of Dunross Castle.
Moonlight flooded through the gothic windows, casting long shadows. Her lamp illuminated little of the hall, but there was sufficient light for her to see that there was not a soul there.
So far, this was not surprising. Then, she frowned. There were odd sounds; grating sounds that seemed like they came from the library. She went in there. Throwing the door open, it did not surprise her that the room was empty.
She let her eyes roam. The only ghostly thing in the room was the portrait of the old duke, whose pale face and malevolent eyes glared down on her. Birdie shuddered. She would tell Higgins to take down this portrait first thing in the morning. There was nothing else here. Turning toward the door, Birdie’s gaze fell on the window. She froze.
What on earth was that?
She almost dropped her lamp. She squinted through the window. Why hadn’t she brought her spectacles? There was something outside on the far end of the bailey, on the battlement. She blinked in surprise. Indeed.
It was a ghost.
A white thing that fluttered in the air, ghostlike and terrifying. It looked exactly like Lucy’s sheet. Except this one had two red, glowing eyes.
Birdie tilted her head sideways.
Red glowing eyes? Somehow, that didn’t fit in with anything Lucy had told her about ghosts.
“We will see about that,” Birdie muttered. She went to the front door and rattled on the latch.
That Higgins. She would have to tell him to stop locking them into the castle. He simply would also have to sleep in the castle, like any other proper butler.
Birdie kicked the heavy door, frustrated. It merely made a dull thump; the door remained firmly shut, and her toe smarted.
This just wouldn’t do.
Birdie rose earlythe next morning and went down to the front hall. She found the door unlocked. She crossed the bailey and took the stone steps up the battlements that surrounded the castle. There, she found exactly what she expected to find.
A piece of wire and a wrinkled sheet with eye holes hidden in the parapet's recess. Next to it was a pot with dirt, a broom, and a lamp with coals.
Clever.
Someone had stuck the broom into the dirt pot and used wire to fix a sheet on it. Underneath, he or she had placed a lamp with glowing coals. On top of the gloomy castle battlements in the middle of the night, anyone with the faintest belief in the supernatural would think this was a ghost.
She thought about packing the “ghost” up and taking it with her, but changed her mind and put it back into the stone recess. No need to alarm whoever deemed it necessary to come up with this ridiculous ploy.
Someone had gone through some considerable trouble to put a fright into her.
The question was: who?
And why? Someone who wanted her gone.
Higgins? Gabriel?
It made little sense. Higgins had nothing to gain by scaring her. And Gabriel? After having married her, he’d moved heaven and hell to get rid of her. Would that include frightening her away? Why would he go to such measures?
Huffing, she stomped down the stairs of the battlement.
Her husband had some explaining to do.