AUTHOR’S NOTE
It is believed by some people who call themselves psychic that there are all kinds of ghosts.
The ‘warning ghosts’, like the one in this story, who appear to give notice of a forthcoming death or tragedy are different from the earthbound unhappy spectres who are vengeful and send things flying around a room.
Or it can be love that binds to this world after they have died the ghosts who haunt by continuing to carry out the customs that they observed in life.
For all of them a certain spiritual energy and awareness is necessary for them to “go on, but to do so needs a decision and independence of will that can take aeons to acquire.
During the First World War I had lessons with a girl of my age, thirteen to sixteen, who lived in a lovely house in Somerset. It was however haunted.
There was always someone going upstairs in front of us and someone coming up behind. We used to hear a horse trot up to the front door, but when we looked out there was nothing there.
It was some years before I learned that it was the home of a Royalist who had been wounded in the Civil War and who came home to die.
An Irishman told us that there was a lovely woman with fair hair walking in the dining room. We laughed at him but five years later the workmen took up the huge flagstones in front of the fireplace.
Hidden in there was the body of a young woman with long fair hair.
Even while they were looking at it, it disintegrated and fell into dust.
When I came to Camfield Place in 1949, I had the house blessed as I had no wish to live with ghosts.
It was after I had the house blessed that I found in an autobiography of Beatrix Potter, whose grandfather altered the house and made it very much larger, that while she was here as a little girl she was frightened by ghosts in the hall and the large statues there.
There are, however, no ghosts there today, except for the ghost of a dog who was put to sleep after the blessing and who has stayed with us because he loves us so much.
Chapter One ~ 1818
Sedela rode across the Park looking for the deer underneath the oak trees.
In the distance on the other side of the lake she could see Windle Court.
It was a very fine example of the best architecture of the previous century.
She was thinking that every time she saw it that it was even more beautiful than before.
There had always been a house here since the Windles had first come to the County in the reign of King Henry VIII.
One generation after another had either pulled some of it down or added to the existing building until the fourth Marquis, sixty years ago, had altered and upgraded the whole facade. It was magnificent now with two wings stretching out from a central building.
Although Sedela had known it since she was a small child, she always felt a little thrill when she looked at it.
She felt the same in the woods, the gardens and in the Greek Temple that stood at the far end of the lake.
Sedela knew that the present Marquis had returned from France and, as she rode on, she was thinking that he would soon be coming home.
He was nine years older than she was. She had therefore only been a small girl when he had gone to the War against the French and Napoleon Bonaparte.
She had not often seen him before that because he was at school while she was still in the nursery.
‘I wonder if he will remember me?’ she was thinking to herself.
It would be strange if he did not, seeing that her father, General Sir Alexander Craven, and his father had been close friends for many years.
When the late Marquis had died after a long illness, the General had in fact been broken-hearted.
Sedela thought that he missed more than anything else the games of chess that the two old gentlemen used to play regularly in the afternoons.
Of course they also discussed the War in its every aspect and detail.
She often thought that her father had been as delighted as the Marquis when his son, Ivan, had won a medal for gallantry in Spain. Later he had also received personal congratulations from the Duke of Wellington after the Battle of Waterloo.
“Thank God the War is over!” Sedela said aloud fervently as she rode on.
She could not remember a time when England had not been battling against Napoleon.
Since peace had come three years ago the country had been trying to recover its prosperity and she was aware that all of Europe was trying to do the same thing.
‘At least I can now persuade Papa to talk about something other than fighting and the horrors of war,’ she thought.
Because he had no son, the General had given his only daughter what was really a boy’s upbringing and education.
She had not gone to school. But he had engaged Tutors from the nearest town and even from London to instruct her in the same subjects that he had studied when he was her age.
She had learnt to ride from the moment she could crawl.
She could shoot straight and she was exceptionally good at archery.
She was now reaching the end of the Park.
It had been dangerous to ride too quickly because of rabbit holes, but now she was able to increase her pace.
She rode towards the front of the house and then turned right.
In a few seconds she came to the stables.
The cobbled yard had been washed down in the same way it had been when the old Marquis was alive and the horses had their heads over the half-doors of their stalls.
She felt because she knew them all so well that they greeted her affectionately whenever they saw her.
A stable lad came running to take hold of Firedragon’s bridle.
“Mornin’, Miss Sedela,” he called out.
“Good morning, Sam,” Sedela replied. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine, Miss Sedela,” he answered. “We’ve two new ’orses arrived yesterday from London.”
“New horses?” Sedela exclaimed. “How exciting! I would love to see them, but first I must visit Nanny.”
“I’ll be a-waitin’ to show ’em to you, Miss Sedela.”
Sam took Firedragon away to put him into his stall.
Sedela, now carrying the package that she had held in front of her saddle, walked into the house through the back door.
She knew every inch of the long flagstoned passage.
She passed the cool room where the cream was forming on top of the milk and the huge open bowls stood on marble slabs.
After that, on the right, came the servants’ hall and on the left the huge kitchen.
From the high beams Sedela knew that there would be hanging ducks, chickens, onions, hares, rabbits and legs of pork.
She knew that Mrs. Benson, the cook, who had been in the house for thirty years, would be delighted to see her.
But she walked on because her first visit must always be to Nanny.
Nanny was a very special person.
She was known to everybody in the house, on the estate and in the village. They all spoke affectionately of her and addressed her as ‘Nanny’.
Presumably she had another name, but it was doubtful if anybody knew it or could remember it.
Nanny had been engaged twenty-seven years ago to look after the eagerly expected heir, Master Ivan.
Son of the fifth Marquis of Windlesham, he was idolised from the moment he was born.
When Ivan had grown too old to need her services, Nanny had moved to General Sir Alexander Craven’s house at the end of the village.
There she looked after Sedela.
She had stayed on at Four Gables until she found Sedela’s Governesses intolerable and said that she wished to retire.
“My son may be needi
ng your services in a few years’ time, Nanny,” the Marquis of Windlesham had told her, “so you had better come back to Windle Court.”
Nanny had been delighted to agree and she had found plenty to occupy herself with at the Big House.
Besides, everybody in the village who needed advice or healing, came to see her as a matter of course.
Nothing happened, either big or small, in the neighbourhood that Nanny did not know about.
Sedela knew that gossip flew from cottage to cottage as if it had wings.
But a good deal of it started from the nurseries at Windle Court.
She passed the pantry.
Hanson the butler, who had been at The Court for thirty-five years, had a new footman he was training.
Billy came from the village and he was the son of the estate carpenter.
Sedela thought that when she came downstairs again she would enquire how Billy was getting along.
She remembered her father telling her that he was a good lad and anyway it was traditional for the footmen at Windle Court to come from the village.
She climbed the stairs, and there were quite a lot of them, until she reached the third floor.
This was where the nurseries were situated and they were as impressive as the rest of the huge house.
The large nursery looked East and caught the morning sun.
There were two bedrooms, one of which Ivan had once occupied – the other was Nanny’s.
There were two more rooms on the other side of the corridor and these were for any child who might come to stay from time to time.
Sedela opened the nursery door.
She found as she had expected that Nanny was sitting by the fireside crocheting.
Since she had no baby to look after Nanny had added crocheted lace to practically every sheet in the house. All the hand towels had six inches of crochet elegantly done at the hems and Nanny was now starting on the pillowcases.
She had grey hair and there were lines on her face that had not been there when she was young.
She still had, however, a warm friendliness in her eyes and the loving smile that Sedela had known and loved as a child.
“Good morning, Nanny,” she began. “I have brought you some of the cream cheese we have just made. Papa had a luncheon party yesterday before leaving this morning with Mama. They are making a visit of a week or perhaps more to Mama’s sister in Leicestershire, who is very ill. I know how much you enjoy this particular cheese.”
“I need something to cheer me up,” Nanny replied in a low voice.
Sedela looked at her sharply.
“Cheer you up, Nanny? What is the matter?”
“I don’t know how to tell you, Miss Sedela,” Nanny answered, “I don’t really! I can’t bear that it should happen to him, of all people, my baby who – I’ve never ceased to love.”
Her voice broke on the last words and she put a handkerchief up to her eyes.
Sedela went down on her knees beside her chair.
“What has happened, Nanny?” she asked. “What has upset you?”
“I knowed no good would come from him stayin’ in London,” Nanny said in a broken voice. “The things as goes on there are not for the likes of a man as brave and good as his Lordship.”
Nanny had always been desperately afraid during the War that Ivan would be wounded or killed in battle.
Sedela could hardly believe that once again she was listening to fear and unhappiness.
It was what had torn at all their hearts from the moment Ivan had left England to join his Regiment.
Sedela put out her hand to take the one that Nanny was not holding her handkerchief in and found her fingers to be stiff and cold.
“Tell me what has happened,” she said soothingly, “and try not to cry, Nanny. You know how upsetting it is to everyone when you are in tears.”
She had often thought that for a child to see her mother or her Nanny cry was something so upsetting that it would be impossible to forget.
She could only once remember her own mother crying. And that was when her own mother had died.
Nanny had cried when Ivan had got himself into trouble at school.
She had also wept bitterly when he had left to join the Duke of Wellington’s Army in Portugal.
“May God strike down that French devil!” Nanny had sobbed. “If he harms one hair of his Lordship’s head, I will pray he’ll burn in a hell of his own makin’!”
Strong words, Sedela had thought, but Ivan had survived the War.
He had stayed, however, in France with the Duke of Wellington’s Army of Occupation, which was based in Cambrai in France.
Then three months ago he had returned to England.
But to Nanny’s consternation he had not come home, although everything had been made ready for him.
The house had been cleaned and polished until, in the words of the General, it was ‘spick and span’.
But his Lordship had stayed on in London.
It seemed to Sedela extraordinary, but her father had understood that his services were required at the War Office.
“And of course,” the General said firmly, “the boy wants to make contact with his friends after being abroad for so many years.”
Sedela had told Nanny what her father had said.
She then guessed that Nanny, who was inclined to be a snob, was thinking that the Marquis would be welcomed at Carlton House by the Prince Regent.
Perhaps His Royal Highness would want him to recount how he had won his medal for gallantry.
Anyway, Nanny would always make excuses for her ‘beloved baby’ whatever he did.
It seemed incredible that now she should be in tears when he was back safely in England.
“What has happened?” Sedela asked again.
“I’ve had a letter from my niece, Lucy,” Nanny replied.
She picked it up from where it lay on her lap.
She tried to read it, but the tears blinded her eyes and she gave it to Sedela.
“Read it for yourself,” she suggested.
Sedela knew that Nanny’s niece was lady’s maid to Lady Esther Hasting.
Lucy was the daughter of Nanny’s elder sister and was now nearly forty and she had been with various other Ladies of Quality since she grew up.
Thinking quickly Sedela remembered that Lady Esther Hasting was the daughter of a Duke. She had married a soldier who had been killed at the Battle of Waterloo.
She opened the letter.
Having seen Lucy’s handwriting before, she knew it would be somewhat difficult to read and her spelling was extremely irregular.
Sedela then read,
“Dear Aunty Mary,
This is just a line to tell you that I’m very worried about the things as be going on here.
As I tells you in my last letter, his Lordship’s been a regular visitor and I hardly dares to tell you that her Ladyship’s made up her mind to marry him!
If he does anything so foolish, all I can warn you is look out for trouble because there’s no doubt you’ll get it and all them as is with you at the Big House.
Most of them will lose their jobs. Like I tells you afore no one stays with her Ladyship for more than a few months and there’s them as says they’d sooner starve than work for her!
She’s only polite to me because she won’t find it easy to employ someone else as handy with a needle as I be which be thanks to you.
Her way with the rest of the staff is appalling and she screams at them like she were one of them rude women in Shepherd’s Market. But not to his Lordship, oh no! Nothing like that when he’s around. Sweet as honey, soft as a goose-filled mattress and he ain’t the least idea what she’s really like.
You’d hardly believe the men as sleeps here when he’s got other engagements and she’s sure he won’t be coming here. Shocking is what I calls it!
There be one, Lord Bayford, as has something to gain if her Ladyship marries his Lordship, as she intends to do.
>
I just happened to be passing the bedroom late the other night when they was canoodling each other and I hears Lord B say, ‘It would be to my vantage as well as yours Esther when you becomes the Marchioness. You can count on me to get any obstacles out of the way, even if I has to shoot them!’
I’m telling you this, Aunty, so’s you’ll be prepared for the worst. But if she turns you out I knows there be friends in the village as’ll find a place for you somehow.
Love to all,
Lucy.”
Sedela read the letter and felt that it could not be true. How could Ivan, of all people, become involved with a woman who could deceive him with other men?
And who could ever be cruel to the old servants like Nanny?
She folded the letter and put it in Nanny’s lap.
“Perhaps Lucy is mistaken,” she said slowly after a moment.
“She’s always been a truthful girl, Miss Sedela,” Nanny replied. “She was brought up right by my sister and if she says that woman’s bad, she’s bad!”
“But how can Ivan be so deceived by her?” Sedela asked.
“Lucy told me in another letter that she’s known as the most beautiful woman in England.”
Sedela did not speak and Nanny went on,
“It’s understandable for any young man who’s been fightin’ for his country and then stuck in France with nothing but those Frenchies, who are not much to look at, to be deceived by a pretty face.”
Nanny was championing her beloved Ivan again and Sedela knew that nothing would ever be his fault.
At the same time she was apprehensive.
Her father had often said scathing things about the behaviour of those who belonged to the Social world and he had been appalled by the extravagant parties that had been given in London by the Prince Regent.
Especially while the War was still raging.
“Our men,” he asserted angrily, “are fighting in the Peninsula to save England from the tyrant Bonaparte! Does no one think of them?”
Sedela had heard many of the conversations that had taken place at home.
Her father’s friends would come in for a drink after being out hunting and they spoke about the festivities in London.
She had also been present after she was sixteen at most of the dinner parties given by her mother. Because she was there the guests would choose their words with care.
Warned by a Ghost Page 1