Castle Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Sam shook his head. “Never,” he said. “This’ll definitely be a first.”

  ~~~

  SIX

  They were ready by seven-thirty, and Lacey used the extra few minutes to prowl the suite. She examined pictures on the walls, scenes of rolling hills or storms at sea, and was surprised to discover a full standing suit of armor in the corner of the sitting room. One gauntleted fist held the handle of a battle axe.

  “That’s a pretty serious get-up,” she murmured.

  The second bedroom was done in darker royal blues with accents of wine red. She liked the lighter colors of their room better, and was glad Sam had picked it.

  “Have you looked out the windows?” she asked him when he emerged from the bedroom. She held aside the sheers that draped the tall window. Outside, the setting sun sparkled on the calm surface of the estuary and turned the green farmland to gold.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Pretty? It’s gorgeous.” She looked eastward to the open ocean. “I’d love to see a storm come through.”

  “I’ll bet they get some whoppers,” Sam said.

  Just then they heard a quick knock on the door. Lacey let Harley in.

  “Well, all ready, then?” he asked. “Settling in, have everything you need?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” Lacey said. More than fine. “I was just admiring the artwork.”

  Harley motioned them toward the elevator. “If it’s art you’re interested in, the Ellsworths have quite a collection. I’m sure they’d love to show it to you.”

  The Ellsworths lived on the third floor, their residence taking up half of the east wing. Harley shepherded them through a private entry and into a large sitting area. Lacey had a weird sensation of walking backward in time, past the gray stone walls hung with centuries-old tapestries. She thought it would feel like living in a museum.

  “Please, have a seat,” Harley said. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

  Lacey sank down on a rose divan while Sam took a wine-red chair. They both glanced around at the ornate furnishings, an odd mix of Victorian and French provincial. Lacey thought there had to be a fortune in antiques here.

  Footsteps on the flagstone alerted them to their hosts’ arrival. Both Sam and Lacey stood to meet the Ellsworths.

  “Hello,” Mavis said, coming immediately to Lacey and shaking hands. “Mavis Ellsworth. How do you do? I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Lacey said. She thought Mavis must be about her mother’s age, with chin-length brown hair expertly cut to wave flatteringly around her face. Her Irish brogue was barely perceptible beneath the cultured voice.

  “And this, of course, is Sam,” Mavis said, shaking his hand as well. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Peter Ellsworth followed in his wife’s wake, taking Lacey’s hand as quickly as Mavis released it. He was tall and slender, with thinning steel-gray hair and round spectacles. “Welcome to the ancestral home. How was your trip?”

  “Oh, fine,” Lacey said. “Very smooth.”

  “Excellent.” Peter greeted Sam, then motioned them to sit. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to have you here. We’re very much looking forward to your working here. If we are to believe all we’ve seen and read about you two, we know our ghosts will be in good hands.”

  Lacey felt the color come up in her cheeks, but smiled confidently. Having a glowing reputation precede them could be a two-edged sword.

  A maid arrived, a middle-aged woman in a blue dress with a white apron. She placed an ornate tray on the table at the center of the seating area, and backed quietly away. Lacey caught her eyes briefly and smiled thanks.

  “Please,” Mavis said, “help yourself.”

  The tray held a large round of freshly baked bread, cored out and filled with dip. Lacey tore off a bit of bread and scooped some dip.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s the best spinach dip I’ve ever tasted.”

  Mavis beamed. She tore off a small chunk of bread and took a bit of dip as well. “My favorite,” she said.

  Lacey relaxed back in her seat. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected of the Ellsworths, but it wasn’t this warm, welcoming couple. Late fifties or early sixties, they seemed more worldly, more cosmopolitan than her parents, but yet completely genuine and unjaded. She liked them immensely.

  “So,” Peter began, “your room is all right? Comfortable enough?”

  “It’s wonderful,” Lacey said. “Not what we’re used to, by any means.” She glanced around. “The furnishings, the artwork. Are these all things you’ve had stored away?”

  Mavis followed Lacey’s gaze around the room. “Much of it is. We of course bought new items for the guest rooms, beds and such, but much of it was here. We did our best to store things well so there was as little damage as possible. We’re planning on extending our small museum downstairs for the best pieces.”

  “And it’s all… Fitzpatrick?” Lacey asked.

  Mavis and Peter smiled at each other. “Predominantly,” she said. “Other families, of course married in, but we do have records for an unbroken line clear back to the year 1420.”

  “That’s impressive,” Lacey said. “And these records… are they something that might be available to us? Ordinarily we need to research the ghosts in order to find out who they are and why they’re tethered here.”

  “I think we can arrange that,” Peter said. “We’ll have our archivist assist you.”

  Sam leaned forward. “I’m not sure how much you know about my process, but you may know that I don’t want to be told anything about the ghosts before I do my walk.”

  Mavis nodded. “Aye, we are aware of that.”

  “So that said,” he continued, “do you think you know who the ghosts are? Or what their story is?”

  “We have suspicions,” Peter said. “We can share those with you whenever you like.”

  “All right,” Sam said. “That’ll be great.”

  The maid reappeared and bent down to whisper to Mavis.

  “Ah. Dinner is ready. Shall we?”

  The Ellsworths led the way to the dining room, with Harley following behind Sam and Lacey. A liveried butler seated Lacey at one side of the large trestle table, with Sam beside her. Harley was seated across from them and Peter and Mavis took the head and foot.

  The array of crystal and silver was dazzling. The dishes were an almost pearlized off-white with a tiny garland of ivy curling around the edges. The water and wine glasses were cut crystal and the silverware was heavy and ornate.

  “Your table is beautiful,” Lacey murmured.

  “Thank you,” Mavis said, smiling. “Family heirlooms, all.”

  Two maids came in bearing salads. Sam and Lacey were served first, then the others. Lacey recognized the older maid as the one who brought the hors d'oeuvres; the other was younger, closer to Lacey’s age. They served silently and retreated.

  Lacey picked up her fork, remembering, thankfully, to start with the outermost silverware and work inward as the meal progressed, and sampled the salad. It was sweet and crunchy with an unexpected mix of flavors.

  Mavis noticed her puzzlement. “Cabbage and pecans,” she said.

  “It’s delicious,” Lacey said. It occurred to her that this trip might be very bad for her figure. Food like this would be hard to turn down.

  “So, Sam,” Peter said, “I would expect you will want to start your work tomorrow?”

  Sam nodded, swallowing down a bite of salad. “Yes. How many locations are there that have manifestations?”

  Peter and Mavis exchanged glances. “The third floor residence in the west wing,” he said. “That’s four rooms.”

  “And the southeast tower,” Mavis said. “That’s a single room.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “I can walk those in the morning. What time is good?”

  Mavis hesitated. “We, uh, thought you might need to sleep in, catch up a little on the jet l
ag. Perhaps ten o’clock?”

  “Sure. If we’re up and ready earlier, maybe Harley can show us to the rooms? He said he wanted to watch.”

  Lacey caught a bit of byplay on the Ellsworth’s faces, but wasn’t sure what it meant. Harley looked uncomfortable.

  Peter leaned toward Sam. “Can we watch, as well? Would that be an imposition?”

  Lacey ducked her head to hide a smile.

  Sam, more able to keep a straight face, met his eager eyes. “No, not at all. After filming that TV show with all kinds of studio people around, a handful of onlookers won’t bother me.”

  “Aye, very good,” Peter said. He sat back, satisfied. Harley looked relieved.

  “Now,” Mavis said, “we have lamb for dinner, and colcannon. I think you’ll find it to your liking.”

  The dinner progressed through several courses, all brought by the silent but efficient maids. The butler, a tall, gaunt man with thinning hair and a small mustache, poured wine and brought in a silver tea set on a tray. Lacey marveled at the tender lamb and had to ask what made up the colcannon.

  “Potato, cabbage, leeks and parsnips,” Mavis said. “Do you like it?”

  “Very much,” Lacey said. She had a feeling she was going to develop a new respect for cabbage here. That and the dense brown bread, slathered with thick butter.

  Although Peter and Mavis had researched Sam and Lacey as soon as Webb had talked to them, they were still curious.

  “You mentioned that Hollywood mansion,” Mavis said. “How did that play out?”

  Briefly Lacey explained about the two tortured souls they found in the old mansion, how she researched their lives and how Sam released them.

  “How sad, but then how marvelous,” Mavis said. She sighed. “I do hope you will be as successful here.”

  Lacey had noticed several portraits on the walls of the residence, paintings that, if original, were very old. She asked about them.

  “With all these portraits, I’m wondering if you have a good sense of the families that occupied the castle over time, and what their stories were. I realize that five hundred years is a lot of ground to cover…”

  “It is,” Mavis agreed, “but I think we can supply you with quite a bit of background.” She waved a hand toward a painting of a dapper man in uniform over the fireplace. “That is Lionel Fitzpatrick, Peter’s great-grandfather. The woman there on the wall behind you is his wife, Constance.”

  Lacey turned to look. The woman was a bit on the plump side and wore her dark hair in sausage curls, but looked serene. Lacey could imagine the two of them helming the castle, the military man and the lady.

  “It’s amazing to be able to see what they looked like,” Lacey said.

  “I can show you more after dinner if you like.”

  Lacey smiled her thanks. “I’d love that.”

  “But what of your family?” Peter asked. “Do you know their history?”

  “Not much,” she confessed. “I did some searching before we came, and I ran into a dead end at my second great-grandmother. Couldn’t find anything about her parents at all.”

  Peter frowned. “Well, we shall have to see if we can’t get a bit more information for you while you’re here.”

  Dessert was a scrumptious Irish cream cheesecake. Lacey groaned at the sight of it.

  “Oh, not to your liking?” Mavis asked, concerned.

  “Oh, it’s absolutely to my liking,” Lacey said. “But I’m so full now!”

  Mavis chuckled. “If it’s too much, we can wrap it up so you can take it back to your room with you.”

  Lacey ate it all.

  “We have coffee and tea,” Mavis said, “but perhaps you’d like a short tour of the family paintings first?”

  Lacey glanced at Sam. He nodded, his eyes sparkling. She knew he could read her excitement.

  “Yes, please,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

  Mavis linked arms with Lacey and steered her back into the sitting room, Peter, Harley and Sam following. “I shall attempt to introduce you to them in somewhat of a chronological order,” she said, “which means we might meander a bit.” She stopped in front of a large portrait of a woman in a pale green gown. “This is Peter’s grandmother, Alicia Fitzpatrick Ellsworth. She’d had three older brothers who all died young, so the castle fell to her even though she no longer carried the name. She was born in 1898.”

  Lacey noticed the strawberry blonde hair. “I suppose the red hair and freckles pop up periodically.”

  “Aye, they do that,” Mavis laughed. “So her parents were Lionel and Constance. Now, over here, we have…”

  As Mavis had said, they meandered down the halls of time, moving from one room to another, one generation to another. Lacey noticed the portraits did not follow in an unbroken line, but often skipped a generation or two, or branched out from the main line. But Mavis and Peter knew them all. Lacey wondered what it would be like to know all her ancestors, to see these faces from the past every day.

  “And, finally,” Mavis said, “this is Rosalyn Fitzpatrick O’Toole. She was the daughter of Peter’s eighth great-uncle, born in 1718. We do have some older portraits, but due to their age and fragile condition, we keep them in climate-controlled storage.”

  Lacey felt overwhelmed by the names, the faces, the years. She knew she’d never keep them straight, but this one…

  The young woman sat amid the voluminous full skirts of an emerald green gown. Her dark red hair was swept upward in a coiled knot atop her head, and she stared out in peaceful contemplation. A huge Irish wolfhound lounged at her feet.

  Sam stepped up behind Lacey and pointed. “She looks just like you.”

  Lacey glanced over at him, then back at the portrait, frowning. There was some resemblance, but…

  “Heavens,” Mavis said. “She does, doesn’t she?” She laughed.

  “Good lord,” Peter said. “They could be twins.”

  Lacey looked closer. Wide-set green eyes, a wide mouth. “Do you really think so?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Mavis said. “Perhaps we’ve found a family connection already?”

  Lacey looked over at Sam. He was grinning. She tilted her head at him. “Really?” she asked.

  “Really,” he said.

  She stared at the painting. Maybe some similarities, but that was as much as she’d agree to.

  “Well, shall we have coffee?” Mavis asked brightly. She led the way back to the sitting room, motioned them all to seats and went to the kitchen.

  “So, tomorrow,” Peter said. He patted the arms of his chair and grinned at Sam and Lacey. “I won’t pretend I’m not looking forward to this.” He leaned toward Sam. “If you don’t mind my asking, how exactly do you receive your impressions?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” Sam said. Mavis joined them and the elder maid served coffee and tea. “I get it as feelings, but I’m aware of images, sounds, even smells. But it’s not the same as seeing or hearing with the senses. It’s just… different.”

  “Fascinating,” Peter said. He sipped his coffee. “And you’ve always had this ability?”

  Sam nodded. “Ever since I can remember.”

  Lacey accepted her coffee with a quiet, “Thank you,” to the maid, but noticed Mavis and her employee trading glances as the woman returned to the kitchen. Mavis set her coffee on the table beside her and peered at Sam.

  “We’re not the only ones looking forward to this,” she said. “Would you mind terribly if the staff came along as well? There’re just the three of them.”

  Sam glanced around. ”The maids? The butler?”

  “Yes. Would that be an imposition?”

  Sam chuckled. “No, not at all. I would just need quiet and no interruptions, but they’re obviously very good at that.”

  Mavis waved toward the kitchen. Lacey suspected someone had been keeping a lookout, because all three people emerged and came to stand shyly near Mavis.

  “Sam Firecloud, Lacey Fitzpatrick, may I pre
sent Aileen Flannery, Mercy Mills and Harris Kirkwood.”

  The maids dipped in small curtsies and the butler made a stately bow.

  “Nice to meet all of you.” Sam surprised Lacey by getting to his feet and approaching the staff, shaking each one’s hand. She scrambled to follow.

  “Thank you, sir,” Aileen, the older maid, said. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

  Sam chuckled. “Looks like I’ve got a lot to live up to.”

  “And thank you,” Lacey added, “for your service this evening. It was a wonderful dinner.”

  Mercy blushed furiously, while both Aileen and Harris beamed.

  Lacey winked at Mavis. “And you have a perfectly lovely family here, related or not.”

  ~~~

  Lacey hit the bed like a hundred-pound sack of grain.

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned. “I am going to sleep like the dead. Don’t even tell me what time it is at home. I don’t want to know.”

  Sam climbed into bed, laughing lightly. “Will eight hours be enough for you?”

  “Mmf,” she said into the pillow. “Maybe. Maybe not. How about ten? Or twelve? Twelve would be good.”

  Sam leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, since she couldn’t seem to lift her head from the pillow.

  “Good night, Lacey.”

  “G’night, Sam. I love you. Twelve hours. Twelve…”

  ~~~

  SEVEN

  Nine hours was all he would give her. She groaned when he flung open the drapes, allowing sunlight to pour in through the tall window, and when she turned away and burrowed into her pillow, he yanked the covers off and slapped her on the butt.

  “You’ve got an hour until show time,” he told her.

  She made a rude noise and blew the hair off her face. “Why are you up first? You never get up first.”

  “I can function on less sleep than you can. Come on. The bathroom’s all yours.”