Castle Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  “So that’s why you needed her name,” Mavis mused.

  “Yes. We knew what she experienced, but we needed her to know that we recognized who she was.”

  Harris brought in a tea set and with Mercy’s help, began serving. One by one, everyone was given a cup of fragrant, steaming tea. The warmth and flavor encouraged a contented relaxation.

  “So we need to know the chamberlain’s name as well,” Mavis surmised.

  “Yes,” Sam said, putting his cup down. “Which reminds me… He ‘visited’ us in our suite this afternoon.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mavis glanced up quickly, her tea cup rattling on its saucer.

  Sam angled his head at Lacey.

  “He put his hand on my shoulder,” she said. “I thought it was Sam, but he wasn’t even in the room.” She couldn’t stop a chill from shuddering through her. “We were surprised that he would show up so far from the west residence.”

  Mavis and Peter exchanged looks. “Well,” Peter said, “as a chamberlain, he would have access to the entire castle. He would have keys to everything, and would know all parts of the castle.”

  Sam frowned. “But that’s weird that he would wander from the location of his torment. I’ve never known a spirit to do that.” He stared down at the carpet, his brow creased in thought, then looked back at Peter. “Any progress on finding out who he is?”

  “Not yet,” Peter said. “But our archivist is pursuing it.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “We need to know his name and his transgression.”

  “That may be a bit more difficult, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m afraid it will be, too.”

  Over a dinner of tender roast beef, Harley offered some good news.

  “I believe I may have found your ancestor,” he told Lacey.

  “Really?” She leaned toward him eagerly. “Where?”

  “On a hunch, I checked old records at an abbey south of Dublin. It’s still in use, although at quite a reduced size from what it was. I did find a Sister Colleen there in the early 1900s. I need to look further into it, however.”

  Lacey couldn’t hide her surprise. “An abbey? Like a nunnery?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Huh. I’m curious—why would you even look there? What would suggest that to you?”

  Harley looked mildly uncomfortable. “It was a bit of a stretch, but I was thinking about the lack of records for her. Almost as if she’d been… erased. It made me wonder if perhaps she had, uh…” He searched for the right words.

  Lacey put two and two together. “You think she caused a scandal? Committed a crime or defied custom?”

  Harley ducked his head. His mustache twitched. “It could be something like that,” he admitted.

  Lacey remembered something. “You know, when I was looking for her, I thought it odd that her son, Connor, had the same last name. I mean, his father could have been a Fitzpatrick as well, a distant relation or something, but it was almost like there was no father. No record of one, at any rate.”

  “That’s, uh, very probable,” Harley said. “And that’s what led me to the abbey.”

  “She might have gone there—or been put there—as penance for the crime of bearing a child out of wedlock?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, that’s perfectly all right,” Lacey said. “We’re all human, right? Although in her time, mistakes weren’t easily forgiven.”

  “No,” Harley said. “They were not.”

  Lacey was thoughtful. “So finding out who Connor’s father actually was will be pretty tough.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Lacey nodded. “Well, okay. But maybe we can still find Colleen’s connection to the family? Do you think that’s possible?”

  “I think it might be. I’ll do some more digging tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Harley.” She smiled at him. “I appreciate your help on this.”

  ~~~

  That evening as they backtracked to their own suite, Lacey realized the accumulation of the day’s activities was weighing heavily on her.

  “Jeez, I’m tired,” she said. “This day has felt like a week long.”

  “We got a lot done,” Sam said as he pushed open their door. “Both work and touristy stuff.”

  “And already one ghost down. Only one to go.”

  “Two,” Sam said. Lacey blinked at him. “Okay, not a ghost, but your ancestor. That’s a third mystery for us to figure out.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She sighed as she kicked off her shoes. “Isn’t it amazing—and tragic—how a mistake like getting pregnant could ruin a woman’s life back then? Disowned by the family, sent to a nunnery. And nowadays, it’s no big deal. I mean, granted, it’s not the best way to start a family, or a relationship, but it’s not the end of the world, either.”

  “Times change,” Sam said with a shrug. “Hey, I’m going to jump in the shower. Go on to bed if you want.”

  “No, I’ll wait up,” she said. But she sat on the side of the bed and looked longingly at her pillow.

  Sam chuckled. “Okay, you do that. I’ll wake you up when I get out.”

  He tossed his shirt on a chair and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Lacey tipped over sideways and buried her head in her pillow. So nice. So nice…

  She felt the bed dip from Sam’s added weight. That was fast. But she couldn’t quite muster the energy to open her eyes. She was so tired…

  But why didn’t Sam say anything? He said he’d wake her.

  Her eyes flew open.

  Gray eyes stared back.

  From only inches away.

  “Hey!” she yelled. She exploded into action, forcing herself upright, scrambling backward out of bed, nearly falling as her legs tangled in the bedspread.

  The chamberlain watched her silently, his gray eyes soft, sad, beseeching.

  Then he was gone.

  Lacey stood unsteadily on the floor, her entire body trembling.

  The bathroom door opened with a yank.

  She yelped and spun around.

  Sam walked out, naked from the waist up, towel-drying his long black hair. A cloud of fragrant, moist air accompanied him.

  “Lace?” He stopped, seeing her distress, her shock. “Lacey, what happened?” He hung the towel around his neck and went to her.

  “He was here again,” she barely whispered. “He was in bed with me. Looking at me. Right here.” She held a hand up just scant inches from her face.

  Sam folded her into his arms. She laid her face against his damp skin, holding on to the solidity of him, the warmth of him—the life of him.

  “We could go check into a hotel,” he offered softly.

  She dragged in a steadying breath. “No. I’m okay. I just wish he’d go back to his own room.” She tipped her face up to him. “Would you mind just… holding me all night?”

  Sam chuckled. “I can do that.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  He pulled her closer. “Not at all.”

  ~~~

  THIRTEEN

  The night was blessedly uneventful. No visitors, no dreams, nothing. Lacey slept like the dead. Like the dead should, she thought.

  Harley joined them during breakfast.

  “I’ve lined up some activities for you today,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh?” Lacey was feeling cautious after the chamberlain’s visit.

  “First off, we’ll meet with our archivist in the library. He thinks he may have a line on the chamberlain. Then…” He locked eyes with Lacey. “I thought we might go out to the abbey this afternoon. See what we can find out about your ancestor.”

  Lacey sat up. “Go to the abbey? That would be great! We can actually see where she lived?”

  “Most probably,” Harley said. “With luck, they may have found more details for you.”

  “Cool.” Lacey finished her breakfast with positive anticipation. She was ready to make some serious pr
ogress today. The sooner they ID’d the chamberlain so Sam could release him, the better.

  The archivist, Oswald Kilmartin, was a short man with startling green eyes, magnified by his oval glasses and an unblinking stare. He also wore his brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, although his was shorter than Sam’s.

  “So pleased to meet you,” he said, pumping both their hands. “Harley’s told me of your progress so far. Commendable.”

  “Thank you,” Lacey murmured. “May I say that your own work here, preserving all these wonderful records, is commendable, as well?”

  Oswald’s freckled cheeks burned pink. “Well, uh, it’s a pleasure to do so. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ve got something to show you.”

  The four of them sat at one of the tables, and Oswald produced a printout of an old, handwritten record.

  “There were no official census records in the 1700s,” he started. “Even in the 1800s, the census was spotty. We have 1821, but only in a few counties. In 1831, ’41 and ’51, the census was for only one county each, so you see the records are scattered about quite a bit. However…” He paused, turning the printout toward Sam and Lacey. “There were some counts taken on the city level. This is for Dublin and the surrounding area, taken in the year 1731.”

  Lacey’s eyes darted over the grainy picture. The writing was spidery, with confusing flourishes, making the names hard to read. Finally she found the name Fitzpatrick.

  “What’s this first name? Andrew?”

  “Aye, that’s right. Andrew was the lord of the manor at that time. His wife, Cynthia, is next, then their children.”

  Lacey scanned the entries quickly, noting the “ditto” marks for the last name, followed by Rosalyn, Isaac, Jamison, Meredith and Gideon. From that point on, the last names were written in.

  “McFarland, Bethany,” she read. “Who is she? Is she at the same place?”

  “Aye,” Oswald said. He pointed to a written entry at the top of the document. “This represents all the residents of Castle Fitzpatrick, Estuary Lane, Dublin.”

  “Okay, so who is Bethany?”

  Oswald’s finger slid across the page to a column on the right. “Nurse,” he said, tapping the word.

  Lacey hunched forward, her eyes focusing on that column. She saw “Maid,” “Butler,” then “Chmbln.”

  “And this?” she asked, pretty sure she knew the answer.

  Oswald grinned at her. “Chamberlain.”

  Lacey zipped her finger across the page, back to the left where the names were. “Trent, Cornelius.” She glanced up at Sam. “We have a name.”

  She turned back to the record. “Age, thirty-three.” She looked up at Oswald. “Does that seem young to be the head of staff?”

  “Not in those days. People matured quickly and, sadly, did not live as long. No, not unusual at all.”

  She nodded. “Okay, if he was thirty-three, he was born about 1698.” She pulled her laptop out of her pack and fired it up. Going directly to her genealogy site, she plugged his name and the probable birth year in the search boxes.

  “Bingo,” she said. “Born June 2, 1698, died April 19, 1737.” She tapped the screen. “No cause of death, of course. We’ll have to dig deeper for that. And a suicide might not even be mentioned in records. That was a pretty serious sin then; still is, for some.” She looked at Oswald. “Where can we go from here?”

  Just then, Peter and Mavis swept in. “Oh, good, you’re all here. We understand we have some exciting news?”

  Lacey showed them the document. “We have our chamberlain,” she said with a grin.

  “Marvelous,” Mavis said. She leaned toward Sam. “So you can release him now?”

  Sam hesitated. “Not yet,” he admitted. “We still need to know what his transgression was, what drove him to suicide. It’s his guilt that binds him here, and in order to relieve that, we have to know what’s behind it.”

  “Oh,” Mavis said with disappointment. “I was so hoping…”

  “Yeah, you and me, both,” Lacey said grimly.

  Mavis shot her a look. “Did he… visit you again?”

  Lacey tensed against a chill up her spine. “He got into bed with me last night.”

  Mavis’ eyes widened in alarm. “Good lord. He’s never done that.”

  “Yeah, lately he seems to be branching out in a lot of new directions,” Lacey muttered.

  Mavis drummed her fingers on the census record thoughtfully. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision and stood up.

  “I’d like you all to come up to the residence for a minute,” she said. “Would you mind?”

  Perplexed but curious, the six of them rode up to the third floor. Mavis didn’t offer an explanation, and no one asked for one. She simply led the way inside.

  “We don’t have a portrait of Andrew, or of his wife, Cynthia,” she said, taking them into one of the spare bedrooms Lacey remembered from their brief tour. “But we do have one of their daughter, Rosalyn.”

  She stood aside near a portrait on the wall and motioned toward it.

  Lacey stared in confusion. This was the one she’d shown them that first night, the one of the girl in the emerald gown with the Irish wolfhound.

  “I’m not following,” she said.

  Sam stepped up. “This is the girl that looks like you.”

  Lacey frowned. She still didn’t think the likeness was that great.

  Oswald glanced quickly from the portrait to Lacey and back again. “My word! They could be sisters!”

  Lacey stared at Sam. “Do you think Cornelius thinks I’m her?”

  Sam met her eyes, his own dark and intent. “I think he does, and I also think he was in love with her.”

  Lacey gaped, mouth open. “But… but...”

  “Close your mouth,” Sam said with a smile. “You’ll catch flies.”

  Lacey snapped her mouth shut. She turned back to the portrait, studying at it.

  “You think that’s why he’s appearing to me?”

  “I do,” Sam said. “And now I’m wondering if this has anything to do with his transgression.” He looked to Peter and Mavis. “Back then, how likely would it be for a chamberlain to touch a lord’s daughter, even something as casual as a hand on her shoulder?”

  “Not likely at all,” Peter said. Mavis shook her head. “That would be a terrible breach of conduct. He could be sacked for that. Disgraced.”

  “And what if,” Sam continued in a low voice, “he shared a bed with her?”

  Mavis sucked in a breath.

  “Unthinkable,” Peter said. “No, no, it couldn’t happen. Absolutely not.” He locked eyes with Sam, all but daring him to argue.

  Sam met the silent denial for a moment, then shrugged. “All right.” He turned to Oswald. “But you think you can find out more about Cornelius? About his death?”

  “Aye, I will work on it. Now that we have his name, I should be able to find more.”

  “Good,” Sam said. He surveyed the group. “Then I guess we’re done for now. Harley, when can we visit the abbey?”

  Harley blinked as if coming awake from a dream. “I made arrangements for this afternoon. We can leave here at two.”

  “Sounds good,” Sam said. He took Lacey’s hand. “So we’ve got a bit of free time. Come on.”

  He led her out of the residence and down to the elevator. None of their hosts followed or accompanied them.

  “I’m not too sure what just happened up there,” Lacey said as the elevator dropped.

  “Well, I’m not entirely sure, either,” Sam said, “but I think I hit a nerve.” He gazed down at Lacey. “I’m guessing the lord of the manor is a little thin-skinned about fraternizing with the help.”

  Lacey frowned. “But they’ve actually been pretty good about letting Harris and Aileen and Mercy watch your walks. And they don’t seem to pull rank with Harley and Oswald.”

  “No,” he agreed as they exited the elevator. “Want to walk the beach a bit? Build up an appetite for lunch?”
/>
  “Sure.”

  Outside the castle, they made their way down to the estuary, then headed along the shore toward the open ocean.

  “They welcome the help… to a point,” he said, picking up the thread. “Have you noticed how Harris and the maids always stand aside, or out of the way, even when I was doing my walks? They’re allowed to be there, but I’d bet you dollars to doughnuts they would never crowd ahead or step in front of Mavis and Peter. And if they did, I’d bet they’d get a very cold glare from both Ellsworths. I think this line between the classes is invisible to us, but it’s there, all the same.”

  They arrived at the beach and Lacey began searching for seashells. “So what do you think of Peter’s response to Cornelius and Rosalyn having an affair? He makes it sound like it’s an absolute impossibility.”

  “And you and I both know that people’s passions don’t always align with laws and customs.”

  “That’s for sure,” Lacey muttered. “How many times have we seen evidence of people doing things that no one would ever expect? Too many.”

  “Exactly.” Sam found a golf ball-sized rock and flung it out into the waves breaking on shore. “I’m afraid Peter’s going to be very disappointed with what we uncover, but if we’re going to do our job, we have to find the truth.”

  Lacey grinned at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gone against a property owner to release souls.”

  “No. And probably won’t be the last.”

  They strolled along the beach, hand in hand. A beach like any in LA, yet they were thousands of miles away.

  “So you really think Cornelius and Rosalyn had a thing?”

  He nodded. “I’ve got nothing to base it on, just a gut feeling. But the way he appears to you, first with his hand on your shoulder, then getting into bed with you. If nothing happened almost three hundred years ago, if he’d kept to his side of that invisible line, I don’t think he’d cross it now. Ghosts that are tied like this don’t… evolve. Or if they do, they fly free. I don’t think he’d contain his ardor during life and then decide to take the plunge in death. It just doesn’t follow.”