The Ghost of Glendale

by Kleinman, Natalie

  “What do you think? Is it possible?” Phoebe asked, wide-eyed.

  Duncan’s eyes were as alight with excitement as her own.

  “You’re thinking…”

  “Yes, a secret passageway.”

  “Whatever are you two talking about?”

  It was time to fill them in a little on the details.

  “So you’re saying that Simon’s clue leads you to the ice house.”

  “It’s a possibility, don’t you think, Max? A way he could come and go unnoticed. And if there is a passage what better way for the lovers to meet in secret.”

  “When can we go, Duncan? I’m sorry, Aunt, but I cannot delay if there is a possibility we might solve the mystery.”

  “I perfectly understand. Indeed, I am myself excited and hope that my meagre artistic efforts may be significant.”

  “I cannot stay at Glendale. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not until we are married.”

  “You will come to Cranford with me. The place is huge. We need not inflict ourselves on the young couple,” Max said, coming to the rescue.

  Sophia was looking dejected.

  “And you shall come with me to Glendale, Aunt Sophia. Clarissa’s confinement is not for some time. It would be a shame if you were not able to join in the adventure since you have had such a significant part in it now.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  And so it was decided.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The party broke their journey overnight and stopped the next day for an early luncheon before arriving at Glendale in the middle of the afternoon. The gentlemen, pausing only to exchange greetings with Edward, continued on to Cranford with Duncan promising to return early next day to continue their search. The baroness allowed herself to be fussed over by her old nurse and Phoebe, restless and not the least bit tired, could hold herself no longer. “It serves no purpose for me to wait. I shall see you later,” she said to her aunt who was so engrossed in conversation that she barely looked up to acknowledge the comment.

  Armed with a torch, Phoebe pushed at the door of the old ice house. It resisted but gave way under pressure. Phoebe, finding herself in a large chamber, was convinced it had been used centuries earlier as a place to hide from the Roundheads, well before the custom of storing ice in this way had come into use. But if she was right why would the Glendale coat of arms have been flaunted at its entrance? Perhaps it had been constructed for some entirely different purpose. Or the embellishment added later. Had her ancestors taken refuge here in harder times? She felt a sudden rush of cold air though the flame on her torch remained steady.

  “Simon?”

  Any doubts she may have had at once disappeared. Simon seemed to lead her to the side of the chamber. She held the torch close but could see nothing significant. Then, as she ran her hand over the wall, there was a perceptible change in texture and temperature. She found a hidden opening, partially obstructed, that reached just above waist height. Shielding her torch she pushed hard against the blockage. As well she did for it gave way against her weight and another greater rush of air nearly extinguished the flame. She could feel the cold that was Simon move ahead of her into the tunnel and without hesitation she stooped and followed, heedless of the centuries of dust and grime that dirtied the hem of her gown. The floor sloped very gently downwards and Phoebe moved as quickly as she could for her great great great, however many greats, grandfather was obviously after all this time in something of a hurry. She ran on for what seemed like an age until suddenly she tripped over a protruding root and tumbled headlong, banging her head as she fell. The last thing she did before losing consciousness was to whisper, “It wasn’t your fault, Simon.”

  Sophia didn’t think much about Phoebe’s absence for some while. However, the days were drawing in now and as dusk settled she stirred herself and went in search of her niece. She was nowhere to be found. Edward had seen her only briefly upon their arrival and the servants not at all. Worried now, Sophia suddenly remembered Phoebe’s parting words. Something about not waiting. She’d spent enough time with her niece over the past few months to hazard a fair guess as to what that might mean. With increasing concern she sent a hastily scrawled note to Duncan. He came immediately to find the baroness pacing up and down.

  “What did she say? Do you remember?”

  “That it would serve no purpose for her to wait. That she would see me later. I didn’t give it a thought, Mr Armstrong. I was talking to Mrs Wiggins and not really paying any attention. Do you really think she’s gone to the ice house?”

  “I would lay money upon it. But why has she not returned? You did right to send for me. Please excuse me for I must see if I can find her.”

  “I pray she is all right.”

  “As do I, and if she is I shall wring her neck.”

  Duncan raced to the ice house and it was evident immediately that Phoebe had been before him. The entrance to the secret passageway was lit by his torch. He was grateful to find the tunnel quite roomy and hurried onwards, blood pounding in his ears for fear of what he would find. Eventually he came upon Phoebe, sitting up now and rubbing her head. Relief at finding her unharmed caused him to vent his anger.

  “You could not wait! Were we not to look tomorrow? Foolish girl, what would you have done if the ceiling had collapsed upon you?”

  She looked up at him, tears glistening on the end of her lashes, and he realised she was severely shocked by her experience. Even by the light of the torch he could see her face was ashen. He gathered her in his arms, soothing, apologising, and infuriated with himself that he might have added to her distress. After a while he felt her body relax.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “He was here. Simon was here. He led the way. I tried to tell him that we’d found his letter. That we knew he didn’t get her note in time. That he couldn’t have saved her. Oh, Duncan, the torment he has suffered all these years.” Silent tears coursed down her cheeks. “We have to go on. This will lead us to the answer.”

  “We must get you home first. You need time to recover. We will come again tomorrow.”

  “No, I am fine and now that you are here all will be well. See, the ground begins to slope upwards again which is the reason, I think, why I tripped on this root. We must be nearly there.”

  He was about to protest when he felt, no, he saw that Simon was with them. Impossible to distinguish features but form and shape were definitely evident and it seemed the apparition was leading them forward.

  “Are you able to stand, Phoebe?”

  “Of course I am. Come. We must go on.”

  Duncan could see that some colour had returned to her cheeks and so they followed where they were led. A few steps more took them to where the passage ended. Pushing brambles out of their way they emerged into a clearing in the home wood. Their clearing in the home wood. Their tree.

  “Oh Duncan, we were here all the time. This tree on which we have sat so many times is Agnes and Simon’s tree. This is where they used to meet. But what of Simon’s poem? Where are their names carved?”

  “They must be on the underside or we would have seen them. Look, there is a gap underneath, here where the ground dips. If I could just crawl…” he said. “No, dammit, I cannot.” But the apparition that was Simon could, swooping into the space beneath the trunk. They waited for some moments but he didn’t reappear.

  “I shall bring you back in daylight for we cannot scramble now on hands and knees to see. Come, let me take you home.”

  Edward and Sophia were waiting anxiously when they returned to the house. The story was told and Phoebe went to bed with some hot chocolate to calm her. She awoke next morning as fresh as could be apart from a bruise where she had banged her head. Duncan was already waiting for her when she went downstairs and Beau and Jester were saddled up and ready to go.

  They didn’t hurry. Keen as they were to confirm their conclusions, neither was in any doubt as to what they would find.


  “How do you think the tunnel came to be there and how did Simon find it, do you think?” Phoebe asked. “Was it the war?”

  “I imagine it must have been. An escape route for anyone wishing to flee the Roundheads. You remember how much hatred there was between your family and the Rushmores. The Loyalists were hounded to death. Many homes had hidey holes or tunnels at that time. Simon would have been well aware of it. Would possibly even have ordered its excavation though that must have been done in secret too for I understand there were spies everywhere.”

  “I’m proud of him, you know. What an ingenious way to meet his love undetected.”

  “I can see I am marrying into a very resourceful family. What say you we give these two a chance to stretch their legs before we get there.”

  They cantered along happily, side by side, until reining in where the trees were harder to negotiate, and finally arrived at the clearing.

  “It looks the same as ever, Duncan. I felt it might be different somehow.”

  They began to move away some of the undergrowth that impeded their access, Duncan having had the forethought to have brought a knife. Finally they were able to clear a space large enough for his head and lying on his back he wriggled beneath the trunk. Phoebe was in a fever of anticipation but he soon emerged and with a smile as broad as any she had ever seen.

  “It is there?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, and there is more. Newly carved beneath the rest are the words ‘at peace’. It would seem he has taken our words to heart and I believe he has left it as a message for us. I think we shall not see Simon again. He is with Agnes now.”

  By the time they returned to Glendale the party from Cranford had arrived and were waiting eagerly for news.

  “Aunt Sophia, I don’t believe I have shown you the statue of Agnes and Simon. It must have been carved sometime after her death for I believe Simon’s father was still alive and would never have allowed it to be commissioned and even less to be put on display.”

  “Because of the feud?”

  “Yes, a feud that continues to this day.”

  She looked at her father from under her eyelashes and it seemed that the barb may have hit home. Particularly when the baroness exclaimed, “But that is nonsense. Maybe not then perhaps for it was the way of things, but now? Surely long enough for any family hostility!”

  “You are right,” Edward said. “Do you think the Rushmores might be persuaded to visit so that we may discuss this sad tale and hopefully bring this ridiculous situation to an end?”

  “The younger Mr Rushmore will come assuredly for he has had no small part in helping to solve the riddle.”

  “You have been in contact with him?” Edward asked, incredulous.

  “There was no way else we could proceed and I had no argument with the family. Do you?” she asked roguishly.

  “We have been foolish indeed. See then if you can convince the elder to join us with his son and we will thrash this out once and for all.”

  “And in the meantime, my dear, I should like to see the statue you spoke of, for I have heard so much about the young lovers I should dearly like to meet them, if only in stone.”

  “Come then, Aunt, and I shall leave it to you and Rupert to engage with Hugh,” she said, taking Duncan’s hand. “Between the three of you it shouldn’t be impossible to pull it off.”

  “I feel sorry for his poor wife, having to look at that every time she came in here. There’s no denying the bond between the figures, is there.”

  “It was a marriage of convenience I believe. Simon needed an heir and Lady Marcham was willing to comply.” Sophia winced. “But I suspect my ancestor would have kept this statue hidden because even down through the ages it is possible to see the family resemblance. There can have been no doubt who the subject was but from all I can gather Simon was a gentle man. I feel sure he wouldn’t have flaunted his first love in the face of his wife.”

  “A gentle soul indeed to have suffered so much for so many years.”

  “You believe it then, this story of ghosts,” Lydia asked, astonished.

  “What I cannot prove or disprove I can neither confirm nor deny. Your cousin’s experiences and those of Mr Armstrong are too forceful to dismiss. And from what Phoebe tells us, my own sister had encounters with this spirit.”

  “Indeed. Had it not been for my mother we would never have solved the mystery. She would be glad, I know, to have been instrumental in all of this for as far as I can tell she made it her life’s work.”

  “Well it is to be hoped the gentlemen are successful in convincing Mr Rushmore to bring discord to an end.”

  And so it proved to be. Rupert returned to Glendale to collect his wife and asked that the Marchams expect their neighbours the following afternoon. Phoebe went immediately to tell her father. “Harrumph!” was his only response but it was obvious that he was at least ready to try and make peace.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nine people assembled at Glendale the next day. Arthur and Hugh Rushmore and the party from Cranford. As for Edward and the elder Rushmore, there was goodwill and determination on both sides. Duncan was surprised when all were shown into Emily’s private drawing room for he knew it to be a sanctuary. But Phoebe and her father had discussed it earlier.

  “This is as much your mother’s concern as anyone’s. She spent many hours there investigating and it seems only right to me that the culmination of her endeavours should take place in that room.”

  He nonetheless had to steel himself. As he moved forward he ran his hand over Emily’s desk. Looked up at Simon’s portrait on the far wall. Turned to gaze at long-forgotten treasures, a trinket box he had given his wife on the birth of their daughter. All this time Phoebe was settling their guests around the table. On it stood the chest with Emily’s evidence, together with other items Hugh Rushmore had previously supplied.

  “I think it best if Phoebe tells the story for she has been the most involved,” Edward said.

  “We all are aware that there has been a long-standing breach between our two families,” she began, addressing Arthur Rushmore. “But in all my life it never occurred to me to question what it was until I discovered my mother’s chest and found its contents dated back some two hundred years. It is difficult, I know, for many to place credence in the reality of spirits and I will not ask you all to accept what, to me, has been the unquestionable existence of Simon’s ghost. However, there is written confirmation that it is impossible to deny. Agnes and Simon were young lovers. We learn from her journal that her family would not think about an alliance with its neighbours. An antipathy existed between the Protestants and the Loyalists at that time that could not be put aside for the sake of the deep affection between two people, she from one persuasion and he from the other. I once asked my father if he knew the reason for the enmity, Mr Rushmore, and he said it had been lost in the mists of time. Did you know this was the reason for the break?”

  “No, I did not. Just that it had always been so and was insurmountable.”

  “But is it insurmountable? Mr Armstrong and I have discovered that Simon believed himself to be responsible for Agnes’s death and doubtless transmitted his perceived guilt to her family. But Simon was not to blame. If blame can be attributed at all should it not be to two stubborn families who strove to keep the lovers apart.”

  Rushmore and Marcham looked guiltily at each other.

  “It is evident my mother was not the first to investigate what happened all those years ago. In the light of what she found, the clues that Simon left and extracts from Agnes’s journal, I think we can say without fear of contradiction that the tragedy that occurred can be set solely at the feet of Mother Nature. Lightning struck the tree where Agnes was sheltering and Simon could not have saved her because he did not know she was there. May we not now be grateful that the two are finally at peace?”

  For a while there was silence in the room as Phoebe’s tale was digested. Edward rang the bell and a
few minutes later a footman appeared with refreshments. It was Edward who filled the glasses and said, “I think it is time we drank a toast to Agnes and Simon. I for one am proud of their devotion to each other.”

  Arthur Rushmore reached for a glass. “I too. I think today we have all learned a valuable lesson.”

  The rest each took a goblet and Duncan, who had until now been uncharacteristically quiet, raised his and said, “To Agnes and Simon. May they at long last rest in peace.”

  “To Agnes and Simon!”

  They all adjourned to the large drawing room.

  “And I understand congratulations are also due to you, Miss Marcham, and to you, Duncan. I am delighted, for Rupert tells me you have deserted him to visit Glendale many times since coming into Somerset.”

  “Ungrateful of you, Rupert, when all I was doing was exercising Beau for you.”

  “Oh was that it? And obviously, my own place not being extensive enough, you needed to ride over here to fulfil this favour.”

  “Well, that and aiding Miss Marcham in her quest for a solution to the family mystery.”

  “You are a complete hand, Duncan. Are you never without a ready answer?”

  “Not if I can help it, Rupert,” he said with a laugh.

  “Is your wedding to take place soon,” Hugh asked.

  “As soon as it can be arranged for there is no reason to delay and I daresay it won’t be long before Rupert is wishing me elsewhere.”

  “And while my aunt is here she may remain until after the ceremony for it would be foolish for her to travel back to London, only to have to return in a few weeks.”

  Their conversation was interrupted as Edward and Arthur rose to leave the room. Phoebe looked questioningly at her father.

  “I am taking Rushmore to the Long Gallery so that he may see our statue of the young lovers. Naturally they have nothing like it at their place,” and off they went leaving the rest to marvel at how quickly circumstances could change learned behaviour. They returned some time later and it seemed that Edward had tried to gift the statue to his neighbour, Arthur flatly refusing to accept. In the end they agreed that each establishment should give home to the piece for a year at a time, accepting that both had some claim to this part of their history. Another toast was drunk and it seemed the two were well on the way to forging a firm friendship.