Enchanting Ophelia

by Rachael Miles

  “One of the gargoyles on the front of the house fell and knocked her dead.” He glanced furtively up the table at Anderson, who was paying them no attention. “The magistrate said that she was killed instantly.”

  “The magistrate?”

  “Of course. Suspicious death. One must call the magistrate. But he determined there was nothing nefarious about it. No sign of the gargoyle being pushed. Just the poor condition of the house. Falling to ruin, it was.”

  Ophelia thought of the window frame in their bedroom, rotted almost through, but said nothing.

  Mr. Simms was still whispering. “Terrible thing. Terrible. Such a young thing too. Two children. But, of course, Stuart—Mr. Alderson, I mean—was younger then too.”

  “Of course.” Ophelia repeated his phrase, stealing a glance at Alderson, an energetic man at almost sixty. “How old were they when they married?” Shortly before her marriage, Judith had confided in Ophelia that the relations between her and her husband were distant at best.

  “Ah, she was a little older than your cousin, twenty-two, twenty-five. He was just thirty.”

  Ophelia looked at her cousin with concern. Months before Ophelia’s wedding, Judith had said she believed Alderson had grown unhappy in his new marriage. Ophelia wondered if the intervening months had changed Alderson’s mind. “I’ve never met his sons, but I hear they are expected tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Yes, handsome young men, little older than your cousin. Nigel is twenty. Percival, twenty-two. Nigel’s soft like his mother, but Percival is Alderson’s true heir. Perhaps the curse of the place will skip them.”

  “The curse?” Ophelia felt cold on the back of her neck as she thought of the sad-faced woman in the hall that morning.

  At that moment, Alderson raised his glass to signal quiet. And the room hushed, save for Aaron who had to be elbowed into attention by Aunt Millicent.

  “I acquired these lands more than twenty years ago, and this manor house had stood empty for decades before that. The local villagers believed it haunted because at night they would often see strange lights and hear—if they ventured close enough—strange sounds. I am not a man of that sort of sensibility, so none of the old ghosts have ever attempted to appear to me, or if they did, I would be inclined to think it the product of indigestion. I have instead thought that the claims of ghosts were a convenient fiction to make the house a more suitable retreat for smugglers and highwaymen. When I purchased the estate, the roof in the oldest parts was mostly collapsed, leaving the stone walls to mold and mildew.

  “The window glass was long ago broken out. Most of the rooms were entirely empty, and what furniture remained dated only to the end of our last century. I intended to raze the old manor and build anew, but my wife—God rest her soul—wished for me to repair rather than replace, and I foolishly conceded. And I have regretted that decision every time the roof leaks, or the plaster falls off of its lath, or…” Alderson paused, his eyes focused past the company.

  Ophelia waited for him to add falling gargoyles, but he didn’t.

  After a moment, Judith intervened. “In addition to the claims of ghosts, the local villagers believe that Coldmarsh House hides a treasure. And though searchers have failed to locate it for over a hundred years, Mr. Alderson and I believe it might be an amusing holiday pastime to try to find it, especially since we have so many resourceful young people with us.”

  “By that she means that her younger brothers need a focus for their animal spirits.” The Duke of Forster stared down the table at his brood, where Clive and Edmund, only eleven, sat still as rabbits under the eye of a predator.

  “While I have not paid much attention to such rumors, I can tell you the history of the place.” Alderson spread his arms to draw the company’s attention to the room. “The oldest parts of Coldmarsh House date to an old abbey closed under the reign of Henry VIII. Given to a crony who ignored it, then sold when it was falling into ruin, the abbey eventually came into the possession of a wealthy Catholic merchant by the name of Jason Thorpe. Charming and handsome, Thorpe contracted a love match, and he bought the old abbey as a wedding gift to his wife, who had fallen in love with the ruins—and with him. By all accounts a devoted and attentive husband, Thorpe built on the ruins of the old abbey a fortified house to rival the splendors of the wealthy aristocrats of his time.”

  “He should have spent the money on a mistress instead.” Aaron slurred his words slightly, the effect of too much wine.

  Judith gave her eldest brother a hard look, while Alderson continued. “But as his house grew, so too did the jealousy of one of his childhood friends, Laurence Sneyd. Thorpe was also—as many Cavaliers were—a bit of a poet, known for satirical poems on a variety of subjects. A petty bureaucrat under Cromwell, Sneyd accused Thorpe of having written a tract critical of the Commonwealth. Thorpe denied the authorship, but, as a Catholic and a cavalier, he was tricked into surrendering to the Parliamentary forces. Thorpe was imprisoned and sentenced to death, though he appealed. From here the story veers into legend, so I trust my wife to tell you that part of the tale.”

  Alderson took his seat, as Judith rose. Aaron coughed loudly into his cup in derision.

  “They had only been married for a year. Thorpe was often away serving in the Parliamentary army on behalf of his king, and Thorpe’s wife weathered more than one siege, waiting for her husband to return. When he was imprisoned, his family fled to France, but she remained behind in this house that she loved.” Judith held out her hand, pointing their attention to the dining hall itself. “Perhaps she wished to rally support for her husband’s release. Perhaps she hoped the estate was so far distant from London that their lands would not be seized immediately. But Sneyd’s machinations at court soon reached here.”

  Kate raised her hand.

  “Yes, Kate?” Judith stopped to entertain the thirteen-year-old’s question.

  “What’s her name? Thorpe’s wife.”

  Judith shook her head in commiseration. “Sadly, it’s been lost. Any documents I’ve found simply call her Mistress Thorpe.”

  Kate harrumphed. “That’s why she haunts the house: she wants her name back.” Kate, at thirteen, had already read her way through most of the treatises arguing for women’s education.

  Judith smiled in agreement. “Sneyd ensured that Thorpe’s lands were to be seized and sold, but somehow he convinced the Commonwealth authorities to give him Thorpe’s lands. Thorpe, awaiting the hearing on his appeal, still had friends in London, and one rode through the night to warn Mistress Thorpe. She had less than an hour to hide whatever property she could and to escape into Monmouthshire countryside and from there to France. She instructed the remaining servants to bring several caskets filled with gold and silver into this dining hall while she collected her greatest treasure and brought it to the hall. Since the servants were Catholic as well, she instructed them to flee, locking the dining hall and the house behind them. When Sneyd arrived with his forces, the house and this room were still locked. A fire was blazing in the hearth as it is now, before it a pile of clay, still wet. But the lady was gone.”

  “And the treasure has never been found!” Fourteen-year-old Ariel, who loved Ann Radcliffe’s gothic novels, clapped in delight.

  “And the treasure has never been found,” Judith confirmed. “Nor was the lady ever heard from again.”

  “One of those trusted servants likely murdered her. Kill the lady. Steal the treasure. That’s what anyone would do,” Aaron slurred, pouring himself more wine.

  Ophelia watched dismay flit across her cousin’s face, but they all knew better than to respond: Aaron was mean sober. He was unreasonable drunk.

  Simms chimed in. “Or Sneyd didn’t wish to let it be known that he killed her.”

  The conversation swelled as each of the guests added his or her theory. As the din subsided, Judith resumed her story. “Neighbor Sneyd didn’t
live long to enjoy his spoils. He caught the pox and died some weeks later, so if he were the villain and had the Thorpe treasure, there should be some record of it. This house passed to new occupants, then was eventually abandoned. Alderson’s first wife, by chance, was very distantly related to the original Mistress Thorpe through a cousin’s line.” Alderson nodded approvingly. “When his first wife discovered this, she decided they should return the house to its former splendor.”

  “So we are to find Mistress Thorpe’s treasure trove?” Aidan grinned widely.

  “If you are willing,” Judith said. “Though the house has been well searched for more than a hundred years, I trust that my brothers and cousins are more diligent and resourceful than the other searchers.”

  “You said she collected her greatest treasure. Do we know what that was?” Tom asked, always the most analytical of the cousins.

  “It’s uncertain. Some versions of the legend say rubies given the diary’s reference to the scripture that a good woman’s worth is above rubies. Others say her wedding jewels. In the gallery, a portrait of her—or at least we think it’s her—shows her wearing her wedding jewels.”

  “Her greatest treasure may have been seeds,” Seth, a budding agriculturist, proposed. “Without seeds to grow crops, you starve. That’s a treasure beyond riches in the right season.”

  “It’s her love letters,” Kate predicted confidently. “If she were a newlywed separated from her love, then the letters would be her most prized possession.”

  “Certainly, it may be any of those things—or all of them. To find her treasure, you will need to be alert and curious, not letting yourself hold to any particular idea of what she might have hidden. But we will begin the hunt tomorrow. Tonight we have our Christmas celebrations. And since I know it’s my youngest brother’s favorite, we will begin with blind man’s bluff.”

  Clive and Edmund whooped from the end of the table, and, at Judith’s direction, all the guests pulled their chairs against the walls to make a large open space before the fireplace. Sidney found his way immediately to Ophelia’s side.

  “How is my darling girl? Dinner was a torment, so close to you, but so far apart.”

  “My charming Sidney.” Ophelia slipped her hand into his, delighting in the warmth of his touch.

  “Did you learn anything interesting? Alderson’s partner seemed quite confidential.”

  Ophelia pulled Sidney back from the group, though with all the noise of the guests moving to the fireplace, she had little fear of being overheard. “He says that Alderson’s first wife died under suspicious circumstances—part of the house’s facade fell on her.”

  “Darling, have you looked closely at this place? All the public rooms are well furnished and appear to be in fine condition, but the family rooms are in desperate need of repair, and the rest is falling to ruin—and not just from recent neglect.” Sidney paused, and Ophelia knew he was seeing the concern she couldn’t hide. “But I’ll see what I can learn from other sources. Do you fear that your cousin may be in danger?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “But you have suspicions.”

  “I always have suspicions, and you always investigate them for me.”

  He brushed a kiss into her hair. “Always, my sweet, always. Is that all?”

  Ophelia dropped her voice even lower to ensure that they weren’t overheard. “He also said the whole place is cursed.”

  “Ah, a curse. I suppose that and the ill repair could go together.” His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of her hand, and just that touch made her wish to fold herself into his arms. “What’s the story there?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Just that the house is cursed, and that’s why the first wife died.”

  “Curses, ghosts, hidden treasure—it sounds like just the sort of story one would tell on a cold winter’s night while bundled in front of the fire. Perhaps you can convince him to share the rest of it.”

  At that moment, Ariel ran to their side, “Come, come, you must also play—otherwise there won’t be enough girls. Tom is the first blind man.”

  Chapter 3

  For the next hour, Ophelia and Sidney threw themselves wholeheartedly into the game. Sidney treated blind man’s bluff as a long seduction. As they avoided being caught by the blind man, Sidney would find opportunities to run into her, catching her in his arms for a moment, then moving away. Each time they passed one another, his hand would touch her hand, her arm, her back, making her wish she could merely stop and fold herself into his arms, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence. When Ariel couldn’t catch her more-nimble cousins, Sidney allowed himself to be caught and blindfolded. Almost immediately—it must have been a loose blindfold—he caught Ophelia. He held her fast, pretending not to recognize her, tracing her face with his fingers, toying with her hair, running his hand down her arm until his minute was almost up. By the time that Judith instructed Sidney that he must name his captive or let her go, and he proudly announced Ophelia’s name, Ophelia wanted nothing more than to retire to their bedroom.

  But other games followed. In each, Sidney found ways to pay her special attention. Before they had married, she had always wished that Sidney’s solicitude to others would extend only to her, that she could receive special attention that others did not receive. Though she’d never told him that, she’d learned in their months of marriage how easily Sidney made her feel important even in a group where he was kind and generous to all.

  Judith had planned the evening’s amusements so that all the games required losers to forfeit some item—a shoe, a reticule, a shawl, a pocket watch—until all the members of the group had something to retrieve. The group gathered their chairs into a circle, leaving a large playing space in the middle. In forfeits, the “judge” would set some task that the owner of the item had to do to retrieve it. As a result, until it was their turn, the players were largely observers. Ophelia, then, made sure to take a chair next to Mr. Simms. If she could learn about the curse, she would try to do so.

  Sidney was chosen as the judge, and Judith played the bailiff. The first object was a pencil of Kate’s. Judith held Kate’s pencil over Sidney’s head. “Heavy, heavy, what hangs over your head?”

  “Fine or superfine,” Sidney asked.

  “Superfine,” Judith answered to indicate a girl’s possession rather than a boy’s. “What shall the owner do to redeem it?”

  Sidney rubbed his head as if thinking hard. “The owner must walk across the room with a stack of books on her head, then curtsey before the judge.”

  Kate leapt up. “That’s easy. Aunt Millicent makes us do that to avoid slouching.” She took three of the books Judith had ready and performed her task. When Kate attempted to curtsey and succeeded, the group applauded loudly.

  Judith next held a smooth colored stone over Sidney’s head, and Sidney proclaimed the price for retrieving it: to balance a ruler on the chin or the nose. The stone was Seth’s, a favorite rock he’d found while walking in a stream on his father’s lands. But for all Seth’s love of the outdoors, he couldn’t balance the ruler. He tried his nose first, then his chin, but to no avail. Sidney finally had to give him another task: to sit on the floor and rise without the aid of his hands, a task Seth accomplished immediately.

  So it went with the other forfeits, boys and girls, young and old, all completing a task Sidney made up to amuse the group. Clive had to pick up three coins from the floor with his teeth. Ariel had to count the first ten digits of pi backward. Aidan had to kiss his shadow, and Edmund had to hop around the room on one foot. The game was easy but fun, engaging the younger guests as well as the old. Ophelia was surprised at Sidney’s seemingly limitless imagination. He hadn’t prepared any tasks in advance, and he certainly used no notes as he directed the game.

  “Your husband is a very clever man,” Simms said as he reached her side. “Alderson asked if I woul
d serve as judge. But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to give tasks to girls who are not my relations. I told your husband in advance what forfeits my daughters would give and what tasks he could assign to them.”

  His narrowness of mind irked Ophelia, but she resisted objecting. Instead, she focused on the compliment to her husband. “Mr. Mason’s wit and ingenuity never fail to surprise me. But tell me, Mr. Simms, what is the curse that plagues the house?”

  “Death and despair. Every twenty years, a loss bows the household to the ground,” Simms whispered with a certain relish.

  Ophelia rather thought that one loss every twenty years was lucky, but she held her tongue.

  “We told him not to remarry so close the twenty-year mark, but he met your cousin and couldn’t be dissuaded,” Simms continued, looking across the circle to where Alderson seemed to be enjoying the game as much as the young people.

  “That’s it? A death every twenty years? Couldn’t that be explained by general mortality?”

  “Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Mason. It’s always a suspicious death or, at least, an unusual one. A gargoyle falls from the house. The owner before Alderson drowned in a vat of beer, and before him, a whole family died of yellow fever, though none had traveled or entertained any guests.”

  “Those would be unusual deaths, though perhaps not worthy of a curse.”

  “But this is the year, Mrs. Mason—and we have only six days before it ends.”

  “Perhaps we will break the curse then.”

  The group was so involved in the game, that none—but Ophelia—noticed a young man in his early twenties tap Alderson on the shoulder. Anderson rose and followed the young man to a distant corner of the room. Paying attention to the game with only half her attention, Ophelia watched the younger man, clearly Alderson’s son. The young man—Ophelia wondered if it were Nigel or Percival—seemed reluctant to speak, all the while searching his father’s face with his eyes. Alderson shook his head no, refusing the younger man’s message; then as if all the strength had gone out of his legs, Alderson grasped his son’s shoulder for support. Whatever it was, it was bad news and unexpected. Alderson staggered to the door and into the hall, followed by his son.