by Ali McNamara
Our lips meet again, and don’t part for some time.
‘I’m so glad I bumped into Benji again,’ Tom says eventually when we do part, ‘or I might not have come here and met you. When Benji mentioned you and this castle I thought it was a bit odd to begin with – I mean, what were the chances you’d need someone to restore furniture here? But he seemed so adamant I should come.’
‘I know. He was trying to matchmake even then. He knew I was single and you were too – perhaps he really was living up to his fairy godmother role!’
‘Ha, maybe! Anyway, I’m glad he did insist I should come. I think it’s turned out rather well, don’t you?’
‘I do that,’ I agree, leaning in towards him.
Tom puts his arm around me and we spend the rest of our time on the beach sitting close together, knowing as we look out across the sand towards the sea that whatever troubles might befall us in the future, for now we’ll be facing them together.
Thirty-six
‘Charlie?’ I ask as we sit in the tower after school that day. ‘Have you ever seen Clara?’
‘Who?’ Charlie asks as he munches on a ham and cheese sandwich while watching something on the old iPad that Joey lent him when he found out that Charlie doesn’t have one. ‘I’ve recently upgraded mine,’ Joey had told us. ‘Someone might as well get some use from this one.’
I’d felt guilty then, because Charlie still doesn’t have all the things that other boys of his age seem to have. But as long as things keep progressing in the way I hope at the castle, with any luck it will soon be me that will be providing him with these types of luxuries. That’s if I can ever find a way of paying for the woodworm to be permanently removed from the stables . . .
‘Clara,’ I repeat. ‘You know, the ghost that the others talked to us about in the stables.’
‘Oh yeah, I remember.’
‘Have you ever spoken to her?’ I ask again. ‘Does she pop up like the others seem to?’
I’d long ago stopped doubting Charlie’s contact with the ghosts of Chesterford Castle. I had so many other things to worry about that Charlie speaking to spirits seemed the least of my worries. Besides, I could do with all the help I can get.
‘Not really. The others say she’s shy.’
‘Yes, I understand that. It’s just that I could do with asking her a few questions – about the history of the castle.’
‘I’ll ask Ruby to talk to her,’ Charlie says, finishing off his sandwich. ‘I think they’re pretty close.’
‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that. So . . . do you know when you might see Ruby again?’
Charlie looks at me and narrows his eyes. ‘You must need to see Clara pretty urgently,’ he says knowingly.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Why don’t you just speak to her yourself?’
‘I . . . I wouldn’t know how.’ That wasn’t strictly true, I’d talked to her portrait a few times.
‘I think she mainly haunts the Ladies’ Chamber where her portrait is, and she’s appeared in the Great Hall too. That’s where they used to hold all the grand balls in her day. Arthur told me.’
At the mention of Arthur’s name, I’m reminded that I still need to speak to him about what happened earlier in the cellar.
‘Okay, I’ll bear that in mind; thank you, Charlie.’
‘No worries. I’ll still ask Ruby for you, though, when I see her.’
‘Good boy.’ I reach over to ruffle his hair, but Charlie dodges out of the way. ‘Mum, I’ve only just done that,’ he says, reaching up to smooth his untouched hair.
Since when has Charlie cared about his appearance? Perhaps he’s spending too much time with Joey?
‘Sorry,’ I apologise automatically, and then I shake my head. ‘What about a hug for your old mum, then, if I can’t ruffle your hair any more?’
Charlie looks at me, and for a brief moment I think he might actually refuse. But to my relief he puts down his plate, slides across the sofa and wraps his arms around my waist while I wrap mine around his shoulders.
‘Is that better?’ he asks in a slightly muffled voice.
‘Always,’ I reply, hugging him even tighter.
Charlie might be growing up fast, but he will always be my little boy however big he gets.
The next morning, I knock on the door of Arthur and Dorothy’s cottage. Unusually Arthur hadn’t appeared in the office this morning, and on asking around no one had seen him.
Although the cottage is part of the castle estate, it’s separated from the rest of the grounds by a picket fence, and has its own little garden filled with blossoming flowers and neatly trimmed bushes. It really is picture perfect, and could well be a photo on the front of an expensive box of chocolates, or a thousand-piece puzzle.
‘Oh hello, dear,’ Dorothy says on answering the door. ‘I mean madam, no Lady Chest . . . er, miss?’ she finishes with.
‘I much prefer “dear” to “madam” or “miss”,’ I tell her kindly. ‘Dorothy, I’ve just popped round to check if Arthur’s all right. Only, no one has seen him about the castle this morning.’
‘That’s kind of you to be concerned, dear,’ Dorothy says, actually listening to my preferences for once. ‘Arthur is fine. His blood pressure has been a little high again, that’s all. We had the doctor in this morning and he says he’s to rest for a few days.’
‘I’ll rest for one day only!’ I hear Arthur bark from inside the cottage. ‘And then I’m back to work.’
Dorothy steps outside and pulls the door to behind her.
‘That’s what he thinks,’ she whispers. ‘Just between us this isn’t the first time this has happened. He’s on medication, but getting him to take the tablets is a fight, and getting him to take it easy is a battle that even I can’t win usually. But I’m determined to this time for his own good.’
‘Is there anything in particular that might have brought on this latest rise in his blood pressure?’ I ask, knowing the answer before I’ve even asked the question.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Dorothy says, shrugging. ‘But he’s not been himself for a few days, rushing here, there and everywhere like his life depended on it. I told him to slow down, but you know what he’s like.’
‘Yes, I do,’ I say, thinking. ‘Right, well, give him my best, won’t you? And you keep him away from the castle for as long as is necessary, Dorothy. The castle’s stood strong for many centuries; it won’t quite crumble without him. Contrary to what he might think!’
‘You’re a good girl,’ Dorothy says, patting me on the arm. ‘This place wouldn’t be the same without you and Charlie now, and whatever Arthur might have you think, he feels exactly the same way.’
I leave the cottage with mixed emotions. Part of me is guilt-ridden that what took place in the cellar might have caused Arthur to become ill, and part of me is feeling pleased as punch at what Dorothy had just told me.
‘Amelia!’ I turn around to see Benji chasing me up the path. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘I’ve just been to see Dorothy; Arthur isn’t too well – it’s his blood pressure, apparently.’
‘I’m not surprised his blood pressure is up, if he knows what I now know,’ Benji says gravely.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I think you’d better come with me, Amelia. We need to go somewhere quiet and comfortable for you to hear this story. It could take some time to tell.’
Thirty-seven
‘So, what’s all this about?’ I ask Benji as we sit up in the tower with a long cool drink of Dorothy’s homemade lemonade each. ‘I’m guessing you’ve read the missing diary?’
‘I have . . . ’ Benji taps absent-mindedly on the cover of the book that sits in his lap.
‘And?’ I ask impatiently.
Benji looks at me. ‘I think the reason this diary might have been hidden away was it contains some information, information that if it had become common knowledge might have completely changed the
history of the castle.’
I open my eyes wide. ‘Really? What does it say?’
‘I think you should read it for yourself in case you come up with anything different from me, but it seems that there may have been another heir apparent to Chesterford Castle when Clara took the reins.’
‘What? But I thought she was the only remaining child of the previous Earl. You said he put in a special clause so she’d be able to inherit the castle.’
‘No, the tenth Earl had already done that. Clara’s father wanted her to inherit everything – the castle and grounds and the title. I thought originally it was simply a clause specifically for Clara, but it seems there may have been other motives for his decision.’
‘Ooh, like what?’ I ask, intrigued.
‘This diary suggests he had another child, born before Clara – a second daughter. So in theory, as the eldest, she should have inherited the castle and the title, and not Clara.’
‘Clara had a sister?’ I ask, not really following this. ‘But why then didn’t she inherit everything on the Earl’s death?’
‘Because she was born out of wedlock,’ Benji explains. ‘The Earl had an affair with one of the maids at the castle before Clara was born. Reading between the lines of what Clara says in here, I would surmise that Clara’s mother had trouble conceiving an heir, causing a rift in her parents’ marriage. The Earl, as was common then, sought comfort, shall we say, elsewhere. Except that comfort produced a child – Clara’s half-sister Mary.’
‘And it says all this in that diary?’ I ask. ‘But why would Clara talk about it in there? She says in her previous diary she was ashamed of something. How did she put it? “A secret so big that if anyone found out it would ruin not only my reputation, but the reputation of all Chesterfords for evermore”? But why was she ashamed of her sister?’
‘You’re thinking about this with your twenty-first-century brain,’ Benji says, ‘a brain that’s used to women having equal rights and a say in how their lives progress. These women didn’t have that. They were bound by traditions and laws that always favoured the man.’
I think for a moment. ‘She was ashamed of her because she was born out of wedlock and to a maid?’ I ask, starting to become irritated by Clara’s snobbishness.
Benji shakes his head. ‘No, I think after reading on a bit further that Clara was more ashamed of her parents’ behaviour than of Mary herself. I don’t think she was even aware of the sister’s existence until she found some documents that suggested this had all taken place some years before. By this time her parents were both dead so she couldn’t ask them about it, and she wasn’t even sure that her sister knew who her father was. She’d never said anything that suggested she knew anything about him.’
‘What do you mean she’d never said anything? Did Clara know her half-sister already, then?’
Benji nods. ‘She worked at the castle – just like her mother had, as a lady’s maid. Clara’s lady’s maid.’
‘What? Clara’s maid was her sister and they didn’t know?’
‘It would seem so, according to Clara’s diary.’
‘This is wild!’
‘It gets even wilder, I can assure you.’
‘Come on, Benji – spill!’ I encourage. ‘This is better than a soap opera.’
‘With just as many twists and turns,’ Benji says. ‘So when Clara found out that she had a sister, Mary was still living and working in the castle grounds but she was no longer Clara’s maid because she had two children of her own. She lived at the castle because her husband worked there as a groomsman, so luckily they’d been given grace-and-favour accommodation that went with the job.’
‘Like Arthur and Dorothy’s cottage?’
‘Yes, a bit like that. Back then there were quite a few cottages like Arthur and Dorothy have now dotted about the grounds, but there were also many rooms in the castle itself that were kept for staff quarters. So Mary lived there with her two children. Sadly her husband was killed at the beginning of the First World War, but Mary was allowed to stay on in exchange for taking on some chores around the castle. Contrary to what you might be thinking about her right now, I believe Clara was a kind-hearted Countess and didn’t want to see any of her staff consigned to the workhouse, especially not her sister and her nieces.’
‘So she found out Mary was her sister in what year?’
‘About 1912, according to the dates in the diary.’
‘But she still hadn’t acknowledged her by the First World War?’ I ask in astonishment. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Again, put on your 1912 woman’s head, Amelia. Women hadn’t even got the vote by then; they were still regarded as second-class citizens, especially in the aristocracy. If Clara had acknowledged Mary as the rightful heir to Chesterford Castle, and Mary hadn’t been quite so kind hearted as Clara, Clara could easily have been thrown out of the castle with nothing. It’s not like now where the state will help you out when things get a bit tough.’
‘Hardly,’ I mutter grimly. ‘I’ve been there, remember?’
‘Yes, I know, and that’s why I think you’ll have empathy for Clara’s dilemma when you read it in her own words. But for now it falls to me to be the storyteller.’
‘Go on, then. What’s next?’
‘So Clara chose to keep quiet. I believe she did her best to look after Mary and her children, and make sure they never went short of anything. But then tragedy struck, and Mary and one of her daughters died.’
‘Oh no, what happened to them?’
‘Spanish flu happened. There was a pandemic between 1918 and 1920; it killed hundreds of millions of people throughout the world, and it didn’t miss the castle either. Mary and her daughter were immediately quarantined, and her other daughter was removed from the apartment and sent to live in the village with a local family. Luckily they managed to stem the outbreak from affecting too many people here – I read that in some books in the library, not in Clara’s diary, but it did affect a few people in the village. Clara says she thinks her sister picked it up from a man that came to the castle looking for work. She says Mary took pity on him and fed him some scraps from the castle kitchen. She was probably in contact with him for no more than an hour, but that was enough: she had the virus and so did one of her daughters. They got ill, and were not strong enough to recover.’
‘That is so sad,’ I say, thinking how awful it must have been to get ill back then when medicine was much more basic than it is now, and the mortality rate was so high. But then something strikes me.
‘Benji, does it say in Clara’s diary what Mary’s children were called?’
‘Yes, er . . . ’ Benji flicks through a few pages. ‘They were called Violet and Ruby.’
Ruby! My thoughts are racing faster than my mind can make sense of them. Ruby was Clara’s niece. No wonder she was so kind to her in the afterlife. She felt responsible for her because of Mary.
‘What’s up?’ Benji asks. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ He turns around sharply. ‘You haven’t, have you?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I leave that to Charlie. But something has just clicked. It doesn’t matter for the moment. Is that the whole story or is there more?’
‘Oh yes, there’s more. Quite a lot more, actually.’
‘You sound serious, Benji,’ I say, wondering why he’s treating this so sombrely. It’s not a pleasant story obviously, especially the part where Mary and Ruby sadly passed away, but it wasn’t anything too worrying.
‘Like I said before, Mary had two children – Ruby, who passed away shortly after her, and Violet, who survived. I couldn’t find out much about Violet from Clara’s diaries. The mentions of Mary, as you know, seem to stop after this particular diary.’ Benji taps the cover again. ‘However, I’ve managed to do a bit of my own searching using both the castle records and some online resources, and it seems that although Violet left the castle after her mother and sister died – she was taken in by a local couple who had no children
of their own, so she did stay in Chesterford – it was only later as an adult that she returned to work here again.’
‘Oh, she came back? That’s good. Did she have a happy life, do you know?’
‘We can only hope so. She married and had two sons, David and George, I believe, but the trail seems to fizzle out after that – which is most annoying, but sadly quite common when tracing families.’
‘Why does the trail fizzle out sometimes?’
‘It can be for a number of reasons – records get destroyed, people change their names. Sometimes they even escape being registered at all.’
‘So Violet had children; that’s nice. They would have been Mary’s grandchildren – am I right?’
‘Yes, that’s right . . . ’ Benji agrees hesitantly.
‘What’s wrong, Benji? I know something’s bothering you about all this.’
‘Well, you know I had my suspicions when I read the previous diary to this one. That’s why I was so keen for us to find the missing diary – the missing piece of the puzzle, as it were. But now I know what I do, my suspicions have been confirmed.’
‘Suspicions of what?’ What is Benji going on about?
Benji takes a deep breath. ‘That you, Amelia, might not be the rightful heir to Chesterford Castle. Now we know about Mary and her offspring, both you and Charlie might not be the last Earl’s next living relatives. There could be someone else.’
Thirty-eight
‘What do you mean someone else?’ I ask, my heart beating hard against my chest. ‘Who? I mean, how . . . ? Oh, I don’t know what I mean. I’m confused.’ I reach for my lemonade, wishing, unusually for me, that it was something stronger.
‘That’s understandable; it is somewhat confusing and, if I might say, a tad ambiguous on my part. That’s why I haven’t said anything before, in case I was mistaken.’
‘Benji, cut the waffle and just tell me.’
Benji nods. ‘Okay, let’s go back to why I thought originally you were the rightful heir. If you remember it was because you were descended from Clara’s side of the family. Not directly, Clara didn’t have any children, but indirectly through her father’s side. However, that was when I thought Clara was the only child of the fourteenth Earl. Now we know there was another elder sister, any claim to the Chesterford dynasty should by right come from that line – from Mary’s descendants.’