Haunted Ground (35 page)

I heard the sounds of birdsong and the chirping of crickets before I actually opened my eyes.  A light breeze was caressing my face and I felt the warm rays of the sun through my closed eyelids, blades of grass beneath my fingers and the smell of earth and pine filling my nostrils.  I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at the cloudless blue sky above the treetops.  I was lying in tall grass, dotted with wildflowers and warm from the summer sun.  I just lay there for a few moments enjoying the peaceful feeling of floating, before suddenly realizing that this was somehow all wrong. 

I sat up and looked around puzzled.  There was no sign of the shop I’d been in or even the village.  Sparse trees surrounded the meadow I was lying in, and I could see the river flowing to my left through the gap in the trees.   There were two fishing boats tied up to posts rising out of the muddy bank, but no sign of the marina or the shops that were there just a few moments ago.  I turned to my right, and my blood ran cold.  I could see the castle perched on the hill above me, except it was no longer a sinister relic of another time.  The castle stood intact and proud, the honey-colored stones warmed by the sun, and its leaded windows reflecting the afternoon light.  The wall encircling the castle rose high and impregnable, broken only by the arched wooden doors studded with iron nails and partially opened.  I could hear distant voices, and the barking of dogs carried on the wind. 

What was going on?  One minute I was in the shop looking at the cupid clock, and now I was lying in a meadow not too far from the castle; that up until five minutes ago was just a sad ruin.  I looked at my watch.  It was 4:10pm.  Only five minutes had passed since I turned the hands on the ormolu clock.  How did I get here?  I looked around again.  In relation to the river and the castle, I was sitting in about the spot where the shop would have been, except there was no shop and no street.  I could see some fishermen’s huts off in the distance, where there were holiday cottages just a few minutes ago.  I closed my eyes, shook my head and opened them again.  I was still in the same spot.  Reluctantly, I got to my feet and looked around again. 

There didn’t seem anywhere to go except in the direction of the castle.  I had no idea what I would do when I got there, but at least it was something to do.  My purse was nowhere in sight, so I just dusted myself off and began to walk up the hill, my mind spinning out of control.  I had no idea what to think, and try as I might, I couldn’t find a logical explanation for what just happened.  People didn’t just faint and wake up in a different place and a different time, if that’s what it was.  Maybe I was still asleep and I was dreaming all of this.  I pinched myself hard and yelped, acknowledging my state of wakefulness.  Not asleep then.

As I got closer to the castle I became more and more anxious.  What was I to do once I got there?  What could I say to whoever was there?  What if they turned me away?  Where would I go then?  There seemed nothing in the vicinity except a few derelict huts and two fishing boats.  I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, studded door walking into the yard.  I was immediately spotted by two large dogs, who bounded over to me and started barking madly, nipping at my feet.  I stepped back involuntarily, and found myself bumping into a man who I didn’t realize had come up just behind me.  He caught me by the arms and steadied me before yelling at the dogs.

“Shut ye traps, ye fiends.  Can’t ye see it’s a lady come to call?  Away with ye, then.”  The dogs seemed to accept this command and slinked off, leaving me with the man.  He was wearing a leather doublet in a muddy shade of brown that could use a good cleaning as it was covered with dust and bits of straw, and his dark pants were tucked into boots covered with muck.  The man’s hair was pulled back into a messy tail, and an old hat perched on his head.  He looked like something out of a period movie, and I suddenly realized that he was just as curious about my attire as I was about his.  I was wearing a sleeveless summer dress in the lightest shade of lilac with a pair of tan leather sandals.  The man gaped at me and turned away embarrassed.

“Are ye here to see the Master?”  he asked without really looking at me.

“I guess so.”  I answered his back as he walked toward the castle implying that I should follow. 

The man opened a wooden door and led me up a flight of stairs to the second floor, where he called out for someone named Betty.  A plump young woman dressed in a long dress with an apron over it and a cap over her dark, curly hair came out of a room and froze at the sight of me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“This young lady is here to see the Master.  Will ye inform him he has a visitor?”  The girl mutely nodded and disappeared through another door leaving me with the man.

“I am John Dobbs, the overseer,” he informed me, tipping his hat before turning on his heel and leaving me to await the Master, whoever he was.  I tried to take deep breaths in order to calm myself, but found myself shaking like a leaf by the time Betty came back into the hall and gave me a little curtsey.

“If ye would follow me, Miss.  The Master will see ye in the library.”  She led me through a few well-appointed rooms, before opening the door to what must have been the library and motioning me inside.  She didn’t go in after me, and I walked in toward the man sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up on the empty grate and a book in his hands.  He turned at the sound of my footsteps and rose, putting down the book on top of the mantel of the unlit marble fireplace.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark pants tucked into a pair of riding boots, a white linen shirt and a velvet doublet in rich brown.  His coat was slung over a nearby chair, and he reached for it as I walked in, about to put in on, but became distracted by my appearance.  He let the coat fall back onto the back of the chair and looked me up and down discreetly.

“Alexander Whitfield at your service, Madame.”  He gave a slight bow of his head and looked at me expectantly.

“Valerie Crane,” I said simply.  We stood in silence for a few moments just taking stock of each other.  If I wasn’t so scared, I would have noticed that he was very handsome, in a period movie kind of way, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes the color of caramel, accentuated by his long lashes.  His full lips stretched into something resembling a welcoming smile.

“How can I help you, Mistress Crane?”

I was about to say something as a way of explanation, but I suddenly burst into tears, overcome by my fear and confusion.  The man instantly sprang into action, leading me to a comfortable chair, pouring me brandy from a crystal decanter and offering me his handkerchief. 

“I am terribly sorry.  I did not mean to upset you.  Are you all right?”

I nodded miserably, taking a large gulp of the brandy, and letting it warm its way down my gullet before trying to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitfield.  I have no idea how I got here.  I found myself in the meadow at the bottom of the hill and saw your home.  I thought I’d come here and ask for help.”  I realized at that moment that pretending I had no idea what happened would probably be safer, not that I actually did have any idea.  All I could do was hope that he was a gentleman and wouldn’t just turn me away. 

He looked at me, and I could see a hundred questions racing through his mind, but he didn’t ask any of them.  “I will do everything in my power to assist you.  You can stay here for as long as you like.  I will ask Betty to find you a suitable gown and show you to your room.  I think you can do with a rest.”  He looked at me waiting for me to agree and then called out to Betty, who appeared about half a second later confirming my suspicions that she had been listening at the door.

“Betty, please find a gown for Mistress Crane, I think one of Rose’s will do nicely, and show her to the yellow room.  Mistress Crane would like to rest.  And bring her some refreshment,” he added as an afterthought and turned to me, giving me an encouraging smile.  “I am afraid I am expecting a dinner guest tonight for a private meeting,” he informed me apologetically, “Have some rest and we will talk more tomorrow.  Please let Betty know if there is anything you require.”  I thanked him and followed Betty out of the library toward the stairs to the upper floor.  I could see that she was burning with curiosity, but she didn’t ask anything, just led me up the stairs and down the carpeted hallway to a door at the very end.  She opened the door for me to enter and turned to leave.

“I will be back shortly, Miss, with some garments, and I will bring hot water should ye wish to wash.”  She curtsied again and left me alone in the room.  I sat down on the four-poster bed and took in my surroundings.  The room was done in shades of saffron and cream with a matching coverlet, bed hangings and drapes at the two windows.  Being a corner room, one window looked out over the yard and the road leading to the castle, and the other over woods and the distant river, sparkling in the late afternoon sun.  There was a painting of a beautiful woman with eyes the same color as Alexander Whitfield, her arms around a pink-cheeked young boy, hanging over the dresser, but otherwise there were no personal objects in the room.  It must have been reserved for guests. 

There was a quick knock at the door before Betty came in, a gown slung over her arm and a pitcher of water in her right hand.  She set the pitcher on a table by the bed next to the painted ewer, then lay the gown on the bed along with some other garments.

“I do hope ye like these,” she said showing me what she brought.  “Here is a chemise, a petticoat and I thought this gown might suit ye.  There is also a nightdress.”  She reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out a handful of pins.  “I brought these so ye can dress yer hair.  Do ye require help dressing?” 

“Thank you, Betty, I think I can manage.”

“All right, then.  I will ask Cook to send up a tray for ye at supper time.  If ye need me, just pull this rope.”  She showed me the thick cord by the bed and turned to leave, but couldn’t stop herself from asking at least one question.  “Were ye accosted on the road, Miss?”  she whispered looking at my summer dress.  She assumed that someone had torn off my gown and left me in my underclothes. 

“I can’t recall.”  Betty nodded her head as if I confirmed her worst suspicions.  She believed that I must have been through some terrible trauma to show up in a state of undress, and with no recollection o
f
what happened, and gave me a sympathetic look, closing the door behind her.

I decided to try and concentrate on more practical things rather than dwelling on my predicament, and poured some water into the ewer, washing my face and hands before trying to figure out how to put on the gown.  I took off my dress, but defiantly left my bra and underwear on, before pulling the chemise over my head.  It felt soft and light against my skin and I picked up the petticoat.  I assumed it went on under the skirt, so I put it on and looked in the mirror.  I was beginning to resemble the Dresden shepherdess I saw in the shop.  I carefully put on the gown over my head and tied the laces of the bodice.  The dress was the color of bluebells and brought out the color of my eyes.  I picked up my hair and held it up, examining my image in the oval cheval glass.  I looked like a completely different person.  Maybe I was.  I let down my hair and sat back down on the bed feeling lonelier than I ever had, even after Michael left me.  What was I supposed to do now?