The Ghost of Glendale

  The Ghost of Glendale

  Natalie Kleinman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to persons living or dead, business establishments, events, locations or areas, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for brief quotations and segments used for promotion or in reviews.

  Copyright © 2018 by Natalie Kleinman

  Cover design: Avalon Graphics

  Formatting: Rebecca Emin

  Proofreading: Maureen Vincent-Northam

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  For Carole and Tracy

  who have always believed I had more than a ghost of a chance

  Chapter One

  “Ah, you are home at last. And how did you find your mother’s relations?”

  “All are well, Papa, and send their respects,” Phoebe replied. “Clarissa looked as happy as any bride should and my aunt was in the best of spirits, particularly as the Prince Regent chose to put in an appearance at the wedding breakfast. A feather in her cap even though his popularity has waned of late.”

  “Well, I have no time for such pretensions and I’m glad to have you back. Mrs Wiggins drives me to distraction with her fussing. Yes, come in, woman,” Sir Edward said as the object of his rant entered with a tray. The two were not as at odds as they appeared, there being a fondness on both sides after so many years’ association. Each turned to protest as Phoebe folded back the blinds to open a window.

  “The heat is far too intense outside,” Edward complained. “Would you have me faint from suffocation?”

  “Nonsense, Papa. It is much cooler this late in the day and you have never fainted in your life. A little fresh air will do you good,” she remarked, as a gentle breeze relieved the oppression. “I’ve only been away for two weeks and already the place feels stuffy and unlived in,” she said, though her smile took the edge from her words.

  “Now don’t you go fussing, miss. Your father can’t abide the heat, as well you know.”

  The old retainer had come into Somerset from the capital upon the marriage of her late mistress and did not live by the maxim that country air is good for one. “And the shutters have been pulled to keep out the sun so what would be the point?”

  “The point would be to bring some light into these old rooms. I swear this dark panelling makes me feel as if I had come not from a wedding but a funeral.”

  “Don’t say so, Miss Phoebe. Tis unlucky,” the old woman said, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

  “Be done with your superstitions. Come, let us leave Papa in peace.”

  They closed the door behind them and Mrs Wiggins turned to Phoebe, all concern.

  “What do you think, miss. He does fret so when you’re away.”

  Phoebe looked down fondly at Mrs Wiggins, remembering the times when she’d craned her neck to look up to her mother’s old nurse; measuring back to back with her as the years went by, shrieking with joy when she became taller and then wondering if she would ever stop growing. By the time she did she stood a willowy five feet seven inches in her stockinged feet.

  “There’s plenty of fight in him yet, Mrs Wiggins. Faint from suffocation indeed,” she said with a laugh and went to put off her travelling clothes.

  “I shall not keep you long tonight for I mean to be up early in the morning to ride,” she told her abigail. “Nothing will rid me of these fidgets quicker than a good canter and I aim to be out before breakfast while it will still be pleasantly cool.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the young girl said, adjusting Phoebe’s dress before she went to join her father.

  Phoebe was the child of Edward Marcham’s old age. At twenty-four years old she was his delight and his reason for living after the untimely demise of his wife some twelve years earlier. That delight showed on his wrinkled face as she entered the dining room and bestowed an affectionate salute upon his forehead before seating herself at the table.

  “Tell me then about all your jaunting around in London.”

  Phoebe laughed. “You well know that while I enjoy an occasional trip to the capital, my heart is here at Glendale. I spent far more on frills and furbelows than was wise but my one real extravagance was that I have ordered a new riding habit for mine is looking quite shabby.”

  “Well that comes as no surprise for you are often seen to be in the saddle.” But he was pleased that she felt as he did about the old house. “Young Brendon visited while you were away,” he added casually, for he had long hoped for an alliance between his daughter and the son of his closest friend and neighbour.

  “Well I am glad you had some company. No, don’t look at me like that. You should know that Rupert and I, while remaining the best of friends, have no desire to form an alliance just to satisfy the whim of yourself and his father. I wish you will not keep bringing this matter up,” Phoebe said, a touch of steel in her voice.

  “I merely commented that he had visited. You are too quick to make assumptions,” he said, the timbre of his voice matching her own.

  She apologised immediately. “You are right and I beg pardon. I am weary after my journey and should not have spoken so.”

  Edward sighed inwardly. Though his dearest wish was to keep his daughter close he longed to see her established. At her age the prospect of her achieving a happy marriage seemed more remote than ever.

  “Perhaps it would be well for you to retire then,” he said gently. “I am tired myself. Shall I see you at breakfast?”

  Phoebe smiled, for she hated to be at odds with her father. “You shall, Papa, but not before I have had a good gallop. Then I shall truly know I am home.”

  A good night’s sleep did much to restore Phoebe’s good humour. She was not unmindful of her situation but she remembered the affection in which her parents had held each other. Nothing would induce her to settle for less and she had long ago concluded she was destined to remain a spinster. She could see no clear way forward and did not allow herself to dwell on the problem. Marriage with Rupert, even had he been willing, would secure her future but she would not be untrue to herself, nor indeed to him.

  “Good morning, Will,” Phoebe said as she entered the stable yard which lay to the back of the main house. “How have the horses been coping in this fierce heat?”

  “Better’n me, miss, for sure. Me and the boys we’ve been exercising them early, or later in the evening when it’s cooled down a bit. Some of ‘em are out even now, you’ll see.”

  “Not with Jester, I hope.”

  “No, we’d heard you were home and made certain we’d see you here first thing this morning. Jester is saddled up and ready for you.”

  “I’ll be off then before the sun rises any higher and let him have a run under cover of the trees. Ah, good day, young man,” she said fondly as Jester appeared, then laughed as he nudged her gently with his muzzle. Phoebe jumped into the saddle and they headed for the relative cool of the home wood.

  “I think that’s enough for the time being,” Phoebe murmured some time later, dismou
nting and loosening the girth. “We shall both walk from here. Yes, I know my pace is slow for you,” she remarked as the gelding pulled forward, “but you must for once match your steps to mine.”

  Reaching a small clearing she drew the rein over Jester’s head and she sat on a fallen tree to enjoy her surroundings. The horse waited patiently, nosing the ground with interest and sending the dust flying with the air from his nostrils, causing Phoebe to laugh aloud.

  “Ah, another human being,” said a disembodied voice, startling her into silence as she jumped to her feet to identify the intruder. “Had you not laughed I might have turned in another direction and missed you completely. I am entirely lost and throw myself upon your mercy.”

  The voice, unmistakably Scottish, belonged to a man who appeared through the trees mounted on a very large chestnut. She watched him with open curiosity as he too dismounted and drew nearer, hair darker than her own and with hazel eyes that were flecked with green.

  “Duncan Armstrong at your service,” he said, “though I am hoping it will be the other way around.”

  “Phoebe Marcham, sir, and I should like you to know that you are trespassing.”

  “I feared as much,” he said ruefully fingering his chin and failing completely to look contrite. “Beau and I have been out now for two hours and I am becoming concerned for him. I came out early in the hope of missing the worst of the heat.”

  This was something Phoebe was well able to appreciate. Had she not done the same?

  “How came you to be so far off track? You are not local. I would know you if you were.”

  “Far from local. My land lies north of the border though it is some time since I have been home. My brother runs things there. Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the place she had vacated.

  “I thought you were anxious for your horse?”

  “So I am, but it is cool enough here and easier to talk than when walking.”

  The man was full of cheek. She sat.

  “I assume you are staying with Rupert, since Cranford marches alongside Glendale, which is where you find yourself now.”

  “I am indeed. I didn’t have the heart to wake him for he was dipping rather deep last evening and would not have thanked me for disturbing him. I had no compunction in taking Beau for Rupert has given him to me to ride during my stay. He’s the only horse in his stable large enough to carry me, I’m afraid. I had not expected to lose my way but the country around here is very beautiful and I ventured further than I had intended.”

  “Perhaps it is time then to send you safely home.”

  “If you would but point me in the right direction I shall regretfully relieve you of my company.”

  “You are not rid of me yet. Walk with me to the edge of the wood. It will be easier from there to describe the way.”

  As they walked, Phoebe learned that Duncan Armstrong had become acquainted with her friend at university. Over the years they had seen little of each other for the Scotsman had spent much time travelling abroad. He was, he said, a keen collector and Phoebe found herself envying his ability to go where he would. Much as she loved her home she had always longed to travel and asked him to tell her something of his time on the Continent.

  “Most of it was spent in Italy. One could spend half a lifetime there and see only a small part of its treasures. I intend to return when I have the opportunity.”

  “How lucky you were that the troubles were over. With Napoleon safely in St Helena these past three years it has again become possible to move freely.”

  “Yes, and fortunate that my brother did not have the same desire to travel and I was able to leave our home in his capable hands. And now I have filled it with the fruits of my journey and must return soon to put all in order.”

  “Your collection is extensive then?”

  “Extremely, and because of its nature requires a lot of space.” She looked at him, a question in her face. “It is mostly comprised of statues, though I was fortunate indeed to pick up a few outstanding paintings.”

  Phoebe mentioned to him the Long Gallery at Glendale and he begged to be allowed to visit. “It is not always the artefacts themselves but the stories behind them that are of significance. I shall have so much sorting to do when I get home. Are there any interesting tales to tell in your own collection?”

  “Naturally we have the obligatory ghost.”

  “You do?”

  “Indeed, though I have never seen him. However, the story has been handed down over the generations, I daresay much embellished, but the essence of it is true I am sure.”

  “Splendid. Does your ghost roam the house or is he confined to the one room?”

  “You are making game of me but I assure you he has been seen. Just not by me. He ‘lives’ in the Long Gallery.”

  “I cannot wait to meet him!” Duncan said.

  “We should be delighted to show you our treasures. My father is very proud of them and would, I know, value your opinion. Not of the ghost, naturally, but we have what I believe to be some very fine pieces. Ah, here we are. If you take that track you will come eventually to the road. Cranford lies to the other side. A small stream runs parallel if Beau needs water.”

  He took her hand and looked down into her eyes, suddenly serious. “I hope we shall meet again very soon. I shall make it my business to see that we do.” Then he was gone, and Phoebe was left with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had never before experienced. Unable to identify what it meant she shrugged it off and led Jester back to the stable yard.

  As she entered the house she found a letter lying on a salver in the hall. The envelope was addressed in her aunt’s hand and she took it with her to her room to read when she had changed out of her riding habit. She sat at the dresser expecting to see only news in the aftermath of the wedding and any on dits that might be circulating in town. She was less than pleased therefore to find that her Aunt Sophia was finding the weather in London far too brutal and proposed visiting the country for a few weeks respite. You may expect me within a sennight Phoebe read and with a sigh she went to break the news to her father.

  Chapter Two

  Duncan did indeed stop by the stream to slake his own thirst and that of his horse. They walked on slowly, as much because the man was in contemplative mood as on account of the heat. He would have recognised the feeling in her stomach that Phoebe had experienced for he had also been strongly affected by their meeting. Unlike Phoebe, though, he knew he had met his fate. She was a feisty one and he was by no means sure she even liked him on such short acquaintance. He resolved to get to know her better.

  “She might be married,” he said to Beau, “but she made no mention of a husband. Only of her father. Not that that’s by any means conclusive. I found it refreshing though to have a conversation with a woman without having to bury my chin in my neck to see down to her face.” He quickened his pace, anxious now to glean as much information as he could from his friend.

  Rupert found him in the stable some while later where, having removed Beau’s tack, he was in the process of brushing him down and seeing to his comfort.

  “They told me you’d been riding. I can only assume it is your bulk that allows you to consume so much wine with such little effect. I on the other hand am suffering, yes suffering, Duncan, and I blame you entirely. To challenge me in that way when you knew I would be unable to resist.”

  “Nonsense, there were enough times when we were up at Oxford when you drank me under the table. How was I to know you had become soft in the intervening years,” Duncan said laughing and slapping his friend on the shoulder.

  “Ouch. Go easy, man. I have not yet fully recovered.”

  “Hair of the dog?”

  “No I thank you. But I will bear you company while you breakfast. My father has long ago eaten and is out visiting his tenants.”

  “First I must change. I am drenched with sweat and must clean up before I do anything else. Do you fancy a swim in the lake?” />
  “Are you mad? The water is ice cold even at this time of the year.”

  “You should try some of the lochs in Scotland. You would know then how cold water really can be. I have broken ice before now. But if you are not keen perhaps we might visit your neighbour. I would welcome the opportunity of saying thank you to Miss Marcham for rescuing me this morning.”

  “Oh she’s home, is she? And how was Phoebe of assistance to you?”

  “I was lost, strayed further than I should and found myself not on your land but on hers. She was good enough to direct me back to Cranford.”

  “Well I should like to see her above all things. I have sorely missed her company.”

  Duncan was perturbed at his friend’s reaction. He sounded eager indeed. Was Rupert then before him?

  It was some two hours later when the friends drove the short distance to Glendale in the gig after Duncan had changed and eaten his fill. They strode into the house via a door at the back, Rupert being used to treating the place as his own. His companion felt a little uncomfortable since this was his first visit, but had to be reassured by his friend’s judgement that “It is all right and tight. I have been running free here since I was in short coats”. Phoebe was nonetheless startled when they came upon her in the hall where she and Mrs Wiggins were discussing household affairs.

  “Rupert! You gave me such a fright. Could you not at least have made some noise as you approached?”

  Duncan was encouraged. Her tone to her neighbour was not in the least lover-like. Nor indeed was Rupert’s when he responded. “Well I’m sorry but you must have been concentrating very hard for we did not creep in for sure,” he said, resentful of the implication. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “We have had enough talk of ghosts for one day, have we not,” she said, turning to Duncan as Mrs Wiggins withdrew. “I did not look to see you again so soon, Mr Armstrong.”

  He could not judge if she was pleased to see him.