The Ghost of Windermere Hall by Marianne Dashwood

Author:Marianne Dashwood [Dashwood, Marianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Charlotte and John caught a moment together as Lord Windermere was saying goodbye to the three guests who were not to stay at the Hall.

“Did you discover anything?” Charlotte whispered to John.

“Not much,” he said. “I learned some about the Hall itself – it was built in 1602 and has always belonged to the Windermeres. One of the Windermeres was rumored to be insane, and his brother inherited the Hall instead of him. That was a hundred years ago, however, so I don’t know if the story is true or not.”

“Which guest told it to you?” Charlotte asked.

“Sir Whitnall,” he replied, and Charlotte had to agree that Sir Whitnall seemed to be the type who would innocently pass on a legend as fact.

“Did you discover anything?” he asked.

“Only a little,” she said. “Lord Windermere’s wife was named Caroline –”

But at that moment, Lord Windermere left his front door and began walking towards them. She stopped her sentence abruptly and smiled demurely at him.

She did not have another opportunity to speak to John that night. They returned briefly to the drawing room before Edgar announced loudly that he was going to bed, and the rest of them followed suit, murmuring quiet “goodnights” in the hallway.

Edgar and William’s rooms were off the same hallway as Charlotte’s and John’s, which increased Charlotte’s risk of being seen or heard as she made her way downstairs. After Alice had left her for the night, Charlotte waited at her door, listening. She kept her ear close to the keyhole until she had not heard a sound for over half an hour.

She had changed out of her nightdress after Alice had left, and into one of her darkest dresses – a green that would have passed for black in strong shadows. Clutching an extinguished candle in her hand, she stepped out into the hallway. She was barefoot, certain that she would be able to move more quietly that way.

She paused, her body alert and ready to run back into her room, and listened in the hallway. She could hear the sound of someone snoring faintly. Edgar, she guessed – or perhaps William Stirling. She found herself repressing a giggle at the thought of William Stirling snoring. Confident that everyone around her was asleep, she shut the door to her room.

She realized, as she began to creep down the nearly pitch-black hallway, that the presence of the other guests made her feel safer. The house no longer felt so vast and uninhabited. Surely it was not Edgar’s presence that made her feel that way – he was more of a clear danger than anything she had yet encountered in the house. It was Mr. Stirling, she admitted to herself, as if she should not let herself do so. She found that she still sensed him as a source of light and warmth, as if she could have opened the door to his room and seen him glowing slightly in his sleep.

He was kind and confident, she told herself, as she descended the staircase.

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