James turned the large, leathered bound book so that it faced the smiling American couple that stood on the other side of his beautiful mahogany desk. "If you could just sign our guest book, Mr. Jensen, I'll get your room key." He took the key from it's room slot and then turned back to see Mr. Jensen and his smiling wife leafing through some of the pages of the book.
"You sure do bring 'em in from all over don't you?" James quietly moved the book so that it no longer faced the Jensens from Houston, Texas, and handed the key to the man in the white cowboy hat. "I bet those guys from Ethiopia were different, huh." "Those guys" from Ethiopia, James remembered, had been business men on holiday after attending some conference in Edinborough. They had been well dressed, quiet, respectful and good tippers. They had been very interested in the history of the area and had asked questions that showed they had done some research. They were pretty much the opposite of most American tourists who were only interested in...
"So, you got ghosts in this place, James?" James sighed. There it was. The inevitable question asked by almost every American that had ever crossed the threshold of Ramsey Manor. Ghosts had become big business in Scotland and when the current Ramseys decided to turn their ancestral home into a hotel to help pay for the expenses of keeping the property in the clan, they had let the rumors fly. Since the castle could date it's earliest tower to the 13th century, that was a lot of rumors. James, who was himself a member of the Ramsey clan, found it somewhat repugnant to be discussing what he considered family business with strangers looking for the lurid, but it was his job, and these days jobs were hard to come by for people in their later years.
Putting on his best old concierge smile, he leaned in a little, giving the Jensens the impression they were being let in on some long hidden secret. "We do have a few, I'm afraid." Mrs. Jensen, a plump woman with tall red hair, and a complexion to match, opened her blue painted eyes so wide that they began to pop out a little. "Around 1560, a servant girl found herself in the family way after a trist with a highly placed visitor to the manor. She was, of course, fired when her condition was discovered. She hung herself in the great hall. There are times, late at night when people can still hear her crying and begging for understanding."
"Oh, my." The big haired woman seemed shocked and excited. "That's just tragic, isn't it." She looked around, half expecting, James was sure, to see the woman to appear behind her, belly protruding, dragging the rope behind her. "Are there others?"
"There are others," he answered, matter of factly. "People have seen a little girl in Victorian dress running down some of the halls, and sometimes one can hear a piano playing sometimes at night, though we have no piano in the Manor at this time." James looked at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, almost 9:00 pm. Without thinking, he looked at the door as he continued talking. "We are often visited by Lady Elizabeth Ramsey, as well.
"Oh, and who is she?" The red woman of Texas was ready for a tale of romance.
"The Lady Elizabeth lived, and died, in the Manor nearly three hundred years ago. She never married, lest she lose control of her own life." James nodded toward the couch that sat in front of a roaring fire. "She can often be seen sitting in that very sofa, watching the people coming and going and making sure all is right in her home."
"I sure do hope we get to see some of these spooks," Cowboy Jensen said. "Kind of want to get my money's worth, you know?"
"There are no guarantees, of course, but if you know how to look you can see so much more than most people do." James watched the couple climb the stairs leading to their room. He was fairly sure that tomorrow they would come down, chattering excitedly about the spirit they saw hovering above their beds. They would then go back to Texas and make the tale taller until they were besieged by hundreds of cowboy hat wearing men with red faced wives, so unlike the quiet days when he was simply the custodian for the Ramsey family, making sure the ancient castle and grounds stayed in good repair.
The sound of polite throat clearing startled James from what was sure to be a bittersweet walk down the paths of memory. He started as he realized that his visitor was standing right in front of him. "I'm so sorry, Sir. I didn't hear you come in."
"It's quite all right, James, my man." The sandy blond man smiled genially. "I can be quite stealthy at times."
"Indeed you can, Mr. Fitzcairn." James smiled. He was always glad to see this particular visitor. He'd been a frequent guest of the Ramsey family in James younger days, a suitor for the affections of Margaret, the only daughter of the then Lord. James remembered them, a young couple, so very much in love that they never considered how doomed their romance would be. Margaret had duties that could not be ignored and those did not include leaving with some bankrupt Englishman, never to return. It would have had to be that way for, as James was later to discover, Mr. Fitzcairn had secrets that could not be shared with the Ramsey clan.
"Has she arrived, James?" Fitzcairn looked worried. "I haven't come too late? My watch seems to have stopped." He held his wrist to his ear, shook it and tried again. "Payed a fortune for this bloody piece of trash, too."
"She hasn't arrived, Mr. Fitzcairn." James nodded to the clock. "In fact, you are early tonight. Perhaps you'd like to sit by the fire while you wait. It's quite cold in here tonight."
Fitzcairn rubbed his hands together and rocked back on his heels. "It is, isn't it?" He laughed, but it seemed more nervous than mirthful. "What ever possessed us to make our appointments so early in March?"
James only smiled in answer. They both knew why this date was chosen for the yearly return. James had been there, preparing the softening ground for early spring planting when the couple had strolled into the garden. Unable to leave without making things worse, he opted for the age old servant trick of simply becoming invisible. He had heard the entire conversation.
I "I can't leave with you, Hugh. You know that." Margaret's long, brown hair was tied behind her in a tasteful bun, and she was wearing the traditional garb of country Ladies everywhere, a tweed skirt, tasteful button down shirt with a cardigan sweater, and Wellingtons. Even in these clothes, however, one could see that she was meant to wear something far more flamboyant.
Fitzcairn shook his head. "You could. We could leave... disappear. I've done it a hundred times." He took both her hands in his, and looked desperately in her eyes. "I love you, Maggie. I always will."
Margaret laughed, but there was no true happiness in it. "Always is a very long time for you, isn't it, Hugh?"
"It is if you aren't there with me." Fitzcairn let go of Margaret hands and stepped back. "I shall miss you every day." He walked slowly past James, heading once again to the house, and, James supposed, the door.
"Hugh, wait!" Fitzcairn stopped, but didn't turn around. "I will be here this time next year, for an annual grounds inspection." Fitzcairn's shoulders rose and fell, but he never turned back. "If you aren't here, I'll understand." /I
Every year since then they had met. Husbands, wives, weather, good times, bad times, even war; nothing kept them from their assignation. Eventually, as had to happen, death separated the couple. Yet, that March, as James took up his new position as concierge, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Fitzcairn walk through the door, soon to be followed by Lady Margaret herself. He knew then the true meaning of always.
Fitzcairn sat now, legs crossed, fingers tapping impatiently on the table that sat next to his chair, his eyes fixed on the door, willing it to open and to let in his love. It was a ritual that James had seen many times over the many years, and one that he was confident he would see for many years to come.
At last the door opened, and Margaret entered. She smiled and nodded at James, and then walked to the chair. "Hugh, you came."
Fitzcairn rose, and bent to gently kiss the woman's cheek. "I'll always come back for you, Maggie." Fitzcairn smiled, and the room suddenly lost it's chill. "You didn't think I'd let a little thing like death separate us, now did you?"
Margaret ran her fingers, now gnarled with arthritis, through her short, but stylish grey hair. "I'm sure I look a fright. Hardly, the girl you once knew."
"Nonsense, my love. You are beautiful. You always have been."
With no further words, the couple ascended the stairs. Anyone watching would have seen only a elderly woman of means, one who seemed more content than most, but if you knew how to look, you could see so much more.