The day following that meeting, upon the realization I had less than a week left in Bath, I made up my mind that I absolutely must go and see Farleigh Hungerford Castle. Sir Harry's description had been though of often in the weeks since he related the story of the imprisoned wife.
I had hitherto thought the impediment in my going with Eleanor lay with transportation, primarily that being Eleanor's distaste for riding. But she had revealed that they kept a curricle, which we could easily take out—that is, if Henry agreed to drive it. The seat was wide enough for three, though only just.
Henry did agree. And the morning was still early when we got on our way. In every way, the drive was the opposite of what I had endured with John Thorpe when he tricked me into going halfway to Blaize Castle. For one, the destination was within easy distance of the city—only seven miles. For another, I was pleased to note Henry was an excellent driver. He sat between Eleanor and I, while his horse drew us closer with each step.
"I made inquiries about the castle," Henry said, his gaze pointed toward the spires that were looming in the distance. "Since the restoration of the chapel, it has become a repository of curiosities. We shall see any number of odd things within its walls."
There was very little of the castle left standing. I could see only the foundation of the interior rooms, and but shells of two of the four towers that once stood.
"A ruin of ruins, it appears," said Eleanor.
My eyes devoured every detail. Pamphlets were available at the chapel, which showed a sketch of the original castle and what was in each of the rooms. In addition to the story of the imprisoned wife, I read another of a woman who murdered and then burned her first husband in the castle's oven, so that she might marry the Lord of the castle.
I sought out the tower where the Lady Elizabeth, Walter Hungerford's third wife, was imprisoned for four years. All that was left was the western half, the sun far enough past the zenith to cast where I stood into shadow. There were at least five stories that I counted. With my neck stretched up to look at the top, absorbed in thought, I started violently when Henry—whom I had not heard approach— said, "Wouldn't you have enjoyed being the first wife of such a man?"
I turned quickly. The innocent look plastered on his face did not fool me. "You might have made a less stealthy approach. I do believe you startled me on purpose."
"Perhaps I did," he grinned. "I did well, it would seem." He scrutinized the pamphlet. A teasing glint came into his eye. "They call this the Lady Tower, you know."
"I do know. I saw it myself." He stood only a few feet away, but took a step closer. "I wonder if he kept all his wives in this one, or if he rotated between the towers. Perhaps, the bodies are buried somewhere on this property."
I swallowed. "Or they might have been burned," I said.
"Do you suppose their spirits remained behind? A haunted ruin, after all, such a delicious tale to write home about."
His jab brought my mind out of the clouds. "Haunted indeed, what nonsense. I may enjoy a good novel, but I wouldn't fall for that."
His brows rose. "Oh no? You don't believe someone deceased can haunt the living?"
I hesitated. What of my father? Was he not haunted by the loss of his first love, the beloved Catherine whose letter he always carried with him?
"I suppose haunting could take many forms. The memory alone may torment a person."
His countenance darkened. "I see that you are acquainted with haunting after all."
"And you?" I asked, certain he was hiding something.
Eleanor's approach prevented any reply he might have made. We'd been at the ruin for hours, and it was time to return home. We took some refreshment at a nearby shop, and then went on our way.
I wished we might keep driving and go straight to Northanger Abbey. The visit had whet my appetite for another ancient building, and even more so for the secrets that must lie within. I did not know, but rather hoped, that the Abbey might hold such a mystery.
