Something strange was happening at Marlborough Mills.
When her hairbrush went missing in the middle of the night, she was puzzled. She thought herself a light sleeper, for she usually woke at the first sound of tiny footsteps invading her room. It must be the children; Joseph especially had a fondness for thievery. She asked him about it at breakfast, but he denied all knowledge. He was an awful liar, and he defended himself so earnestly that Magraret was inclined to believe him.
"Where's my shaving brush?" John asked one morning before the sun had risen. "I cannot find it anywhere."
"Hmm?" Margaret sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Four."
"Already?" She yawned. "Must you be up so early? Come back to bed."
"I'm running late." He grumbled back, still continuing his fruitless search. "Court starts at eight and I have things to do first."
"You must sleep, darling. You look exhausted."
"I'll sleep when the Quarter Sessions are over. Damn this blasted thing." He cursed, dropping the razor and apparently giving up any idea he might have had of shaving.
Margaret sank back into the bed, watching as he dressed for the day in the near pitch black. He had lit a fire, and she wished it was just a little brighter - the room was frigid in the early morning, her fingers icy cold as she pulled the sheets closer to her.
"The bed is cold without you."
"I'm sorry, love. A few more weeks and my duty will be done until Spring."
John's duty as a magistrate had overtaken their lives. Though he was called to court every four months or so for the Quarter Sessions, this year had been the busiest yet. Another magistrate was unable to perform his duties due to illness, and John had taken his place - meaning twice the cases he usually oversaw. The mill, too, was a most demanding mistress as new contracts came in and production increased to meet the demand. He had not taken his place at the dinner table for some time, and she had not seen him in bed before midnight for weeks. He appeared to be truly exhausted; dark rings beneath his eyes, his face visibly thinner and tight with stress.
"Must you be such a fine magistrate?" She asked, eyes closing. "Between the mill and your work at the court, I have scarcely seen you. Any sign of that brush?"
"No. I've got to go. Tell Joseph to stop it with his light fingers." He walked to the bed, buttoning up his shirt as he accepted his defeat.
A week later, she had found all of her earrings lying on the dining room table in a strangely neat, precariously balanced, pile. The jewllery box that they were stored in was sitting beside it, though on top of that was one of John's cravats. She frowned; it made such little sense that she could scarcely believe her eyes.
The following day, one of the servants came to her after they had finished their dusting.
"Mistress, I found this on top of one of the bookshelves in yours and t'Master's study."
She held out an object Margaret had never seen outside of its owners possession; John's pocket watch, passed to him from his father. It was the most precious object he owned; it lay on his bedside table at night. There was no feasible way one of the children could have stolen it without waking their father - no way at all.
"A bookshelf?" Margaret asked incredulously, taking the watch and turning it over in her hand to ensure it was as she thought. "On the top shelf?"
The servant, a young girl called Peggy, shook her head. She fiddled with her hands, apparently nervous.
"No, Mistress. Right on the very top. Knocked it clean off with my duster, I did. Lucky I caught it in time."
"Thank you. I will give it back to the Master, I'm sure he has noticed it missing. I am grateful you caught it, and I am sure he would want me to extend his most sincere thanks for your care in your tasks."
She walked away utterly confused. The bookshelf in question was taller than John; the children would have to have used a chair to reach such a height, and they were certainly not left unattended for long enough. No, she conceded, perhaps her boys were not to blame for this. So, she was left without an explanation.
That afternoon, when relaying the series of strange events to her sister in law, Margaret got a most unexpected explanation.
"Oh, that'll be the ghost," Fanny said lightly as she dropped sugar into her tea. "I wondered when he'd reappear."
"Ghost?!" Margaret asked, trying desperately to stifle her laughter, for her sister in law looked most unusually serious. "What are you talking about?"
"Has John never told you? Oh, how long have you lived here now and you've never heard of the house ghost! Well, the Thornton ghost really - it has followed us around for years, wherever we went. Creaking in the night, things going missing. One morning, John woke to all his books piled one on top of the other, just in time to see them crash to the floor."
"Goodness. Well, he has certainly never mentioned this to me before. The children have fancied seeing figures in the dark, but the culprit was found - clean nightgowns for the girls. A ghost indeed!"
"You may laugh," Fanny said, sipping her tea and setting it down with a scowl "But ask John. It's been haunting this house for years."
"It hasn't followed you then?" Margaret teased.
Fanny shook her head, looking strangely mournful.
"No! Our house is far too fine for a common ghost that steals things. I am certain any spirit that might haunt me would be far less obtrusive. Oh, it is so in fashion to have a ghost." Fanny sighed wistfully. "But no, my house is not in the least haunted."
"Fashion indeed! People pretending to hear strange voices, or hiding around corners in sheets. I will have no talk of such rubbish! The children are already frightened of nightdresses, I'll not make it worse."
"Fanny thinks there is a ghost." Margaret remarked to Hannah over dinner that night. "That the spirit must be responsible for all of the missing items. I still think it is Joseph, no matter how earnestly he protests."
Her mother in law shifted in her chair, not quite meeting Margaret's gaze. Surely a woman so sensible as Hannah Thornton would not believe in the existence of ghosts?! It seemed quite absurd that someone so staunch in their opinions could believe that a spirit was taking the time to hide a hairbrush.
"You think it foolish. But I cannot explain it, Margaret. Strange things happened over the years, items missing, in strange places..I have tried to think of how they came to be. But I could not. It happened first just before John was born; I woke to find the mantle clock in the fireplace. What servant would do such a thing in the dead of night? And then through the years, more strange things. It continued long after my husband's death, following us from house to house. It's settled these past few years, mind."
"I just cannot understand it. Why has nobody ever mentioned it before?! There must be a simple explanation."
"Perhaps." Hannah shrugged, resuming eating and indicating to Margaret that she had no wish to continue the conversation.
That night, just before she readied for bed, Margaret peeped around the nursery door. Four sleeping children, just as she had hoped to see. She gave the room a cursory glance, wondering if she would find the treasure of stolen items beneath Joseph's bed as she expected. No, it was not worth the risk of waking him.
She walked back to her own bedroom, puzzling once more at the curiosity of it all. Some might blame a servant, but Margaret did not think any of the women in their employ would risk a stable, well respected job for such petty criminality. Besides the pocket watch, which in truth held a greater sentimental than monetary worth, the items missing were not valuable in any way at all - a hairbrush, a shaving brush...what use would a thief have with such mundane items when there were far more valuable things in the house?
She fell asleep none the wiser.
Some hours later, Margaret jolted upright. A creak, long and loud, sounded outside the bedroom door. She reached over for John but found his side of the bed unoccupied, the sheets still immaculate and smooth beneath her fingers. He had not even come to bed. Her heart pounded with fear; where was he?!
No, she told herself, he would have slept in the spare room. He did that on some nights where he had been kept away for longer than usual, not wishing to wake her. He will be in the spare room. Calm yourself.
Fumbling for matches, she lit the candle she kept by her bed. She would not lie here, trembling with terror. There simply had to be another cause of this disturbance; a child out of bed was the first thought that came to her.
One thud after another broke through the silence; there was no mistaking that sound for anything other than what it was - a footfall on the stairs. She walked to the door, taking her dressing gown and quickly covering herself. As she crept through the quiet corridors, she scolded herself for giving into Fanny's silly stories.
"There is no such thing as ghosts." She reminded herself in a soft whisper. "There is no such thing as ghosts."
Inhaling deeply to try and calm her jangling nerves, she cautiously placed one foot on the top step. From below, a crash of glass. Without a second thought, she ran towards the source of the noise. She did not stop to think that it could be intruders (who would surely get a shock at the sight of the Master's wife in little more than a dressing gown armed only with a candle), determined only to lay this ridiculous ghost story to rest.
"I-is anyone there?" She called out in a trembling voice. She swallowed thickly, willing herself to be brave. "Anyone?"
There was no reply, the only sound the faint shuffling of feet. She straightened herself; she would not cower in the hallway.
Holding her candle in front of her, willing her eyes not to squeeze shut, Margaret stepped into the sitting room. She felt her entire body sag with relief, for the figure in front of her was certainly no fearsome phantom.
"John!" She exhaled as the tension left her. As she watched him, moving around the sitting room in the pitch dark illuminated only by her candle's small flame, her relief turned to confusion. "What are you doing up so late?"
There was no response. She watched, puzzled, as he moved her sewing box from by her chair to the dining table. Then, as though he were stacking pebbles on a beach, he placed a book atop the sewing box, followed by a discarded spinning top that had escaped the nursery.
"John." She said again. "What in heaven's name are you doing?!"
Still there was no reply. She stepped forward, only be tugged back by some unseen force.
"Leave him."
Margaret shrieked, the cold hand on her shoulder and the voice in her ear startling her so much it was a miracle she managed to cling onto the candle. She turned, seeing Hannah stand behind her. Her eyes were fixed on her son, a tiny smile quirking on her lips. Margaret's wailing had not disturbed him, for he continued his strange stacking - this time adding a cushion to the precarious pile.
"He will not answer me." Margaret said. "I have called him, but-"
"He won't answer you. Sleepwalking." Hannah let out a little puff of air, shaking her head. "All these years and I had no notion he did such a thing. I suppose this'll be our ghost, then."
"I suppose so. But - you said that it all began before he was born."
Hannah thought for a moment, before shrugging.
"Stranger habits have been passed father to son, I'd dare say."
"Well, what should we do?" Margaret asked. "Do we - do we wake him?"
"No. Take his arm and gently lead him back upstairs. Don't wake him, it'll shock him."
"Alright." Margaret walked into the room, slowly walking to her husband's side. She did not know whether she should speak to him; she did not want to alarm him, but she also did not want to startle him with her touch. "John, darling. I'm going to hold your arm and take you back to bed. We are going to walk slowly, be careful. It is very dark."
Hannah lead the way, taking the candle as Margaret gingerly guided her husband up the stairs. He was walking quite normally, and Margaret could scarcely believe that he was asleep at all.
Bidding his mother goodnight, Margaret steered him into their bedroom. It was pitch dark, for she had not retrieved the candle from Hannah, and she stumbled over something. Letting out a yelp as she tried not to fall, John caught her.
"Where am I?" John asked, his voice thick as she straightened herself up. "What - where-"
"Hush. It's alright, you were sleepwalking. You're in our bedroom, you went downstairs. You were piling objects-"
He groaned, walking away from her in the darkness and sitting on the bed. He lit the lamp beside his bed, the gentle glow casting shadow over him. Margaret stood, watching as he shook his head. .
"Not again. I thought all that was past me now."
"You knew?" Margaret asked, sitting beside him on the bed and taking his hand.
"Aye." He rubbed at his face. "It's happened for years. Whenever I don't get enough sleep, when I'm stressed."
"Your mother had no idea. How did you hide it from her all those years?!"
Though she did not say it, she was most surprised John had managed to keep anything a secret from his mother - who had eyes like a hawk and noticed everything. Had he really managed to roam in darkness and never be caught?!
"At first, I didn't know myself. I would go back to bed and wake up in the morning thinking Fanny had been playing tricks. Then, as time went on, I began waking up in the middle of it. Finding myself in the yard in only my nightclothes was the strangest thing that's ever happened."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Margaret asked. "We have been married almost ten years!"
"It slipped my mind, in truth. I would have told you had it happened, but it hasn't. Not as far as I know, at least."
"What causes it?"
"Lack of sleep. Times of crisis. Whenever I need sleep the most, my body rejects the very idea of it."
"Your mother thinks your father did it too. That he was the ghost, before you."
"I dare say he did. He slept little and carried great weight on his mind." John shrugged, but a small smile played on his lips. Really, he could not keep a secret from her - she knew him far too well for that.
"You knew." Margaret said. "You knew that he sleptwalk."
John sighed.
"Aye, I knew. I was home from school one week. Around the time - just before he.." he paused, unable to finish his sentence. Margaret placed her hand on his, her thumb stroking over his knuckles. "I saw him. I didn't wake him, just watched. I told nobody; I think I thought it was funny, to let Mother believe there was a ghost. It slipped my mind when he died, I never thought of it until it started happening to me. I didn't want to worry her."
"Does this mean Arthur will sleepwalk? Or Joseph?" Margaret asked, falling back onto the pillows in despair. "I'm not certain I can cope with their naughtiness at all hours of the night."
John chuckled, pulling her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head. She inhaled deeply, relieved to have him back in his rightful place beside her.
"I hope not."
She wriggled back, looking up at him as she realised there was still a question going unanswered.
"Wait, if it was you all this time - where is my hairbrush? And your shaving brush?"
"I don't know." John admitted sheepishly. "I'll buy you a new one and chain it to the table. I'm sorry."
Margaret laughed, leaning up to kiss him softly. Now that she was certain they were not being haunted, the whole thing was rather funny.
"I have a spare, or my hair would be quite a bird's nest by now! I shall have to lock it away."
Below them, the clock chimed three. John froze, his body turning stiff against her as he tensed. She only held him closer, knowing precisely why he was no longer relaxed.
"I need to be up in half an hour. I must see to the mill before the Sessions begin."
"No." Margaret placed her hand on his chest, forcing him down. "I have had enough. You are not to make yourself ill. The mill will last through this. Your mother and I can do what you need, as well as the men you pay handsomely yet never seem to let do any work! You need to sleep, John. You are exhausted, so overworked that you cannot stop even in slumber!"
"Did you really think there was a ghost?" He asked, trying not to laugh.
"No!" Margaret exclaimed. "I thought I was the only person in this house with any sense left! Although I must admit, creeping around in the dark hearing all those strange noises..perhaps I was a little frightened. I was certainly relieved to find it was only you!"
"I'll have to try harder next time." He teased. "Perhaps I'll get some clanking chains."