THE GHOST OF WARBOROUGH HALL

"The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there."

– L.P. Hartley, 1895-1972

CHAPTER TWO:

I paused. Dragons? Honestly! What was wrong with this woman?

I turned to give her my own brand of sarcasm, sure that she was mocking me, but instead I saw her looking at me once again with helpless eyes. She was still in the gazebo, halfway between the table and the footpath, leaning heavily on her ornate crane.

"Miss Thorston, please."

I hesitated.

"I… I need your…" She took a deep breath before her pride took over once again. "I need your services, Miss Thorston. Please."

I crossed my arms. "Miss Hofferson. I am not going to help you if you are going to constantly ridicule me."

She regarded me before a smile crept on her lips. "I knew I was right in choosing you." She muttered. "Very well, I will try to keep my tongue in check. But you must understand that my story cannot be told to its full effect if you are going to be asking questions that will ruin the surprises in my narrative."

I regarded her. "Fine." I warily made my way back to her. "I solemnly promise I will not cheat and ask questions unless under special circumstances."

"Such as?"

"Clarification."

She narrowed her blue eyes. "Fine."

I grinned at her. Despite being a difficult old hag, I could see that Astrid Hofferson was going to be fun. I sat back down and apologised for the spilt tea before I asked her a question that had been nagging me.

"Miss Hofferson, why did you choose me if – according to you – my kind was a dime a dozen?"

She chuckled. "Well, you are the only biographer whose works I actually enjoyed reading."

I beamed at her. Wow! What a compliment!

"Besides, you are a twin, are you not?"

"Er… yes?"

She shrugged. "Those are reasons enough."

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "What?"

"No more questions," she said, raising a hand. "All will be revealed in time."

"But –"

"Remember our agreement, Miss Thorston."

I shut my mouth. I had already forgotten. Man she was going to be a tough one.

"What do you know of my life?" She asked after a while.

"Not much beyond what is public knowledge. And there is very little out there."

"How about the Hofferson family – my family?"

"Not much either."

"And Warborough Hall?"

I shook my head. I knew Warborough Hall did not originally belong to the Hoffersons. It was gifted to them, along with their distinguished title, a long time ago.

She looked at me shrewdly. "My family has always been obsessed about privacy, about not divulging more than what is required. I am the same. Generations have kept their secrets confined within these walls. Having read your biographical work, I am sure you would like to know the secrets these walls have been privy to. If only they could speak, hmm?"

I did not reply.

"Do you believe in the supernatural, Miss Thorston?"

"Not really."

"You will need an open mind to believe my tale."

"Because of the ghosts and the dragons?" I asked wryly, but she returned my gaze levelly.

"The walls of Warborough Hall speak, Miss Thorston, but you need to hear. The ghosts of those who have passed through these lands are still here, but you need to see. The dragons still ride upon the wind, but you need to feel."

"I do not understand."

"I hope, in time, you will. I really do." She gestured to me. "Close your eyes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Close your eyes, child. Please, will you indulge an old woman?"

I looked at her sceptically before I did as she asked.

"Now listen with your ears, and feel with every pore of your skin."

"Won't I need to see with my eyes?"

"Not right now. The ghosts will come later."

I pursed my lips impatiently. "Well, I hear nothing, and feel nothing."

"Just try to hear and feel. Breathe. Think of nothing and breathe."

I sighed. Breathe in.

"Do you hear the murmur of the garden?"

Breathe out.

"Do you hear the walls speaking to each other?"

Breathe in.

"Do you feel the caress of the summer air?"

Breathe out.

"Do you feel that puff of breath on your cheek?"

I felt the soft, pine-scented breeze on my face, and I couldn't help but smile, my eyes still closed.

"There was once a young man, of the Haddock clan, who walked through these gardens one summer, a long, long time ago," said Astrid. "He was a young man who did not believe in whispering walls, or of fleeting ghosts. But what he brought with him were dragons, and they had never left these lands since bringing them here.

"He was not a Hofferson, but he was the son of a great Scottish lord. And a redder hair no other man had ever possessed. That flaming crown blazed like a beacon in the morning dew that laced these gardens that morning when he decided to take a gander through these gardens.

"He was a young man in love with his wife. He often travelled this far south with her and, on this particular occasion, he stopped by to visit his newlywed Hofferson friend in Warborough Hall. They had known each other since they were mere children, and while the young Lord Haddock was brave and believed in fantastical things, his Hofferson friend did not believe in anything he could not easily perceive. Ghosts and dragons included.

"The red-headed man ambled on, getting blissfully lost in the small maze of geometric topiaries. A shadow passed overhead, and he looked up to see a blue shadow disappear behind the dawn-hued clouds. He smiled. The dragons, it seemed, were awake.

"On the other side of the maze was a small lake, and he noticed a certain, young, blond-haired gentleman pondering at the edge of the water. He approached him.

"Good morning! He said cheerily. The young Hofferson turned to him and smiled.

"What brings you to the gardens this early in the morning? Asked the gentleman.

"The dragons, replied the Scot, and the gentleman laughed.

"Dragons again? You are a strange, strange man.

"You know, you will never see them unless you believe.

"Still trying to make me believe your foolish tales, I see. He laughed good-naturedly. I have always taken your dragons as metaphors for something… or something…

"Not metaphors, the Scot tossed his red hair from his eyes. Just wait until your children fill these halls, my friend, and then you will start seeing dragons too.

"Not if you're a Hofferson.

"The red-headed man grinned down at him, and the young Hofferson suddenly laughed as he clapped the Scot in the back. Speaking of children, I must congratulate you and your beautiful wife once again! I am sure the child she bears will be just as strong and every bit the nuisance you ever were.

"The red-headed man guffawed. No doubt!

"And bring your child to Warborough Hall as often as you can. I am sure my many, many future children will appreciate a playmate to annoy.

"Aye, that's a promise.

"And who knows, if you have a son, and I a daughter, perhaps they could even marry each other!

"Aye, you better get busy with your wife then!

"The blond gentleman blushed, and the Scotsman laughed even louder. So you have been busy!

"Must you be so… vulgar?

"He chuckled. Ah, well! His gaze started to follow something behind the young gentleman before his eyes flicked skywards. His blond-haired friend followed suit, squinting his eyes at the sky. He saw only clouds.

"More dragons? He asked drily.

"The Scotsman rumbled a reply. Come on, he said, heading back to the manor. Our wives are breakfasting, and mine is waiting for me to join her most impatiently.

"The young gentleman shook his head as he followed. I will never understand how you know these things.

"The Scotsman shrugged. I hope, in time, you will, he said. All you need to do is believe."

Astrid Hofferson stopped speaking, and the silence that followed slowly woke me from the half-dream that she had woven around me. I slowly surfaced from her world as this world softly took over my senses once again, and felt not the the caress of summer air, but the crispness of autumn upon my face. I blinked my eyes open and looked at Miss Hofferson. She was smiling kindly at me.

She rang a bell. "We will meet after supper tonight in the library to begin our story. My housekeeper, Missus Parsons, will fetch you when I am ready."

It was clearly a dismissal. I dumped my notebook and pencil in my bag and stood up. Her housekeeper arrived, and I offered her an easy smile. She gave me a tight lipped one in return.

"Follow me."

She led me through the foyer, up the stairs, past the library, around corridors… it was like being led through a maze.

"I think I'll need to buy a red string. You know, to find my way back to daylight."

"You'll get used to it."

"Not if I get eaten by a minotaur first."

"Who's the minotaur here?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

She turned to look at me, measuring me with her eyes. "You probably won't need a red string to find your way out. From what I've heard, you can probably just punch your way out of here."

I barked out a delighted laugh, and then I stopped.

"Wait, heard from whom?"

I decided to wander around Warborough Hall to get to know my employer better. I wanted to know what she liked doing in her spare time. Besides, I could not know anything further about her life until she told me more, and I could do no further research due to the remoteness of her residence. The village was a good hour's walk away, she had absolutely no Internet connection, and just as I suspected, my mobile phone had no signal.

I first went to the stables and checked out her beautiful horses, deciding then and there that I was going to ask Miss Hofferson permission to ride one in the future. I found a small, locked brick structure which, according to Paul the gardener and my one time chauffer, used to be a smithy, but was now used as a storehouse. I wandered around the topiary, relieving Miss Hofferson's story, tracing the Scotsman's footsteps, before arriving at the small lake. I gazed at the ducks preening themselves in the water.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up.

I saw only clouds.

I went back inside and walked around the first floor. I was so delighted to find a grand old music room, complete with an old grand piano. Walls in the corridors were decorated with paintings, while one short, wide corridor was filled with portraits of the past lords and ladies of the house.

I was just about to look at a portrait of a lady in blue when I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Thinking it was the housekeeper or one of the servants, I turned my head to greet whoever it was, but found the room empty.

A little spooked, I turned slowly, eventually facing the window, and just as I was about to return my attention to the portrait, I caught a glimpse of a fluttering white dress reflected on the window. I swivelled around.

"Hello?" I called, but there was no answer. I looked back at the window. Could I have mistaken the flutter of curtains to the movement of a white-clad individual? I had heard no footsteps, after all.

I slowly did a 360 degree turn of the hall once again, hoping to replay the incident, but no luck.

The ghosts will come later, Miss Hofferson had said.

Very much spooked, I left the gallery corridor, feeling the dozens of painted eyes following my every move. My feet inevitably led me to the library. The room was in no way small, but it was oddly shaped. It had five-sides, with four walls stacked with books and huge windows running along the fifth side, its curtains thrown wide open to let as much of the sunshine in as possible. The books were arranged neatly on the walls, a couple of ladders leaning against the shelves. Plush couches and a low table were set up in the middle next to the fireplace.

I walked towards the windows and saw that the wide windowsill was padded for seating. Small cushions and books were littered here and there.

It was obvious that great care was taken to set this room up. It was also obvious that Miss Hofferson spent a great deal of her time here. And it was obvious that this was her favourite room in the entire house.

I walked to one of the walls and saw that a great part of it was filled with every book she had published, with different editions, some in languages I did not understand. I glanced at a few titles and recognised them all. The Handsome Missus Brown. The Boy in the Wallpaper. Antoine. She was a master of her art, writing about anything and everything, her works spanning different genres and touching different generations.

I selected a bright red hardcover without any writing on its spine and immediately recognised what it was upon seeing the title at the front. It was one of my favourites by her: a comedy. I took it down and carried it with me, reading it as I walked, getting lost in the story, completely forgetting about the incident in the portrait hall.

I did not realise that I had already made my way back to my room without the housekeeper's help until I absentmindedly opened the door. I shut it behind me with my butt just as I finished reading the first chapter. I plopped down on the bed and flicked eagerly to chapter two, getting lost once again in the story of a nun who, after a brief run-in with the law, ended up in a dusty, middle-American town eternally painted in hues of orange twilight and deep midnight skies…

After a few hours, the words and the characters all started to jumble together. My eyes started to get heavy, and seconds later I nodded off.

Her novel, Theatre for Devils, thudded to the floor.

It turned out that it was a great idea for Missus Parsons to "fetch" me that evening. I woke up with a start when her knock came. I squeezed my eyes shut and growled, a migraine pounding in my head. Why did I have to take a nap? I grumbled inwardly.

I turned my head and found a tray of food sitting on top of my writing desk. I guess Miss Parsons already came in with my supper while I was sleeping, the pervert.

The knock came again, and her voice drifted through the thick door.

"I'm coming," I called. I rubbed my eyes and stood up. I shoved a few spoons of the cold soup in my mouth before grabbing my notebook and pencils. I swallowed a tablet for my migraine before opening the door, giving the housekeeper a bleary-eyed greeting.

She led me back to the library and left me there. The fire was already lit, a pot of tea and a plate of sugared fruit ready at the table. Miss Hofferson had not yet arrived, so I sank down in one of the couches and yawned widely and loudly.

"Cover your mouth, I can smell your breath from here."

Startled, I stood up and turned towards the door where a pair of blue eyes met mine. She stiffly walked towards me, Missus Parsons closing the door behind her.

"Sit down." She commanded when she was settled in her armchair. "Pour the tea."

I grumbled at her rudeness, but did as she asked.

"And what happened to you?" She ran an appraising eye over me. "You look like death just warmed up –"

"Miss Hofferson."

"– you also look like you have dried drool on your chin –"

"Miss Hofferson!"

"– and your hair is a mess! Have you been rolling around the fields with the horses, child?"

"Miss Hofferson, remember our agreement!"

She huffed, but at least that shut her up. She delicately sipped her tea as we slipped into an awkward silence.

"How are you this evening?" I ventured.

"In pain."

She clearly was not in the mood for small talk tonight, and so I sat quietly and waited for her to begin. After a while, she took a deep breath and stared at the fire.

"What does it feel like, to have a brother all of your life?" She asked.

It was an odd question, but perhaps it was not so odd. Astrid Hofferson was an only child.

"It can be fun. But having a sibling can also be very annoying. I sometimes feel like having a brother is a curse. I just want to punch his face in most of the time. It's a good thing I don't see him often, he's in the Navy you know."

She chuckled before turning to me. "Still, it must be a delight to have a brother."

I made a movement that was a cross between a nod and a shake.

She hummed. "Did you know that there is a curse upon the great Hofferson family?"

I leaned forward, intrigued.

"There was a curse placed upon the family a long, long time ago, when greedy old grandfather of the nth degree refused to hand out food during the great famine. The story goes that the family will never know the happiness of hearing the pitter-patter and chitter-chatter of many sons and daughters in its halls for as long as the family exists.

"For generations the curse rang true and strong. A sibling will be cruelly snatched away by illness, or die at the womb. One was even kidnapped, never to be heard from again. For generations this morbid curse hung over my family's head like an executioner's axe. But I suppose this curse shall end with me: I never had a child. And so the Hofferson line shall, perhaps, also die with me.

"But our line was never meant to have ended this way. It was not what my father intended, nor mine. Many a young man had offered their love to me, after all. But a series of events took place which set the final stage even before I was born, and I did not find out about what the mischievous gods had in store until, unsurprisingly, it was already too late."

Miss Hofferson leaned back into her chair. It took her a while to begin again, leaving me hanging on to her next words.

"Our story begins in the middle of a storm," she began slowly, "and Astrid Hofferson's mother gave birth with great difficulty." She stopped, as if unsure of how to continue. Her use of third person baffled me. But before I could ask, she picked up where she left off, hooking me once again to her tale like the good storyteller that she was.

And before I knew it, I was once again drowning in her story.

"Our story begins," she started, "In the middle of an autumn storm, and Astrid Hofferson's mother gave birth with great difficulty. She started going into labour at midnight, and her screams were lost to the winds that howled through the trees and the thunder that rattled the windows. It was a good thing Lord Hofferson made sure that a midwife stayed in the house at all times during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. He did not believe in the curse, but he wanted to make sure that it did not claim his firstborn just in case it was true.

"And so the midwife was there with Astrid's mother from the darkest hours of the night until midday of the following day, by which time the fiery storm had turned into wintry sleet.

"Outside the room, Astrid's father paced restlessly. He had sent a servant to call for the doctor hours ago. Why have they not yet arrived?

"At one o'clock in the afternoon, Lady Hofferson finally let out a pained cry before she fainted in her pillow, and the midwife cried out and held a small baby girl in her arms. She gave the child to her assistant to clean up and immediately went to Astrid's mother to administer her remedies. When she moaned back into consciousness, the midwife began to bind her to stop the bleeding before covering her with a warm blanket. She barked at her assistant to stop dallying and show the child to the father.

"When Astrid's mother finally came to, she immediately demanded to see her baby. Lord Hofferson was ushered in, cradling his newborn gently in his arms, and his wife began to cry with joy. The midwife and assistant started to clean up quickly and quietly, feeling like they were intruding on something deeply personal.

"But then, Lady Hofferson suddenly cried out in pain.

"Midwife! Lord Hofferson called to her in panic.

"The midwife stopped and turned to see her mistress bent double on her side, gasping out pained breaths. She rushed back to the bed and checked under the sheets. When she saw that the linen was stained with fresh blood, she ushered the young father back outside and shut the door. She knew what was happening, and this was something no husband should see.

"An hour later, the doctor finally arrived on his ambling horse to find Lord Hofferson still sitting outside the room. Servants milled about him quietly, trying to look like they were busy but were loitering around longer than was necessary. He had already given his child to the nursemaid (after much coaxing), but he would not be persuaded to leave his station by his wife's door.

"The doctor put a reassuring hand upon his shoulder before going inside. He closed the door behind him. It was not until an hour later when the anxious new father realised that it was quiet inside. He stood up and waited impatiently for the news.

"The doctor came back out with an ashen face, and the great lord instantly knew what he was going to say. He placed a shaking hand upon his eyes and let out a deep and anguished wail.

"The doctor was speaking, but Lord Hofferson could not understand what he was saying. He caught snippets of it: Complications… the birth took too long… she lost too much blood… but none were registering in his brain.

"I need to see my wife, he interrupted gruffly, his eyes swimming with tears. Please.

"The doctor looked at him sympathetically and bowed his head, stepping aside, before following him to the room.

"The midwife and her apprentice quickly packed up and closed the door behind them.

"The servants outside gossiped in hushed whispers. Nobody knew what was happening inside.

"Much later, Lord Hofferson entered the nursery and walked to where his sleeping daughter lay, lifting her from her cot. The nursemaid keeping watch stood up and melted into the shadows. The Lord looked in wonderment at his child's wisps of blond hair. She squirmed in her sleep.

"My precious jewel, he whispered before kissing her forehead. His beard tickled the baby awake. She opened her eyes and Lord Hofferson found that his breath had caught at the sight of those brilliant, blue orbs. Her mother's eyes. He embraced her tightly.

"It was a cruel thing that the Fates played that day. But, as was usually the case, they demanded death in return for life.

"Astrid's mother had died. Astrid had lived. There were no other children of the Hofferson line that slept in Warborough Hall that night, nor has there been one born ever since.

"The curse, it appeared, was as strong as ever."

Miss Hofferson's voice stopped abruptly. She was staring at the fire, deep in thought. I let out a breath that I didn't realise I was holding. Not much was known about the great author's life, but it was common knowledge that her mother had died giving birth to her. I knew what was going to happen, but the tragic turn of events that came so early in her life still shocked me somehow. It was one thing to read the facts. It was another thing for someone to breathe life to it. She added characters to her story that would hardly have been mentioned if I had done my research after she died. She had painted the scenes with the brilliant shades of life. The helpless anxiety of her father. The endearing scene at the nursery. The death of her mother.

Her mother.

"What was her name?" I asked.

She sighed. "Whose name?"

"Your mother. For clarification," I added when her mouth formed a straight line.

"You will find Lady Hofferson's name printed underneath the portrait of a woman in blue, hanging right next to her husband Lord George Hofferson's portrait."

I suddenly remembered the incident that morning. I shivered. The sly old minx wanted me to work for the answers. I decided that this woman liked being difficult for fun.

"I was in the portrait corridor this morning," I said conversationally, noting down her father's name in my notebook. "Did you have any other visitors this morning in the estate other than me?"

"No. And the house is not open to the public while I am in residence. Why do you ask?"

"No reason in particular."

She looked at me, and a smile crept to her lips. "Ah! You have seen a ghost!"

"What? No!"

"Well then, what did you see?"

"A corridor with paintings on one side, and curtains fluttering on the other."

She shrugged. "Perhaps what you saw was a mere shadow in the portrait, or perhaps it was simply the curtains fluttering in the wind. A trick of the eye. But at the time, you believed you saw a ghost, did you not?" She leaned forward. "You know, Lord Hofferson did not believe in ghosts, even though they were everywhere. And so the great lord did not believe the young Astrid when she burst into the drawing room where he sat smoking, crying that she had seen a ghost." Her eyes glittered in the firelight. "She was nearly sobbing in fright. What about you? Were you frightened?"

I snorted. "No."

"You lie!"

"No! I swear I wasn't frightened. But I was…" I looked for a less humiliating word. "Startled."

And she still laughed at me.

Author's Notes:

I decided to combine Chapters Two and Three together since I was finding it really hard to make a clean break between the two. Ah well, hope you liked this longer chapter!

From here on I will no longer have pre-written chapters up my sleeve (I have a couple with a paragraph or two written to help me flesh out the plot a little more). So even though I know where to go in the middle and the end, I don't know how this story will take me there. Exciting stuff!

Special mention to LizzyLori for the wonderful review! :)

Next chapter: In which Astrid talks about her mother.