The Victorian Ghost

The dining room was alive with a constant hubbub from the conversations that crossed the room about what had happened the previous night and the police interviews that morning. Annabelle was overwhelmed as everyone had come in for dinner at the same time. Seymour, Frances, and Lillian did their best to keep everything running smoothly, but were constantly asked questions by the guests when they delivered their food and wine.

Celia had decided to skip dinner following the raucous commotion that had started to build in the bar lounge and was sitting in the library lounge reading her recently completed manuscript. She was determined to clear her head of the terrible tragedy of Freyja’s death and focus her mind on her manuscript, which told the story of her own tragedy in October 2017.

She was finding it hard to concentrate as the conversation with Edward that afternoon was still playing in her mind and only compounded her suspicion of him. Frustrated, she put her manuscript on the table in front of her and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she felt tired. Very tired.

With her back to the entrance door, Celia did not initially see who had entered the library lounge. There was a rush of cold air as she heard the door open and close. She rubbed her eyes and was about to turn around when a woman crossed the small room and sat opposite Celia in an armchair by the fireplace, where a log fire was burning.

The woman was not particularly tall and had an oval-shaped face that was pale, almost white, with piercing blue eyes. She was wearing a vintage, floor-length, white Victorian wedding dress made from heavy silk satin that trailed along the floor. The dress, probably originally pure white, had a greyish appearance, and Celia immediately recognised it as the one that had been worn by the apparition she had seen in her room just over a week before.

‘Good evening, Celia,’ the woman said. ‘I see you have decided not to join the circus that is taking place in the dining room.’

Celia’s mouth was dry, and at first, no sound came from her as she started to speak. She managed to make some saliva in her mouth and swallowed hard.

‘No. I thought I’d sit quietly here instead and read my manuscript,’ Celia replied with a certain vagueness in her voice.

‘I see. I have read most of it, and I can see it’s a tale of woe about you. I assume you will change all the names and places in good time and hide behind the truth about what you endured during that October?’

Celia was truly taken aback. Was this a ghost talking to her, or a hallucination, or a real person? Finally, Celia plucked up the courage to ask the big question.

‘Are you real? You know… a living person?’

The woman did not seem to take any offence and smiled.

‘I’m Margaret Hooper. Anna’s mother and Seymour’s partner.’

Celia’s face did not hide the shock of what she had just heard, and it was almost a minute before she spoke.

‘So you are a genuine person who dresses in a Victorian wedding dress and seemingly… well, actually… haunts the hotel.’

‘I suppose that’s what people might say or think. But really, I’m more what you might call a recluse. I avoid people most of the time, but sometimes I get bored or just curious, and that’s when I go for a night walk around the hotel.’

‘But aren’t you scared that you’ll be seen?’

‘I often am, but no one as yet has dared to face up to me.’

‘But what if someone came into the library lounge right now and saw you? You couldn’t easily disappear, could you?’

Margaret produced a key from her dress pocket.

‘I don’t think that is going to happen. And you can’t see where I am sitting if you look through the window. The only people that might come in, therefore, are from the kitchen, and they wouldn’t be shocked – surprised maybe – but not shocked.’

Celia was beginning to relax when she suddenly remembered her conversation with Tom Creber in The Plume and Feathers, and the book Freyja had bought her.

‘I have a book…’

‘I know.’

‘And I spoke to Tom Creber.’

‘He’s a nice man, but he gets a little confused as he doesn’t have all the facts.’

There was a momentary pause.

‘And what are the facts, Margaret?’

‘Well.. where shall I start? Ah, yes. I heard about you flirting with Seymour from Anna, so I came to your room to see who you were.’

‘I remember. But my door was locked as far as I can recall.’

‘It wasn’t, but that would not have hindered me.’

‘He flirted with me, Margaret, not the other way round.’

‘I worked that out, Celia.’

There was a pause.

‘Before sharing the facts, let me just say that I wouldn’t have approached you this evening if I hadn’t decided to tell you some things. You see, having read your manuscript and read your pocket notebook, I have come to the conclusion that Celia Blackstow, who is really Gillian Lander, is open-minded and flexible. Someone who seeks the truth but may find herself in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time… as your manuscript makes very clear. Your anxiety, depression and paranoia have had and may continue to have a debilitating effect on you. But underneath, there is someone who men clearly find attractive; even your nemesis said she liked you.’

As Celia did not respond, Margaret continued.

‘So, the facts. I am the sole owner of this hotel and have the deeds stored in a secure location. I am also quite wealthy as I inherited not only the hotel from my husband after he passed away, but also his fortune.’

Celia could not disguise the surprised look on her face.

‘I also have a will kept in the same secure location. To protect myself and others, the terms of the will are complicated, and, as no one has seen it, no one knows how I might bequeath the hotel and my fortune. Hence, Seymour, Frances, and Annabelle tolerate my somewhat bizarre behaviour.’

‘I think I am beginning to understand.’

‘You see, my rather eccentric and erratic behaviour comes from the fact that I suffer from hypersomnia, which means I can fall asleep at any time and usually have trouble staying awake during the day. Therefore, I usually sleep during the day… and sometimes at night. When I am awake, I enjoy painting scenes of Dartmoor from my childhood memories.’

‘The landscape paintings…’

‘Yes, Celia. The landscape paintings in one of the rooms behind the corridor bookcase. The other room is mine and has a staircase that leads down into Room One, but I rarely use it as that is the room where I slept with my husband when he was alive. It holds many bittersweet memories.’

‘So, that’s why Anna leaves and collects food trays outside Room One’s door.’

‘I see your journalistic skills are as sharp as ever.’

Celia smiled.

‘Well, I must leave you as I expect some of the guests will soon be ready for their coffee in the bar lounge. Oh, I almost forgot. I’m dressed in the wedding dress from my marriage to John Hooper. It also serves me well as The Grey Lady Ghost.’

Margaret rose from her armchair and started to cross the room. Celia also rose from the sofa she was sitting on and was about to ask a question, but she knocked the small table over in front of her, sending her manuscript flying. She quickly picked the manuscript up, but when she turned around, Margaret had gone – as silently as she had arrived.

Celia sat back down and contemplated the last twenty minutes. It seemed so unreal, yet it answered so many questions Celia had considered during her stay at The Grey House Hotel. Yet, why had Margaret decided to share her story with Celia, especially as Celia had been a journalist? But then Celia remembered Margaret had read in her manuscript the promise she had made to Jamie Moran about never divulging what she knew was in his little black book. At that moment, Celia realised Margaret would enjoy a similar respect… even though she had never asked Celia for such a promise.