The Winter Wraiths by Newton Webb

Gothic Horror Short Story: Trapped in a crumbling manor during a harsh winter, a governess and her young charge must uncover its dark secrets before time runs out, or risk being consumed by its curse.

April 1841, Grimsdyke 

The sea air lashed against the stone buildings and rattled the glass panes of the schoolhouse windows. Harriet looked up from her book to the outside world where the wild waves crashed and the sea gulls with their harsh cries were being tossed around like tissue paper in the winter winds. The trees swayed under the weather's relentless assault. It would be another bitterly cold night. 

Despite it being April, the weather had yet to relax its icy grip on the town of Grimsdyke. 

Harriet’s attention was dragged back to reality when a sharp rapping drew the schoolmistress to the classroom door. She disappeared outside before returning with Mrs. Chasterwick. She was a lady possessed of an uncommon beauty. Her mischievous blue eyes twinkled behind long, raven-black hair, which cascaded down past her shoulders in elegant waves. She was also a figure well-known in the town for her charitable work. Harriet adjusted her pinafore self-consciously as Mrs. Chasterwick cast her eyes over the students.

“Class, what do we say to Mrs. Chasterwick?” The schoolmistress faced the children who all, with one voice, politely chanted, “Good morning, Mrs. Chasterwick.”

“Good morning. I trust I am not interrupting,” Mrs. Chasterwick replied, knowing full well that she was, but also being well aware that her position in the town was such that she knew it would be acceptable. “I have asked your schoolmistress if she might recommend someone to me. I find myself in need of a nursemaid, someone reliable and of good standing.”

The children exchanged glances. 

Mrs. Chasterwick needing a nursemaid presented a huge opportunity to whoever was suggested for the job. The schoolmistress surveyed her pupils thoughtfully before her gaze settled on Harriet. Harriet’s breath caught in her throat. Nursemaid was a reputable role with a steady income, and one that could lead to even greater responsibilities within a household. 

“Harriet here would be an excellent choice,” the schoolmistress declared confidently after only a moment's consideration. “She is stout-hearted, morally upright, and possesses a sound mind. Her skills in needlework are commendable also..”

Harriet felt a surge of pride.

A job.

Her father would be so proud of her, not to mention grateful for the money it would bring in for the family.

Mrs. Chasterwick smiled warmly at Harriet, “Thank you. I will be requiring your services soon. I am... with child,” she disclosed confidentially, her voice lowering slightly, “and the baby is due in a few months.”

The classroom was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. 

The schoolmistress spoke quietly with Mrs. Chasterwick and then escorted her to the door. Before she left, Mrs. Chasterwick turned to Harriet, “I will send for you when the child is born. We look forward very much to seeing you then.”

As the door shut behind her, a murmur rippled through the classroom. Envious glances washed over Harriet, whose stomach knotted in trepidation with fear that she wouldn’t be able to cope. Before the murmurs could get any louder, the schoolmistress clapped her hands sharply, her furious eyes silencing the children.

“Enough,” she said sternly, her gaze sweeping the room. “Mrs. Chasterwick's affairs are not yours to discuss. Now open your readers and all turn to page 81.”

Harriet read along with the class, but her mind was elsewhere. It was on Mrs. Chasterwick and her own ticket to a better life. 

A life in service.

October 1846, Grimsdyke

Harriet raced through the garden, under the rose arch and into the vegetable garden. She knew all the hiding places and quickly sighted young Master Ronald as he crouched behind the blackberry posts with his hands over his eyes.

“Now where could that rapscallion be?” she asked theatrically, as she walked up and down the lines of tied brambles. “I cannot possibly find him. He must be a ghost.”

An eruption of giggles burst forth, and she spun round to see him covering his mouth with a juice-covered hand.

“I can hear him…” Harriet stalked closer, “Is he here?” She pounced into the fruit row next to him. “No, how about here?” she leapt round to the opposite fruit row. “Then the little monster must be here!” She grabbed him round the armpits and lifted him up as he squealed with delight. “Look at you, young man, have you been naughty? You know you aren’t allowed to eat the fruit.”

“No, I have been very good,” Master Ronald fibbed. His mouth and hands were stained so purple with blackberry juice that, sadly, the evidence let him down completely.

“Have you? Then maybe you’d like to explain to Mary why she won’t have enough blackberries for this evening's pie?” Harriet led him towards the kitchen to clean him up.

Mary, a sturdy middle-aged woman, was busy in the kitchen pounding the dough with a fury. 

Harriet helped Master Ronald fasten the buckles on his shoes, then led him to the kitchen sink. “Mary? Has there been any news?”

Mary turned to face Harriet. Her round face was red and blotchy, tears were running down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Mary?” Master Ronald asked. He ran over before Harriet could stop him and wrapped his juice-stained hands around her leg in a big hug.

Don’t you worry, my little master, I’m just being silly, that’s all.” Mary sniffed, then ruffled the child’s hair. “Nothing for you to worry about—Oh, look at you, you are all mucky.”

Master Ronald looked up from her leg. “Don’t be sad,” he implored her.

“Never you mind about me, I’m well enough. Now you run along to Harriet so that she can clean you up. Goodness, aren’t you in a state? I’ve got blackberry juice all over my apron.”

Harriet dutifully cleaned the young master’s face and hands. She looked over at Mary, “Has there been any news about Mr. Chasterwick?”

Mary nodded. “The doctor has been.” She looked pointedly at Ronald, who was busy drying his hands with a cloth, then shook her head and looked downcast. “It’s not good news, we have to keep him isolated, he suspects it’s cholera.”

Harriet bit her lip.

“Stop that now, making a fuss never helped anyone. Perhaps you could notify Mrs. Chasterwick that dinner is ready to be served. I have to get the cakes in the oven.”

Harriet looked dubiously over at the extensive array of baked cakes already on the side. “Of course, I will.”

She found Mrs. Chasterwick in the conservatory, her face blotchy as she buried herself in a book. “Ma'am, dinner is being served.” She waited for a response before gently trying again. “Ma'am…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harriet, I was miles away.” Mrs. Chasterwick gave a wan smile. “I’ll be right there.”

Even Ronald seemed impacted by the ill news in the household. He sat subdued, poking his roast vegetables and the chopped-up pieces of lamb pie. "Is Father going to be alright?" he asked.

His mother gave him a warm smile. “Oh, Ronnie, you mustn’t worry about things like that. Your father is tough as old boots. If anyone can recover from this foul illness, it’s him.”

There was a screech as Ronald tried to spear a particularly evasive bit of carrot. Harriet resisted the urge to help him as she stood by the doorway, ready to assist.

"Besides—" Mrs. Chasterwick's voice caught, her face twisting with sudden pain. A violent retch seized her, sending her chair clattering to the floor as she staggered upright. Harriet darted forward but stopped short as Mrs. Chasterwick lurched from the room, clutching her stomach, making for the toilet.

The sound of splashing water mingled with the sickly sweet stench of bile. Mrs. Chasterwick heaved into the porcelain, her body wracked with convulsions. Dark, putrid liquid, dribbled from the corner of her mouth as her body sagged against the basin.

Harriet recoiled, her eyes wide with horror.

The cholera epidemic that had gripped England in its deadly grasp had come to Grimsdyke, embedding itself in the heart of the Chasterwick family home.

---

“Here, let me cut up your sausages for you,” Harriet reached over and deftly sliced open the steaming breakfast. It was a sombre breakfast despite their best efforts. Mr. Chasterwick, ordinarily a man of rude health and a kindly demeanour, had succumbed to cholera. His wife, once a radiant beauty with a smile that could illuminate the darkest room, looked due to follow. She had been too ill to attend her husband's funeral. “Mary, can you look after Ronald? I need to tend to the mistress.”

“Of course I can,” Mary brought over some eggs fried in pork fat. “Let’s have a little feast, shall we?”

Ronald clapped his hands together in glee. The two women had gone to great lengths to shelter him from the grief and black despair that haunted the house.

Harriet hurried through the wood-panelled corridors with a plate of scrambled eggs. 

Mrs. Chasterwick, now a shadow of her former self, lay in her bed. Her once radiant blue eyes were now sunken pits, and her skin was ashen. She attempted a smile but her dry, cracked lips barely moved as Harriet entered. She subtly shook her head at the offer of food. Harriet raised a glass of water to her mistress’s lips, carefully supporting her as she sipped. Mrs. Chasterwick’s hand trembled as she reached for Harriet’s, her grip almost absent. The bond they had formed over the years was as close to kin as a master-servant relationship allowed, and Harriet possessed a fierce loyalty to her.

As Harriet gently dabbed at her mistress’s clammy forehead with a damp cloth, Mrs. Chasterwick mustered the strength to speak in a rasping, hoarse voice.

“Harriet,” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper, “Lord Matson, my father… he will take responsibility for you and Ronald when my time comes.”

“My lady, you mustn’t speak like that.” Tears pricked at Harriet's eyes, her hands stilled, and she swallowed. The possibility of Mrs. Chasterwick's demise, and of poor Ronald being orphaned, was rapidly becoming a stark reality.

Mrs. Chasterwick’s skeletal hand gripped Harriet’s with sudden intensity, a feverish strength despite her withered state. “No more pretence,” she rasped, gasping for breath between words. “Ronald… needs protection… You must stay with him.”

“Of course, ma'am, I will always be there for him.” 

Mrs. Chasterwick’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, gathering the last vestiges of her energy. Her hand fell back onto the bed, frail and trembling again. “My father… cold man, no patience for children…” She paused, swallowing with effort. 

Harriet helped her drink some more water.

“But Mary, she will be with you. You won’t be alone.”

Harriet released a breath of relief at the thought of Mary being there. A familiar face would make the transition to a new household easier. "Thank you, ma'am. I promise to look after Ronald and take good care of him, no matter what happens."

Mrs. Chasterwick’s breath became shallow, her words fainter. “You’ve been more than a nursemaid, Harriet… more than that. I bless the day we hired you.” Her eyes grew glassy with unshed tears. “I wish… I could see my Ronny grow into a man. It’s cruel… to know he’ll face the world without me.” A tear slipped down her pallid cheek as she whispered, “Selfish of me… to want more.”

“No, no, not at all.” Harriet stroked her mistress's shoulder.

The room fell into silence, save for the soft rustling of the curtains as a gentle breeze wafted through the window, carrying with it the subtle scents of Mrs. Chasterwick’s rose garden below. 

November 1846, Matson Manor, Grimsdyke

The wind whipped around the windows of the wooden carriage as it rattled along the road before turning into the long driveway of Matson Manor.

Master Ronald had his little nose pressed up against the glass panes. He gave a sudden gasp. “I can see it, I can see it, look, Harry!”

Harriet peered out at the ancient mansion. It was an imposing structure, as it loomed over the white, windswept, chalk cliffs of Grimsdyke. It appeared to have been built in an eclectic mix of Gothic, Tudor, and Dutch Baroque styles with no thought at all for the finished product. The rambling mansion had an irregular shape, a fusion of architectural styles. Its ancient towers pierced the grey sky like skeletal fingers. Several of the windows were broken. Despite the ornate stone finishings, it was clear that the mansion had seen better days.

Mary jolted awake with a snort at the sound of the boy's excitement. “I must have dozed off for a few minutes.”

Harriet smiled at her. Mary had been asleep for three hours straight. It was an impressive feat. The seats, even padded as they were, were not good enough for such a long journey on rough and bumpy roads.

The carriage crunched up the gravel drive towards the entrance. An aged butler waited for them at the top of a flight of stone steps. Dressed in a severe black suit, and with neatly groomed grey hair, he looked like a funeral director, something they had seen far too much of in the last few days.

Harriet stepped down from the carriage, smoothing her skirt as she did so. "Come on, Ronny." She offered a hand to Ronald, who ignored it, leaping out with the manic energy of a child who has been cooped up for far too long. Mary followed, accepting Harriet's hand without complaint. The two women looked up at the immense structure with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"Hmm, I expected it to be better maintained," Mary grumbled. "That's not a garden, it's a meadow."

"I think it looks exci—Ronald, get back here."

The butler's eyes narrowed as Master Ronald sheepishly returned from where he was about to leap into the long grass.

Harriet’s shoes crunched through the gravel towards the entrance. "I wonder how many staff they have here?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, given the state of the place, if it's just that one man running it." Mary sniffed at the couch grass and dandelions growing up through the gravel path. "Well, it is what it is. I dare say we'll adapt."

They fell silent as they approached the grim-faced butler.

"Welcome to Matson Manor," Mr Gillis's voice had a deep, gravelly timbre to it. "You must be Master Ronald. Lord Matson is waiting for you in the drawing room. Ladies, you will wait here. Once Master Ronald has been introduced to his lordship, I will show you your rooms and brief you on your new duties."

Ronald immediately turned and clung to Harriet.

"Come, boy, your new guardian awaits." Mr Gillis reached out and gripped Ronald's shoulder, trying to tug the little one away from his anchor.

"It's okay, Ronny, we'll see you soon. Go and greet your grandfather. Remember to be polite." Harriet mussed his hair before quickly combing it back into order with her fingers. "Go on, Ronny, it'll be okay."

He looked up at her with wide eyes, gripping her with as tight an embrace as his little arms could muster, much to the visible distaste of Mr Gillis.

"Perhaps you will need to join us. If the maid could wait here—" Mr Gillis said.

Mary's eyes shot up at being referred to as a maid.

The butler, however, seemed unaware of his error. "—then you may accompany us. I don't wish to overburden his lordship with too many people at once. It is imperative that we retain the sense of quiet equilibrium that the good master favours."

Harriet looked dubiously at Master Ronald, who was trying to peer into the gloomy entrance hall behind the butler.

"I understand," she said, giving a sideways glance at Mary and praying that she said nothing to jeopardise their stay. Mary, however, stood silently with an impassive look on her face.

"Come, Lord Matson awaits you in the drawing room."

Harriet followed Mr Gillis, the floorboards creaking underfoot as he led them through. The entrance hall was vast, with high ceilings and walls covered with portraits of stern-looking ancestors and tapestries. Only half the wall sconces were lit, the flickering candles filling the interior with a web of shadows. The house was bitterly cold. The fireplaces were all dead, the metalwork exposed, showing little sign of use.

Ronald, distracted by a painting of a dapper young dandy, moved to pull away before Harriet swiftly put her arm around his shoulders and redirected him. "It is a beautiful house," she said nervously.

Mr Gillis nodded curtly. "The manor has seen better days, but it's only had me to maintain it. With our household expanded, perhaps we can regain some of its former glory." He led them inside.

Harriet felt Master Ronald cling to her skirts as they passed yet more of the dusty portraits, the ancient Matsons' eyes following their every move.

In the drawing room, heavy drapes shut out the failing light. Lord Matson was seated on an upholstered chair, a blanket over his knees. When they entered the drawing room, a fire blazed, giving the room a comforting heat, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. His rheumy gaze focused on Ronald as he regarded his new ward.

“Master Ronald,” he said, extending a pale, papery skinned hand that seemed more like a claw. “I trust your journey was not too taxing.”

Ronald hid behind Harriet’s skirt, causing Lord Matson to sneer. “Clearly you take after your father’s side.”

“I think he has his mother’s eyes,” Harriet said, curtsying slightly. Realising she sounded defensive, she added, “We thank you for your hospitality.”

“As well you might. We have precious little coin to spare, but the Matson household can’t be seen to be shirking family responsibilities.” Lord Matson’s eyes shifted to Ronald. “And given sufficient time, I’m sure that we will make a man out of you.”

Ronald managed a small smile but said nothing. He still clung to Harriet’s skirt.

The elderly Lord Matson motioned to a pair of armchairs beside the cold hearth. "Please, sit down."

Harriet motioned to a chair and Master Ronald jumped up into the cushions, his pudgy little legs dangling from the chair. Mr Gillis remained standing, a silent gargoyle by the door.

"I have always preferred a life of solitude, especially after the passing of Lady Matson. But who am I to deny my granddaughter's deathbed request?" He gave a tight-lipped smile. "Master Ronald is welcome to stay here, and I am willing to take on both yourself and the maid on a trial basis."

A chill ran down her spine at those words.

“I do, however, have high hopes for you. Mr Gillis is getting older, and even with most of the house sealed, I am sure he could use the assistance." Lord Matson continued, his voice trailing off as if lost in thought.

Harriet watched him. He seemed sad, sorrow etched deep in his features. "We're ready for a new start, aren't we, Ronny?" she said, feigning enthusiasm.

Master Ronald remained silent, sucking on his thumb, his attention caught by something unseen in the dim room. He suddenly shifted.

"Stay still, Ronald," Harriet whispered. She smiled at Lord Matson, who seemed quite unaware of her charge's discomfort.

"I hope so," Lord Matson murmured. "We value a quiet life here at Matson Manor."

"You don't have to worry about us. If Master Ronald makes too much noise, then I'll take him into the gardens. Boys of his age need to balance their learning with plenty of fresh air and exercise."

Lord Matson regarded her. "I am sure he will learn to compose himself with the quiet dignity of a gentleman. I trust I can rely on you to teach him?"

Harriet took a deep breath, then looked at the tiny boy, fidgeting in his chair. "Of course, your lordship, I will take good care of him. You can rely on me."

"See that you do." Lord Matson adjusted the tartan blanket on his legs. "One more thing, for your own safety, after dark, do not leave your rooms. This is an old house, and I don’t want to find that either you or the boy have suffered accidents as a result of stumbling around in the dark.”

Harriet nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Now, Mr Gillis will show you to your rooms. I am sure you will need to unpack, and it is time for my midday nap." Lord Matson turned his attention to a glass of wine. “I shall leave you in Gillis’s capable hands. He will show you to your rooms.” With a nod, they were dismissed.

***

Mr Gillis led them through winding corridors and up a grand staircase that creaked with age. He stopped before a tall door. “This will be Master Ronald’s room,” he said, pushing it open.

The room was spacious and well-furnished but still carried the damp, musty smell of disuse. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the heavy drapes of a four-poster bed.

Ronald blinked,his mouth agape at the sheer size of the bed. Used to his smaller one back at the Matson townhouse, he raced forward, leaping onto the giant mattress.

“Ronny!” Harriet snapped. He lay back on the mattress and looked up at the curtained roof above his bed. “Don’t jump on the bed.”

He grinned at her, his mouth wide and eyes sparkling as he splayed across the huge bed.

She sighed.

“If you will follow me, Miss...”

“Please, call me Harriet.”

Mr Gillis frowned at her familiarity but nodded in acquiescence. “Harriet it is then.”

“Ronald,” she called out to her tiny charge. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Can’t I wait here?” he asked, eyes wide. “I want to play in my room.”

“Okay then, I’ll come back soon. Don’t leave your room until I get back,” Harriet warned.

“I won’t, I promise.” He flashed her his most innocent look, causing her to regard him with suspicion.

“I mean it, Ronald.”

“I’m sure the young master is aware of the punishment meted out for disobedience.”

Ronald’s eyes widened, and he sat back on his bed, sucking his thumb as they closed the door on him.

As Mr Gillis led Harriet to view her room, she prayed that he couldn’t hear, as she could, the sound of Ronald jumping up and down on his bed.

***

After a brief tour of the few rooms still open and not sealed away and left forgotten, Harriet found herself sitting in her bedroom in the servants' quarters with Mary, reflecting on the enormous changes in their way of life.

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Well, this place seems like a hoot and a half. I can already tell that we're going to get on with the menfolk just swell."

"Please, Mary, say nothing untoward. We don't want to lose our position," Harriet pleaded.

Mary gave her a half-hearted whack on the shoulder. "Tsk, I've been in service for longer than you've been alive. Don't you worry about me. I'm an old hand. I know how to deal with stuffy old windbags."

Harriet paused for a moment, listening. For the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she’d heard a piano. But whatever it was had stopped.

"Did you see that painting in the hallway, the one of the young man?" she asked, changing the topic.

"Hmm, yes, bit of a dandy," Mary said, disapproving.

"Do you think it could have been Lord Matson?"

Mary laughed. "Happy? Handsome? Young? Beggars belief, doesn't it?" She snorted. "Could be. Hard to imagine, though, isn't it?" She paused in reflection. "Think of it. That old goat, young and fancy, swanning through the town. I can't see it. If that man smiled, the world would crack."

"Stop it, you are awful," Harriet giggled.

"Oh, you are only disapproving because you know it's true." She grinned. "That man was carved of stone, no, ice. He is a golem."

"You need to watch what you say. Imagine if Mr Gillis heard," Harriet warned.

Mary smiled serenely. "Once I take over the kitchen and help with the cleaning duties, I could sacrifice his firstborn, and that man wouldn't dare sack me. Lord knows how he has managed this long on his own."

Harriet looked at the dirty windows. "I'm not sure that he has. Do you think they’ll get more staff in?"

“They’d be fools not to. Mr Chasterwick left Ronald with plenty of coin. I daresay that as a trustee, Lord Matson could restore this place if he wanted to.” She patted Harriet on the knee. “But people have different priorities. If you ask me, his lordship gave up on life a long time ago. Hopefully, Master Ronald will give him some sense of purpose. Who knows, they could help each other.”

“That’s beautiful, Mary. I had no idea that you could be so wise.”

Mary snorted. “It’s a fool’s hope. Otherwise, I’ll go spare. Moving from a lovely, joyful townhouse to this bleak prison is utterly depressing. It’s enough to make a woman turn to drink.”

“Speaking of, I need to retrieve Ronald, but perhaps we could get a cup of tea in the kitchen?”

“Oh!” Mary clapped her hands together. “Champion idea. I haven’t baked any biscuits yet, but don’t worry, I’ll have that kitchen running like a well-oiled machine in no time.”

***

The dining room was an expansive chamber with a cobweb-covered, if ornate, ceiling and walls lined with dark wood panelling. Harriet looked at the dust with a gaze of disapproval. The Chasterwick household would never have tolerated these conditions.

A long table stood in the centre, already set for supper. Master Ronald was seated to the right of Lord Matson. The elderly man was silent as he waited for his food. Harriet stood waiting in the corner in case Ronald needed her. She could see his fat little legs kicking under his chair. He turned to give her a beleaguered look, already bored, and to Lord Matson’s annoyance, he clambered up onto his knees and said, “Hello, Harry.”

“Sit down,” Lord Matson snarled, his eyes wide, his thin lips pressed together.

Harriet quickly raced forward and reseated Ronald. “Be good, Ronny—Master Ronald—and wait for your food. Here, Mr Gillis is bringing it out. Just sit still and behave, will you? For me?”

Mr Gillis brought out a meagre supper of cold cuts and root vegetable stew. Harriet winced at the sight of it. Mary would not be happy. She took great pride in her cooking. But she was clearly doing the best she could with what was available.

Clearing his throat, Lord Matson looked at Ronald, who was chewing hard on a large slice of gammon which he had hungrily stuffed into his mouth. “Ronald, I hear that you had a tutor back at Matson House. You’ll be pleased to know that we have requested one for you here.”

Ronald swallowed down the huge mouthful. “Thank you, Lord Matson.”

Good boy, Ronny.

“And what, per se, is your favourite topic?” Lord Matson smiled. It was a weak attempt at congeniality, but it warmed Harriet’s heart to see him make an effort. “I always favoured mathematics.”

Ronny thought for a moment, his eyes screwed up in concentration before he smiled. “I like music. I always wanted a trumpet, but Mother wouldn’t let me.” His eyes lit up at the thought. “Can I have a trumpet?”

“Absolutely not.” Lord Matson reacted with alarm. “You won’t be doing any of that here. The music room was sealed off when we locked up the east and west wings. It is too dangerous to go in there now. The old rooms are in a temporary state of ill repair. Matson Manor is in need of some repair.” He leant in closer. “Do you understand, Master Ronald? Under no circumstances are you to go into the east or west wings.”

Ronald nodded. “Yes, Lord Matson.”

Lord Matson seemed relieved. Harriet, however, looked at Ronald suspiciously. The odds of him leaving alone a secret music room that Lord Matson had just confessed to owning were minimal. It was like dangling raw meat in front of a dog.

I’ll have to keep an eye on him.

When Ronald had finished his stew, Harriet stepped forward and wiped his face clean. “Is there going to be cake?” he squeaked through the cloth.

“Will there be cake?” Lord Matson corrected.

“I am not sure, Ronny. If Mary found the right ingredients, then I am sure there will be.” Harriet retreated to her position, watching the meal as, sure enough, Mr Gillis emerged with a tray of steaming jam tarts. Harriet watched, salivating. She would be able to eat after Ronald had been dismissed from the table, but not until then.

***

The next morning dawned grey and cold—the sun struggling against thick clouds as if reluctant to shine upon Matson Manor.

Harriet rose early, despite her lingering exhaustion after a night of broken sleep. She went downstairs in search of some tea. Master Ronald would be waking soon, and she wanted to ensure he didn’t wake up the men with his youthful exuberance. The manor was quiet except for the distant clanging from Mary in the kitchen. She hesitated at the top of the stairs. It was still dark outside, and she remembered Mr Gillis’s warning.

Mary was downstairs, so she decided to risk it and consult her. Nobody else was awake. It felt criminal as she crept into the kitchen.

“Mary?” she whispered.

Mary jumped. “Oh goodness, what are you doing sneaking around like a church mouse? You’ll be the death of me, young woman.”

“We aren’t supposed to be downstairs before dawn,” Harriet reminded her.

“Now you look here.” Mary turned and put her hands on her hips. “He was being unreasonable. What do you think would happen if they woke up and breakfast wasn’t ready? Not to mention the foul state this kitchen was in when we got here.” She pointed to the window.

“I guess.”

“No guessing about it. Mr Gillis clearly has no idea of a cook’s duties.” She looked pointedly at Harriet. “Nor a nursemaid’s. Speaking of, where is Ronny? I’ve never known a five-year-old to sleep in until seven. You’d best go check on the little terror.”

“I will.”

“Wait five minutes before you do.” Mary poured a cup of tea into a bone china cup. “Can’t have you facing that little bundle of joy without your morning cup of tea, can we?” She bustled about and then put a slice of bread and honey on a plate in front of her. “I’ll order some real food in today, don’t you worry.”

Harriet looked up gratefully as she took a sip of the scalding hot tea. Instantly, she felt better as warmth spread throughout her body.

“See, the world’s a little bit better now, isn’t it?”

Smiling, she closed her eyes and cradled the hot drink.

***

Fortified by food and drink, Harriet went in search of the young master. On checking his bedroom, she found his door to be locked. She tugged at the handle angrily.

“Hello? The door’s stuck,” Ronald’s plaintive voice came through the solid oak door.

“Just wait, Ronny, I’ll get this fixed. Won’t be long.”

This has gone far enough.

Obscure rules were one thing, but Harriet wasn’t having her charge locked up like an animal. She walked up to Mr Gillis’s door and, with a deep breath, knocked on it.

On the third knock, she heard him snarl. “Wait.”

The door opened ajar, and Mr Gillis’s pasty white face appeared in the crack. “How dare you knock on my door. I rise when my duties require it.”

“Master Ronald’s door is locked, sir,” Harriet said, keeping her expression and voice neutral. “He is a five-year-old boy. It is natural for him to rise early and go outside. If he doesn’t have some time to play, he won’t be able to concentrate on his studies.”

Mr Gillis glared at her. “He didn’t seem the type to be relied upon to obey the house rules.”

“If you don’t trust him, then he’ll never learn responsibility. Lord Matson wants to raise a gentleman. Treat him like a rogue, and you’ll raise a rogue.”

For a moment, Mr Gillis just watched her. She stood straight and returned his gaze. “I defer to your judgement with children, but I remind you that he is your responsibility. If he breaks the house rules, you will share in his punishment.”

“I am aware of my duties, sir,” Harriet said sweetly. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him for five years now.”

Mr Gillis handed her a bundle of keys. They were unlabelled, so when she returned to Ronny’s door, she had to go through five of them before she found the right key and the lock clicked open.

Ronny ran up to her and hugged her.

She ruffled his hair and looked down at her little charge. “What are you wearing?” He was still in his pyjamas but had three jackets on to combat the morning chill. “Come on, let’s get you dressed properly, shall we?”

***

Mr Gillis arrived downstairs just as dawn broke.

“What time should I have Master Ronald ready for breakfast? Or would his lordship prefer to dine alone?” Harriet asked.

“Lord Matson has breakfast at ten. We think it is best that Master Ronald joins him so he can learn the appropriate etiquette for a gentleman.” Mr Gillis scrutinised the child, who was peering out of the windows, with his face pressed against the glass, looking longingly at the seemingly endless expanse of meadow grass outside. “He acts like a child who has spent far too much time around people of trade.”

“He is a good boy, a fast learner with a warm heart,” Harriet said sharply, then immediately softened the words with a hastily added, “—sir.”

“We will see soon enough. In the meantime, you still have my keys.”

Harriet hastily pulled the bunch of keys from her pocket and passed them to Mr Gillis, who immediately unlocked the front door. Like a shot, Ronald was out there and running across the unkempt lawn. Harriet hurried out to follow him.

They played hide and seek in the woods for nearly an hour. Harriet was hampered by the need to keep her clothes clean. Ronald had no such compunction and, as a result, had to return to the house via the kitchen entrance.

“Shoes and jacket off. Look at the state of you.” Mary bustled around the boy, tutting as she tried to maintain order in her personal domain.

“I’m hungry,” Ronald complained, his face red from the change in temperature.

Mary passed him a freshly baked oatcake. “Of course you are. Ten o’clock is no time for breakfast, more like brunch time.”

“We knew that they’d do things a bit differently here,” Harriet said diplomatically. Then, hesitating, she said quietly, “Mr Gillis locked Ronny’s door last night.”

“He did what?” Mary looked aghast.

“I’ve asked him not to in the future. Poor Ronny was stuck in his room and unable to get out.”

“What is this? The Tower of London?” Mary crossed her arms. “I’d like to see him try to lock me in my room. I’d bust that door down and wring his neck like a Christmas goose.” She shook her head. “The gall of the man. We’ve ended up in a right queer household here, Harriet. You watch your back.”

Harriet was about to respond when she noticed Ronald reaching up for the biscuit jar with his dirty hands. “I’ll catch up with you later. I need to get Ronny cleaned up for breakfast.”

“Right-ho, off you pop. It’ll be porridge for breakfast, with toast and jam. His lordship has a sensitive tummy. Doesn’t like rich foods in the mor—at around midday.”

Harriet snorted happily as she led Ronald to the bathroom upstairs. “Come on, you.”

***

The breakfast table was considerably more austere than at the Matson household. No bacon, sausage, or eggs—just toast in a rack, jam in a silver bowl, and porridge in an iron pot.

Ronald looked unimpressed at his bowl of porridge, even when Harriet added a blob of jam for him.

“Inform the cook that the porridge is too creamy.” Lord Matson pushed his bowl to one side and took a slice of toast instead, scraping a thin layer of butter over it. “Perhaps, Mr Gillis, you could offer her some guidance on how you used to prepare my porridge.”

“Of course, my lord. I’d be honoured to educate her.”

That’s going to go down well.

Harriet stood silently in the corner, waiting as they ate, watching Ronald.

“I heard a piano last night,” Ronald said through a mouthful of porridge. Harriet rushed forward and wiped his face.

Lord Matson and Mr Gillis exchanged glances.

Mr Gillis coughed. “Sometimes in winter the pipes can make odd sounds. It is nothing more.”

“The east and west wings have been sealed for years. It is not possible for anybody to be in there playing the piano.” Lord Matson looked coldly at Ronald. 

Ronald awkwardly played with his spoon. He seemed unconvinced.

“ Please can we have a piano?” Ronald asked.

“Absolutely not. This is a house of peace and contemplation. Not a music hall. We’ll have no music in this house.”

“Please?” Ronald tried again.

“Ronald, eat your food,” Harriet reprimanded him.

He poked at his porridge despondently, his little legs swinging under the table.

Outside, snow began to fall. Harriet smiled at the welcome sight of the billowing dusty flakes as they settled on the rundown gardens, the snow giving an element of uniformity to the Manor grounds which had been left to return to the wild.

***

With lunch, the main meal in the Matson household, being set later in the day, at four o’clock, Harriet had plenty of time for Ronald’s lessons. But after an hour of reading and an hour of mathematics, she caught him gazing out at the fading sun.

It’ll be sunset by the time we finish lunch.

“Do you want to go outside and play?” she asked Ronald.

Ronald leapt up from his seat and ran to the door. “I want to explore.”

Harriet followed with a grin, opening the door for them both and jogging to keep up with the boy as he raced round the exterior of the house.He clambered over all the pots and plants at the side of the house in order to peer through the shattered glass windows. She couldn’t help but peek in as well. These rooms all had the same ornate style as the rest of the house, but they were covered in dust and cobwebs. Birds had nested high up in the water-damaged carvings. Black mould lurked in the corners, and the wallpaper was peeling away from the walls due to exposure to the elements. She peered at a painting. It was hard to see, but it looked like a young Lord Matson with an older boy, possibly a sibling. She was about to peer closer when she glanced over to check on her charge.

“Get down from there, Ronny!” She caught him clambering fearlessly up the trellis, as he tried to reach the second floor. “It won’t support your weight.”

That boy is part squirrel.

He looked at her reproachfully before rapidly descending.

Harriet looked through the cracked glass into the next dust-covered room. Ivy had grown through the broken windows, and mould covered the wood panelling. An ancient grand piano sat in the corner of the room on an elevated stage, with battered and warped wooden chairs arranged around it. The piano had seen better days. The wood was warped and peeling away. The room looked as though it hadn’t been used for years.

Ronald is quiet.

She quickly looked around to see where he had gone. Ronald was never quiet. Jogging around the corner, she realised that he had disappeared. Panic gripped her as she looked around.

“Ronnie!” she called out desperately.

Silence.

“Ronnie!” she tried again.

There was a crash from inside the house, and she charged towards it. Mentally, she swore as she saw a water butt by a window and the shutters swinging open beside it.

“Ronald, you get out of there right now.” She peered in through the window and saw him sitting on the floor of the music room, nursing a red, grazed knee.

“I was very good and didn’t cry.” He looked up at her with big watery eyes.

“Ronald, you are not allowed in the sealed wings. You’ve been told.” She glared at the troublemaker. “You’ll get me into trouble.”

“But the man said it was okay,” Ronald protested.

“What man?” A cold feeling of dread ran down her spine. She peered through the window, checking all four corners of the room. “Ronny, is there someone else in there with you?” She clambered up on to the water butt and climbed in through the window to reach her charge, her eyes searching fearfully for anyone else.

Ronny looked around, confused. “He was sitting by the piano. He asked me if I wanted to learn to play.”

Harriet gripped Ronny’s arm tightly, eliciting a cry of pain from the boy as she ushered him towards the window. “Ronny, you mustn’t lie to me. Look at the dust on the floor. Nobody has been near that piano in years.”

He sniffed, tears in his eyes. “He was there. He was. I’m not lying.”

“Come on, out you get, and never go in the forbidden wings again. Promise me.” She pulled him around to look deep into his eyes. “Promise me! We could get into a whole lot of trouble.”

“I promise,” Ronald said, his eyes downcast.

“And don’t tell anyone that you broke in. It was a very bad thing to do.” She glared into his eyes, hoping that he understood the severity of his crime.

“I won’t.” He looked as though he was going to cry again.

She mussed his hair. “Good boy, now let’s get out. We need to clean your knee.”

***

By candlelight, Harriet sat in bed, wrapped up in blankets and reading a book from the Matson Manor library. As she read about daring heroes in darkest Africa, she slid back and prepared herself for sleep.

She woke with a start. Something had disturbed her. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the room, trying to find the source of her disturbance. Blearily, she closed her eyes. She was just fading back to sleep when she heard it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sliding her legs out into the cold midnight air, she felt her way to the window. She looked down, but the entrance to Matson Manor was concealed by a porch.

Harriet waited. She heard the knocks again. They were getting more and more frantic.

She peered again through the gap in the curtains, keen to catch a glimpse of whoever was knocking so desperately at the main door of the house. When she heard a door open, she immediately knew whose door it was. Picking up a lamp, she raced out into the corridor in her nightgown and padded down the corridor barefoot. The portraits had taken on a sinister aspect in the middle of the night, all shadows and piercing eyes. At the top of the staircase, she looked down to see Ronald peering through the window next to the door.

“Go back to bed at once,” she hissed. He couldn’t hear her, so she padded down the stairs and gripped his arm. “Back to bed, you know there is a curfew.”

“There is a man outside.”

“Go upstairs.” Harriet went to the window and peered through. Sure enough, there was a young man outside, dressed in colourful garments. The dandy shivered as he knocked on the door. She called out, “I don’t have a key. Please wait, I’ll be back with Mr Gillis.”

She nervously raced up the stairs and stood outside Mr Gillis’s room. Tapping her arms, she stared at the door.

It is freezing outside, the boy looks ill.

She decided to risk Mr Gillis’s ire.

When the door opened, she swallowed as his eyes stared in rage at her.

“What is it this time? You were told not to leave your rooms after dark. Can’t you manage your boy at least until it is a civilised—”

“There is a man outside in distress, he looks—”

Mr Gillis’s expression changed instantly, a look of fear crossing his face. “Do not open the door, this is none of your concern. Return to your bed at once.”

Harriet stayed where she was. “What is going on? It’s freezing out there. He could die.”

“Oh, I assure you, he’ll be back next year, same day. It is just the local prankster. You are being lampooned.” Mr Gillis closed his eyes. “Please, just go back to bed. Do not let him in under any circumstances.”

“Who is he?” Harriet had never heard Mr Gillis ask nicely for anything before. He looked almost sick with fear. “Let me help, Mr Gillis.”

Mr Gillis looked into her eyes. For a moment, it seemed as though he was going to tell her everything, but then his lips pursed. “I told you, he is just a prankster. Go to your room immediately. Stay inside and do not leave.” He closed his door on her, leaving her standing in the hall with her candle.

Confused and concerned, she stood for a moment to consider her options. The obvious thing was to go to Mary’s room and ask her. She would know what to do.

Mary opened the door, a cotton nightcap on her head. Half asleep, she dumbly regarded Harriet. “Harriet? Is Master Ronald okay?”

“There is a young gentleman outside, knocking on the door. He seems frozen. Mr Gillis won’t let him in.” She waited a few moments for the words to filter into Mary’s head.

“Won’t... Why won’t he let him in?”

“He says it is none of my concern, that he is just a local prankster,” Harriet said, shrugging.

“Of course he did.” Mary was awake now and angry.

“What do we do?”

Mary went back into her room and fetched her candlestick. “I’ll tell you what we won’t do, and that is nothing. We are Christian women, and we won’t leave a boy out there to die in the freezing cold.” Looking over Harriet’s head, she called out, “Back to bed, Master Ronald.”

Harriet turned to glare at Ronald’s door. His face was pressed against a thin gap. She glared again. The boy quickly shut it.

“Come on then, Harry, I’ll get my rolling pin. If he is a prankster, he’ll get a bop on his bonce.” Mary joined Harriet, and the two women descended the stairs by  candlelight. Moonlight shone through the sash windows to further aid their mission. The thumping on the door continued.

“How do we open the door? We don’t have a key, and Mr Gillis isn’t likely to give us his.”

Mary snorted. “That man is a rancid, old trout.” Reaching the door, Mary peered through the window at the visitor. “Skinny little fellow, isn’t he?” She fiddled with the window latches. “Look at the poor blighter, he’s covered in snow. Give me a hand here, the wood’s warped, it’s stuck.” She muttered something under her breath as she struggled to lift the sash window. “When was the last time they opened these? No wonder the house has a stale smell to it.” Her thick arms bulged as she raised it an inch. She addressed the visitor, “We can’t open the door, we don’t have the key. So you’re going to have to climb in through the window. Don’t worry, my little lamb, we’ll get you some hot tea and a slice of buttered toast.”

The dandy appeared in front of the window so suddenly that Harriet jumped. Mary, distracted by her exertions, didn’t seem to notice. He stood silently, regarding her.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Get your fingers under the window frame and help me. You’re as useful as a paper spoon. Come on.” She groaned as the window remained stubbornly shut.

Harriet had a sick feeling in her stomach as she tried to examine the visitor. His form was shadowy in the moonlight. She moved her candle closer to get a better look. Despite the glass shield, the flame guttered as the opened window let in a draught.

The figure stepped closer. His expressionless face looked like a twin to the paintings of Lord Matson in his youth. The exception was his eyes: they were bright blue, vividly bright and glowed in a most unnatural manner.

A bellow from the top of the stairs caused them to spin around. “What are you doing? You stupid women!” Mr Gillis was hobbling down the stairs, his face twisted into a rictus of fury. “I told you—I warned you. Do not let in any visitors after dark.”

“Mr Gillis, the man is frozen. He is desperate. You cannot expect—”

“You are fired. You’ll pack your bags in the morning, both of you. We’ll hire someone more suitable, more obedient to care for Master Ronald.” Mr Gillis was at the foot of the stairs now, his mouth flecked with spittle, his eyes wide with anger, and something else–was it fear? as he snarled at them.

Harriet stifled a whimper. She had cared for Ronny all his life. “I’m sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Mary opted for a different approach. She marched forward and slapped Mr Gillis with a resounding crack. “Well then, that’s the last of your nonsense I’ll have to deal with.”

“Mary!” Harriet gasped. Trying to redeem the situation, she turned to shut the window. The man, whoever he had been, was gone. The knocking had ceased.

The candles went out all at once, and the room was plunged into twilight, the icy windows providing the only illumination.

Everyone fell silent.

Except for the sounds of a piano, its music drifting through the hallway from the abandoned west wing in a playful allegro.

“Your pipes are sounding particularly tuneful today,” Mary snarked.

Mr Gillis puffed up his chest. “Everyone upstairs now.”

“I’ve just been sacked. I’m sure we all  deserve a stiff cup of tea, once I let that poor gentleman in.”

The candles suddenly flared with foot-high flames. With a gasp, Harriet placed hers on the floor, backing away from it. The wall sconces erupted into light as the candles, long left unlit, suddenly flared. All at once, the room was bathed in a fiery glow, a terrifying hellscape.

In the centre of the room, the young dandy stood.

Mr Gillis cried out in terror, backpedalling away from him.

The dandy had no interest in him though. He turned towards the sealed door, his body moving in a disjointed fashion. Like the pages of a flicker book, he walked stiffly towards the music.

There were three knocks on the door.

The piano music stopped.

The dandy knocked again, three times.

This time, from the other side of the door, three knocks replied.

“Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Mary muttered, clutching her rolling pin tightly to her chest.

Harriet scuttled to Mr Gillis’s side, her eyes still on the unfolding scene before her. “Please, sir, we need the keys. Just open the door, and when the young man finds whoever or whatever he is looking for, he might leave.”

Mr Gillis turned to her, his pale face sweating. “You don’t know that.”

The banging on the door became more and more frantic.

“Please. We have to try at least.”

Muttering a prayer under his breath, Mr Gillis pulled the keys from his belt. Selecting a heavy bronze key, he held them out to Harriet, who staggered towards the spectral entity, her legs stiff from fright.

A powerful grip, held her shoulder. She flinched, turning and reassured to see that it was Mary. 

“Right behind you, dear.”

Together they approached the door.

Behind them, they heard a stifled cry from the elderly Lord Matson who had been woken by all the noise and had come downstairs to see what the disturbance was all about. 

Harriet wrestled with the stiff lock, until it clicked with a heavy finality and released the mechanism.

As she yanked the door open, the dust in the empty hallway bloomed.

Harriet heard Mary gasp and turned to see their strange visitor had been joined by another gentleman and the two male entities were… kissing?

“No!” Lord Matson advanced on them, seething with rage. “No, he is mine. You have been given everything. You can’t have him as well!”

The ghostly men reluctantly pulled apart and watched as Lord Matson approached them. He swiped his cane at the snow-covered dandy. The cane travelled cleanly through his body. The wraith of a young man flickered but remained otherwise unharmed. The two men leaned in towards Lord Matson, each whispering in a different ear with dry, raspy voices.

Harriet bit her lip.

“What did they say?” Mary asked as the two spirits vanished, leaving Lord Matson to collapse on the floor, tears in his eyes.

Harriet looked at her, her own eyes wet. “They said, ‘I forgive you.’”

---

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1 or its sequel Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2.

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