“She said nothing. The lord left her in the tower and went down to await the arrival of her father, who came riding in the same day. The two crossed the courtyard together to fetch the young lady.
“Before they got across, someone shouted a warning. Everyone looked up. The young woman had climbed out of a window in the tower room, and stood on the sill. Her father shouted in alarm, terrified for her life. The lord himself shouted at her angrily, warning her that she would be beaten for doing something so idiotic and dangerous.
“She did not move. Instead, she looked down upon them. She called to the lord, saying, ‘I begged for understanding, and protection, and mercy from you. You withheld it, judging your reputation more important than my happiness. And then you laughed at me, thinking I was powerless.’ Her black hair was unbound, and she wore only her white shift, so she looked more like a vengeful angel than a young lady. The lord felt a strange fear come over him.
“‘Do not jump!’ he said. ‘Your father is here, and it would break his heart.’
“‘And what of my heart?’ asked the lady. She stepped closer to the edge. ‘I curse you, my lord. I curse you and everyone who will live in this castle! Love will be twisted within these walls, and turned to hate. Lovers will be ripped apart. Parents will lose their children…until one chooses to show mercy to one sick with love, and not betray that heart.’
“Everyone in the castle heard her words, and everyone saw her leap from the ledge like a bird. But she did not fly. She fell like a stone. She did not scream, but her father did, and his horrified cry echoed against the walls long after her body hit the ground. As a suicide, she was not buried in any churchyard, but her body was cast away in the dark forests beyond the keep’s walls.”
As Hortense spoke, Camellia saw her shadow cast against the floor. It danced in time with the flames behind her, but the shadow seemed darker than others, like a patch of midnight creeping inside.
“The Welshwoman’s curse became legend,” Hortense went on. “Her ghost was often seen in the tower room, or as a flickering white light in the high window. She walked the parapets in later years, and though no one remembered her name by then, watchers felt a coldness from beyond the grave. And yes, the castle has seen its share of tragedies. Parents have lost their children: to accidents, to plagues, to war. Lovers have been torn apart, by forces beyond their control. Are these merely the common lot of humanity?”
The flames in the hearth flickered with a sudden draft. For just a moment, Hortense’s face looked strange. Her normally round cheeks and bright eyes took on a thin, shadowed cast. Even her burnished hair looked dark as night. Her voice grew hollow. “Or did the dying woman’s curse bring further sadness to these walls? And can anyone break such a curse? Does anyone dare?”
Several women gasped, and Camellia felt a chill sweep over her. Her friend stood absolutely still in front of the flames, as if she were frozen, as if she could not twitch a muscle.
Then a log snapped in the fire, sending sparks out onto the stones, and the moment was broken.
Hortense clapped her hands together once, and laughed gaily. “I declare, you all look positively stunned!” The fire glinted against her bright copper curls. Camellia shook her head. How had she thought Hortense’s hair looked black?
After a long second, everyone reacted with a buzz of excitement.
“Well done, well done, my dear!” Mr Fitzgerald exclaimed, clapping his hands too. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”
Hortense blushed and nodded. Guests gathered round her to ask questions and praise her telling. Elliot bubbled over with compliments for Hortense, asking where she heard the tale. Hortense put her hand on his arm as she told him. Camellia, however, didn’t get up from her seat, her mind still disturbed by what she thought she’d seen.
Maids began serving the guests mulled wine and cider, the warming scent of fruit and spices filling the air. A more festive tone returned as guests chattered to each other. The light from the many candles made their gold and silver jewelry glow, and the scene was as cheerful as one could hope for yuletide. And yet, Lia couldn’t shake the chill she felt.
A light touch at her shoulder startled her, and she heard Mr Ryder’s voice in her ear. He said, “You look a bit pale. Can I get you a drink of something, for restorative purposes?”
“A little wine, if you please,” she said. He left to fetch the drink, and Camellia turned to Mrs Bloomfield, who showed no signs of worry. “Did you notice anything about Hortense just at the end?”
“Only that she adores being the center of attention,” Mrs Bloomfield answered. “Why?”
“She didn’t look odd to you?”
Mrs Bloomfield cast an eye at their merry hostess. “She looks just as she always does.”
“Yes, now she does. But…” Camellia shrugged, unwilling to have Mrs Bloomfield consider her touched in the head. “Never mind. I suppose it was just a very good story.”
Mr Ryder returned with a small glass filled with a burgundy liquid. Camellia thanked him and took a sip, glad of the slight warming the drink brought.
“So, did you see anything strange during the telling?” asked Ryder, quietly so Mrs Bloomfield wouldn’t overhear.
Before he could go on, the conversation near the fireplace grew louder. Hortense was explaining a part of her story. “You’re thinking of the Silver Lady, Mr Hightower,” she said to one guest. “That’s the most famous ghost at Wyemont. But the Welsh Ghost is the oldest. Legend says she was even at the root of all the other stories, because of the curse, you see.”
“Lot of humbug, if you ask me,” Hightower huffed.
“We won’t ask you, then!” Hortense laughed. “What’s the point of telling a delicious ghost story if no one believes it a little? Am I right, Lord Elliot?”
“I expect you’re always right, Miss Fitzgerald,” Elliot returned easily, earning a pleased smile from Hortense.
“Hmm,” Finn noted quietly. “That was deft.”
“For him, you mean?” Camellia asked. It was a wittier response than the ones he’d tendered to her in the afternoon. “I see the castle’s atmosphere agrees with him.”
