Most of the guests were riveted by Mr Fitzgerald’s story, so it did not occur to them to count the shadows…or notice if their silhouettes did not quite seem correct, such as a wider skirt, or a taller shape than would be right for the person who cast it. These things were not remarked on.
Fitzgerald was a hearty man, and a natural talker. He would make this tale as long as was humanly possible. Camellia settled back in her seat.
“I know you are thinking our ghosts are all charming young ladies like my fair daughter here.” The guests laughed, and Hortense smiled happily, reveling in the attention.
“But other ghosts have been seen too, some quite regularly. The ones I will speak of tonight almost always appear together. They are the Duelers.”
Camellia caught Finn’s gaze. She lifted her glass in a subtle salute, because she realized he’d won their bet; his impulsive guess was correct.
“The Duelers are two men who look as though they lived in the time of our grandparents, or great-grandparents for some of you!” Fitzgerald went on. “Each man is handsome, and well dressed in the manner of gentlemen. And of course, each ghost holds a sword. The drawn blades glitter in the moonlight, showing that they are still as deadly sharp as they were on the evening of the fateful duel.
“On certain nights, they can be seen fighting in the courtyard or on the battlements—and sometimes inside, though rarely. We do not know their names, but we know how they died….”
Fitzgerald related his swashbuckling tale, acting out each thrust and parry for the amusement of the guests. Camellia surveyed the audience. Elliot was riveted and followed every feint. Finn melted back among the crowd. As someone who was far too close to violent death from his time on the Peninsula, he probably didn’t enjoy a dramatic rendition of it. Still, he watched the performance carefully.
“As for why they fought…some say it was a matter of honor,” Fitzgerald continued. “Some say it was money. Others think the Duelers were friends or even brothers. One man betrayed the other despite a lifetime of companionship. But I’ll tell you the real reason!”
Fitzgerald’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. The captive audience leaned in. He said, in a hushed tone, “What other reason could it be, but the very oldest? A woman, of course. Love will drive a man mad, even where money cannot. Some stories tell of a woman in a ghostly white gown who watches the battle. Surely she is the one each man is mad for! But which man does she favor, and what is her name? We’ll never know. But we know the horror she must have felt when she saw the final move in their fateful battle…”
Unlike the book, Fitzgerald’s tale did not mention poison, instead describing a cruel double blow that snuffed out both lives at once. Camellia suspected Fitzgerald chose an ending that would allow him the most dramatic scene. And dramatic it was. The audience gave Fitzgerald an enthusiastic ovation, which he reveled in. “You’re too kind, too kind!” he said. “It’s only a little tale to tell over cold winter nights!”
After the tale concluded, everyone gathered to chat about the story and the history of the castle. Camellia found herself in a circle with a number of people, all of whom seemed far more cheerful than she felt. Hortense was laughing at one of Elliot’s comments, and her giggles echoed through the room.
Then Lia felt a light touch at her elbow. “Miss Swift,” Finn said softly.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want to look through the Long Gallery and glare at all those portraits on the walls. Would you care to join me?”
Lia glanced at the group, and decided that Hortense would keep Elliot’s attention, and that she could slip away with no one to notice.
Finn escorted Camellia out of the room and down the stairs to the Long Gallery, which was the part of the castle that led both to the newer wing where most of the guests slept, but also to the older rooms of the castle, including the medieval towers. It was impressive during the day, hung floor to ceiling with paintings of various sizes, nearly all of them outfitted with ornate gilt frames. Most were portraits, but some were landscapes of various real and mythical places.
In the dark of night, though, one got the impression of walking through a dimly lit tunnel, with eyes watching from every angle. The candelabra standing every twenty feet or so did little to dispel the gloom, despite holding twelve candles each.
“Tonight’s tale was just what you suspected,” Camellia said at last. “You gambled and won.”
“This time,” he agreed. “But if I had any sense, I would have listened to you, and not bet at all.”
Camellia was suddenly conscious of how alone they were in the gallery, and how close she stood to him. Yet she did not move away, because being close to Finn gave her delightful shivers all up and down her spine.
He was gazing at the many paintings, not aware of her sudden turn of thought. “I’ve got a few ancestors up on these walls. Judgmental lot, aren’t they?” Finn asked, looking up and around at the portraits. “Barely a smile among them.”
Camellia looked up too. “Oh, which ones are your family?”
“I’m honestly not sure. It was a few generations ago that one of the Fitzgerald ladies married the first Ryder. The blood’s thin now. We’re a scattered family…some went to India, some back to Scotland. Apparently, we had men on both sides during the American War of Independence.”
“But you were still invited to Wyemont. When you were a child, I mean.”
“Oh, the Fitzgeralds are a clan that doesn’t forget. Yes, my parents came for a visit long ago. I was overwhelmed the first time I saw this place. The white stones and that shadowed tower…”
“What did you see?” she asked. “That first time. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He looked up at the glaring faces of the portraits. “I hoped one of these men would look familiar,” he said. “Or perhaps that no one would look familiar.”
“What?”
“The first time I was here,” he began, “I was so excited I couldn’t sleep the first night. A real castle and all! That’s every boy’s dream. I’d been living in crowded quarters in London all my life. It was summer then, and the twilight was still lingering when I sneaked out of my room and walked out onto the battlements. Some are in pretty poor shape, and all the children were warned on pain of death to never climb them.”
