Lady Margaret Ann glided silently into the panelled room and stood gazing out of the window, the tranquil scene outside of the tree-lined banks of a smoothly flowing river did nothing to soothe her disquiet. Every day it was the same, she would stand for hours gazing out of this same window, hoping against hope to see her young son James Edward running along the grassy banks under the trees, laughing merrily as he threw sticks for his puppy to bring back to him.
In her heart she knew that this could never happen, he was dead and nothing could bring him back to her, the little son she had doted on, she had dreamed of a great future for him. He should have been master of this great house and served at the Palace in London as his father had done. But that would never be and it was her fault, her doing that had brought about the greatest catastrophe of her life.
A sound aroused her from her melancholy thoughts, the sound of the door opening. A young woman walked into the room and started dusting the furniture, flicking it here and there as she quietly hummed a tune to herself. The woman paid no attention to Lady Margaret, didn’t even appear to see her standing there before the window, watching her. She ran a strange contraption back and forth across the carpet and a dry mop over the exposed floorboards, then straightening up the bedcovers a little, she surveyed the room before turning and walking out into the passageway.
Lady Margaret was used to these daily disturbances, the cleaning activities every morning and then the influx of curious visitors every afternoon. No one paid attention to her or even noticed her presence in the room, except with a few rare occurrences.
In the early afternoon, usually a woman, sometimes a man, would come into the room, set a bag or a briefcase in the window-seat and sit down. They would pick up a book, which they would read for a few minutes before setting it down again. Then they would straighten up some papers, also on the window seat. Shortly afterwards the visitors would arrive, wander around the room examining the furniture, the four-poster bed and the embroideries that adorned the walls. The person who was in the room for the whole afternoon would entertain them with the story of ‘The Beautiful Lady’ who supposedly haunted this room. When asked if they had ever seen her, most replied ‘No, and I don’t believe in ghosts anyway.’ Although one of the men would try to frighten the children by telling them to look up the chimney and call to the beautiful lady, when they tried that, he would shout ‘Boo’ and they would run giggling from the room.
Lady Margaret Ann deeply resented the presence of these visitors, who sometimes laughed at the story of her misfortune and denounced her as a cruel and heartless stepmother. She had never intended any real harm to come to her stepson Henry, not really. She had only had the interest of Jamie at heart, he was her pride and joy, a healthy, lively little fellow. Henry, on the other hand, had always been on the sickly side, pale and thin. His mother, Lady Sarah Elizabeth, had died several days after he was born and Sally Archer, a housemaid, had become his nursemaid after a while.
When Sir Thomas had made Lady Margaret his second wife and brought her to his Manor house in Yorkshire, she had been very proud. It had been a good match for them both. He was a man of esteemed position at the Palace in London, and she was one of the acknowledged beauties of the day. However, Sir Thomas still had fond memories of his beloved Sarah and the boy Henry was a constant reminder of her. Her presence in the house seemed undiminished by her death, her portrait still hung in the main hall and she had been a very beautiful woman too. She had been greatly loved by the servants and the villagers, but they had not taken to Lady Margaret Ann in the same way.
When James Edward was born, Lady Margaret had become jealous of Henry’s position as Son and Heir to Sir Thomas; because of the laws of the day, he would inherit everything when Sir Thomas died. Lady Margaret tried everything she could think of to persuade Sir Thomas to make changes that would benefit Jamie. He became angry with her, recognising her wish for him to disinherit Henry, and their relationship gradually soured, he spent more and more time in London, leaving Sally to look after Henry.
The servants despised Lady Margaret, she knew that but didn’t care. She would glide silently around the house spying on them, only the tell-tale swish of her silken gowns sometimes giving away her presence to them as they whispered amongst themselves. It had been a happy household when Lady Sarah was alive but the arrival of Lady Margaret had changed all that, slowly but surely. It was worse after she banished Henry to the Leather room up on the top floor. Lady Margaret had given orders that he was to have no visitors and he was only allowed the minimum of food and clothing to keep him alive and warm. Sally had done her best to smuggle extra’s to him but when she was caught by Symond’s, Lady Margaret’s personal maid, and frog marched into Lady Margaret’s presence, she had been told to leave the house and never show her face again.
Lady Margaret had plenty of time now to think about her actions then. She had resented Henry and wanted him out of sight, out of the way. Was starving him and denying him contact with those who cared for and loved him, her way of preparing for his eventual disappearance. She found it difficult to admit, even to herself, that she might have been contemplating his murder. Either by starvation or with help from a willing servant.
Then one day Symond’s had informed her that Jamie was visiting Henry in his room, taking him toys and food. It seemed that the youngster had become a good friend to his stepbrother. She didn’t realise just how close they were until she had remonstrated with Jamie, forbidding him to visit Henry again. He had sobbed and pleaded with her and when she had coldly told him to obey her wishes, he had thrown a tantrum and Symond’s had dragged him screaming from her presence.
He had disobeyed her, nevertheless, and continued smuggling things to Henry and she had felt angry and powerless to stop him. She loved him so deeply she could not bring herself to discipline him in the way she would have with any other disobedient child. She was not about to leave him to the tender mercies of Symond’s either, a harsh and forbidding woman.
Lady Margaret turned to gaze out of the window again, the pain in her heart was so terrible and the guilt she bore so unbearable but she could not cry, she longed to see Jamie running toward her once more. She remembered that dreadful day, Symond’s had come to her early with news that Henry was missing. Somehow he had got out of his locked room during the night, there was no way down from the window, it was three stories high, no ivy or tree to clamber down. The servants were questioned but all denied any knowledge of his whereabouts or of having any hand in his escape.
Jamie was beside himself, he had gone to see Henry and when he discovered he was missing, he had searched the house from top to bottom, thinking Henry was hiding from him somewhere. He searched the gardens and the riverbank and had even questioned his mother, demanding to know where she had put his big brother. Every day he would search the house, then on that final day, he had gone to Henry’s room and leaned out of the window to see if he could see him outside. That was when he fell. One of the servants found him, lying in a pool of blood on the ground, his poor little head smashed and there was nothing to be done, he was dead.
That had been the beginning of a never ending cycle for Lady Margaret, she would gaze out of the window for hours on end, talking to herself, sometimes wandering back and forth, through the passages and up and down the staircase between the Panelled room and the Leather room. She knew the servants thought her quite mad. Eventually things had changed, the servants came and went over the years. Now the house was no longer a home, although during the days it was often crowded with many strangers.
The house had quietened down, the room steward picked up her bag and left the room. Lady Margaret turned and looked at the portrait above the door, it was of a young boy, a handsome young lad with a serious expression. It always disturbed her when she looked up at him, no matter where she was in the room, his eyes seemed to follow her. As if he was the only one who actually could see her. She often thought that this boy of about 16 years of age could be an older version of Henry, filled out and healthy. She often thought of Henry too, they had never found him and many in the village believed that she had done away with him. It was not true of course, but only she knew that for sure.
Sometimes in the long nights, as she wandered through the house, she was aware of other beings present there, but they never bothered or acknowledged her. The one thing that troubled her was the light, sometimes it would appear, a bright white light, like a tunnel. There was a figure at the other end of it, beckoning. Sometimes she was tempted to move towards it but fear always stopped her. She was afraid that retribution was awaiting her at the other end, for all her past wickedness, and most of all for her cruelty to Henry. So she would turn away and continue her endless wandering through the night and her watching during the day.
Two young women walked into the room, one of them jangling keys in her hand. They were talking and as usual, oblivious to Lady Margaret. She watched them tidy up the papers and pull down the blinds. She watched one or other of them do this each night and she knew their names, Dawn and Lindsay. She often wished she could reach out and make them see her, she longed for some human contact, she stretched out her hand to touch Dawn’s beautiful long dark hair, Dawn shivered and turned slightly. Then commenting on the chill in the room, she walked out of the room with Lindsay, locking the door behind her.
Lady Margaret sighed, She looked up at the picture again of the boy in his doublet and starched Elizabethan collar, wishing he could speak to her, and tell her what had become of Henry. Then she glided silently from the room to start her endless wandering through the rooms and passages of the house once more.
