North Yorks,
Castle Mayhem,
Darling John, March 4th 1850
I have only thirty minutes to write to you before my husband returns from a day’s
shooting on the moors. I become more fearful of him day by day! He has started inspecting
and controlling my food. Yes, you may well laugh and think I am a silly girl and you my
sensible elder brother. Yesterday at dinner, he sent my food back to the kitchen, after
shouting abominably at the poor butler! The man returned, trembling, with a bowl of
watery broth. On questioning him why I should survive on broth, like a parish orphan, he
commented “You are unwell and the doctor has prescribed this for your health.” Oh, John! I
fear I will truly fall sick at his hands. Please come for a few days and see for yourself!
Your loving sister,
Maria
24TH March, 1820
65, Beadle Street,
London.
My Dear Maria,
I fear you imagine things. You are unused to the countryside and the Castle with its empty
rooms and huge park. It is very likely that this change has made you depressed and brought
on the vapours. I remember, as a child, you were often over-anxious. Sir Henry is a well –
regarded host and Master of Hounds in the county.
Remember, he is a good deal older than you and is simply concerned about your heath. I will
be honest with you, Maria; your behaviour can only appear like that of a petulant child! As
you know, I shortly sail for Calcutta to deal with problems concerning the supply of jute to
the Company. I shall write before I go. Remember, you are a married woman. You must
look to your husband for advice and counsel.
Your affectionate brother,
John
NORTH YORKS
Castle Mayhem
April 2ND 1820
Dear John,
I write this in haste and growing fear! I am now a prisoner in my room. Henry says I am
weaker and the weather up here is freezing. I fear I am developing consumption. At least I
can see the park and the moors through my window! Snow still lingers on the distant hills.
The garden looks black and dead. I stare from the window at bare branches and strange
shadows. I admit I am feeling weak. My nightdresses hang from my
shoulders and I avoid my reflection in the mirror. I stay in bed till late afternoon when my
maid helps me down to the Library. Yesterday, I began a new bitter tasting draught which
the local apothecary had concocted. It made me drowsy. I heard the stable clock strike four.
I must have been asleep for hours! When I finally went downstairs, I heard voices, loud and
angry, coming from Henry’s study! The butler was taking a tray of drinks into the room. I am
sure I glimpsed a dark-haired young woman and a grim faced, black suited man who I think
is Henry’s lawyer. Later, looking out from the library, the park was fading into darkness. Yet,
I thought I saw the woman again, riding beside Henry. They disappeared into the gloom. I
caught the sound of the thud of horses’ hooves and my husband’s ringing laughter. My maid
almost carried me back to my room which was lit by one flickering candle. In the dark
corners I felt the presence of something dark and menacing. Late at night, I hear footsteps
in the corridor outside my room.
Please John, I can feel my strength ebbing away like the evening tide. I beg you to come
before you sail for India!
Your devoted sister,
Maria
65, Beadle Street,
London
22ND April, 1820
My dearest sister,
This is a short note before I leave for Bristol to embark for India. You are becoming weaker
lying in bed so long!
Your maid can escort you on short walks round the gardens. Spring will soon be here and
the weather less inclement. The trees will be in leaf and bulbs flowering. I remain convinced
that this is nothing more than a depression of the spirits which is not uncommon in young
ladies. Ask your maid to prepare hot gruel in the morning and in the evening before you
retire. You remember, old Dr Jonson prescribed this for us as children? That of course was
before the dreadful accident to dear Mama and Papa which left me as such an inadequate
guardian of you and your fortune!
Should I write to Henry suggesting a change of diet and of scenery?
Yours,
John
Mayhem Castle
NORTH YORKS
5th May, 2022
Dearest John,
I beg you not to think of writing any such things to Henry! He has a fierce temper and will
blame me for writing to you about his private affairs. I have become afraid to confront him. I
am feeling very tired and am confined to my bed most of the time. The doctor has
prescribed some dark brown liquid which I take twice a day. Henry prepares this himself and
supervises the dose. He watches me as I take it. It has a strange taste like bitter
almonds but at least helps me to sleep!
The garden is full of tulips which stand out a bright, blood red against the pink cherry
blossom. I look out of my bedroom window, watching the sun move westwards, throwing
deep shadows as it passes. The elm trees beyond the flower beds lie in the deepest shadow
which seems to draw me in! I imagine walking into the dark shrubbery beyond. I must
mention that I now have bars across the window to shield me from the sun. At night I am
locked in. The reflection of the bars in the moonlight on the floor makes me feel a prisoner
in my own home! My maid has recently been changed. Mrs Prothero, the housekeeper now
attends me. She is a severe woman, always in black with little to say. Tomorrow, Mr Jakes
the lawyer is coming. Nothing for me to fret about, Henry says, just a couple of signatures.
I fear I may fail to stop my hand shaking but Henry assures me he will guide me. I know you
sail in a few days for India. I have such gloomy thoughts that I sometimes think I will never
see you again!
Eternal love,
Your loving sister,
Maria
YORKSHIRE POST JULY 18TH 1820
DEATHS
NEWTON MARIA CLEMENTINE
It is with deep regret that Sir Henry Newton announces
the death of his beloved wife, Maria Clementine aged
21 years, on 14th July at Mayhem Castle. RIP
5.5.2022
jakemurray137@gmail.com
Hi Jake!
You’ll never guess what’s happened! Before you make a crazy suggestion, no, I didn’t get A’s in all my final exams! You know we’ve just moved to Beadle Road in Clapham? At last, I’m getting my very own room. We’re doing an attic conversion and me and Nancy have given Dad a hand in clearing out. Guess what? Stuck between the joists, under the eaves was a dusty old strong box with JS painted on it. Dad easily forced the rusty lock. Inside was a bunch of old letters and a faded cutting from an ancient newspaper. The ink had almost faded away. The paper was brown edged and brittle! They appeared to be from this girl, Maria, to her brother. Seems she was probably murdered!!! Yeah, I know you’re thinking ‘what a load of codswallop’. But the letters are written evidence. The paper’s so thin and fragile, they must be genuine. This happened at Mayhem Castle! I know it’s near you. Maybe you can solve this mystery. You’re always reading horror etc. You could be England’s Stephen King!
PS I’ll post you the latest Stephen King- really spooky!
All the best Susie x
6.5.2022
susiemaher203@gmail.com
Hi Sus !
Sit down before you read this! I joined a guided tour of the Castle yesterday afternoon.
Usual crowd of pensioners and mums with buggies. We had all the usual crap about the
villains in the family, and hidden sliding panels and priest holes etc . I was about to drop out
and go to the café for a piece of their yummy chocolate cake, when I heard the guide
wittering on about Maria Clementine the first wife of Sir Henry Newton! We had stopped in
front of a haunting portrait of a young woman. She was, or had been, beautiful. The
desperate expression on her face was riveting! I stood looking at her sad blue eyes and
blonde ringlets for some minutes. It felt as if she was trying to contact me. When I tried to
move on, I had this weird feeling that a hand was pressing down on my head. I had to make
a real effort to walk after the group. The tour continued upstairs. Most rooms were gloomy
and dusty. One was shuttered and barred. The guide seemed in a hurry to hustle us past. I
heard her mention that a young woman had died there! I hung around while the tour
moved on. It was a hot day but the room felt suddenly very cold. I heard the door shut, but
by then I could catch the guide’s voice already on the stairs. The air too was very still, not a
breath of a draught. I’ll admit I was pretty scared.
I ran to the door, but it was locked on the outside. There was an old cupboard in one corner
of the room. Suddenly, a strange murmuring came from that direction. At the same time a
slow, regular tapping noise echoed from the cupboard. At first, when I tried to open the
wardrobe door, it refused to move. The tapping had become louder and was now
desperate. I shoved the door as hard as I could with my shoulder. The panels split and the
frame broke. At first, I found myself facing a wall of blackness but the tapping noise
continued, though rather more faintly. The space inside reached back quite a distance. I had
to crawl right into the cupboard before I could feel the back panel. By then the tapping had
become fainter and more spasmodic but still continued. It was definitely coming from
behind the wooden back. I could feel that this was probably only plywood, unlike the heavy
mahogany of the rest of the frame. By running my hand along the bottom of the plywood, I
could find where it joined the wardrobe floor. Forcing my fingers behind this join, I had
enough strength to prise the plywood away. I took out the Swiss army knife which I always
carry to work. As I opened it, the blade gleamed wickedly in the dwindling light. I then
realised this was in fact a false back. As I cut the thinner wood away, I found a wadge of
paper hidden in the space. Immediately I had the paper in my hand, the tapping faded away.
There was no electric light in the room and dusk was falling in the garden beyond
the barred windows. A row of old elm trees was already casting dark shadows across the
lawn. The room was bare, except for the cupboard whose splintered door
now hung open at a rakish angle. I perched on the broad window sill, with fading light from
the garden behind me, and unfolded the bundle of papers. The paper was yellow,
discoloured and very fragile. For all I knew it could have been hidden away for years. The ink
too had faded and the old-fashioned writing was hard to decipher in the rapidly darkening
room. I had to use the torch on my phone to make it out. I’ve since re-read it and copied it
out for you.
Mayhem Castle
North Yorks.
12th July, 1820
Dearest John,
You will probably never read this letter. It will certainly not reach you in Calcutta.
I do not trust the housekeeper, Mrs Prothero, to give it to the carrier. I’m going to hide it
away until I see Lucy, my previous servant.
You can probably see that my writing has become like Grandmama’s, quite uneven and
shaky! I am very weak now and unable to swallow more than a sip of water and my regular
dose of the curious tasting medicine. If anything, the almond taste has become stronger. I
cannot eat any food now because it makes me vomit. I have been suffering from violent
stomach pains. My headaches have become more and more unbearable. I feel like
screaming but I do not have the strength to speak, certainly not to scream. Henry rarely
comes to my room, except to supervise my medicines. I feel tired most of the time
and seem to drift off to sleep. I have recently developed a sore red rash around my mouth.
John, I have been dreaming much of dearest Mama recently. She is
often distressed, but in the dream, she is always on the far side of a wide river which I
cannot cross. I feel she is warning me in some way. Yet, I always wake up before the
message can be delivered. I pray my letter will reach you eventually.
Goodbye, my dear
The letter seemed unfinished and the ink at the end had been smudged. Perhaps Maria had
collapsed or been interrupted. I was sitting on the window ledge, looking out into the
darkening garden. The presence of this dying girl felt strangely close.
I was about to stand up. However much I tried to plant my feet on the floor, it seemed to
sink lower. Looking down, I felt as if I was perched on a narrow ledge above an ever –
deepening gorge! A tall, dark shadow seemed to be standing over me. The room was
freezing. There was suddenly a strong, sweet smell. For a moment I tried to identify it.
Christmas kept coming into my mind. Then I realised it was almonds The smell the dying girl
had recognised. At that moment the shadow loomed tall and malevolent. If I had ever
wondered what evil is, I had no doubt that it confronted me in that room. At the same
moment I felt this thing of darkness was trying to strangle me. Strong hands gripped my
neck. I felt I couldn’t breathe. I tried to throw it off. It was like wrestling with a giant eel. I
felt in my pocket for the Swiss knife. I could feel the razor- sharp blade still open. I pulled it
out and plunged the blade into what I guessed was the stomach of my attacker. There was
no sound but the shadowy figure collapsed and fell away. I ran at the main door which to
my surprise fell open easily. With my knife in one hand, the letter in the other, I half ran,
half fell down the main staircase to the ground floor.
My tour guide was just packing up. She looked somewhat surprised at my appearance.
Pushing the knife back into one pocket and the clutch of letters into the other, I hurried
past, hastily muttering some excuse about ‘getting lost upstairs’.
I wandered out into the garden where a mass of blood red tulips was still glowing in the
setting sun. They looked like a wound on the manicured grass. Suddenly, in the lengthening
shadows beyond the fiery, flowers, I heard the same strange noise which had come from the
cupboard. The pale figure of a young woman was barely distinguishable. She was gazing up
at a barred window high up in the castle. This was the Maria of the portrait and that was the
room where she had died! Her white dress made her skin the colour of wax works at a
Victorian fair. Round her mouth was a red stain. I felt she wanted to communicate
something to me. As I looked, she retreated into the darkest shadows. Only a withering
bunch of tulips lay on the grass! The colour had drained out of them as if they had bled to
death. They were reduced to a ghostly white in the lengthening shadows.
Hang on a minute, Sus. The lights have just failed. The room’s freezing. I think I can smell almonds. . .
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