Page 48 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“The necklace was surely lovely,” she said. “Unfortunately, I never learned to play music or even sing. Your Lenore sounds like an accomplished woman.”
“She was very accomplished.”
“Did you have children also?”
“Nay. We were not blessed.”
Jamison listened to the conversation carefully, preparing to step in and steer it in another direction, but his head was swimming with fever and he had been fighting off a coughing spell for the last few minutes. Any talking would only bring about the terrible cough and he was trying to avoid that, so he let Havilland speak to the Northman of his dead wife even though it probably wasn’t the best subject for them to discuss. He was coming to wonder if the man was delusional because the first words out of his mouth when they had entered the hall was of Lenore. He had been asking for the woman. Nay, this probably wasn’t the best subject for them to discuss at all and he knew he had to step in. Before he could interrupt their conversation, however, Havilland spoke.
“You asked for Lenore when we entered the keep,” she pointed out. “I thought you might have mistaken us for a daughter named Lenore but if you have no children, why did you ask if Lenore had come?”
Jamison rolled his eyes at her question. If his wife wanted to upset the man, then that was surely the way to do it. Havilland was honest and curious to a fault, but sometimes she lacked tact.
“Havi,” he murmured. “Mayhap the man has his reasons. ’Tis not for ye tae ask him such things.”
Havilland looked at Jamison, instantly contrite. “I am sorry,” she said quickly, looking between her husband and the host. “I did not… forgive me, my lord, for I did not mean to pry. I was simply curious.”
The host looked at her, his old eyes glimmering in the firelight. “I called her name because I hold out hope after all of these years she will return to me,” he said. “I told you she is gone, and she is. She left many years ago. I have not seen her since.”
Havilland was trying not to look too shocked. “Gone?” she repeated. “She just… left?”
“Havi,” Jamison hissed. “Dunna press the man.”
She looked up at him, contrite again because she didn’t realize she was being nosy, but the host waved Jamison off.
“She is not pressing me,” he assured him. “Lenore left me a long time ago. I keep expecting her to return to me and I suppose that is why I called her name when you entered. My kinsmen left these shores a very long time ago and I remained because I cannot bear to leave Lenore. She is here, somewhere. Mayhap she will return someday and if she does, I must be here.”
It was a sad and tragic tale. Jamison gave his wife a reproachful expression, suggesting she shouldn’t dredge up such terrible memories with a man upon whose hospitality they were depending, and she took the hint. Havilland wanted to ask more questions but she didn’t. Something seemed so sad and forlorn about the man now and she suspected it was her fault with her curious questions. Lowering her gaze, she returned her focus to the fire.
“I am very sorry for you, my lord,” she said. “I pray she shall return to you one day.”
The old Northman grunted. “As do I.”
Further conversation was precluded as the raven screeched and flew down from its perch up in the shadows of the dark room. As Havilland turned, startled because of the bird, she saw the old servant shuffling in with a tray of food and drink. Jamison heard it, too, and turned as the old man placed the heavy tray on the table, trying to keep it from sliding down the listing side. The big black bird was on the floor now, hopping along behind the servant, bobbing about nosily.
The bird gurgled and chirped, wandering around as the old servant carefully removed the contents of the tray and set them upon the leaning table. Havilland looked up at Jamison, waiting for him to indicate they could move to the table and eat, but Jamison remained where he was, watching the bird and the old servant. Before the old servant could get away, he held out a hand to stop the man.
“Ye, there,” he said to the servant. Then, he pointed to the table with the food upon it. “Ye will take a drink of the wine before ye go.”
The old servant’s face screwed up in both confusion and fear. “Me?” he stammered. “What would ye have me do?”
Jamison moved towards the old man. “I just told ye,” he said. “Taste the wine and food before ye go. Do it now to show me ye didna poison it.”
The old servant recoiled, his frightened gaze moving to his master, who was still gazing into the fire. In fact, the host hadn’t moved at all, not even in reaction to Jamison’s demand. It could have very well been construed as an insult. Jamison, however, was losing patience.
“Do as I say,” he said, putting a hand on the old servant’s shoulder and shoving him towards the table. “Taste the food before ye go. If ye dunna, I’ll know ye poisoned it and I’ll kill ye.”
The old man was clearly terrified. He shuffled back over to the table, picking up a steaming wooden cup and holding it to his trembling lips. He took a drink, set it down, and went for the other cup. After he took a sip and set that one down, Jamison broke off a piece of the stale bread and forced him to eat it. The old servant did, choking it down, before Jamison handed him a piece of the white, very dry cheese. There was blue mold all over one side of it.
Mold or not, the old servant swallowed everything as he’d been ordered. Satisfied that the wine wasn’t poisoned, Jamison silently ordered the old servant away and beckoned Havilland away from the hearth. Hastily, she rose to her feet and quickly went to the table, taking the cup of hot wine her husband offered. She drank deeply as Jamison took his own wine, feeling the hot beauty of it course down his sickly throat.
With the lure of hot drink and food, Jamison and Havilland forgot about their sad, peculiar host for a few minutes. They were reasonably dry and even if the food was stale and terrible, it was still something. Jamison used his knife to cut the blue fuzz from the cheese, giving Havilland the best parts of it while he ate her scraps. Havilland tried to share the good portions with him but he pretended not to be very hungry. She knew it was a noble lie but she didn’t argue with him. She did, however, pour her hot wine into his cup when he wasn’t looking. He was drinking his rather quickly and, being sick, she knew he needed it much more than she did.
Tap, tap, tap….
Odd knocking sounds could be heard about the chamber and Havilland, mouth full of cheese, looked around to see where they were coming from. She noticed that the bird was gone, having wandered off into the darkness again. The wind seemed to be howling stronger than before now, for she could hear it up on the roof, singing through the holes and gaps of the derelict old castle.
Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap….
