The Midnight Peacock. Katherine Woodfine

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СКАЧАТЬ at once, hands on hips, nose in the air. ‘That’s all very well for you to say. You weren’t there. I’ll have you know I heard it myself – with my own ears!’

      Sarah and Ella, the scullery maids, were both staring at Lizzie. ‘What was it?’ Ella asked.

      Lizzie lowered her voice to an important whisper. ‘The sound of the ghost’s footsteps!’ she announced.

      ‘Oooh!’ they exclaimed together.

      ‘What did they sound like?’ gasped Sarah. Her eyes were as big and round as the plates in Her Ladyship’s best dinner service.

      ‘Loud – and echoing – and coming closer and closer by the minute! Then the most terrible chill swept over me. It was as if my blood froze! I dropped my duster and ran away as fast as my legs could carry me!’ Lizzie collapsed into a chair, as though the very memory of it would make her swoon. ‘It didn’t half make me feel peculiar!’ she finished up.

      Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘You didn’t actually see this “ghost” at all, then?’ she demanded.

      ‘I was hardly going to go looking for it, was I?’ exclaimed Lizzie indignantly. ‘Who knows what might have happened to me?’

      ‘So how can you be so sure that what you heard was a ghost? There’s bound to be a completely ordinary explanation,’ said Tilly. ‘Maybe it was mice.’

      ‘It couldn’t possibly have been mice! No mouse could have made a sound like that!’

      ‘Well, then, it was probably one of the under-footmen playing a trick. I’ll bet it was Charlie. He thought it was a great lark to put salt in William’s tea last week – remember? Pretending to be a ghost to give you a fright is just the sort of stupid thing he’d do.’

      But Lizzie shook her head. ‘It couldn’t have been a trick. That terrible chill – why, I’ve never felt anything like it in my life!’

      The other two looked awestruck, but Tilly just snorted. ‘It’s December, Lizzie. It’s cold – and the East Wing is freezing. I think that probably explains your terrible chill.’

      Lizzie turned her back on Tilly and addressed her next remarks to Ella and Sarah: ‘I s’pose you’ve heard the old story about the ghost that walks at night in the East Wing?’

      ‘No – do tell us,’ Ella urged.

      In a low voice, Lizzie began: ‘Hundreds of years ago, the old Lord who lived here at Winter Hall had a daughter that he loved like no other. She was good and sweet and as beautiful as the day. But then, on her sixteenth birthday, she fell ill and died. The old Lord went mad with grief. He locked himself up in the East Wing and never came out again.’ She paused and then went on: ‘When they finally managed to break through the doors, they found that he was dead – as dead as a doornail. And ever since then his ghost has walked up and down the long passage of the East Wing. If ever a young girl is to go alone to the East Wing at night, the ghost will lure her to her death, as vengeance for his own lost daughter,’ she finished up with a flourish.

      ‘Oh heavens! I shall never dare set foot in the East Wing again!’ exclaimed Sarah.

      ‘There’s no ghost in the East Wing,’ interrupted Tilly. ‘You ought to know better than to believe that sort of codswallop.’

      Lizzie turned on her. ‘Well, Tilly Black, if you’re so clever, then why don’t you go into the East Wing and see for yourself?’ She stared at Tilly crossly for a moment, and then added: ‘Right now – on your own. Go on – I dare you – or are you too afraid?’

      Sarah and Ella exchanged wide-eyed glances.

      ‘She doesn’t really mean it,’ said Ella after a moment. ‘It’s so late – and dark – no one would blame you if you didn’t fancy it, not after what Lizzie just told us.’

      ‘What Lizzie just told you is a pack of nonsense,’ said Tilly, getting to her feet. She was going to nip this in the bud at once – otherwise Sarah would probably keep her awake half the night having nightmares. ‘I’m not in the least bit afraid to go to the East Wing,’ she declared. ‘I can tell you for certain that I won’t find any ghosts there – but perhaps, if you’re lucky, Lizzie, I’ll be able to finish that dusting you’re in such a hurry to avoid.’

      With that, Tilly walked swiftly out of the Servants’ Hall, and into the passageway.

      Sarah came running after her. She had only been at Winter Hall for two months, and she still looked very small and unsure in her starched white apron and cap.

      ‘Tilly!’ she burst out. ‘You aren’t really going to the East Wing are you?’

      ‘I’ve said I will, and so I will,’ said Tilly crisply.

      ‘But – but – you can’t!’ exclaimed Sarah, hastening to keep up with Tilly’s longer strides. ‘There really is something funny about the East Wing, honestly there is. Old Mary told me she’d heard noises there late at night. And Jamie, the gardener’s boy, said that he’d seen lights floating around high up in the windows. Even Mrs Dawes thinks there’s something queer about it. I heard her saying so to Mr Stokes.’

      This was quite a long speech for Sarah. Tilly stopped and contemplated her for a moment. ‘They’re just rumours,’ she said, more gently. ‘The East Wing isn’t haunted. There are no such things as ghosts, Sarah.’ She added in a sharper tone: ‘And don’t start hanging about with the gardener’s boy. Mrs Dawes won’t like it.’

      ‘But how can you be sure that there are no such things as ghosts?’ Sarah persisted.

      ‘Because it isn’t scientific,’ explained Tilly, striding off again. ‘There isn’t a single spot of proof that ghosts exist, you know. I read a book all about it. All the scientists agree. Ghosts are just . . . made up.’

      ‘Well, you should at least let me come with you,’ spoke up Sarah bravely, as she scuttled along beside her. ‘You can’t go there all alone!’

      ‘Of course I can,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ve been in the East Wing at night alone dozens of times – and nothing terrible has happened to me before, has it?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but went on: ‘Anyway, you should get back to the Servants’ Hall, or Ma will be wondering where you’ve got to. I’ll be back in no time – promise.’

      At that, Sarah nodded reluctantly, and disappeared back towards the Servants’ Hall. Tilly grinned to herself. She knew Sarah wouldn’t want to risk trouble with Ma, who was Cook at Winter Hall, and ruled all the kitchen and scullery maids with a rod of iron.

      Of course, Ma wasn’t really Tilly’s mother. She’d worked that out for herself before she was five years old. It was plain as day to anyone with half a brain that they couldn’t possibly be related. Ma was small, round and rosy, with fairish hair that was always pinned back smoothly into a neat knot under her cap. Tilly, on the other hand, was tall and rather bony, with a lot of curly black hair that was a struggle to twist into anything even halfway resembling a neat knot. Her eyes were dark brown, her eyebrows were black and bushy, and her skin was brown too. It wasn’t just that she didn’t look like Ma, she stood out like a sore thumb amongst the other maids, with their blonde hair and pink and white complexions.

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