“Look at the rotting white cloth!” Cecily bent down to peer at it closely.
The ghost swayed as it hovered above them. The veil rocked, and a strange wailing filled the cavern. So loud, it caused dirt to fall in large clumps from the ceiling.
Then the white lady vanished.
“We need to get out now,” Harry yelled.
As they ran for the door, Cecily dragged in a gulp of stale air, desperately wanting to see the sky and smell the clean, fresh spring woodland again.
They left the chamber and kept up the fast pace. “Was it Lady Margaret, do you think?” Cecily cried.
“Whoever it was deserves a proper burial. The authorities must be informed. The local magistrate and the church will want to know about this,” Harry gasped out as they sprinted along the passage.
“Yes,” Cecily felt the gritty soil from his fingers through her gloves as he clutched her hand. Had they helped the white lady?
Horrible shrieks and moaning echoed through the passages. “What the devil! Run, Cecily.”
They passed through several doors and then stopped. “Did we turn right here?” Harry wheezed out.
“I’m not sure!” Cecily’s voice almost gave out. She couldn’t think, and her knees threatened to give way. The cries and moans had grown louder and more menacing. She couldn’t face the fact they might have lost their way, that they might have to retrace their steps. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop adding her frantic screams to the howling around them. They must not draw attention to themselves. But how foolish. You couldn’t hide from ghosts. At that thought, a whimpering cry escaped her lips.
Harry cast her a worried look and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”
She wished she could believe him. The light was dimming, and she could just make out his face, and his voice sounded hollow and unsteady. He would be every bit as frightened as her.
The way ahead looked unfamiliar, although there was nothing to differentiate one cavern from the next. “Are we lost?” she gasped out, fearing his answer. The stale air pressed against her, and she feared she would suffocate.
Harry selected the right fork after the passage divided in two. “This must lead somewhere,” he said grimly.
It didn’t. It ended in a stone wall.
“The passages all look the same,” Cecily wailed.
Forced to retrace their steps, they entered the tunnel on the left.
This time a door at the end led them into the torture chamber. Cecily’s chest hurt, and she almost sank to her knees with relief. “We’re alright now. I know the way back,” Harry said, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder.
Their noisy breaths almost blotted out the moaning which barreled along the tunnels behind them. When they came upon the twisting stairs, they scurried up them like moles seeking daylight.
At the top, they scurried back into the ruined mansion.
“What the devil?” Harry murmured.
The beautiful strains of violins swelled around them.
“There must be people here!” Cecily said joyfully.
They hurried toward the sound. It drifted out from the great hall.
Music and a buzz of conversation met them at the arched doorway. The great hall was alight, the roaring fire in the hearth burning brightly and casting a warm glow over the guests. It now appeared as it must have several hundred years ago. The ceiling decorative plaster, the elegant fireplace veined marble, the walls covered with tapestries, mirrors, and gilt-edged oil paintings. It was now filled with chattering guests.
“Something’s wrong,” Harry said. “This isn’t real.”
“Look!” Cecily clutched his arm. No one took the slightest interest in them. In their fine satins and silks, people danced a minuet, the women’s jewels sparkling. The music was played by musicians on a dais. Guests attended by servants sat on satin sofas and gilt-edged chairs, drinking wine in fine glasses. A massive chandelier alight with hundreds of candles sent dancing lights over elaborately coiffed heads.
A beautiful woman in a white gown danced with a handsome gentleman, while another woman wearing blue stood watching them, with a fan clutched in her fingers. Cecily could sense the malevolence in her still form.
“That must be Lady Margaret,” Cecily whispered to Harry.
