Jon was in such a horrible state of mind that his heart leapt when he again saw the corridor. He rested against the far wall and rubbed his eyes with his right thumb and forefinger while taking some well-earned deep breaths.
Jon retracted his hand from his face and sighed.
Movement out of the corner of his eye, from the junction of the corridors, made him glance around. He was sure he had seen a figure moving along that corridor, left to right. He had clearly seen a shadow although he had not been able to pick out any discernible features. He did not even know if it was a man or a woman. All he saw was flowing clothes trailing behind the figure, like a dress.
His first thought was to call out. Maybe Thomas Crockley was still around, or maybe it was even Tony Speck. But some inner instinct stopped him. A dress? Or maybe a kilt?
It is important at this point to address the very real superstition that many of the staff had when working at Balmoral Castle. This superstition pertained to the ghost of a former servant of Queen Victoria named John Brown. John Brown was Queen Victoria’s favourite servant – in fact, some even said that she was in love with him. Their exact relationship was a matter of speculation, but Brown received preferential treatment, a badge of honour, and even a statue of himself at Balmoral. No one else approved of the relationship, even years after the fact, with Edward VII trying to expunge Brown from history, destroying every mention of him. Others managed to save the statue, however, by compromising with the King to move it to a secluded area on the grounds. Maybe it was saved to please Brown’s spirit, as it is said that Brown still inhabits the castle, with every monarch since having tales of sightings. Even Eric had seen him a few times, saying that he was unmistakable with his bushy neckbeard and constant kilt.
John Brown was Jon’s very next thought as he stood there in the corridor. He usually wouldn’t abide such a notion. He had never seen Brown’s apparition himself, and did not believe in it, but his nerves were fried and it was simply that kind of day.
A chill went through him as he ignored his instinct to go back to the visitor’s study. He walked towards the junction where he saw the flowing figure. He must catch up to this unknown entity – if only to prove it wasn’t Brown. He got to the junction as quickly as his legs and his gut would allow and moved into the next hall without another thought. The hallway was empty, but it was a small one that ended in the entrance hall and the staircase up to the bedrooms. If he listened closely, he could hear footfalls on the stairs and, yes, a creak. Whoever this figure was, they were going upstairs.
Jon broke into a bizarre kind of skip – both to minimise any sound he himself would make and to alleviate any pain he might cause on his poor legs. He met the staircase and started up it, just as the figure seemingly completed it. The stag mounted on the wall watched him with interest. He heard the footsteps quieten as the figure progressed down the hall towards the bedrooms. Jon was up the staircase faster than he had thought possible of himself, and as he reached the summit, he looked the way of the figure and caught sight of a flick of something turning a corner. He was too late again, as he still was not able to see who it was – but his conviction was firm. He was not merely chasing a ghost – someone was stalking the halls.
Jon followed and rounded the last corner to see –
Nothing. An empty hall with doors to the many bedrooms. The hall was long, with no way that anyone, no matter how spritely, could have gotten to the end and turned the corner before Jon got there. But there were the doors.
The separate bedrooms were laid out as such – on one side there was the King’s, Marjorie’s, and Emeline’s, and on the other side there was Maud’s, Matthew’s, Martin’s, Crockley’s, and lastly, David’s. Jon listened closely to hear nothing.
He went to Crockley’s door and knocked.
‘Who is it?’ Crockley shouted from within. ‘I have a gun, you know. I’ll shoot you.’
Jon highly doubted he had a gun.
‘It’s me – Jonathan,’ Jon said through the door. ‘I am just checking you got to your room alright.’
‘Oh, chef, yes, I’m fine thank you.’
‘No cause for alarm at all, but you weren’t just out in this corridor, were you?’
‘No,’ Crockley said, ‘I have just gotten into bed.’
‘Of course, sir, sorry for disturbing you.’
Jon retreated and then a tremendous rattling came from the doorknob of the next room to the left. It was the stuff of a horror film, but he would not be fazed. He went to the door and reached out for the handle, and to his surprise, it stopped. Jon cursed John Brown, then all of a sudden the door opened and Jon stepped back in terror as the ghost revealed itself.
The old man was startled too. ‘Butler? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Dear God, you aren’t here to murder me, are you?’ David stood there, defiant as ever. Jon was so disoriented (was the old Prince quick enough to traverse the corridors at the rate the figure had?) that he almost missed the man slip something into the lining of his kilt. His kilt – he must have been the figure.
‘No, sir, I am not . . . Were you just out here?’
David’s brow furrowed. ‘Well, given that I am now in here, yes, being out there was a necessity.’
‘You have not heard anyone else in this hall?’
‘Yes, there is a rather annoying servant in the hall at the moment.’
‘And everyone else is still in the drawing room?’
David laughed. ‘Well yes, I suppose so. Apart from that oaf Crockley, who said he was going for a siesta. So don’t look at me like that when others are shirking your rules too.’
‘I’m not . . . I . . . Thomas is not feeling well. He asked permission to go to . . . Will you please return to the drawing room, sir?’
‘No, butler. I was just coming to get you anyway.’ Jon evidently was blank, as David delighted in explaining. ‘I am tired of waiting like a criminal in the stocks. If I must be executed, I have the right to ask you to bloody well get on with it. So I am next on your list.’
Jon could not argue, and besides, he would have to get to David eventually, no matter how much he didn’t want to. ‘Yes, of course, sir.’ He was still preoccupied with thinking on the figure he had seen and sizing it up to David’s frame.
‘Well then,’ David said, stepping out into the hall proper and making a show of closing his door behind him, ‘shall we?’ Without waiting for answer, the aged Prince started back down the hall – slowly but purposefully.
Jon followed, but not before one final look at the empty corridor. Damn that John Brown!