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The evening had been comely, with the two men happy to entertain the pair of obliging women. Though Fritz said very little, his face alone harkened back to Green’s Shore, which offered Ethel an odd source of contentment. Aloysius and Beulah bickered like age old friends, while moths fluttered amongst the kerosene lanterns, and the horses whinnied and swatted at the occasional fly that wandered up their flanks.
“It’s nice to have you two here,” Al said before taking a hearty pull from his flask. “The Hall can be a lonely thing when Mr. Arsenault’s away, and though it’s new, it creaks and groans like an old girl.”
“I’m a tad surprised they haven’t hired a butler,” Beulah said, leaning back on a wicker rocking chair as Fritz blew a puff of smoke to waft out from the barn. “With a household as large as Eden Hall, it’s unfathomable to think the lady should do it all herself.”
Al shrugged and scratched the nape of his neck. “The servants during the day make do, and Mr. Arsenault takes care of our wages well in advance.”
“Have you ever heard the house at night, Mr. Carlow? Groan or... creak, I mean?”
Beulah frowned and made a curt noise of disapproval at Ethel’s question. Aloysius smiled, leaning forward with a glance at Fritz, who sat with his back against the stable door and his feet upon a stool.
“Stories,” the old man said, his cap tipped down over his eyes and his pipe but a twig amidst the brambles of his coarse, curly beard. “Always one for stories, Ethel is.”
“That right?” Al replied, rubbing at the sides of his mouth to smooth the hint of beard that had been sprouting. “Well, I suppose I can’t say I’ve personally experienced anything supernatural, but I’ve heard stories from the maids.”
“A hobby of yours, it seems,” Beulah muttered with a glance sideways. “If only you worked as much as you prattled on.”
Aloysius laughed but said nothing to further fuel the ornery Beulah Murphy. “Eden Hall is young,” he began, looking up at Ethel as his arms dangled across his knees and his hands clasped the flask of gin. “It was commissioned by your father, as you know, but though it’s new, its bones are old.”
“How so?” Ethel asked, her heartbeat beginning to race.
“The wood that was used to build it came from a shipyard, and the story goes that some of the lumber was from a vessel that had crashed when Point Prim lighthouse was out of commission.”
Beulah turned back, the creak of her chair the only indication that she had been listening. “I’m not sure this story is—”
Ethel shook her head. “No. I want to hear it, Beulah”
Al nodded. Beulah was silent.
Ethel gestured for him to continue.
“Well, as the girls inside told it, there was a sailor ’board the ship that perished, but his body was never found. I’ve heard rumour that it was the captain of the ship, which is why Eden Hall is disturbed some nights with whispers and groans.”
“You think he haunts the Hall?”
“Ethel, that’s silly...”
Aloysius leant back, swatting at a moth that was drawn to a lantern overhead. “Not sure,” he shrugged. “Though the maids thought so. We don’t like to say too much about it, what with Miss Dolly being alone here all the time, but she’s never mentioned anything, and it makes for a good bedtime story.”
“Probably because it’s all foolish.” Beulah interrupted, standing and correcting her skirts before turning towards the house. “Nothing but a foolish yarn to disrupt your dreams, Miss Ethel.”
Aloysius chuckled, watching as the serving woman ushered Ethel from her seat.
“Had no mind to scare you, Miss Murphy. If you find yourself a fright, I’ll fight off the phantoms for ya. Me and Fritz’ll be out here all night with the horses if you get afraid.”
Fritz was already dozing with his head tucked back and eyes closed beneath his cap. Ethel didn’t think Fritz would be much for warding off ghosts, but despite the fears budding in her chest, she watched and smiled as a crimson hue filled Beulah’s cheeks.
“Let’s go, Miss Ethel,” Beulah said with a shake of her head, as though it was enough to ward off her abashment. “We’ve spent more than enough time with this scoundrel as it is.”
Ethel could hear the deception in Beulah’s words, and she thought Mr. Carlow could as well, because he laughed and offered a liquor salute at their departure. Ethel could sense a growing fondness between them despite their bickering but didn’t pull away as Beulah led them both back towards the house.
“Pay no mind to them. Too much gin and whiskey.”
The house was dark when they entered the foyer, and even the stained-glass windows that framed the doors were unable to shed any moonlight onto the oaken floor and sycamore staircase that led upstairs.
“I left the lamp in the stables,” Ethel admitted, looking up at the gas piping along the ceiling. She thought about lighting the chandelier, but figured the glow would disturb Dolly who was probably already abed. “Should we go and retrieve it?”
Beulah shook her head. “I’ve no wish to go back to the stables and smell the horses. Just hang on to me,” she chuckled, “surely together we can fumble our way upstairs.”
They had made the first landing with minimal effort, though the width of Miss Beulah’s hips had caused Ethel to knock the side of the banister more than once. Both women were trying to be quiet, though the creaking of the stairs and the fumbling of their skirts hailed their way like a town crier. They hadn’t yet reached the second floor when Ethel paused, shot through the belly with fear.
A shadow the size of a man stood like a tomb at the top of the stairs. Watching them. Its appearance was followed by a woman’s voice. “W-who—Ernest?!”
Beulah nearly toppled and would have fallen if not for Ethel’s tenuous hold. All three women shrieked in unison, their shouts enough to rattle the windows before silence filled the hall.
Dolly was before them, dressed in a robe, her hair askew. Her eyes were wide, and just barely perceptible as she caught her breath and wandered down a single stair to confront them.
“Ethel? Beulah! What are you doing this time of night?”
Ethel was holding her chest and ignoring the litany of Irish curses that were being whispered by the woman beside her. “Dolly! We’re—I thought you were...” Ethel let out a laugh of relief. “I’m sorry. We were outside with Fritz and Al. I forgot the lantern.”
“If I were an older woman, I’d need a new pair of bloomers,” Beulah huffed, marching onward as Dolly let the two women pass onto the second floor hall. They could faintly see the candlelight pouring from the stairs leading up towards the third floor bedroom, and Dolly’s heaving bosom.
“I thought you were a burglar!” she hollered.
“I’m so sorry, Dolly. We didn’t mean to wake you. We were trying to be quiet—” A scuttle from upstairs caused her to pause, and Ethel glanced towards the stairs and master bedroom above.
“Is—”
Dolly pursed her lips, folding her arms and wrapping her robe tighter as she glanced over one shoulder. “It’s just Ernest. I didn’t want to wake him.” She turned her head toward the master bedroom and said, “Go to sleep, Darling, it’s only Ethel and Beulah!”
“When did he get back? I didn’t hear a carriage ride up,” Beulah asked before Ethel could.
“A little while ago. He’s had... a bit to drink, so...”
“So, he sent his wife down to check for a burglar?”
Dolly blinked, unaccustomed to being questioned so bluntly by a maid. The older woman however, looked more offended on Dolly’s behalf as she stared daggers up towards the staircase. Seeming to sense this, Mrs. Arsenault held up her hands, and smiled to diffuse the tension. “He’s overly tired, is all. Carousing is a part of business, and he’s been up to his ears in it for the last few days. The gin has gotten the better of him.”
“Well, you are sick as well.”
“I’m feeling much better, though I think a good night’s rest would warrant a happier day come tomorrow.”
Ethel nodded and made sure to squeeze Beulah’s arm as she tugged her towards their chambers. “For all of us, I think. We are sorry to disturb you, Dolly. Have a good night?”
“I shall. Goodnight, ladies. Sleep well.”
“Sleep well,” Ethel agreed as she crept down the hall to her room. She felt a cramping in her stomach, and a rush between her legs as she parted ways with Beulah and sat upon her bed. Her mirth was gone and Ethel winced at the pain of her monthly cycle before pressing her palms to the flat plane of her stomach. The stories of the shipyard captain fed her thoughts, as well as the phantom of a man she swore she’d seen atop the stairs.
Was he watching her, even after she changed and went to bed? In the drape of the curtains and from the shadows on the wall and floor, she saw him. Then she heard more thumps from upstairs as though within the house itself he dwelt.
She fell asleep to the sound of scratching, like a bough upon the door...
