Lady Dorset (revisited 5)

   Claire was looking for possible  great deals on her favorite internet fashion site when she was distracted by a bird landing on their window sill, a window affording a magnificant view of Central Parc from their West Side condo on the fifteenth floor of their building.        
   ''I'm tired, dear. I am bored'' she said while she purchased a vanilla  Irish print  sweater and brown pants  plus a few trinkets to go with. An extra pearl necklace and a stylish watch never hurt either.        
   Denis, at his own desk and verifying  the status of  his investments , was  used to this and just answered the ususal ''yes, darling', shall we go to the Hamptons for the week-end?''        
   She tapped a few keys  to take a look at some of those amazing properties, castles, actually, for sale in Europe.  Some in France were bought relatively cheap by arabian sheiks as investments.  Indeed one had never even set foot in France, not even since his purchase.        
   She was looking for something relatively smaller and surrounded by thousands of acres of land and forests. Her search, somewhat by chance , just clicking and clicking on various sites including Sotheby's and fingers ready to click some more when she stopped.        
   ''Come  and see this, please''.        
   Denis stood up, came to her side and took a peak at Harrington Hall, a place described as  being an excellent choice for a  fixer-upper.        
   ''Dorset, dear.  Are you sure?' Quite a cultural shock from Manhattan, don't you think?''        
   ''Oh, don't be so negative as ususal, sweets. It's not as if we were  intending to travel to the South Pole.  Besides, jetting from here to there is a matter of mere hours when you want to come back for a repast at Chez Pierre.  Plus we would be staying there, I propose, for only a season or two and be here for the Holidays  with your family''.        
   His wife was his treasure and he never said no to her.  Thus, e-mails were exchanged with the representatives of the  Harrington succession, a family who had moved to  London and away from bad memories having to do with the Harrington Hall and it  being haunted and all decades ago.        
   A good bargainer,  Claire was even successful at getting a  slight drop in the price demanded.        
   At the other end, the agent smiled in his beard, happy to be finally  rid of this monster, a pain on his back and  on his desk for years. Mr John A. Marlowe, for that was the agent's name, was happy to meet them at  the private airfield and once all the formalities taken care of, he suggested they take time to rest and spend  the night at the only hotel in town. Claire appreciated the offer and after their rented Range Rover was loaded with their belongings, they followed him to town and the King's hotel, a rather comfortable one for the tired bones.          
   ''Rustic'' said Denis, being show to their  second floor suite.        
   ''Yes, with all the commodities. Hey, they even have wifi''.        
   They took time for a sort of of R an R, Rest and get Refreshed,  then went for a walk.  They stopped in front of a restaurant offering blood sausage and stargazy pie, decided it was not for them but later made a stop at The Taproom for tea and delicious Bath Bun pastries.        
   Mr Marlowe arrived early the next morning to lead them to their final destination and their new residence, a twenty minute drive through flat lands and then mountains and greenery. Then, all of a sudden, as if the  Heavens opened, a clearing and their home for the next few months stood in all its splendor, or rather in all its decrepitude.        
   Denis wanted to get back to the Rover and leave, but a glance from Claire and he changed his mind.  She was more upbeat as they grabbed their luggages and walked up the stairs  to the  impressive oak doors.  Key in, turn of the lock.  A squeak, but nothing out of the ordinary. A lot of dust but at least everything from couches and chairs was covered with white cloths.        
   A quick tour of the mansion was enough for them to see that the place would not be habitable for a bit, especially with the state of the electrical work. So he called mr  Marlowe and  had arrangements made to have a mobile home delivered to the site as soon as possible.  In the meantime they would have to rough it or go back and forth to town.        
   The were occupied making the drawing room presentable when they heard a car pull. A lady stepped out.        
   ''Hello. I am your neighbor.  Janice Dorset Thomson. You are the new owners?''        
   ''Yes, hello. Nice to meet you. I am Claire, this is my husband Denis''.        
   They shook hands.  ''Do not be afraid to come over if you have problems or questions. We are up the road, ten miles out, but you miss our place''. As she was about to  take her leave, she added:  ''oh and don't worry about those silly tales about this place being haunted''.        
   ''What do you mean''?        
   ''Just that many incidents and accidents have happened here almost a hundred years ago.  It's not because a person slips and hits her head on a cabinet that the place is haunted, you know.  Well, I must go.  You have my mobile number, if in need.  Good luck and stay in touch''.        
   Going back in they explored some more.  First floor, to the right and first door to the left. Wow. Not only locked, but totally boarded up.        
   ''Somebody sure doesn't want whatever evil is in there to come out''.        
   ''Ha ha. You're so funny, dear.''.        
They turned around, went down the corridor at the end of which was this wonderful stained glass window.  They tested the door of the room on the left,  which opened readily, revealing a huge bedroom with stained glass windows as well, on two sides.        
   ''This almost looks like a converted chapel'' Claire said, to which Denis agreed with a nod. ''Our bedroom for the night?''        
   Their choice made they walked back down to have a look at the library.  Wall to wall books to the ceiling, a huge  terrestrial globe in one  corner which took Denis' interest as Claire was  more taken by the small sort of agenda on the table next to the Queen Anne chair.        
   ''Look at this. Descriptions of mandrake plants, atropa, datura.  Mye, mye. Are we in the house of a witch?''        
   ''Don't be absurd.  The persons living here were readers.  This is just one subject among many''.        
   Not minding him, she kept reading what seemed to be more of the journal of a  certain Lara and a relative who lived in the nearby forest.        
   They spent a wonderful  evening in the library, Denis having managed   to get a fire going in the fireplace, bringing warmth and chacing humidity away.        
   It is as they went back upstairs getting resdy for bed, that Claire took a closer look at the  small painting on the wall in the corridor. A lady holding a daffodil.        
   She was stunned. ''I could have sworn she was holding a rose''.        
   ''The lights tricked you, most likely''        
   The next day, Denis was pleased when the mobile home was delivered. Their hedquarters-to-be.  Contractors would also be coming  over as a lot of work needed to be done, inside as well as outside.        
   It was as she walked from her bedroom down the hall to have a look at the opposite end, which also  had a lovely stained glass window, that she felt a breeze coming from the baricaded room.  She went to find her husband.        
   ''I don't like this, dear.  I'd feel better if we went in there, cleaned the room and got rid of the mystery''.        
   As the door was locked and there was no key to be found, Denis made use of his hammer.  Wood splintered. the door was broken down and they entered. And they were shocked.  Claire called mrs Dorset-Thomson, who was pleased to explain: "A most terrible story.  Over a hundred years ago, Lord Harrington was killed in his bed by his sister-in-law. Sarah Mayfair.  Sarah was rather deranged, but Lord Harrington kept her with his family at the request of his wife Jane.  One day Jane disappeared without a trace. He said she wanted to go to the city.  No further explanations.  Sometimes after that, Sarah came to his room late one night and stabbed him to death.  She was taken to Bath and he was  buried in the local cemetary''.        
   This was too disturbing. They took everything outside, put it on a pyre, Denis even having ripped all the wall panels, some still stained with blood and all was burned.        
   They were able to rest peacefully.        
   Until one  evening when they were in the library, relaxing, sipping a glass of sherry when claire heard a sort of  woooosh, seemingly another sort of draft and she thought she heard ''he killed me''.        
   ''Did you shut the windows?''        
   ''Yes dear'' he replied as he let his fingers roam over the globe, finally setting on Rome as a possible next destination. Rome caved in.  They heard a click and a section of bookshelves slid open, revealing a stairway leading to the  bottom.  Intrigued,  they took the flashlight and  went down where they found a sort of Ali Baba cave with an explorer's treasures. A lot of bric-à-brac of accumulated this and that.  And a big travelling case which, curiosity helping, they opened.        
   More shock.  Skull and bones.  denis immediately called the police.        
   Inspector Paddington  later arrived with a full team.  the coffer and remains  were taken away for analysis and, eventually,  a murder was solved,  those being the remains of the former Lady Jane Harrington.        
   Claire was not phased-out in the least and was determined to stay now that all the mystery was over.        
   Until one night, walking by the room in which Lord Harrington had been killed and was now but an empty room with a small  settee  and   a  table with a vase of flowers on it, she felt a draft and heard a different voice whispering   ''He killed me''.