Always interested in the comings and goings of his new neighbours, he accompanied his friend John Stebbings, a local farmer, to the cattle market in Chipping Bevington to experience for himself the commercial realities of the men among whom he now lived. It was there that he met a beguiling and beautiful young woman named Charlotte Dunnett. Her father owned land near the town and she, similarly, attended the cattle market to learn more about her father’s tenants so that she might one day take over the management of his estate. So popular was she that few ever questioned her ambitions and she was a welcome and regular sight at the cattle market.
Sir Samuel soon managed to get himself introduced to the young woman. By and by their shy meetings at the cattle market grew to courtship and before summer’s end they were engaged to be married.
His forthcoming marriage sealed Sir Samuel’s resolve to make his home in England after all his years of wandering the Empire and he made arrangements to spend several days in London settling all his affairs. He knew that life with a woman as sparkling and wilful as Charlotte would never be predictable but he was determined that, whatever other adventures they might have, their financial future would be as secure as he could make it.
He travelled to London by train on Monday the 27th of October, intending to return two weeks later when everything was settled. He took rooms at Claridge’s and spent an enjoyable few days going through papers with his solicitor by day and dining with old friends and companions by night.
He returned to his hotel on the Thursday evening, the 30th, to find a telegram waiting for him that had been delivered earlier that day. It told him that Charlotte had gone for her morning ride as usual but had fallen from her horse and now lay gravely ill at her father’s house. Sir Samuel, said the telegram, was to come at once. He left hurried instructions for his belongings to be packed and sent on, settled his bill and took a hansom to Paddington. He managed to catch the last train to Bristol but by the time he arrived there was no connecting train north to Chipping Bevington and so he roused a local cabman and hired a brougham to take him the 20 miles to Charlotte.
The journey seemed interminably long and Sir Samuel fidgeted and fretted as the carriage made its way along the Gloucester Road. At length he arrived at the Dunnetts’ house but even as he hurried inside he knew he was too late. He was met in the hallway by Charlotte’s father who managed to tell him in a broken voice that Charlotte had died from her injuries less than half an hour before.
Following the funeral Sir Samuel returned to his Gloucestershire home and was seldom seen. His many friends paid visits but his door remained bolted and their concerned letters of friendship and comfort went unanswered. By the end of November the local police were persuaded that something was amiss and broke into his home where they discovered his body, the service revolver with which he had ended his life still clutched in his hand.
One year later, on the anniversary of Charlotte’s death, shopkeepers on Chipping Bevington High Street reported being awoken in the early hours of the morning by loud noises as though a carriage had clattered through the streets at enormous speed. One witness reported seeing “a jet black brougham” drawn by “a fiery horse” heading in the direction of the Dunnetts’ farm and local legend claims to this day that on the night before Halloween, the ghost of Sir Samuel Lagthorpe races through Chipping Bevington, desperately trying to reach his beloved Charlotte.
Neither of us spoke for a few moments; the only sounds were the crackle of the fire, the soft ticking of the hall clock and the tapping of the wind-blown rain against the windows. The shutters were still open and I’d not yet drawn the curtains.
There was a sudden blinding flash of lightning as it struck a tree a little way down the lane, and the almost simultaneous explosion of thunder gave us both such a start that I dropped the book and we both yelped in surprise. A gust of wind blew sparks from the fire.
And then, of course, came the inevitable laughter.
‘Crikey,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘That was a close one.’
‘It’ll be the ghost of Sir Samuel, cursing you for not believing in him,’ I said.
‘Without a doubt,’ she said, still chuckling. ‘I recant my sceptical ways and shall hie me to a séance at the earliest possible opportunity.’
‘It’s funny you should say that, my lady.’
‘No,’ she said, firmly.
Daisy the barmaid had buttonholed me one day during the previous week as I walked past the pub on my way to do a little shopping. She was standing outside the pub in the road, appraising the effect of the large poster she had just put in the window.
‘Morning, Miss Armstrong,’ she had said. ‘What do you reckon?’
I looked at the neatly-painted poster. “An Evening with Madame Eugénie, England’s Foremost Medium and Psychic.”
‘Good morning, Daisy,’ I said. ‘It looks intriguing. When is it?’
‘When is…? Oh, blow it. I forgot to put the day on.’ She seemed to find this terribly amusing. ‘I’d forget me own head if it weren’t nailed on. Monday. Next Monday. Do you think you and your mistress might come along?’
‘I can certainly ask,’ I had said. ‘I’d love to come along myself, that’s for certain. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Right you are,’ she had said cheerfully. ‘It’d be lovely to have our local dignitaries here.’
I laughed at this. ‘Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud not good enough for you these days?’ I said.
‘Oh, they’s charming and all,’ she said. ‘But they a’n’t got that air of glamour like you has.’
I laughed again. ‘I shall endeavour to persuade Lady Hardcastle to bring her air of glamour, then. But even if she is otherwise engaged, I shall be there myself. I would love to meet a medium.’
But Lady Hardcastle had been less than impressed. Until now. I sensed a weakening of her resolve.
‘Oh, go on,’ I said. ‘Daisy does so want us to go.’
‘I refuse to sit around a table at The Dog and Duck in the pitch black while some charlatan talks to her spirit guide in a silly voice and rattles the china.’
‘Spoilsport,’ I said.
‘Seriously? You really want to go?’
‘Well…’
She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Oh, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,’ she said at length. ‘And we could do with an evening out; we seem to have been cooped up in here for days.’
I grinned.
‘You and your silly shows,’ she said with another chuckle. ‘The circus I can understand, and the musical theatre… just. But this…? Still, I suppose there’s no harm in it.’
‘This isn’t a silly show,’ I said, defiantly. ‘Madame Eugénie is one of the best mediums in the country. And she’s clairvoyant, too. Daisy said she’ll do a private reading for a shilling.’
‘A shilling!’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’m in the wrong line of business.’
‘Give her the shilling and she’ll be able to tell you what line of business you should be in.’ I decided not to mention the money I’d already paid for two tickets for the séance.
She laughed. ‘All right, pet, I’ll strike a bargain with you. If Madame Eugénie can tell me a single thing about me that she couldn’t have picked up from the newspapers or from village gossip, I’ll give you a shilling as well.’
‘Done,’ I said.
‘But if I get even a trace of ectoplasm on my new dress, you can clean it up and I’m taking the money back.’
‘It has occurred to you that I’d be cleaning it anyway?’ I said.
She harrumphed and we returned to our books.