Angel on my Shoulder Page 6

  “This is not from a bullet or should I say musket ball.

  It doesn’t look right to me.” Although I recall seeing something similar on a couple of wounded Royal Engineers. Our sappers had been tunnelling under German lines. Unexpectedly they had broken through into an enemy deep underground shelter where they had encountered German sappers. The men had been fighting with each other with the only weapons on hand, shovels. The survivors of the encounter had wounds in similar places on their bodies. But this slash on the French soldier’s uniform was not caused by a shovel. After examining it for a while longer it dawns on me. I exclaim with triumph. “Aha! I believe I am able to identify the damage. Got it, I bet it’s the result of a sword blow.”

  Excitedly I draw her attention to the coat. “Look! Denise. He must have been on foot at the time he was attacked. I reckon his assailant was mounted. A cavalry sabre brought down at this angle from above would cause this wound.” I demonstrate how I conceive this solution. I suppose I describe the incident in a gruesome manner having seen so much horror in the last few years. Denise shivers and pulls a face. It’s suddenly become a bit cold in here “Adam do you mind if we take the papers into the house where I can study them in detail. We should show these to Oscar, he told me he is very interested in history.” I recall a conversation I had with one of the wounded sappers. He chose to sit in the front of the ambulance with me. I was transporting him to the Chateau hospital after he had recovered sufficiently to travel. Out of the blue he began describing the skirmish that had taken place underground. The part of his story that moved him and I must admit myself was when he related this to me.

  “You know Scouse I was a miner in civvystreet. I’ll bet those lads we were fighting were almost certainly miners like me and my mates. In peace time all miners had a common enemy the rich mine owners. We had to fight them for every penny to feed and clothe our families. If there had been a pit disaster regardless of which country it took place in. If we had been asked to assist in the rescue we would have moved heaven and earth to save each other. Now look what we have been reduced to by politicians who will take no part in the madness they created. Guess who will be making fortunes out of this bloody war? Yes the bloody mine owners on both sides. Are we mad Scouse?” With those last few poignant words he never spoke again during the entire journey.

  It’s very strange these flash backs I am having. I wonder how long they will continue. Denise gathers up the papers and the diary with me carrying the coat we return to the main house. Oscar is sitting with a stranger at a table covered in papers when we enter the room. His visitor is an odd looking gentleman, short and plump in stature.

  Perched on his nose are a set of pinz-nez glasses.

  I have to stifle back a giggle for his head is adorned with an ill fitting toupee. Oscar introduces him as the Lawyer a Monsieur Gastoyne who is acting for him in this case.

  The little man leaps to his feet advances towards us kisses Denise’s hand, “Enchante’de faire votre connaissance Mademoiselle. Mr Gastoyne vigorously shakes my hand. “Ah! A British Tommy hello! Good morning. He welcomes us with a heavy accent. Oscar explains they have just completed the paper work transferring the ownership of the house to Monsieur Gastoyne and his colleagues. “What do you have there Adam, let me see?” He carries the coat over to the window to examine it in detail. “Unless I am very much mistaken, it is the uniform coat of a member of Napoleons Imperial guard. Not in very good condition I’m afraid.”

  I congratulate him. “Well done Oscar I believe you are correct. Oscar’s identification of the coat ties in with the diary Denise.” She looks pleased that the two are linked together. Oscar modestly informs us. “European history was a hobby of mine before the war interfered. I taught the subject as well as languages.” Denise offers the diary and bundle of papers to him. “Then I believe these will interest you Oscar. The diary is particularly enthralling. I haven’t read it all yet and we haven’t looked at the papers either.” I hadn’t noticed the lawyer as we excitedly discussed our find until he gasps and he slumps into a chair with a worried look on his face. “Excuse me my young friends, where did you find these articles?” He enquires in a hushed slightly nervous voice. “Upstairs in the old coach house Monsieur.” I explain.

  He replies. “But I believed that building was sealed up and not in use anymore. Er, how was er.” He hesitates before continuing his question. “Did you notice anything unusual when you entered?” His remarks throw me, I am about to answer when Oscar intervenes.

  “Monsieur Gastoyne, if you are aware of anything concerning the coach house I would be obliged if you will share it with us?”

  The Frenchman clears the papers from in front of him and invites us to take seats while he explains the reason for his unease.

  “Monsieur Oscar, one of the reasons my colleagues and I don’t want the coach house it is because it is haunted. I thought you were aware of that fact, after all you have lived here for quite a while I understand?

  Oscar replies. “Stuff and nonsense, I don’t believe in any such things as ghosts, excepting of course the Holy Ghost of course.”

  “Well if that is your belief then let me tell you a story if you care to listen then you may tell me if there are no such thing as ghosts, I warn you there was great tragedy in that house my friend; it is not to be dismissed lightly”

  Denise and I settle down intrigued by the information.

  Although Oscar professed indifference he still nevertheless joins us sitting around the table. Monsieur Gastoyne removes his pinz-nez and begins to relate the story. “It all began with the family that built this house in 1780. They had been a rich and noble family until the revolution stripped them of all their titles. They had friends in high places that saved their necks from Madam Guillotine. They were allowed to keep their wealth and live modestly here in this house. Their only son married well and for a while they were happy living together with his family. It was not long after their marriage that his wife’s strange behaviour began to give them concern.” “What kind of behaviour Monsieur? I ask. He explains. “It was not so bad at first but she began taking a delight in hurting animals. Very soon she progressed into hurting the serving staff. Finally one night at a dinner party in front of guests without any reason she attacked her husband violently. If she had not been retrained she would have certainly killed him. The family consulted the best brain Doctor in France. Unfortunately he decreed her mad and incurable and advised the family to send her to an insane asylum. They refused to do so but confined her to one of the rooms upstairs. She was kept under lock and key day and night from then on. Whenever the members of the family attempted to visit her she would attack them violently. It is said she took to crawling around the floor on all fours and making noises like an animal. Tragic! Tragic! What to do? What to do? Should they send her to the insane asylum after all? Fortunately they heard of a gypsy family that had the ability to control wild animals. They persuaded one of them a young Lady by the name of Zora to join the household to control the mad woman. She was a beautiful caring girl who acted as her nurse and companion, Zora it was said was gifted with some kind of magical powers. I suppose she would have been considered a witch by some ignorant people eh? Nevertheless the, er, afflicted Lady appeared to be happy with the arrangement and she settled down.The girl Zora as I told you was very beautiful, the son he was very lonely without the affections of his wife. I don’t have to draw a vivid picture of what happened next but to say they fell in love? Their love affair was discovered by the parents. Their first reaction was to cast the good girl out.” At this moment the narrator paused as if considering the situation that occurred long ago. Oscar poured him a large cognac. He downed it in one gulp then continued to relate the fascinating piece of history. “As usual the man was not considered to be the blame for the situation, is not that the way of the world my friends?” Oscar adds his thoughts on the matter. “Yes, it’s usually the way, the poor women that take the blame I am afraid.” Denise nods her
agreement. I restrain myself from passing my opinion considering my experience with Denise not so long ago.

  “When the son threatened to run away with his lover a compromise was agreed. The coach house was empty, the servants had either left because of the mad woman or the family hit hard times. I have no idea which is the case but the fact is the family no longer had servants. It was agreed that the son’s Mistress as she was now known could carry on the liaison in the coach house but not in the family dwelling. Divorce was out of the question and appearances had to be kept up for the sake of the family honour.

  All appeared satisfactory until Napoleon escaped from Elba and reformed his army. Being a patriotic republican the son joined him as a member of his Imperial Guard. Shortly after he left to join his regiment the wife died in very strange circumstances. It was alleged she drank poison. How she got the poison into a locked room it was never explained. Some say it was administered by a member of the family. Anyway France was in turmoil then. The death of a madwoman didn’t appear important at that troubled time. When the son heard of his wife’s death, he immediately proposed marriage to his beloved Mistress, she naturally accepted immediately. The military couriers were constantly back and to between Napoleons army taking passionate love letters between the betrothed along with vital intelligence from the channel ports regarding er? Shall we say your country men’s intentions towards France,” He addresses this last remark to me and smiles knowingly at my obvious discomfort. Monsieur Gastoyne continues. “On his next leave it was all arranged, with the blessing of the family they were to be married. Then the major tragedy occurred. Oh that infamous day will be etched in Frenchmen’s hearts forever. The 18th of June 1815. That was not a good day for France my friends.” The lawyer sighs nostalgically. “Our great Emperor Napoleon was defeated at the battle of Waterloo. Sometime after the battle a parcel was delivered to the bride to be. It contained the blood stained coat of the gallant Officer and his diary. She had no idea where or who had sent them as there was no enclosed information. For months the heart broken Lady lived in hope that maybe he was missing and would eventually return to her. That is until she was visited by one of his comrades that had served with him at Waterloo; He told her what had occurred on that fateful day. The English cavalry attacked from an unexpected quarter and caught them off guard. He saw her betrothed struck down by a mounted trooper. He himself was taken prisoner by the English. Fortunately the British Officer in charge of the enemy was a decent fellow and allowed them to live.” Monsieur Gastoyne leans forward in a confidential manner to divulge the next piece of the saga. “I should explain. It was common practice at that time to execute prisoners, did you know that?” He confides. Oscar reveals “I have read this fact, a deplorable practice and to my shame it occurred at the beginning of this last blood bath.”

  I think back to that idiot officer in the Chateau advocating the same thing in this last great-war. “Hum.” Monsieur Gastoyne continues. “To carry on with the story, the last he saw of his comrade he was laying amongst the dead on the battlefield. The beautiful bride to be Zora, was devastated, she was not to be consoled. For many months she dressed in black and hardly communicated with anyone. The poor Lady was in the deepest mourning eventually she could stand the loneliness no longer. Even though she had many suitors who would have willingly married her for she was so beautiful, she declined all their advances. God forgive her, Zora could stand the grief no longer, the poor Lady ended her life by her own hands.” “Oh! My God! Denise cried. “The poor girl, how did she? Where did it happen? She must have felt such despair to lose her lover.” Denise reaches over and grasps my hand. “Ah! My child, forgive me for upsetting you. I don’t believe I should go on.” “You must now tell us Monsieur. I need to know how it happened to the sad girl.” Reluctantly the man discloses the awful end to her life. “She hung herself in the very coach house were they met as lovers” I gasp, Denise bursts into tears. Oscar deeply moved whispers. “The poor, poor, unhappy child it is a mortal sin to end one’s life, she will have no peace even in death.” “Ah! Ah! Did you think the tragedy ended there my friends, but no? Shortly after the terrible death of the Lady the brave Captain arrived home. He had been seriously wounded but he had been taken in by a Belgian peasant family and cared for until he recovered. When he found out what had happened to his beloved and how it had occurred he hung himself from the same beam in the same coach house.” We sit in silence for awhile Monsieur Gastoyne begins sorting his papers into his document case as he prepares to leave. “But what about the ghosts Monsieur you have not mentioned the ghosts?” Denise asks hesitantly. “I believe I will leave you to discover them my friends, I feel I have said enough I think?” He shakes hands with me, kisses Denise’s hand again before Oscar escorts him towards the door, he stops just before leaving and turns around to face us and enquires. “Oh by the way, have you discovered the graves yet?” “Where are they located Monsieur, in the local cemetery?” I enquire. “No, no my friend, they are situated much closer than that. They are in the garden at the rear of this very house, I am not quite sure where exactly, but there is definitely three of the poor people interred there. There is the Husband, also the Wife is buried, Er, the, er, hmm, the Lover as well.” I enquire. “But how do you know all these facts Monsieur, after all it was a long time ago?” “That is another interesting story, the Captain’s Father kept a journal of all the events. The rest of the details are local legends passed down by word of mouth. The journal is in the public library for your perusal if you so wish? I am able to get you special permission to see it, if that is your desire.

  Of course this is in my capacity as a leading member of the local historical society.

  I have these privileges.” He informs us pompously. Denise thanks him and requests permission to view the journal when it is convenient.

  “Well!” I remark after he leaves. “That’s given us something to think about eh?” Denise speaks in a hushed voice. “That will be the crying I have heard. It’s the ghost of that poor mad girl locked up like an animal in that awful room until she died. She was poisoned by the hand of her own family.” Oscar evidently alarmed by her disclosure questions. “What crying, what’s all this about? I have told you there is no such thing as ghosts, ridiculous, I have lived here much of the time on my own and have never witnessed anything unusual. I am sorry my Dear but this talk is nonsense!” I explain. “Well Oscar my old friend, you have your beliefs and I respect them but my poor dear was terrified earlier today. She is convinced she heard crying coming from upstairs. I checked myself but there was nothing visible. But! I will admit this now, that room at the end of the landing, the one with hasps on the outside of the door? There is definitely something spooky about it, I felt it and Denise certainly did.”

  “I thought you told me there was no problem Adam, you lied.” Denise rebukes me. “I didn’t want to upset you my love.” I inform her. “I cannot sleep up there alone any more, please don’t make me.” Denise pleads near to tears. I hug her close. “Now then don’t upset yourself. Of course you shall not sleep upstairs if it frightens you. Oscar is it possible to make other arrangements for Denise? “Certainly my dear we will organise that today.” Oscar assures her. When she leaves the room he adds. “I shall have to think on that matter.” Oscar gives me an old fashioned look. “Meanwhile I am going to see the Ladies next door in the flower shop I have some business with them.” He leaves the house while I go out into the garden to admire my beautiful Pompey Lill. I still find it hard to believe she is all mine. I am sitting on one of passenger seats polishing the brass lamps when Oscar returns and joins me aboard the charabanc. He does not look as composed as usual. “What’s up Oscar my old friend you look like you have seen a ghost? I remark laughing. “Not funny Adam.” He responds glumly. “I have been to look in that room you spoke about. There is nothing in there, no furniture it is quite empty, But!” Oscar pauses. “I must admit I had a strange experience while I was in there. I can’t explain it and I know i
t sounds ridicules but I swear something touched my leg. I believe I have to rethink some of my beliefs after what I have just heard and experienced.” I lean forward intrigued “Tell me what you are on about Oscar it’s not like you. You have such deep unwavering conviction what has happened to make you to consider such a drastic reversal?” He shakes his head and begins to explain.

  “I went next door to see the, er, Ladies. As soon as I identified myself as their landlord they gave me their notice to quit the premises.

  I could not believe it. They have a nice business in the shop even though their er, other activities have ceased I thought them content. After much hesitation and embarrassment one of them informed me why they want to leave.

  It is the crying you see, and the strange noises. The three of them turned on me and accused us of abusing Denise in some way. They have seen her passing with you, as she is the only female in the house they believe it is her crying upstairs. Do you know what they said?” Oscar is very red in the face and finding it difficult to get the words out, that I, Oscar, should be ashamed of myself for treating a lovely young girl in such a manner.

  Me! Oscar who has never harmed anyone in his life accused of hurting dear Denise.” “Good God Oscar! It must be the same crying Denise heard and I told her it probably came from the flower shop.” I gasp.

  “It seems it only began when you and Denise moved in you see?

  Oscar informs me as he stands. “Adam I know you have no respect for religion but I do know you do believe in a supreme being. Denise is a believer and must have the protection of Mother church. I am going down to the Holy Cross to request Father Simon to exorcise that room.