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Chapter Three

September 15, 1850

Cavendish Hall, Sommer-by-the-Sea

E dythe sat at the table in the Garden Room as Mrs. MacTavish set luncheon in front of her. The room, bathed in the noon light, provided a cozy setting for the informal meal. A modest spread of cold meats, cheeses, and freshly baked bread was complemented by the delicate aroma of tea.

"The repairs and preparations for winter are underway," Mrs. MacTavish said. "And Mrs. Abigail Thorne will bring her paint and wallpaper samples tomorrow." The housekeeper noticed the second volume of the Cavendish family history on the table. "You're delving into the more recent past, I see."

"Yes. It was overwhelming when I realized I was to be the mistress of this hall, but now to learn about the great people I come from, it's a gift I never imagined."

"Excuse me, Miss Cavendish." Mr. Hawthorne stood respectfully at her side. "You have a caller, Lord Ellington."

"Lord Ellington?" Edythe held her fork mid-air and glanced at the butler, a mixture of surprise and curiosity crossed her features. "James Ellington?"

"Yes, miss," Mr. Hawthorne affirmed. "His lordship is the Marquess of Ellington, the eldest son of the Duke of Northumberland."

Edythe's eyes widened, the man she had so casually shared her train compartment with and who offered his assistance was not just any gentleman but a titled one.

"Would you like Mr. Hawthorne to send him away, or," Mrs. MacTavish paused, offering Edythe a knowing smile. "Would you like to invite the marquess to join you at the table?"

A moment's hesitation flickered across Edythe's face before she gave a slight, decisive nod. "Yes, please invite Lord Ellington to join me," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Mr. Hawthorne nodded, giving Mrs. MacTavish a hint of a smile, and left with a flourish to convey the invitation.

Edythe couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the prospect of seeing James.

Mrs. MacTavish soon had the table set for two, the fine china and silverware with the Cavendish crest in place.

"Miss Cavendish," James greeted as he entered the Garden Room.

Edythe rose and curtsied, and James hurried to her side and helped her up. "That's not necessary between us." He took her hand.

"Please, be seated. I'm so glad you're here," she honestly declared and hoped he didn't realize she was nervous.

He nodded, his smile even wider. "Do you find the hall to your liking?" James's voice carried a note of genuine concern. "I realized after our journey you had left these behind, and I thought it best to return them." He presented her with her white leather gloves.

"Thank you, Lord Ellington," she said, feeling the formality of the title. "Your kindness is most welcome." James smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes at her formal address. "We are past titles. We've shared a private dinner and train compartment. Please call me James, Edythe?" He gave her a questioning glance.

"That will be fine, James." She found the butterflies in her stomach were almost gone.

"Kindness?" He gazed at her, a playful smile on his lips. "If you hadn't left your gloves, I would have brought you a pouch of roasted chestnuts as an excuse to see you."

Edythe felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks. "Then I suppose I should be grateful for my forgetfulness." She exchanged a playful glance and chuckled softly. "Though I must admit, roasted chestnuts do sound rather tempting."

Their conversation flowed easily as they shared the meal. James offered insights into the local community, and Edythe expressed her aspirations for the manor.

She spoke of her discovery of Sir Thomas Cavendish's letter tucked in the pages of the family history. "Sir Thomas must have been quite the figure," she mused, "a man of courage and vision."

James nodded, his interest evident. "Indeed, he was a remarkable man. Knighted by Queen Elizabeth not only for circumnavigating the globe but for his daring acts of privateering. His voyages not only brought him fame but also fortune in the form of gold, silk, and treasures for the crown."

"How do you know so much about Sir Thomas?" Edythe couldn't help but wonder about James's knowledge of her family's history.

James smiled a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "My great-grandmother was a Cavendish, as I mentioned when we first met on the train. The mystery and history of the family have always fascinated me. I've spent years researching and piecing together the stories of our ancestors. As a family relation, Mrs. MacTavish has been kind enough to grant me access to the library and show me various artifacts. It's a bit of a passion of mine. Do you know about Sir Richard's parrot?" James asked with a chuckle.

"No, I haven't read about Sir Richard yet," Edythe said as Mrs. MacTavish began to remove the dishes from the table. Edythe gave James her full attention. "But you won't keep me in the dark, will you?"

James glanced at her and shook his head. "I would never keep you in the dark. This is one of my grandmother's favorite family stories." He wiped his mouth with his serviette and put it on the table. "Sir Richard Cavendish was known for his eccentricities. During a grand feast, Sir Richard, in an attempt to impress a visiting dignitary, had trained his pet parrot to recite Shakespeare. However, the parrot, perhaps sensing the importance of the occasion, chose instead to squawk out the cook's colorful exclamations he heard from the kitchen. The banquet room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into laughter, and the dignitary declared it the most authentic rendition of Shakespeare he had ever heard."

Edythe burst out in uncontrollable laughter. "I'm not sure who would be more embarrassed, Sir Richard or the cook. I assume the parrot was saved and not the main course for dinner the following night."

"No, the parrot went on to learn more acceptable vocabulary. Have you had time to explore the hall? Seen the tapestry?" James inquired, "It hangs in the Mistress' private sitting room?"

Caught off guard, Edythe shook her head. "It was mentioned in the journal, I have seen it in passing, but I haven't yet had the chance to study it up close."

With a glance at Mrs. MacTavish, who had been attending to their needs, James suggested, "Perhaps we could look at it now?"

Mrs. MacTavish agreed, and together, the three of them climbed the stairs and went into the private sitting room.

"This is a masterpiece of needlework," James gazed at the large piece in awe, "an embroidered chronicle of the Cavendish legacy. The threads tell a story of alliances and valor. On one half," he gestured to the left, "is the stately fa?ade of Cavendish Hall against a background of the changing seasons, each colorful thread capturing the grandeur of the estate through time. Notice how one small patch along the flower bed remains bare, a quiet spot among the blooms. The other half," he turned to the right, "shows the ballroom bustling with life, the figures dressed in the finery of bygone eras, each figure with a story to tell. The petite point stitches of their faces create unique individuals and depict everything from happiness and revelry to sadness."

Edythe's eyes were drawn to the woven image of the grandfather clock within the tapestry. "Look there," she said, pointing to the clock in the fabric scene. "I wonder why that time, 11:30 in particular was stitched into the picture?"

"It's the time displayed on the great clock in the ballroom." James nodded. His voice took on a solemnity she hadn't heard before. "It's a significant time. It is believed to be the last time Lord Alistair was seen. The family history tells of a housemaid who, on the morning after the All Saints' Day ball, found the clock stopped at that exact time. No one was able to restart the timepiece."

Mrs. MacTavish added, "The clock has not chimed since, Miss Cavendish. It's as if time itself mourns for Lord Alistair."

"There is more to see," James pointed to the intricately woven family crest at the center. "You see, this crest has been in the family before the hall was built," he explained, his finger tracing the embroidered shield. "But the lion there," he continued, indicating the majestic beast stitched beside the crest, "appeared one night after the Battle of Culloden. No one knows how." He turned to Edythe. "It is said on nights of full moons or family milestones, the scenes stir as if the tapestry breathes with the house itself."

Edythe's eyes widened in wonder. "The lion just appeared?" she asked, her voice filled with skepticism.

James nodded, a playful glint in his eye. "So the story goes. It's said the tapestry reflects the soul of Cavendish Hall, changing with the family's tides of fortunes. Some believe it harbors a curse from Alistair, a warning to those who dare uncover its secrets."

The candlelight flickered, catching the necklace a woman wore and making the silver and gold threads holding the pendant shimmer. "The jewelry appears almost real," Edythe observed, captivated by the striking jewel the light revealed.

"The locket," James began, his voice taking on a tone of reverence, "is more than a mere adornment. It's a Cavendish heirloom, said to be passed down through the generations to the true matriarch of the house. Each woman who has presided over Cavendish Hall has worn it as a symbol of her role and responsibility to the estate and its legacy."

Edythe stepped forward to examine the locket. "So, it's a token of leadership and guardianship?"

"Exactly," James confirmed. "It's said only a true Cavendish by blood and heart can unlock its full significance. The locket has been at the heart of many Cavendish tales, some filled with hope, others shrouded in whispers of a troubled past. It's no coincidence Lady Rachel wears it here, she was a renowned beauty and philanthropist and used her wealth to help the local community. The necklace symbolizes her generosity. She was a pillar of strength for this house, and now, it's your turn to carry on that legacy, though the path may not always be clear or free of shadows."

Edythe considered the importance of the locket's legacy, feeling the chill of Alistair's unseen presence. "Where is the locket now? What does it have inside? A picture, an inscription?" she inquired, a sense of foreboding creeping into her voice.

"It's been tucked away with the other family jewels," Mrs. MacTavish said. "No one knows what it says. There is no lock or hinge to open it. Yet, it's said to hold the Cavendish secret. Some fear that Alistair's spirit guards it jealously, a curse upon the house that only the true Cavendish heir can lift."

Edythe felt the room grow colder at the mention of Alistair's curse, the air thick with the echo of anger and malice that was not hers. "Then it's another piece of the past lost to time," she mused aloud.

"Not necessarily lost," Mrs. MacTavish replied. "Perhaps it's waiting for someone worthy enough to find its secret."

Edythe's hand hovered over the tapestry, longing to touch the threads that held so much history. "Lady Rachel is holding a music box. It cannot be by accident, not after what you've told me about the tapestry. Mrs. MacTavish, what is its story?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Ah, the music box. A mystery that has puzzled the family for generations. It's rumored to hold a compartment containing something of great value, but it is another secret locked away in time."

Edythe felt a connection to the tapestry and its stories, a sense of being part of something larger than herself. She turned to James. "I want to find and unlock the secrets of this house, of my family, and set us all free, hopefully doing away with Alistair's wrath."

James met her determined gaze, his admiration evident. "But first, you will have to find the music box. It has been lost over the years, or as some like to believe, it's in hiding waiting for the right person to find it," he glanced at Mrs. MacTavish. "If anyone can find it, it's you, Edythe Cavendish. And I'll be here to help you every step of the way," he said, though a shadow of concern flickered in his eyes as if he, too, feared Alistair's retribution.

That evening, as the manor settled for the night and Edythe slept, a haunting melody began to make its way through the stillness. The song was both foreign and familiar. It called to Edythe and could not be ignored. She rose, her nightgown billowing around her as she descended the grand staircase. She entered the ballroom, where moonbeams danced across the floor, casting the room in a silver glow, giving life to the dust motes swirling in the air.

The apparition of a vintage music box sat upon the mantel, its lid open as if it had been waiting for her. It hadn't been there earlier. The tune it played was delicate yet haunting, the melody echoing from the depths of the house.

A chill ran down her spine as the room darkened and a storm outside materialized as if conjured by the music. Thunder rumbled, a deep resonance mirroring the turmoil brewing within her. For a moment, the lightning outside cast a stark light through the windows, and Edythe caught a glimpse of a figure. The silhouette vanished as quickly as it appeared. She rubbed her eyes, questioning her senses. But then, a brilliant flash of lightning lingered long enough to reveal him.

Alistair stood before her. His presence was striking, with dark hair and intense gray eyes that held a storm of controlled anger. His handsome features were etched with a regal bearing, commanding attention and conveying a silent power that once filled the halls of Cavendish.

He extended his hand, and Edythe, compelled by forces beyond her understanding, accepted his request. Alistair placed his arm around her, guiding her in the dance. As she gazed into his eyes, she was overcome by a chilling sense of dread. As they danced, his hand brushed against hers, and she felt the touch of linen. She glanced down and saw a handkerchief, delicate and refined, embroidered with the Cavendish crest pressed into her palm, a silent gift that felt like a warning. Was it for the tears yet to come? They danced, her feet barely touching the ground, to a melody that spoke of a looming threat, of warnings unheeded. In Alistair's eyes, she saw his shadows of torment, a glimpse into the depths of his anger and the extent of his despair.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she whispered as they moved across the floor, the storm's crescendo building around them.

Alistair's voice was a mere breath, a whisper that carried the venom of spite. "Beware the ides of change, for history's shadow looms large. Let the Cavendish line wither, a reflection of betrayal and a curse born from a broken heart that can never be mended."

As the melody from the music played through the stillness of the night, Edythe felt as though time had paused, like the hands of the silent clock, the moment frozen for eternity. The dance with Alistair's ghost, a discordant waltz in the moonlit ballroom, appeared to exist in a space where the past and present merged. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the dance ended. Edythe found herself alone, the music box silent, and the storm over.

But Alistair's words lingered, ‘ Beware the ides of change .' It was a phrase steeped in foreboding, reminiscent of a Shakespearean prophecy. Could it be Cavendish Hall, the Cavendish family, faced a change in their destiny? Was Alistair threatening her with trials ahead?

In the morning, Edythe awoke in her bed, the memory of the night's encounter fading like all dreams do. She rose, her thoughts a tangle of doubt and wonder until she noticed a handkerchief clutched in her hand—not her own, but one bearing the Cavendish crest, a memento of a night that defied explanation.

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