far too much wine at the dinnerparty that evening—was sound asleep in her chair. Emily slipped past her down the long corridor, then climbed the stairs to the top of the castle’s tallest tower, which was situated at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the sea. She reached a door leading to the tower roof, and opened it.”
“The tower roof!” cried Hannah in alarm, the blood draining from her already pale face.
“As Emily ventured out,” said I, “she was met by a blast of cold ocean wind; but even this did not wake her. She thought herself walking along a path in her favourite meadow, and smiled at the wind in her face as if it were but a refreshing gust of spring. Emily crossed to the low, crenellated wall which encircled the tower roof, and placed her hands upon it. The stone felt rough against her finger-tips, no different from the rocky crags she was accustomed to clambering over in the meadow with such ease. But Emily stood not in a meadow; she stood atop a battlement at cloud height, overlooking the surging sea. Beyond the wall was nothingness; just starry night, and a sheer drop to the waves which crashed against the rocks many hundreds of feet below.”
I paused; my audience, I noted to my delight, were all wide-eyed and sitting forward in breathless anticipation, awaiting my next words.
“What did she do?” asked Amelia eagerly.
“As if in a trance,” I went on, “Emily climbed up onto the narrow edge of the stone wall.”
A chorus of alarmed gasps arose from the assembled girls.
“Emily stood still for a long moment atop the parapet, the wind whipping through her thin night-shirt and her long golden hair. In her mind’s eye, she saw her beloved William standing ten yards distant, waiting for her with outstretched arms. ‘William!’ she whispered softly. ‘I will come to you!’”
I rose and acted out the scene: “Emily then began to walk, one measured step at a time, each footfall landing with miraculous precision atop the notches of the battlement, unaware that one false movement, one slight waver, could lead to certain death.”
“Oh!” cried Hannah in terror, her hand at her mouth.
“At the very moment that Emily was making this perilous journey, William, who was sleeping in a chamber far across the castle courtyard, awakened with a start, certain he had heard Emily calling to him. Whence had her voice issued? Following some impulse he could not explain, William went to the window. The sight that awaited his eyes made him gasp with terror. Emily, dressed like a wraith in flowing white, was traipsing along the circular parapet of the highest tower. Worse yet, he saw that dead ahead of her, the stone ledge—damaged by harsh sea-winds—was broken and crumbling.”
Another chorus of alarmed cries from my listeners met this pronouncement.
“Emily’s foot touched down,” I continued ominously. “Suddenly the wall trembled; the mortar gave way. ‘Emily!’ cried William. The young lady wavered, teetering back and forth on the edge of nothingness, her arms reaching out to grab for some support, but none was there!”
A piercing shriek suddenly split the air; I smiled, pleased that my story could produce so stimulating an effect. But when I glanced in the direction of the sound, my smile vanished: for my listeners were all staring at Hannah, who lay gasping and trembling violently on the bed, her eyes rolled back into her head, her hands at her heart.
“She is having a fit!” exclaimed Mary.
“Call Miss Wooler!” said I, in great distress.
Miss Wooler was immediately summoned; a doctor was called in; Hannah was deemed to be suffering from violent palpitations and given a sedative of some kind; our entire party was sternly lectured about talking after hours and summarily dispatched to bed.
So filled with remorse was I at having been the cause of Hannah’s seizure, that I barely slept that night. I could not help imagining the horrifying consequences that might have
“The tower roof!” cried Hannah in alarm, the blood draining from her already pale face.
“As Emily ventured out,” said I, “she was met by a blast of cold ocean wind; but even this did not wake her. She thought herself walking along a path in her favourite meadow, and smiled at the wind in her face as if it were but a refreshing gust of spring. Emily crossed to the low, crenellated wall which encircled the tower roof, and placed her hands upon it. The stone felt rough against her finger-tips, no different from the rocky crags she was accustomed to clambering over in the meadow with such ease. But Emily stood not in a meadow; she stood atop a battlement at cloud height, overlooking the surging sea. Beyond the wall was nothingness; just starry night, and a sheer drop to the waves which crashed against the rocks many hundreds of feet below.”
I paused; my audience, I noted to my delight, were all wide-eyed and sitting forward in breathless anticipation, awaiting my next words.
“What did she do?” asked Amelia eagerly.
“As if in a trance,” I went on, “Emily climbed up onto the narrow edge of the stone wall.”
A chorus of alarmed gasps arose from the assembled girls.
“Emily stood still for a long moment atop the parapet, the wind whipping through her thin night-shirt and her long golden hair. In her mind’s eye, she saw her beloved William standing ten yards distant, waiting for her with outstretched arms. ‘William!’ she whispered softly. ‘I will come to you!’”
I rose and acted out the scene: “Emily then began to walk, one measured step at a time, each footfall landing with miraculous precision atop the notches of the battlement, unaware that one false movement, one slight waver, could lead to certain death.”
“Oh!” cried Hannah in terror, her hand at her mouth.
“At the very moment that Emily was making this perilous journey, William, who was sleeping in a chamber far across the castle courtyard, awakened with a start, certain he had heard Emily calling to him. Whence had her voice issued? Following some impulse he could not explain, William went to the window. The sight that awaited his eyes made him gasp with terror. Emily, dressed like a wraith in flowing white, was traipsing along the circular parapet of the highest tower. Worse yet, he saw that dead ahead of her, the stone ledge—damaged by harsh sea-winds—was broken and crumbling.”
Another chorus of alarmed cries from my listeners met this pronouncement.
“Emily’s foot touched down,” I continued ominously. “Suddenly the wall trembled; the mortar gave way. ‘Emily!’ cried William. The young lady wavered, teetering back and forth on the edge of nothingness, her arms reaching out to grab for some support, but none was there!”
A piercing shriek suddenly split the air; I smiled, pleased that my story could produce so stimulating an effect. But when I glanced in the direction of the sound, my smile vanished: for my listeners were all staring at Hannah, who lay gasping and trembling violently on the bed, her eyes rolled back into her head, her hands at her heart.
“She is having a fit!” exclaimed Mary.
“Call Miss Wooler!” said I, in great distress.
Miss Wooler was immediately summoned; a doctor was called in; Hannah was deemed to be suffering from violent palpitations and given a sedative of some kind; our entire party was sternly lectured about talking after hours and summarily dispatched to bed.
So filled with remorse was I at having been the cause of Hannah’s seizure, that I barely slept that night. I could not help imagining the horrifying consequences that might have
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