The Ancient Curse

“Ah yes, but that baint all the curse.”

“You mean there was more?”

Oh, yes. Now ‘ow did it go? “May all Carstairs women be defiled as my sister has been defiled, until the day a Carstairs women surrenders her body to a footman, and remains his bondwoman until death parts them.”

Having enjoyed his gruesome moment, he bade us good cheer and departed.

Peter was staring at me over the table, his eyes narrowed.

“So that was it? ‘Surrenders her body to a footman’. Footman Gresham. You have experienced the mad footman, then?

I nodded miserably.
“I hoped it worked for you.”

There was hurt in his voice, and I understood why. I had used him in the most intimate physical relationship possible between a man and women, a relationship that had deep meaning for him.

Gently I said to him, “It worked in part, Peter, and I wondered why it did not work completely. Now I know.”

“Why did it not work completely?”

“You heard the rest of the curse – the bit I didn’t know. ‘And remain his bondwoman until death parts them’.”

“Yes.”

I went on speaking very quietly. “I know you’re hurt, Peter, because you think I only used you to break the curse. We did something that is important…sacred to you…and I feel that way myself…I’m not a…a slut. I don’t give myself easily, but if it’s any comfort to you, I have thought, ‘If only he could love me’. We’ve only known each other a few days, but if, somehow, we could have gone on meeting, talking and learning about each other, I could have…I would have…”

“Made love with me?”

“Yes. If you could have forgiven me…and been patient with me…and I’m not really the…unresponsive woman you were with last night. I was under a terrible strain and I saw you as my saviour. If one day I can tell you what I’ve been through, and you wanted to hear…just a little time…”

His hand was resting on the table, and I reached across to touch it with mine. He took it and held it.

“Whatever time you need, Ushas.”

We sat, holding each other’s hand, looking into each other’s eyes.

The landlord, Fred, came past, stopped for a moment looking at us, and said, “Ee make a right ‘andsome couple,” and laughing, moved on.

“His bondwoman until death parts them,” I quoted.

Peter gently squeezed my hand. “Until death.”

We shook ourselves out of our tender trance, rose, and headed back to the Manor.

There was little left to do, and with only a few items left to be checked Peter said, “There’s something I want to look at, Ushas. You just check the last items and I’ll be back shortly.”

He went off and I continued working. In a few minutes, he was back wearing a puzzled look.

“Ushas, that footman’s uniform we saw the other day in the servants room, did you move it?”

“No, why?”

“It’s not there. I looked in the other rooms in case I was mistaken about which room, but it’s gone, vanished. Unless someone broke in and stole it, but…”

“It doesn’t really matter, darling” (The ‘darling’ slipped out without my thinking about it). “Perhaps we only imagined we saw it.” I laughed, but I had a strong suspicion I knew what had happened to it.

“Well, it’s your property my love. (Did that slip out unnoticed too?) “But I know we saw it. I was going to take it to the cleaners in Colford to see if it could be cleaned and repaired. Very odd.”

We finished the last of the items; I signed the documents, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God that’s over,” I said. “What about dinner in Colford tonight?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he grinned. “You can pay for the lot this time, after all, even if the market value is down on this sort of property, you’re going to be a well off woman when it is sold.”

He suddenly looked gloomy and I understood why. He was not the sort to “take advantage” of a woman with money. I decided to settle that aspect right away.”

“Yes, I suppose I shall be fairly rich. Of course, money is at its best when it’s shared with someone. You know, someone you love.”

I put my arms round him and kissed him, making sure the kiss communicated my feelings of warmth for him. Pressed against him, I could feel his penis starting to harden and I was starting to get wet between the legs.

If he had made the suggestion, I think I would have let him take me there and then, perhaps using the bedroom I had occupied but, “No,” I thought. “Wait Ushas, wait until you can make it really beautiful for him.”

“Come on Peter, I said briskly, your bondwoman is hungry, and she has yet to bathe herself so she may be a delight in the eyes of her lord.”

Laughing we left the mouldering pile, hand in hand, and on the drive to Colford I sat with my head on his shoulder.

It was some week later, and in the intervening period, I had received no more nightly visitations. I had gone back to my flat in the city, and settled down to finishing my novel. I went down to Colford at weekends, stopping at the Ploughman, while Peter and I went through the “getting to know you” phase of our growing relationship.

For those of prurient disposition, I can say that we had engaged in no further sexual intercourse.

It had been decided that most of the removable items in the Manor would go up for auction. I did not wish to attend the auction, but I did have to see Mr.Roberts prior to that event.

Mr.Roberts had become aware that there was what he called, “An understanding” between Peter and I, so on my arrival he called in Peter to his office.

After some brief discussion about the auction, and the setting of reserve prices on some of the more valuable items, Mr.Roberts went to a cupboard and drew out a large cardboard box.

“When the men were bringing up the items in the cellar,” he said, “They came across an old trunk we seem to have overlooked – I have added it to the inventory of course. In the trunk they found this.”

He took off the lid of the box, and there lay a mouldering old uniform – a footman’s uniform. It must have been very ancient. It was in fact a decayed duplicate of the uniform we had seen in the servant’s room.

I glanced at Peter, and he gave a bewildered shrug of his shoulders.

I went to pick the uniform up out of the box, and Mr.Roberts said quickly, “Careful, it’s very decayed and could fall apart easily.”

Very delicately, I turned the uniform over to display the back. There was no slit and no bloodstain.

“Interesting,” I commented, trying to sound casual. “Not worth keeping, is it?”

“A museum might be able to do something with it,” Mr.Roberts said doubtfully.

“Let me have it, Mr.Roberts. I might have a use for it.”

“Can’t imagine what, Miss Carstairs-Browne, but it is yours.”

He put the lid on the box and handed it to me.

When we left the office, I asked Peter, “Can you get away for a couple of hours?”

“Yes, why?”

“I want to go out to the Manor. There’s something I have to do. There are some tools in the garage, aren’t there?”

“Yes. Why, what are you going to do?”

“Wait and see.”

We drove out to the Manor, and to my surprise, it seemed to have taken on a more friendly aspect.

I got Peter to collect a spade, pick axe, hammer and chisel and a crowbar.

We went down to the cellars and searching around I found a likely spot.

“Darling, lever those bricks up, will you?”

“If you say so.”

He took up a couple of dozen bricks to reveal bare earth beneath.

“Dig a hole, darling.”

He dug, and when he had got down to box size, I put the box with the uniform into the hole.

“Cover it up, Peter.”

When he had done so, and replaced the bricks, I stood for a moment in silent prayer. I asked that the souls of that long ago murdered footman and his sister now be allowed to rest in peace.

When I had finished my little prayer, I asked Peter, “Will you marry me?”

“You bet I bloody will, was Peter’s response.”

“You see,” I whispered to the place where we had buried the box, “His bondwoman until death parts us.”

There was a faint hiss in the air.

“What was that noise?” asked Peter.

“You heard it too?”

“Yes, what was it?”

“Just someone acknowledging your bondwoman’s surrender.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you one day, my darling.”

Yes, for those that want to know, that night Peter and I began our lovemaking in earnest.

The Manor was sold, not as I had predicted, to an American or oil rich Arab, but to a company that runs unusual tourist hotels.

The auction didn’t take place because before it could happen the people buying the Manor made an offer for the lot. They wanted, as they said, “The authentic gear.”

I made a lot of money out of the deal, but I believe the “Carstairs Manor Hotel” is making a packet by spreading the story about the mad footman.

They even have people who don’t really know anything about the place or the footman story, taking groups of guests over the place, telling them anything they can make up. I sometimes wish the ghost still walked (or hovered), and frightened the life out of those tour guides.

Peter and I decided to have our wedding ceremony in the Carstairs le Moor church.

One evening we had been chatting with the Rector about the arrangements in the vestry, and when we had finished, I took a wander round the church. As I did, I came across one of those tombs one finds in old churches. The inscription read, “Sir Lucas Carstairs. Died 17th of December in the year of Our Lord 1810.” Nothing more.

There was an effigy of Sir Lucas on top of the tomb; his hands folded in an attitude of prayer.

The Rector was standing behind me and he said, “It’s an odd thing, but just take a look at the eyes.”

I looked and saw stains running from the eyes of the effigy and down his cheeks.

“It’s strange,” the Rector continued, “those stains only appeared a few months ago. It’s almost as if he’s weeping.”

“Repenting his sins,” I murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” said the Rector.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied.

“I suppose we should clean the stains off.”

“Perhaps he wants them to remain.”

“Hmm, perhaps so.”

When Peter and I married, I was around two months pregnant. Mr.Roberts gave me away, and Fred was best man.

As the rector pronounced the final blessing, I could have sworn I heard a faint rustling in the air.

Our first baby was a girl, and we found the name of another Hindu goddess for her, Uma goddess of light. She was almost born on the first day of the twenty-first century, but delayed her entrance by one day.

I am now pregnant with our second child. We hope it might be a boy. I wonder what name of a Hindu god we can find for him?

Thinking of pregnancies, I have sometimes wondered about those three Carstairs women who claimed to have been made pregnant by a ghost. Remembering my own experiences with the ghost and the absence of any sperm in my vagina after the penetration…? “I was right, they had been naughty girls.” I chuckled.

Did I hear an echoing chuckle?