The Oxenaforda Set
Gertrude Smithens hobbled along the bridge, as the wind howled around her and the rain battered her tartan hood.
She gazed at the view beside her: the ruins of an older medieval bridge and the imposing silhouette of Waering Castle towering over the River Abona in the murky darkness.
Gertrude examined the shadowy fortress and its yellow windows.
The castle was eerie and inviting.
A smile appeared on the octogenarian as she shuffled along the overpass.
Her path was blocked by a man in his late twenties, holding a phone out in front of him.
“It’s one of the more genteel locations I’ve found myself in, but this is where Storm Orion is really starting to kick off,” iconic storm chaser Jasper Peregine said, spinning his phone around so his fans could get a sense of the storm.
Jasper was so caught up in his vlog that he didn’t notice the older woman standing an inch in front of him.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, young man, could you let me pass, please?”
Jasper turned and saw Gertrude’s face flicker in the lightning overhead.
“Of course, sorry,” Jasper said, stepping aside to allow the old woman to hobble along.
“An older woman there, just one of the many people experiencing Storm Orion tonight,” Jasper said, leaning over the bridge.
As Gertrude wandered further into town, she glanced at the castle on the cliff.
During another flash of lightning, she thought she caught a brief glimpse of a black dog stalking the battlements of the fortress.
Gertrude observed the view for a moment before turning back to the storm chaser.
“It’s been an exciting night here in Waering, but now it’s time to move east to see where Storm Orion goes next,” Jasper said, grinning into his phone camera.
Gertrude tapped him on the shoulder, startling him.
Jasper stared at the woman smiling innocently at him, and grinned.
“Are you lost?” Jasper said. “Do you want me to show you into town?”
“No, young man,” Gertrude said. “I wondered if you knew how I could get into that castle.”
She pointed a spindly finger at the fortification across the river.
Jasper watched it appear and disappear in a flash of lightning.
He turned towards the older woman and ran a hand through his wet hair.
“Yes, the front gate is a twelve-minute walk in that direction,” Jasper said, pointing towards the town. “But the entrance is heavily guarded by security, and Lord and Lady Waering aren’t known for being particularly welcoming to strangers.”
“That may be, but something is calling me to it,” Gertrude said, gazing at the shadowy shape in the distance. “The light through the windows is drawing me in.”
Jasper gawped at the woman, and gulped. “Fine, I suppose it’s worth a try. I did go to school with Lord Brooke, so that may stand you in good stead.”
The storm chaser led Gertrude along the bridge and into town.
Remembering that he was live-streaming, Jasper held his phone up and grinned at the screen.
“Sorry about that, guys; my journey is taking a slight detour into the heart of Waering Castle,” Jasper said, as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. “This old woman wants to go in there for some reason.”
“My name is Gertrude, dear,” she said, leaning over Jasper’s shoulder and waving at his phone. “Hello, everyone! It’s very clever, this, isn’t it?”
Jasper glanced at his companion, and clenched a grin.
The two of them wandered over to the imposing entrance to Waering Castle, where security guards waited outside underneath a hastily erected gazebo.
“Can I help you?” The lead security guard said, observing Peregrine and Smithens through the aviators he wore despite the darkness.
“Yes, hi, Jasper Peregrine. I’m a friend of Lord Brooke’s.” Jasper said. “Is it possible to go into the castle? My companion would like to go in.”
“I was walking past and thought it would be a lovely place to keep dry until the storm passes,” Gertrude said.
The security guard raised an eyebrow. “Waering Castle isn’t open to the public, ma’am. There are various hotels and cafes in town.”
“I’m sure there are,” Gertrude said. “But I want to go into the castle.”
“You’re not going to dissuade her,” Jasper said. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
The security guard gazed at the older woman and the young trendy influencer smiling at him.
“Like I said, I went to Ravenhurst with Harold Perceville, and I’m an internationally popular storm chaser,” Jasper said. “Surely those credentials will suffice.”
The security guard stared at him, then sighed and led the two visitors through the gate into the dark glen leading to the castle.
Gertrude hopped on her feet and rubbed her hands as she passed the high limestone cliffs on either side of her.
“I should warn you, Lord and Lady Waering are rather temperamental at the best of times,” the security guard said. “But by all means, give it your best shot.”
A girl giggled overhead, making Gertrude glance upwards.
Lightning illuminated an eight-year-old running in the rain, unperturbed by the deluge.
Gertrude squinted at the girl, who disappeared when she blinked.
She tried to get her companions’ attention, but eventually shrugged and silently pursued them.
Eventually, they slipped through a gate and arrived at the foot of Waering’s ancient fortification.
A wide grin appeared on the older woman’s face as the security guard led her through the portcullis and into the castle courtyard.
At last, she was about to enter the warmly lit rooms that so enticed her from the bridge.
The wooden floorboards creaked under the feet of Ambrose Perceville, 10th Earl of Waering, as he paced around the Cedar Drawing Room, engrossed in a phone call with Waering and Lamintone’s MP, of whom he was a constituent.
“I think it would be beneficial for both of us if I had more leverage in the constituency, or at least in Waering,” Ambrose said. “I would be more than happy to share half of your responsibilities as the Earl of this town.”
Ambrose’s wife, Margaret Perceville, 10th Countess of Waering, gazed out of the window at the storm outside.
Within intermittent firebolt flares, she saw an obsidian hound prowling the upper perimeter of her not-so-humble abode.
“There are a lot of people in this constituency; many of them support my party,” Ambrose said as he eased himself into a chair. “I’m sure they’d welcome a more Traditonal influence in the area alongside whatever it is you’re doing as a Progressive MP.”
A young girl skipped on the grass, giggling in the shower.
Margaret leaned closer to the window, fixating on the child.
She turned towards her husband.
“Darling, one of the neighbour’s children has bypassed security again,” Margaret said, before gawping at his husband.
“Imagine Waering and Lamintone as a row of pies,” Ambrose said. “I would like to put my fingers in some of those pies, and I’d allow you to put your fingers in the other pies.”
Lord Waering seethed as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. “It was an idiom, Mr Easton; surely you know what that is. I already understand how unhygienic it is to touch food in such a manner.”
Margaret shrugged and reclined in her chair; the girl would have to dance in the rain until the security team decided to do their jobs on a whim.
Just then, the Percevilles ‘ chief security guard barged into the room, flanked by Jasper and Gertrude.
He cleared his throat.
Margaret glanced at him and shot out of her seat.
“Ah, there you are,” she said, marching towards her guard. “A little girl is running about outside. Escort her off the premises, would you?”
She then clocked the unexpected guests behind her security guard and scowled at him.
“What is going on with you today?” Margaret said, gesturing to Jasper and Gertrude. “You’re letting people in left, right and centre!”
“Could you keep it down, please, dear,” Ambrose said, leaning slightly forward in his chair.
Jasper swaggered towards Lady Waering, and cleared his throat. “Jasper Peregrine, ma’am. I went to Ravenshurst with your son.”
Margaret grimaced at the young man. “Really? I don’t remember him mentioning you.”
“We weren’t close friends as such,” Jasper said. “But I existed in his vicinity, which I hope is enough to justify my visit.”
Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly, but you’re in here now, I suppose.”
Having ended his phone call, Ambrose leapt out of his chair and marched towards the small crowd.
“Darling, why are these people here?” Ambrose said, checking the floor behind them. “At least they haven’t brought mud into the building.”
“I made sure they left their shoes by the entrance, sir,” the security guard said.
Ambrose winced at the security guard.
Gertrude examined the room around her, a bright smile on her face. “Yes, it hasn’t changed at all since I was here as a child.”
Jasper squinted at the woman. “You’ve been here before?”
“Yes, dear,” Gertrude said, hobbling further into the room. “I sensed it calling me back.”
“Do you mind leading them back to town?” Margaret said. “Alongside the girl I’ve seen skipping about in the rain.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any point doing that now, Lady Waering,” Gertrude said, examining a portrait. “She’s long since dead.”
Margaret furrowed her brow, and wafted the air as she marched away. “Get them out of the room, please. She’s clearly senile.”
Ambrose squinted at the woman. “I’ve seen you before somewhere.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve seen me about during my long life,” Gertrude said. “I do get around.”
“I mean, she does look a lot like Her Majesty the Late Queen,” Jasper said, examining his companion. “It could be that.”
“No,” Ambrose said, frowning at the old woman. “I’ve seen you somewhere this week. Yes, in the Waering Seeker, I believe.”
Ambrose strode over to a tall pile of newspapers and sifted through them.
He took out the latest edition and flicked through it until his eyes widened at something on one of the pages.
“Yes, here it is,” Ambrose said, marching over to the woman. “Your obituary is in this week’s issue, Gertrude Smithens.”
Margaret furrowed her brow. “That can’t be right. How can the local paper publish her obituary when she’s right here in front of us?”
Jasper laughed darkly, backing away from everyone in the room. “Perhaps it was a misprint. Or perhaps there’s a different Gertrude Smithens who looks a lot like you.”
“Rumours of your death appear to have been greatly exaggerated, ma’am,” the security guard said.
But Gertrude was nowhere to be seen; she had vanished.
“Ma’am?” The security guard said, scanning the room for signs of her.
Jasper’s face turned pale. “I haven’t just spent the last thirty minutes with a ghost, have I?”
“No, of course not,” Ambrose said. “Her memory has been recorded in Waering’s fabric for eternity. Just as you can still hear the young girl who was brutally murdered in the 14th century laughing and crying in various parts of the town.”
“Right, I see,” Jasper said, before fainting.
The Percevilles flinched as he hit the floor with a thud.
“I’ll have a look around the castle, in case she has simply gone for a wander,” the security guard said.
“Very well, set the Stewards on the lookout as well, whilst you’re at it,” Ambrose said. “Then take our friend here out of the castle, and make sure no one else gets in.”
“As you wish, sir,” the security guard said, saluting his employers before marching out of the room.
Ambrose gazed at the unconscious storm chaser. “Never say a word of this to Harold, dear, otherwise we will never hear the end of it.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Ambrose,” Margaret said, flopping into her chair and sighing.
She gazed out at the stormy scene through the window, where the young girl skipped and laughed, whilst the eerie black dog crept along the ramparts.
Margaret stared at the ceiling and gulped down a glass of champagne to soothe her nerves.
As for Ambrose, he reclined in his chair and read the Waering Seeker, trying his best to erase the night’s events from his mind.
