Ghosts
Copyright© 2025 by HAL
Chapter 2
“Poor Melinda Tone, cast from her home for a fault she did not cause. She pleaded with friends and religious people, but none would take her in for Lord Tone owned much land and many people as a result.
It was late Spring when it happened, and she survived the Summer in begging. She finally moved in with Old Missus Landmire, a strange creature who would have been called a witch in earlier centuries. In the enlightened nineteenth, she was just looked on as a lunatic, a harmless one but one who could be chased by village boys. Melinda lodged with her for several weeks; right up to the first snows in fact. Each day she would walk to the lodge at the gate to the estate and send word to be forgiven for a crime that was not hers to own. Each day her plea was ignored.
See there!” a figure in a ragged white dress could be seen at some distance crossing the bridge. Though the bridge was crowded with people weaving home from the pubs or heading for parties, yet she seemed not to change her step or her route for anyone, they all parted to let her through. “That is her, doomed to walk the route every All Hallows Eve until she is forgiven for a sin she did not commit.
When the snows came, the hovel was cold and unkempt. No fire in the grate, no food in the larder. They weren’t found for two days. They were hugging each other to keep warm, and died that way.”
“What of the old woman? Where does she walk?” Asked one of the two boys out for a laugh.
“Oh no, she doesn’t have to walk. She died doing a good and kind deed.”
“Humbug.” Muttered the grandfather. None of this was in his book. He would check the gravestones tomorrow before unmasking this liar.
“Shall we walk down to the docks? I can tell you there about the wreck of the Imperion.”
Ah, now that WAS in his book. The grandfather knew, he flicked through the pages under the light of the streetlight.
As they walked down down to the river, the mist was starting to rise. It was common enough for these Autumn days to cause a mist to rise off the river, but the guide made use of it in his talk, telling them all to “Stay close, do not get lost in the mist.”
They walked down narrow snickets and alleys, avoiding the road that cut through the old town to allow traffic to flow easier. All that road had done was move where the hold-ups were. The dock road was now easily accessible, but there was still no-where to park so the old dock road was a nightmare in the Summer. Now, though, late at night, it was quiet; they crossed the tarmac road onto the wharf. The gates to the small wharf were usually locked. Tonight they were not locked.
Parents needlessly told their children to take care and not trip. The children were more sure footed than the adults.
“The Imperion was a sailing ship bringing timber from Scandinavia and a few passengers. It was registered in Newcastle I believe. Or at least it usually operated from there. It was heading to Newcastle when the storm hit.”
“Yes, that’s what the book tells us.” agreed the grandfather.
“Of course. We don’t know how bad the storm was, your measuring and categorising of weather systems didn’t exist then. But we know that eight fishing smacks were wrecked further North, the Farne Islands were, in some places, swamped by huge waves. The Master of the Imperion -”
“Captain Loest.” the grandfather interrupted.
“Yes, Malcolm Loest. His father was German, from Kiel I believe. His mother was from South Shields. Well, he realised that the storm was worse near their destination, he turned south, intending to run into a port for shelter. Probably Scarborough, or even into the Humber.”
“Hrrmph, how could you possibly know that? That’s just guessing. Stick to the facts, please!”
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