I woke to unexpected cold, not cold by some people’s standards I’m sure, but cold enough for here that I lit the fire early and added a couple of extra layers to the day’s clothing. It’s strange to walk out and find the air in a swamp fresh and nippy but it did make my planned excursion to the castle ruins a little more pleasant. I wouldn’t be arriving red-faced and sweaty and the castle’s ghost is something of a stickler for dress and deportment.

I wouldn’t be visiting but I needed to harvest their herb garden. It’s an agreement we’ve reached. They’re very possessive but can’t actually DO any gardening (among other things) and this way their herb and flower beds are kept tidy and attractive. Someone else can deal with the inside of the place, although what they’d find to ‘harvest’ is beyond my imagination. All the ornaments and items of value were looted centuries ago.

The walk was quiet, most creatures were huddled in their various nests, dens, and burrows, sulking over the unreasonable weather.

The castle ghost was waiting in the garden when I arrived. I think that’s where she spends most of her time. As I said, it’s the only part of the castle that’s in any sort of order. I curtseyed and gave her a formal sort of greeting. It’s a bit silly but she’s the castle’s lady from about three hundred years ago. Manners were different then and they matter to her. Not that she could do anything to me if she took offence but, really, why antagonise someone when it’s so easy to bring them a little joy.

I set to, working my way through the garden beds, harvesting what I needed, pruning and weeding what I didn’t. I had a little compost heap in the corner, which seemed to gain food scraps and other odds and ends on random occasions so I suppose Her Ladyship does receive other visitors from time to time.

The garden was a sunny spot, sheltered from the wind by the castle’s walls. I soon warmed up and shed my trench coat, hooking it over the remains of a rose trellis and returning to work. I was startled a short while later by the sight of it scampering past me, blundering into, and through several of the flowerbeds.

I ran after it and managed to get a foot solidly down onto a trailing corner. It, or rather whatever was under it, scrabbled and roiled as I pulled the fabric up and away from its clutches. As it turned out, their clutches. A trio of juvenile racoons had decided to play dress-ups and managed to get themselves thoroughly tangled. They raced off as soon as I’d freed the last of them from my now-ruined coat.

The ghost patted my shoulder in sympathy, her hand was chilly and wasn’t quite sure where to stop. She beckoned as I finished work on the final section of the garden and bundled up the torn and tatty bit of fabric that used to be my coat.

Interesting. She’d never done that before. She led me through a couple of corridors and down in to what must have been the kitchen in times past. It looked like a room that was used on occasion. Maybe hunters, or rangers from the royal army had set it up as a stopping point on their journeys. There was a stack of wood by the fireplace and some well-secured containers of what was probably dried food, as well as a good selection of dried herbs hanging from the roof. That explained my sometimes less-bountiful-than-expected harvests. The well in the centre of the room was cleared and a bucket on a new rope sat on its edge and I found crockery and cutlery, the type issued by armies, in one of the cupboards.

In the fireplace, dangling from a hook that would sit just nicely above the flames, was a tea kettle. Just what was needed on a chilly day after all that work. I set and lit the fire and filled the kettle from the well.

That gave me my second surprise for the day. As the water in the kettle warmed over the file, the kettle began to sing. And I don’t mean that hissy sort of steam escaping whistling. It was warbling an old ballad about a knight and his lady both being complete idiots. The song came to an end as the water came to the boil.

I might not have appreciated the kettle’s taste in music, but it made a good cup of tea – whoever was drying those herbs knew their business – and I was glad to know it was there.

I rinsed the mug and spoon, put out the fire and added a little of my harvest to the hanging leafy bundles. Maybe these other visitors would be as curious about me as I now was about them. All the same, it was time to leave, and another cup of tea, from my own kettle, by my own fire was beckoning.

Related posts