pale clara

He ran down the hall, Kath following close behind, both laughing, trying to avoid spilling their champagne. It was early morning new year's day 1909.

“Wait for me chuffy!” Kath shouted down the corridor.

Charles pulled up short of the staircase to the attic.

“I do wish you wouldn’t call me Chuffy old girl, it really makes one sound like one of those idle club buffoons.” He retorted before taking a swig from his glass.

“I hate to say it Chuffy, but you are one of those idle buffoons and less of the old please, I’m 17.” She took a gulp of Champagne. “This is a lark isn’t it!”

Charles had turned and was staring, through one squiffy eye, at the hatch at the top of the attic stairs.

“Can you hear that?”

Kath looked up at the attic hatch.

“Hear what?”

“There’s something moving the hatch I swear.”

They stood and watched the hatch together. They had almost become bored, when a voice behind them caused them to jump.

“I wouldn’t go up there if I were you sir. Pale Clara is up there.” Said Smythes the butler. “She don’t take kindly to visitors, never has and never will.”

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