This is the third instalment in the serialisation of weird fiction short story…
Talleyrand
Continued…
“My heart is yours already, dear Humphrey. And yet…” I peered down the long road over his shoulder as a ray of sunshine burst through the gunmetal clouds, illuminating Talleyrand. Other than my aunt’s home, it was the last house built by my grandfather still in my aunt’s possession.
I took a deep breath. “This coming Sunday, you will take a room at the Blue Bell Inn and stable Stormcloud there for the night. Then meet me here when the clock strikes eleven. Only then will I present my trial to you.” His expression did not waver, so I continued. “Of course, you are not bound to accept my challenge, sir. The choice will be yours alone.”
“Ah, my dearest Rowetta. The choice you give me is no choice at all,” he said. “For to reject your test will dim my light in your eyes. But I accept the terms of your trial without forenotice as I trust in your love for me.”
He held out his hands, palms up, and as I covered them with mine, our shared gaze sealed the contract.
“We will speak of this no more,” I said. “Now let us take tea with my Aunt Venice. She is always almost as pleased to see you as I am.”
When the sun rose on that wretched Sunday, I thought it prudent to learn more of Talleyrand before I sent the love of my life to this ill-famed place. Although discussion of Talleyrand was forbidden while I lived under the protection of my aunt and uncle, since my uncle’s passing, Aunt Venice had been more open about the unoccupied property. So during afternoon tea, I gleaned as much information as I dared without raising her ire or suspicion.
Rumours of its haunting had been rife in the village long before French diplomat Charles Maurice de Talleyrand took up residence during his self-imposed exile from France. Then, seventeen years ago, when England and France were on the brink of war, he was expelled to the Americas, and the house and the surrounding area adopted the Talleyrand title.
As to why Monsieur Talleyrand stayed in the property for two years without mention of any ghostly apparitions, my aunt could only suggest he had not attempted to enter the locked attic room whence locals gossiped the haunting occurred. Since his departure, there had been no long-term occupancy, and the house and gardens had fallen into disrepair.
And so, that Sunday e’en, once my aunt retired, I took the large Talleyrand house key from the secret place in the fabric of her rocking chair cushion and lit a candle in my bedroom window to guide my beloved Humphrey. My body was tingling with excitement as I pulled my hooded cloak over my nightwear and waited outside, shivering, by the library window. The new moon cast no light on the darkest of nights. Even the Milky Way took refuge behind impenetrable clouds lest it witness the events unfold.
© Drew Halfpenny 2025
