The Gardens at Clawthide castle.

In spite of her poor eyesight and chronic headaches, Cassandra finds the tours at the castle fascinating.

When I was a little girl, becoming lady of the manor was a dream but it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be, believe me. Yes, you get to wear bruges lace and swish around in ball gowns but it’s so very tedious, I promise you. I used to adore keeping up with the latest fashions however, over the years I’ve become somewhat stagnant. 

I won’t bore you with the details but I do have a permanent headache nowadays. I can barely see and I’ve been wearing the same dress since I can remember. I really should see the doctor, shouldn’t I? 

It’s not just my eyesight that has changed, though. I sense that things are different around here.  

There are people who come and stroll across the gardens now. I always wave but no one waves back. Rude. I assumed they were new gardeners or gamekeepers. My husband doesn’t inform me of such things. It’s none of my business, or so he says. I make it my business though. I’m always watching to see what they’re doing. He’s out of the county at the moment, God knows where. 

The little children sometimes wave. Most of the time though, they run away. I’m rather scary I suppose. I was always firm with my own children, you see. Gosh, I haven’t seen them for years. I sometimes wonder what they’re doing, as a mother does. I’ve had nothing since Letitia wrote me regarding  her visit to Paris. I am certain she will write back when the money runs out. Ha! I was just the same when I was one and twenty. 

There are these things that the visitors do. They call them “tours.”Sometimes I follow along with the tours. It’s a fascinating place, Clawthide castle. An ancestor of mine built it in 1492. There have been so many wars here. I do enjoy learning about it all. 

I’m at the back of a touring party now, in fact. I tried being at the front but they walk so fast and it’s horribly cold and windy when I’m with the other people. They’re talking about the centuries and so on I’m at the back, admiring my roses. The tour guide is talking to them. I wonder what we’ll learn about the English civil war today. 

“And here in the gardens of the castle is where Cassandra Stewart, Countess of Rutland, met her untimely end. Cassandra’s body was dumped here, in this well.”

“I heard he mutilated her body after he killed her,” whispered one tourist to the other. “An axe right through her head.” 

Oh dear. That does ring a bell now that you come to mention it.

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Thank you so much for reading!