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Chapter 3: The Legend

            “Sometime during the 1700s, the Manor House passed into the hands of a farming family.  Life was far from easy for the farmers here on the coast.  They often turned to wrecking or smuggling to supplement the meager crops they could grow in our rocky soil.” 

            As she speaks, Miss Micklewhite stops from time to time so Stefan can relay the story to Tom.  “If you have been down to the sea, you have seen how jagged our coastline is.  There are rocks strewn offshore that are hidden at high tide, very dangerous to ships passing by.  And there are many coves and stream outlets ideal for hiding contraband.

            “In the late 1790s, a farmer and his wife lived here in the Manor.  Their name was Braithewaite.  John Braithewaite struggled hard to make ends meet.  Finally, he took to wrecking.  Now the regular wreckers were folks who took goods from the cargoes of ships that had smashed up on the rocks.  But there were also wreckers who put out false lights to lure ships to their destruction.  John Braithewaite joined up with some of these unscrupulous men.

            “Now Braithewaite had a son named George.  George worked the farm with his father.  He had a wife, and a little girl named Margaret. George discovered his father’s nefarious business.  He was so unhappy about it that he moved away to live with relatives in Somerset.”  At the mention of the ghost’s name, Teresa shivers.  She is no stranger to apparitions, yet still she can feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

            “George Braithewaite adored his little daughter, and she loved him dearly.  Later, George and his family went to live in Ireland.  Unfortunately, George did not fare well in Ireland.  When Margaret was in her early teens, George had news that his father had died, and he left his family in Ireland and moved back to the Manor House.  Being short of funds, he took up wrecking like his father. 

            “Margaret grew up and married an Irishman. Some years passed and Margaret longed to see her father again.  She took her youngest son, a babe of nine months, and boarded a ship for England.  Perhaps Margaret meant to surprise her father, or perhaps her letter went astray.  In any case, she was aboard the ship that her father, George, and his fellow wreckers lured onto the rocks with their false lights.

            “It was a moonless night, and the rain poured down.  The wreckers stripped the ship, hid the goods in caves.  One of the wreckers found a young woman among the rocks on the shore.  Her face was swollen and bruised from the tossing she had received.  The wrecker called George over and they divided her jewelry between them.  But then the woman moaned, and they realized she was still alive.  Thinking of asking a fine ransom, they piled her on to George’s cart with the barrels and boxes.  At the Manor House, they laid her out upon a bed in an upstairs room.  She died before morning. 

            “The following day, George was shown a list of the passengers on the ship.  He realized then that the young woman was Margaret, his daughter.  His grandson had also perished in the wreck, but his body was never found.  George was horrified and distraught with guilt and shame.  He blocked up the room with Margaret’s body still inside, sealing it off with bricks.  The window to the room was blocked up as well.”

            Miss Micklewhite gestures toward the closed door on their left.  “Please follow me into that room.”  She steps over to the door and opens it with a flourish.