Free The Chandelier Ballroom by Elizabeth Lord

water, he would conjure up the reflection of her beautiful face on the still surface.
    It was on such a night, some five or six nights later, that he could stand it no longer. Having finished the last half of yet another bottle of whisky, he staggered outside in the early hours to find himself again by the lake. With a three-quarter moon lighting up the quiet night of his estate, he gazed down into its depths for a moment then, with no other thoughts entering his mind, let himself fall effortlessly forward with such longing in his heart to join his beloved Celia that he hardly heard or felt the splash as the water closed over his head.
    He was found next morning by his hired gardener. The police were sent for, their findings that he must have slipped while under the influence of alcohol, had probably sunk like a stone, feet probably caught for a time by weeds on the lake bottom, the body later rising to the surface where it was discovered.
    Millie Butterfield didn’t cry when she was told the news. She was sad, of course, recalling the good days, blaming herself a little for not standing by him as people who have lost someone often find themselves beset by whatever guilt their heart can conjure up – for not doing what they think they should have done, or doing something they shouldn’t have done while the bereaved was alive.
    She was, however, consoled by the fact that her husband’s money was now hers. She was a rich woman and she planned to take full advantage of it, and in time maybe settle down and start again with someone else – who knows. But her first thought was to get rid of that blasted hateful house. Her solicitor was surprised to hear that she didn’t want to keep it.
    ‘Think, my dear, what you could do with it. Turn it into a small hotel, or more modestly a bed and breakfast establishment, or even hire it out for parties.’
    Parties! She’d had enough of parties. How could he know the heartbreak that bloody awful place had brought her? She wasn’t going to tell him. Let him carry on thinking her odd. She was quite content. She had friends, lots of places to go with them, pubs, cinemas, the odd theatre, holidays of course, even abroad maybe, spend whatever she liked so long as she was discreet about it so as not to isolate herself from friends with less cash in their pockets. In the same manner she would find herself a better house, but not too grand and still in the area she loved.
    She wasn’t like Race had been, with his expensive tastes and his flamboyant need to show off. She’d never been one to show off and she wasn’t prepared to let people know just how much she was worth. Let them believe her husband had gambled away most of his money, leaving her just enough to live on comfortably and maybe a little besides, in case they got too suspicious and took her as seeing herself better than them, though she knew they wouldn’t, not her sort of friends, good friends, the absolute salt of the earth.
    Within a couple of months she’d put the place he had striven to make so impressive on the market, to be sold with all its contents, lock, stock and barrel. Being so large it had taken almost a year to sell, but by the spring she had a bite – an offer from a pair of young newly-weds, admittedly for a little less than she’d hoped, but she was only too glad to accept it, happy to see the bleeding place go.
    Within another six weeks the contracts had been signed, leaving her pleased and relieved to see the keys handed over, her only thought, good riddance to bad rubbish. They were bleeding welcome to it. She wouldn’t be surprised if the damned place was haunted. It had never bought no bugger any luck and that was the truth!

Seven
    In awed silence the young couple stared around the immense room they’d entered from a door off a narrow passage. The man consulted the brochure he held. ‘It says this is the chandelier ballroom.’
    The girl gave an explosive laugh. ‘What on earth does that