Clarissa moved quietly down the side aisle towards the tomb at the opposite end. A strange cloaked figure was standing next to the stone effigy of the knight. Although there was a hood over the face, the figure seemed like that of a young woman.

As the girl approached, the figure turned away and seemed to vanish at the foot of the altar steps. She was about to run back to her brother when she saw something bright and shiny on the floor next to the tomb. She crept warily forward and stooped to pick it up. It was something that the mysterious lady must have dropped. Clarissa examined it carefully, turning it over and over in her hand. It was a silver thimble with an ornamental letter 'M' on the top.

     "We all appreciate the effort that young Clarissa and Jeremy have made with decorating the children's corner," the vicar was telling their mother, Sandra Matthews. "Of course, it's even more pleasing since you're one of our latest arrivals. And we all know of your excellent work with the WI and of your husband's involvement with the cricket club. Entering into the community spirit and all that."
      Clarissa was standing and listening, just out of sight behind the kitchen door. She was fingering the silver thimble in her pocket, thinking that she ought to give it to the vicar and tell him about the mysterious cloaked figure in the church.
     "St. John's is very old, isn't it?" Sandra asked the vicar.
      "Yes, indeed," he replied. "The church itself is essentially 11th century with many later additions, principally at the end of the 15th century."
      He rubbed his hands together. "There's a unique carved font cover and, um, the rood screen is of particular interest. And you will also have noticed the marvellous 14th century altar tomb of Sir Archibald Oswaldine."
      "The one with the figure of the knight?"
      "Yes, indeed, the raised tomb with the recumbent effigy of the knight - a particularly fine example. There's rather an interesting story attached to it."
      Clarissa crept nearer to the partly open door. "When Sir Archibald went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, his betrothed, Lady Morgana Walsingham, went with him," the vicar began.           "While he fought with the infidels, Morgana stayed in Cyprus, embroidering her wedding dress. Unfortunately, Sir Archibald received severe head injuries in the fighting. And when he returned from the Holy Land, he came back alone, forgetting about poor Morgana, waiting faithfully for him in Cyprus."
      The vicar paused. "He died shortly afterwards and was buried here in the church just before Christmas. Meanwhile, Lady Morgana was still waiting in Cyprus for his return from the Holy Land. And not till she got back to this country almost a year after his death did she discover the truth."
      "How sad," said Sandra.
      "Yes, indeed," agreed the vicar. "And there is a traditional belief that just before Christmas each year, the ghost of Morgana appears next to Sir Archibald's tomb in the church."    
      Clarissa let out a little gasp.
      "Is that you, Clari'," called Sandra.
      "Yes, mum."
      The vicar picked up his hat from the table and started to button up his overcoat. "Anyway, I must be getting along," he said. "But, as a matter of fact, I don't know of anyone who says they've seen the ghost. Personally, I think the story was probably a Victorian invention. Still, you never know."
      Clarissa, still behind the kitchen door, took the thimble from her pocket and looked at the ornamental letter 'M'. "So it was you, Morgana," she whispered.

      The children opened the church door and slipped inside. "I think you're barmy," said Jeremy. "I don't believe a word of it. You're just making up this silly story. It sounds like something out of one of your soppy comics."
      "Not so. It's true, I tell you. I heard the vicar tell mum all about it."
      "Anyway, ghosts are usually headless or with clanking chains and red eyes and awful groaning and wailing sounds. They're not silly romantic things like this Morgana."
      Clarissa walked down the aisle and turned into the side chapel at the end, Jeremy trailing reluctantly behind her. Taking the silver thimble from her pocket, she carefully placed it next to the figure of Sir Archibald. Then she turned to go.
      "Is that all?" moaned Jeremy. "Aren't we going to wait and see what happens? Perhaps Morgana will come back."
      "I thought you didn't believe in her!" Jeremy pulled a face.

They were halfway up the aisle when there was a dreadful creaking sound like an old key turning in a rusty lock. It came from the chapel. The children looked back fearfully. Jeremy ran the rest of the way up the aisle to the church door.

But his sister remained where she was. Then, her little face pale but determined, she turned and quietly crept back towards the chapel. The thimble had vanished from beside the tomb. Of course, it was all impossible. But it seemed, she thought, as if the knight had stretched out his stiff stone hand to take it. And it must be a trick of the light which made it look - well, almost as if there were tears in those cold unseeing eyes.      "He remembers," she said softly. "And he still loves you, Morgana."

 

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