The Mist at Greystone Hall

October, 1852

Scottish Highlands

The mountains were shrouded in mist.

Annabelle stood at the warped windowpane, the glass trembling slightly under the weight of the thick fog pressing in. She shuddered. The mist always unsettled her—it felt like a hand reaching out from the hallway behind her, brushing the back of her neck.

It swirled closer. She turned abruptly, heart hammering. Nothing was there.

A soft brush against her legs made her jump.“Tabitha! You scared me.”

The striped tabby meowed indignantly and sat expectantly at her dish. Annabelle scooped food into the bowl and gave her a gentle pat, but her own nerves were far from soothed.

A loud bang echoed from upstairs.

The candle on the table flickered violently, though no wind stirred. A sudden chill slid over her shoulders, and Tabitha looked past her—ears flattened, eyes wide.

Annabelle froze. She didn’t dare turn around.

She felt breath on her neck.

“Andrew?” she whispered.

Could it be? Her brother, missing for months after their bitter dispute over their father’s will? Rumors said he’d died—some claimed by his own hand, others whispered something worse.

Tabitha hissed and bolted from the room.

Annabelle’s fingers fumbled for the matches. She lit a fresh candle with trembling hands and turned to face the figure forming in the mist.

There Andrew stood. He was not a ghost. He was alive.

“I’ve come back,” he said, voice low. “And I’ve discovered some very troubling things.”

Annabelle backed away slowly. “How did you get in?”

“Oh, Annabelle,” he said, his voice soft but sharp, “you really should lock your doors. You never know who might come calling.”

She swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“I believe you’re in danger,” he said simply. “The man who witnessed Father's will—Ernest Holloway—I think he murdered him.”

“But… wouldn’t the money go to you if something happened to me?” she asked warily.

“No,” he replied. “The will you signed leaves everything to you. But if we create a new one—together—then Ernest has no reason to target you.”

He opened his satchel and laid a new document on the table. “I’ve had this drawn up. Fifty-fifty. A clean slate.”

Annabelle’s breath caught. “Andrew, I thought you were dead. I never would have signed without you.”

“I know,” he said gently. “Let’s fix it.”

She nodded faintly, still trembling. “All right. Where do I sign?”

“My solicitor is waiting outside,” he said. “May I fetch him?”

She hesitated, then handed him the candle. “Yes. Bring him in.”

The moment Andrew stepped out into the mist, darkness swallowed the room. Tabitha crept back in, curling around Annabelle’s legs. “It’s all right now,” she whispered, more to herself than the cat.

Moments later, the door opened again. Tabitha darted for cover.

Andrew entered with a tall, dark-haired man who carried himself with soldierly confidence.

“Annabelle,” Andrew said, “this is Edmund Banks. We served together in the war. He’s a solicitor now.”

Edmund took her hand in greeting, his gaze lingering a beat too long. “Miss…?”

“Greystone,” she supplied.

“Miss Greystone,” he said with a slight bow. “Shall we?”

As they sat at the table, the kettle began to whistle. Annabelle rose. “Andrew, would you mind pouring the tea?”

“Of course.”

She turned back to Edmund. “Do you truly believe my father was murdered?”

Edmund’s eyes flicked to Andrew. “I do. We intend to uncover the truth.”

They signed the new document together, hands brushing as Edmund guided her through the pages. As he blotted the ink, the mist crept once more beneath the door.

“Did you leave it open?” she asked.

“Apologies,” Andrew said, hurrying to shut it.

“I hate the mist,” she confessed to Edmund.

He gave her a knowing smile. “It rarely brings good news.”

She watched the two men prepare to leave, the new will safely tucked away.

“When will I see you again?” she asked Andrew.

“Soon,” he promised. “Within a few days.”

They stepped out into the fog, vanishing almost instantly.

Alone once more, Annabelle looked down at Tabitha, who had slunk from hiding.

“Was it fate that brought him back?” she whispered. “Or something darker?”

The mist wrapped itself around Greystone Hall like a shroud. Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.

And the candle flickered once more.

Teacake Tidbits - Historical Facts

1. The Highland Clearances Were Still Ongoing

By 1852, the Highland Clearances, a tragic period where tenant farmers were evicted to make way for sheep, were in full force. Families were forced from ancestral crofts, often at short notice and in brutal conditions. Many emigrated to Canada, America, or Australia, leaving behind ghost villages and broken stone walls that can still be seen today.

2. Sheep Farming and the Rise of Sporting Estates

Landowners had shifted their wealth from clan loyalty to profit. By 1852, many former clan lands in the Highlands were being turned into vast sheep farms or fashionable sporting estates for wealthy English and Scottish aristocrats. Deer stalking and grouse shooting became symbols of elite leisure while the locals lived in poverty nearby.

3. The Gaelic Language Was Rapidly Declining

Although Scottish Gaelic was once the dominant tongue in the Highlands, by 1852 it was in steep decline due to displacement, English-only schooling, and cultural suppression following the Jacobite uprisings. Many Highlanders still spoke Gaelic at home, but it was no longer taught officially, marking the slow silencing of a rich oral tradition.

Get to know Annabelle with a short interview she granted.