On a winter's morning in 1789, the cold mist lifted off the site of the folly. The stone masons arrived en masse at first light ready to labour on their works until sundown. Huge vats of lime mortar were mixed by young boys whilst the chip, chip of the chisel on stone filled the morning air.

The noise woke his Lordship. He lay in a large four-poster bed under various bed covers and animal skins. He was not surprised to see that his wife, some thirty-five years his junior, was no longer lying beside him. He felt the mattress where she had laid - it was not even warm. He was sixty-five years old. His first wife died, then he took one of her maids to fill her place. The relationship hadn't come about after the death of his spouse, but had raged for at least one year prior to her death.

Rumour and speculation in the household was that his Lordship had probably done away with her, leaving the way open for the young maid to find his bedchamber.

He got out of the bed, wrapping himself in a blanket before walking over to the window and viewing the early morning scene. Through the mist he could see the masons working on his mausoleum. He looked at them with a sense of pride, all of them toiling for his final resting place. Wait, what was this, he could see one of the workers slacking. The man slacking from his work was standing by his piece of stone, smoking a pipe. He would be finished immediately with all loss of wages.

His attention was taken by something below his window. The sound of footsteps on the gravel could be heard directly below him; someone had just exited from the front door of the house. What had he been doing in the house? He had more than a good idea what this common trade person had been up to. He looked back over his shoulder at the empty bed - oh yes, he knew alright.

On the site of the mausoleum one of the masons looked up from his work and saw George Mason coming up the hill from the direction of the house, home to the Holderness family. Edward shook his head as his son approached. Edward was the Master Mason, and his son took more than a few liberties with his father's trust.

"You'll end up on the end of a rope, my boy," he said as his son walked up the last stretch of the path, a large smile on his face.

"Don't worry yourself father, I have friends in high places."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

With a smile, George picked up his shovel and continued to mix the mortar.

In the kitchen the young Lady Holderness drifted around the large table used for the preparation of food. She was deep in thought, thinking of the last twenty minutes spent with the young muscular craftsman, George. To her it was poetic justice for his Lordship upstairs. They had come together after an affair, him cheating on her Mistress, so now she was doing it to him. She would meet George again later that day; he had promised to slip away again if he possibly could.

The construction was slow on that folly of a tomb. His Lordship would not lay out the money for lifting equipment and tackle, so the artisans had to construct the memorial the old-fashioned way, the unsafe way.

Already the job had cost the lives of three men raising many a complaint with Edward, but nothing had changed. No one dared approach his Lordship, not if they wanted to maintain their employment.

"His Lordship," said a panic-stricken voice as one of the men looked up to the figure approaching from the direction of the house.

Edward put down his trowel and prepared himself to meet his Master. Holding his cap in his hand and pointing his eyes to the floor Edward waited for his Lordship to speak. No words came, the Master was too busy looking around at the men busying themselves. "Morning your Lordship." Edward offered the greeting while touching his forelock.

As Lady Holderness passed through the great hall she noticed a scrap of paper on one of the hall tables. Looking round to ensure no voyeur was spying upon her she picked up the piece of paper and read its contents. The print was crude and disassembled, she knew it was a message from George. There were two pictures on the scrap of paper, one of some kind of bucket or pot and the other a tree. Underneath the two etchings were twelve straight vertical lines. She understood the note perfectly, this was the only way of communication between the two lovers. It wasn’t the safest way, but it was the only way.

"Good morning Edward, I see progress is coming on well."

"Er, yes Sir, that it is."

"Two things Edward. I need one of your men to come and see me at the house at twelve noon, send your lad George down, he seems capable."

"Right you are, my Lord."

Lord Holderness turned on his heels to head back towards the house, then stopped and turned once again to face Edward.

"One other thing."

"Yes Sir?"

"That man over there, the one with the pipe."

"Arthur, Sir?"

"Finish him, no wages."

"Yes Sir.” Edward knew better than to ask why.

Finally Holderness turned and walked back to the house.

"Trouble, Dad?” asked George.

"For you lad, for you."

At five minutes to midday an excited but cautious Lady Holderness came into the kitchen. The rendezvous was set, she was early, eager to repeat the morning’s copulations.

Good, no one about. "This bodes well," she thought to herself. The note clasped in her left hand was clearly indicating the time and place for the assignation. He had no formal education, his trade was learnt from his father. The picture of a pot and a tree indicated the location to be the old pantry and the time, twelve o’clock. Quietly she sneaked in and hid behind the door.

Through the small window she could see the large figure of her lover walking down the hill towards the house. The noise of the pantry door slamming made her jump. Who had closed it? George was still on his way.

The sound of clicking came from the lock, someone had locked the door. Slowly and quietly she turned the doorknob. It was stuck. Frantically she rattled the door, but with no effect. The door was locked. Her lover would be here shortly and he would free her from the small room, which had become a cell.

Two minutes later George entered the front door of the house. As he touched his forelock his Lordship spoke in a business-like tone: "Follow me."

The mason followed the Master into the kitchen. “That old doorway, brick it up,” he said, without any show of emotion in his voice. Did he know his wife was trapped in there? Of course he did, it was he who had left the note in the hall for her to find.

"Right you are, my Lord.” George was more then happy to oblige his Lordship. He was expecting a whipping at the very least. “Do you want me to take the door off, Sir? It will make a neater job."

"No, no just brick it up."

In the room she heard the voice of George. He was here to save her. There was another voice, it was the voice of her husband. Her husband was there also. When he left George to his business then he would open the door to return her to liberty no doubt.

For what she reckoned to be one hour she sat silently waiting. Noise was to be heard coming through the door. She could wait no longer. "George, George," she called.

The penultimate row of bricks were being laid when George heard the cries for help. He knew who it was and also where the appeals were coming from. Turning to his Lordship he saw the stern look on his face, the hard expression he understood all too well.

He stopped work, laying his trowel down on the top of the last course of bricks laid, an act of defiance of his Master.

"You will finish the work, or I’ll have you flogged to death."

George was younger, bigger and stronger then Holderness; he could easily overpower him in a fight. Was she worth it? No. There were plenty more like her. He finished the wall, he knew when he was well off.

On the inside of the cell Lady Holderness attacked the door with half a brick she had found on the floor in a dark corner. Sheer desperation spurred her on.

Finally the handle came away, the lock broken. She opened the door to see a wall standing in her way. The doorway to her freedom was gone. Crying, she fell to her knees. The sound of sobbing could be heard for three days after that. On the third day no more was heard.

Six months later the mausoleum was finished, the work complete. George himself had laid the last stone in place, a plaque with the inscription:

Lord Holderness

A Fair and Honest Man

He now worked directly for his Lordship as head of his estate. Lord Holderness had rewarded his obedience with his purse. Did George feel any guilt for what they had done six months previously?

The honest answer to that question was no. The Lordship’s wife had been one of a succession of women, no one mentioned her name now.

His latest girl was the daughter from his Master’s first marriage. Ironically he had landed with both feet firmly on the ground when a noose around his neck was a more likely outcome.

The workers were paid off and thrown off the estate with the Lord’s usual grace. Once he had no more use for a man then he became a trespasser on his land.

His Lordship and his latest wife didn’t sleep well that summer’s night. The next day was the official dedication of the tomb, a celebration would be had.

Though it was a warm summer’s night the bedroom was unusually cold, an icy wind blowing through the room.

The ceremony finished, many members of the family were now drifting back down the hill towards the house. George took his Lord and Master for a private tour around his memorial.

He had expected it to be cold in there, after all it was made of stone. The temperature drop though was much greater then he had expected. The faithful George showed him the two lines of plots for his ancestors to be buried in and at the end of the aisle stood the monument to him.

His Lordship was pleased with the work. He looked around high and low, nodding his approval. In his side he felt a sharp jab from his estate manager. How dare he touch his Master in such a fashion? He turned towards him and was about to let loose his wrath on the young man for striking his better when he saw the lad’s face. It was drained of all colour. Slowly looking round to face the monument, he found the source of George’s terror.

Standing on the bottom step was a woman. Who was she? How dare she enter this place? Then he stopped dead in his tracks. As he approached her he realised that the slightly translucent figure was the second Lady Holderness. It was the woman the two men had bricked up six months before. The figure raised a translucent arm, the hand pointing at the plaque. It had changed. It now read...

Lord Holderness

Murderer

George Mason

Betrayer

Both men, overcome with fear, turned and ran towards the entrance. As they reached the arched doorway they were met, not with the door, but with solid stone. The archway was still there, but the doorway had been replaced with a solid continuous wall. The door was not visible anymore.

The ghostly figure smiled then faded away.