CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
the bone plot

( TW: some gore, character death )

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

DATE: A CHILLY DAY IN LONDON
IN JANUARY, 1922

EFFIE'S NEW LODGINGS are no particular eyesore. Then again, she is used to sleeping above a shop. Her childhood home had been the confectionery shop in Portsmouth. She knew everyone on her street, she had friends, and her parents still acknowledged her. The smell of peppermints was just as integral to her youth as the sea spray.

     Things are quite different now.

After a Christmas with nowhere to stay, Effie had taken a train to London. All day she had been walking around, frozen-footed, lugging around her suitcase with her only remaining belongings; anything else is still back in Portsmouth, with the parents who disowned her. In due time, Effie had stumbled on a hostel she could afford a cheap room in. Her living space is enough of a sardine tin as it is, and even more so when you add the roommate she has — Olive Carter, a somewhat quiet girl with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. At least she seems like good fun.

Her feet are throbbing from walking all day. Effie kicks off her shoes, sitting on the edge of bed to massage some warmth back into her toes. Now that she is here, she feels everything start to catch up to her. What turns might her life take here? How might it have been different if Effie had stayed at home? If she hadn't...

Tears start to prickle her eyes. No, we're not doing this. She determinedly swallows the lump in her throat. Any thoughts of Arthur, or her family, or especially Violet, she tries to push out of her mind. Effie cannot change what has happened. It is a new year, after all. She has to make a new life for herself in London. A life where she cannot bump into parents, brothers, or even daughters.

Precisely what that life is going to look like, Effie has no clue of yet.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

THE man dressed in Elizabethan liveries walks through the halls of Button House, making haste with the letter clasped in his hand. A lady of the house, standing idly in her gown, receives the letter and opens it solemnly. Anyone else would think this were a scene right from the time period — it almost could be, until the woman opens her mouth and stares down the lens of a camera.

     "Whether Elizabeth's spies knew about the letter," says Zara, the lady in question, "is still a matter of much conjecture..."

     As Zara continues talking, Effie stands behind the sofa with the other ghosts. She has heard a plethora of little facts about this mystery with Button House, as the documentary film crew make their rounds. "Why do you think she's dressed up for the occasion?" Effie whispers, leaning to the side.

     Thomas Thorne is the ghost who happens to be beside her. "She does look ravishing," he sighs.

     "Yes, but why is she dressed like that? Does it serve a purpose?"

     "I suppose it immerses the viewer..."

     "Well, imagine it in another scenario. I wonder if she dresses up for every historical era," Effie snickers. "If she were making a picture about Robin, would she walk around in bear skins and grunt all the time?"

     "Shhh!" Fanny hisses.

     Whispering even quieter, Effie adds, "Hey, look, she can fancy dress if she wants to. I'm not stopping her."

     "Hellooo!" Julian whistles, walking into the room and noticing the woman dressed in the gown. "Where's she been hiding?"

     "She's not dead, Julian," the Captain rolls his eyes.

     "The good ones never are," Thomas says wistfully, casting a glance back at Alison.

     Alison lets his compliment go right over her head; Effie, too, learned how to do that as the decades went by. "It's just a costume," she explains to Julian, keeping her voice low. "They're making a documentary: History's Greatest Plots. Apparently, there was a coup planned here back in the day."

     "Hey, look, that wasn't a coup, per se," Julian starts to defend himself like he's in Parliament. "That was an informal discussion with some parliamentary colleagues about Maggie's leadership style... you know?"

     "She's not talking about the 80s, mate, look at her!" Pat gestures to the Elizabethan costume.

     "Exactly," Effie adds, "I know you lot had an odd obsession with shoulder pads in your day, but do you see any on that dress? I don't think so."

     Robin scratches his head, the sounds like a broom coarsely scraping against floorboards. "What plot she talking abutt– about?" he grunts.

     "Dunno," Alison shrugs. "That's just what they told us. I thought you might know."

     To this, Robin gives another non-committal grunt. Either he doesn't know, or he doesn't care. It could quite plausibly be both.

     "It's possible Elizabeth's forces simply happened upon the plotters... oh!" Zara squeals, swatting her paper through the air to fend off a bee buzzing in her face. The ghosts and camera crew watch in alarm; only when she starts laughing do they join in, passing it off as a humorous gaffe ("One for the bloopers!" Pat jokes).

     Still, Effie wonders... who could she be talking about? It could very well be one of them. She knows for a fact it isn't her, because she has never been involved in anything akin to a coup.

     Meanwhile, Pat is still hung up on something else. "What?" the Captain asks, after noticing the scout staring at him.

     "Do you know," says Pat, "I don't think I've ever seen you laugh."

     At the very notion of it, the Captain scoffs. But Effie considers this point and butts in. "I don't think I have, either. The world order would be completely disrupted if you had a laughing fit one day," she teases.

     "That is utterly ridiculous!"

     "You're telling me. How have you never laughed at anything, in the seventy-something years I've known you?"

     "Er, do you mind?" Fanny scolds them all. "Some of us are trying to learn something here."

     All the ghosts quieten, listening to Zara talking once again about the mysterious coup in Button House. Effie's imagination starts to run wild with who the documentary's subject could be. She glances slowly around at her peers, mentally striking out some names.

     "Regarded by many as a martyr, a mastermind, a hero, and perhaps the most important person ever to have walked these grounds..."

     "Is it me? Sounds like me," Thomas ponders.

     "You couldn't plan a coup if you tried," Effie smirks.

     "... which is why the history books echo with the name, Sir Humphrey Bone."

     Oh... their Humphrey?

     "Heavens! Why, I think she means..." Kitty gasps, turning around with the other ghosts.

     Indeed, there stands the body of Humphrey Bone, only without his head attached. It's a common sight, but deeply disappointing when all they have is questions for him.

     "Oh, s'fallen off again!" Mary throws her arms in the air.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

HOW did they not know about this? One of the most inconsequential ghosts haunting this house, and Effie never realised this whole time, Humphrey was practically a celebrity. Rather rude of him not to mention anything...

     "Humphrey!" Effie cups her hands around her mouth, calling his name.

     "Head bit!" Mary hollers.

     As she raises an eyebrow at her, the conversation behind them is rather more different; Pat is still hung up over the revelation he just had about the Captain. "I'm just saying, personally speaking, I can't remember ever seeing you properly laugh," he points out.

     "That's absolute nonsense. I laugh all the time," the Captain claims, jutting out his chin. "Why, only the other evening, Fanny and I were in stitches while recalling the satirical skewering of socio-political institutions in The Mikado. Isn't that right, Fanny?"

     "Mm?" Fanny pouts.

     "The Mikado."

     "Oh, hilarious skewering of socio-political institutions."

     "Hysterical."

     "Side-splitting."

     "Riotous."

     "Agreed," Fanny nods.

     "I concur," the Captain clears his throat. "So I hope that puts this matter to rest. Carry on."

     Effie wrinkles her nose at the both of them. Bizarre. Instead, she focuses her own energy back on the hunt for Humphrey, scouring every room for his disembodied head.

     "Found it!" Kitty finally calls out. She's stood alone in the room, holding poor Humphrey's head up by a tuft of his hair.

     "Him," he corrects her.

     "Him, sorry," she places him down on a wooden stool next to the door. "You didn't tell us you were famous."

     "Am I? Ooh, that's nice. Am I a painter?"

     "She means the plot, mate," Pat says, "the Catholic plot."

     Humphrey's lighthearted temperament wobbles upon the mention of it. His eyes darken, taken back to a memory. "Oh... that."

     "It's famous enough to warrant a documentary, you know," Effie tells him with a wink. "Legions of spotty children are probably learning about you in school."

     "You always said your death was a misunderstanding," Fanny recalls.

     "Well, in a way, yeah," Humphrey agrees. "Certainly wasn't, erm... straightforward."

     "What, one chop?" Mary retorts. "Well, it sounds pretty straightforward to me. But then I was burned alive, so..."

     Effie grimaces, hissing through her teeth; the Captain holds out his hand and says, "Alright now, steady on, Mary. Steady."

     "I mean more the circumstances were... complicated." There is a long, drawn-out pause once Humphrey says it, leaving all the other ghosts hanging in the balance. He seems lost in thought again, a slight sadness cast over him like a shadow. Then his eyes shift up to the group; he notices all their eager expressions. "I could tell you about it if you like."

     They all murmur and nod in agreement, trying not to sound too excited about the story of his death.

     Effie and the others listen intently as Humphrey tells his story. The year was 1575 — he had been married to his wife, Sophie, for some time now. She was French, and he did not speak of a word of it, nor did she speak any English (Sophie blatantly refused to learn such an "ugly language"). Any communication was guess work between them. Even when ignoring that, the couple had nothing in common.

     One day, though, there was a small breakthrough. Humphrey got the impression that Sophie wanted somewhere she could host a reading group. If it made her happy, why shouldn't she have that? At least he could do something right for her. So Humphrey had offered his chartroom for her to use, at the other end of the house...

     Apparently, not everyone is so immersed in this story. Effie keeps hearing Pat chatting behind her.

     "—And the priest says, I know! That's why I painted it gold," he chortles at the punchline of his joke.

     "That is offensive to at least five different religions," Fanny says, straight-faced.

     "There are only three in it," the Captain adds, unimpressed.

     "Give over. It's just a harmless bit of fun! You haven't heard me jumbo jet joke yet. There's a nun, a gorilla and a pe—"

     "Do you mind?" Humphrey interrupts, mildly irritated. "I'm baring my soul here."

     "You're making this very slow and painful," Mary mutters, "unlike his execution."

     Effie and Kitty wince. Too far.

     "Now, where was I?" Humphrey wonders.

     "Book Club," Effie reminds him.

     "Oh, yeah... Book Club..." he says sinisterly; she never knew a book club could sound so sinister.

     Humphrey tells them how he had been very accommodating to Sophie's guests, with not a clue of what they discussed in their meetings. They all spoke in French, so he never stood a chance. His wife never revealed to him what they talked about. But soon, it would become clear to him—

     "How dare you!" Pat squawks. "I'll have you know I've got my entertainers badge. I just hadn't sewn it on yet. The same with my sewing badge."

     "I'm simply saying that the reason you so rarely see us reduced to fits of hysteria is because in present company, we're seldom given cause," Fanny is replying.

     Rolling her eyes, Effie swivels in her seat and says, "Will you three be quiet? We're getting to the good bit! Anyway, a bit of slapstick is sure to get you laughing. Chaplin, Keaton... there's nothing funnier than watching another person fall flat on their face."

     "Sounds rather immature," the Captain hums.

     "Alright, then. Why don't you make us all laugh, show us how it's done?" Pat challenges him.

     "I'll handle this, Fanny. Right..."

     Effie sighs, turning back to Humphrey's head lying on its side. "You were saying?"

    "Well, it was this one night where Sophie was taking longer than usual. I just remember thinking: Well, it must be a pretty good book, 'cause they've been in there for ages..."

     As Sophie and her Book Club had dispersed, Humphrey had gone in after them to tidy up the chartroom. He put chairs back in their places, put out a couple of candles. Then he had noticed a book left forgotten on the floor. Sweeping it up in his hands, Humphrey had called after them, only to notice a letter falling out of it. His eyes had caught the writing in the light — this was understandable to him, not all in French. And what he found had made his heart drop into his stomach.

     "It was all there," Humphrey tells them now. "The Catholic plot, every detail of it."

     "So it was Sophie who planned the plot, not you!" Effie gasps.

     "What did you do next?" asks Kitty.

     Humphrey gulps, somewhat uncomfortably. "Well—"

     "And the quartermaster says, You may have paid the bill, but I'm still the PATE familias," the Captain delivers his own, utterly dry joke to Pat, with no response. A beat passes. "Because he'd had the pate."

     "The pate!" Fanny echoes.

     "Do you see?"

     "It's very clever."

     "She didn't laugh. You didn't laugh. Nobody laughed!" Pat retorts.

     The subject is veering well away from Humphrey's death, but he seems to mind less this time. He remains quiet, even as Robin and Norman join the group.

     "Long, fancy words don't make something funny," Kitty says. "I find I often laugh most at the simplest things."

     "Duly noted," Fanny tuts.

     "Like someone else laughing!"

     "Oh, yes. Laughter is contagious," Pat pushes his glasses up. At this, Kitty whimpers, clutching her stomach like she has contracted a deadly disease. "Not in a bad way, Kitty. No, just that laughter breeds more laughter."

     "Preposterous," Fanny scoffs.

     "Balderdash!" the Captain tuts.

     To test out this theory, Kitty starts to giggle lightly. After a few moments, Pat can't help but chuckle too, delighted. Even Humphrey joins in, which sets Effie off — she feels the laughter rising up through her, growing more as everyone except Fanny and the Captain join in. Why did they start in the first place? She cannot remember, which only makes it more hilarious. By the time Robin and Norman are in on it too, Effie has tears in her eyes, doubled over with laughter.

     Then, slowly, the laughter unwinds. The ghosts are reduced to gasps for breath, wiping away their tears. That felt good.

     "Anyway, where was I?" Humphrey asks, still beaming.

     "About to die," Mary replies lightly.

     "Oh, yeah."

     "If you can calls that dying."

     Pretty soon, the humour fades from Humphrey's voice, as he is put straight back into his memories. Things were escalating rapidly. As he went to confront Sophie about the letter, Her Majesty's Guards had already arrived and were pounding on the door. It was arrest or death for them — a fate which would be grisly either way. While Sophie attempted to escape and waited for her husband, Humphrey tried to block the door and buy her some time.

     "It was funny," he says now, "we'd always been strangers to each other in that house. And yet, in that moment, I felt like I understood Sophie more than ever before... I mean, I wish there hadn't been a Catholic plot involved, but, y'know. No one's perfect."

     Allowing Sophie to escape, Humphrey took the fall. The guards broke down the door and captured him, beheading him on the spot on his own home. It is this bravery and martyrdom that must have put him in the history books.

     A cloak of silence falls over the ghosts as he finishes his story. Effie finds herself surprisingly moved. Kitty is even crying.

     "At least, that's how—"

     Humphrey is cut off by the clacking of boots, as the Captain marches forward and gives his head a salute. "For valiance."

     "Yes. Quite right," Fanny agrees.

     "Well said, that man..." Pat mumbles.

     "Fair do's, actually, fair do's," Mary even admits, despite being unimpressed with his death before.

     "And to think, we had no idea," Effie says in disbelief.

     Pat crosses his arms and winces. "It's a horrible way to go."

     "Easy for you to say, isn't it?" Mary shrugs. "You barely even feels an arrow."

     "You WHAT?!"

     As Pat storms after Mary in a hissy fit, Kitty scurries off, saying how they should tell Alison everything they just heard; then she can "tell the television people" about it. Robin stays back for a moment, trying to copy the Captain's salute at first. Then he opts for a handshake, which Humphrey just stares at. They both remember that isn't possible and try to forget it ever happened. After he leaves, the only ghosts left behind are Effie and Norman.

     Curiously, Norman, in all his ridiculous jingling glory, pauses beside Humphrey's head. "I think you forgot a bit, didn't you?" he asks.

     "No, I don't– I don't think so," Humphrey shifts his eyes away.

     "The fireplace bit. By my troth, I saw it with my own eyes."

     "What fireplace bit?" Effie perks up. "What did you leave out?"

     Humphrey heaves out the longest, most reluctant sigh.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

DATE:
SEPTEMBER 26th, 1575
(AS NORMAN RECALLS...)

"WHAT have you done?"

     Humphrey glares at his wife, the paper trembling in his hands. His wife Sophie, stands opposite him, her face cast in dramatic shadow from the candles....

     Neither of them can see Norman Rolfe stood beside them. It is a good thing he's a ghost right now, because if he were not, his jingling jester costume would surely ruin the mood. The great big doors suddenly rattle and shake with force.

     "What ho!" Norman gasps, startled.

     "Her Majesty's Guard! Open up!" a voice barks on the other side. For a moment, Norman finds it puzzling, before remembering that it is indeed King Henry's daughter who now sits on the throne.

     "We have to go," Sophie hisses.

     "Go? What?" Humphrey asks.

     "You want to live? We must go."

     Norman likes the sound of that. He runs after Sophie, bells tinkling on his costume, but Humphrey stays where he is.

     "Humphrey!"

     Instead of joining his wife, Sir Humphrey flocks to the door, spreading his arms out. He tries to press his weight against it to barricade the entrance. "I'll hold them off as long as I can," he says. His knuckles already whiten around the doorway, struggling to hold back the guards. A loud thud almost sends him flying across the room.

     "Quoi?!" Sophie cries.

     "This isn't the life you signed up for. Go! Have another one." When she hesitates, Humphrey begins to plead. "Well, go!"

     For a moment that stretches time, Sophie stares wide-eyed at her husband. Norman feels all aflutter as he sees her press a kiss to Humphrey's cheek, who shuts his eyes just to savour it. Then she is gone, vanished into the night.

     "In the name of Her Majesty, open this door!"

     "Fear not, good sir, I shall assist you!" Norman declares. He tries pushing his body weight against the door, but his ghostly hand dissolves right through to the other side — his head follows, and suddenly he is staring at two very angry looking guards. Norman gulps and steps back into the house. "I shall assist you... from afar!"

     His assistance, near or far, seems futile. Humphrey soon seems to realise he's on his own.

     "Oh God, what am I doing?!" he cries, fleeing from the door. He heaves a chest in front of it and runs. Now it will only be a matter of time before the royal guards break in. Humphrey shall be arrested, or worse.

Norman follows him around like a lost sheep as he hunts for weapons. Humphrey tries out a lit candlestick first, trying to jab it through the air before burning his finger. Giving up on that, he then tests out two silver plates, brandishing one in each hand. Whilst he is debating what to do with that, Norman looks around and notices two swords mounted above the fireplace. Perfect!

"Sir! Prithee, look upon the walls!" Norman waves his hands wildly through the air.

A few seconds later, Humphrey spies the swords on the walls and whoops. Norman almost forgets that he cannot be seen, and that the man simply spotted it on his own accord. However, there is no success. The swords are so tightly fastened to the wall, they cannot be removed.

THUD!

The noise is louder than before, signifying that the guards have broken in. "Hide, sir, hide!" Norman squeaks.

He does not see where Humphrey vanishes to, but by the time the guards have arrived, he is clearly gone. Never has Norman felt so self-conscious about the bells on his costume, even if he cannot be heard. He holds his breath as the guards search the house, wandering around each room and turning over furniture.

Finally, they reunite in the dining room. "No sign of him, sir," says one of them.

"Why is it always bad news with you?" asks the other.

"It's not always..."

"It's never, Oh, I've found him, he's through here."

"I found that priest hole once," the meeker guard points out.

"There was no priest in it," his partner rebukes. "That was just a hole."

They continue to bicker amongst themselves, voices fading into quiet as they walk away. Just as Norman starts to wonder where Humphrey is, he hears a rustling in the chimney behind him. A pair of legs in red tights wiggle from above, struggling until they drop down. An out-of-breath Humphrey had been hiding in plain sight.

     "Well done, sir!" Norman laughs.

     Sighing in relief, Humphrey sticks his head out of the fireplace. "God, I love this house," he smirks.

     He raps his knuckles on the fireplace edge — tap-tap — and Norman has no time to process what happens next. In the blink of an eye, the two mounted blades loosen, clashing and falling with a whoosh. The next thing he knows, Humphrey's head is no longer attached to his body. One crimson-stained blade still squeaks as it swings on its hinges.

     Norman is speechless.

     Well, he thinks, at least it was one clean blow. He has seen public executions far less merciful.

     The guards soon back in, having heard the noise, and see the mess. "Whoopsy-daisy," one of them eventually says.

     "I might say I did that," suggests the other, after a long pause.

     "I would."

     Walking off, he says, "See, this is why I won't have swords in the house."

     "Yeah. Well, you've got kids, haven't you?"

     Her Majesty's Guards calmly leave the house, their handiwork done for them. Norman is left to stare at the corpse and the head separated from it. A muffled but familiar grunt from the other room makes him perk up. Moments later, Robin walks past.

     "Robin! How dost thou?" Norman asks. When the caveman just shrugs, he waves him over very loudly. "Come, regard the gentleman here."

     "Oh..." Robin walks forward, standing beside him and inspecting the unfortunate incident.

     Slowly, Humphrey's eyes begin to open, and they register their presence. So he is another ghost. They widen even more at the sight of the jester and the caveman.

     "Bad day?" Robin smirks.

      Humphrey shrieks at the top of his lungs.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

"OH... Humphrey..."

     "I know," he mutters, "it's embarrassing."

     Effie tilts her head, feeling bad for having to bite back her smile. Fanny would consider her horribly morbid, she is sure. Norman quite innocently stands by after having pushed Humphrey to reveal the true nature of his death. Walking off, jingling in the distance, he spares no thought for why it might be something to hide.

     "I didn't lie, exactly. I just left out... that bit. I s'pose I wanted you all to think I was some big hero, because that seemed to excite you."

     "But you were a hero," Effie says.

     "Nah, not really," Humphrey casts his gaze downwards, as much as he can manage.

     "You were!" she insists. "You saved Sophie's life, even though she put yours in danger. That sounds like the brave, selfless Sir Humphrey Bone that lady is harping on about in the documentary."

     Humphrey manages a small smile. "Can you please not tell the others? I know Norman's a blabbermouth, but..."

     "If they hear about that bit, it won't be from me," Effie pledges. She mimes zipping her lips, just to prove the point.

     "Thanks, Effie," he sighs in relief.

     She stoops to pick up Humphrey's head, walking out of the room with him. "We should go and find Alison and the television people. You know, they really are pulling out all the stops for this documentary."

     "Really?"

     "Yes. They're wearing Elizabethan costumes and everything."

     "Ooh! Fancy."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 4th april, 2026 )

uh... hi everyone 😅

i am SO sorry it took me *checks calendar* 1 year and about 4 months to update this story again. genuinely don't know where the time has gone! while i'd been meaning to take a break from this story, it was never intended to be that long. oops.

originally i was going to add more effie backstory stuff here, but decided to spread it out more across the chapters. the next few chapters might expand on that first flashback a bit more. anyway, i had a lot of fun writing this chapter with humphrey. it might be one of my favourite episodes from the show — i'll never forget how hard i laughed during the fireplace scene, and also my dad (full on wheeze-laughing). sorry humphrey, but it still cracks me up 😭 adding norman into the mix was pretty fun to do as well!

a lot has happened since my last author's note, mainly THERE IS GOING TO BE A BBC GHOSTS MOVIE?! never expected them to make a return, i was perfectly okay with it ending. but when the world needed the ghosts most, they came back... so curious (and slightly nervous) to see what the movie adds to the story. i'd love to see it in the cinema if i can.

how has everyone been? hope you are all doing well, and that you enjoyed this (very long overdue) chapter. the next one won't be as long a wait, i promise. please leave a comment if you have the time, constructive feedback is always appreciated! 🫶

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horrible histories
icon of today:
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[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

( the man, the myth, the legend...
bob hale with the catholic report,
since it was a humphrey-centric chapter )

have a good day/evening,
— IMOGEN ♡