Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Her eyes, the same color as the blue dress she wore, she studied her thoughtfully.

  “Never ye mind his Lordships gruff words. He’ll get ye mamma’s instrument.

  Elizabeth acknowledged her words with a nod and continued to study the woman flittering around the room like a mother hen.

  Beneath a ruffled mob-cap, wisps of ginger color hair, streaked with gray, framed her round face. Her double chin rested against the knotted bow of her handkerchief. Everything about her looked neat.

  “Me name’s Mary, in case ye hadn’t heard, I'll be tak’n care of ye for a spell.”

  Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “How did I get here?”

  “His Lordship found ye. He did.” The housekeeper unfolded a white napkin, and placed the linen over Elizabeth’s lap.

  “Ye've been visitin’ with the angels back and forth for two days now. Lord knows what would have happened to ye if'n the master hadn't come across ye, when he did; what with wild beasts and all.”

  Elizabeth glanced toward the door.

  “Aye, Master Philip.” The servant nodded. “Ye owe yer life to him.”

  “He…” A rush of blood fanned her cheeks.

  All the time she had been delirious, he could have been in this very room watching her. Who knew the liberties he could have taken on her person. He made it quite clear nothing Mary could say would affect what he wanted to do. And he looked the healthy man with a real appetite for womanly flesh.

  “Now lassie, why are ye look’n like ye's seen a ghost? She picked up a long knife and sliced off a chunk of bread. “Here,” She held out her hand. “‘Tis high time ye ate

  someth’n.”

  Elizabeth forced a nibble on the thick crusted bread, though her stomach ached and her thoughts could not put aside the mysterious man whose dark, fixed eyes sent a chill upon her bones. The bread scratched its way down her throat.

  That lustful look… Dear Lord, just like…

  A revolting image of her guardian’s enlarged member straining tautly against his breeches, flashed across her mind.

  “Have you seen my cat? He is bla-”

  “Mercy me, nay.” Mary gasped. “I’ve no liken fer the beasts.”

  Startled by her reaction, exhausted, Elizabeth sank back into the pillows and closed her eyes.

  A remembered feeling encompassed her, the sense of a strong embrace, lifting her up off the ground as though she’d been weightless.

  Nay. Pillow. His lordship lifted my head from the pillow. Nay.

  Now she could recall only too clearly what she’d thought to be a dream. ‘Twas his strong arms gently cradling her body close to the wide expanse of his solid chest as he carried her from the woods; the beat of a heart beside hers had been his. She remembered it only too well, that warm tender feeling like a feather softly brushing her lips.

  Elizabeth jolted upright.

  He kissed me she thought as she reached for the bowl beside her and retched.

  Chapter Four

  Elizabeth awoke with a start. Her eyes flashed open.

  Footsteps!

  She’d heard footsteps close by.

  Her heart pounded.

  Someone was in the room.

  She bolted to a sitting position.

  Her gaze darted around and the realization that she wasn’t in her own chambers seeped into her semi-consciousness.

  A door squeaked on its hinges, then, slammed shut. The harsh sound exploded through the bedroom. Her shoulders jerked in momentary panic.

  Nearby, on a high chest of drawers, a brass candlestick lay on its side.

  The wind?

  Mozart?

  Invisible eyes had been watching her. She could still sense their intenseness. Despite the familiar feeling, she shivered, fidgeted beneath her covers as a warm breeze blew through an open window.

  Balderdash - Ablington!

  Her heart slammed into her chest.

  She tossed the blanket aside

  He said he would return. Had he been in her room?

  A sickly moan pierced the air. Half human-half animal-the enervating sound set the small hairs on the back of her neck to stir.

  Furious pounding thundered above.

  Elizabeth’s gaze shot toward the ceiling.

  She breathed in shallow, quick; strained to decipher the chilling resonance; a sound unlike anything she’d ever heard.

  A long, brittle silence settled over the room.

  She licked her dry lips, swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  Destitute, with no place to go, she was in a stranger’s home.

  Slowly she stood and stared toward the open window.

  The inner pain of sadness, weighing heavy on her chest, made the sunny morning’s shaft of light seem like a beacon of gloom.

  Lord Ablington. Had he once again watched her as she slept?

  Goosebumps crawled up her arms.

  She knew not a thing about him. Was he married? Dear Lord, she hoped ‘twas true. Her reputation couldn’t endure any more whispered gossip. ‘Twas, scandalous enough the entire village thought her possessed. Their heartless, cruel words still rang in her ears.

  Evil.

  Nay, not her. Surely the villagers had meant her guardian. He had meant to violate her person. If not for the crowd’s interference…

  Black magic.

  She could still hear the words so clearly. Surely no one knew her secret.

  A garbled male voice rushed in from the hall beyond her door.

  Panic swept through her. She bit the inside of her lip.

  Where was her black mourning dress? Nowhere in sight, she ran across the room to the chair where a pink brocade had been neatly laid out.

  With hurried, shaking fingers, she slipped the shimmering petticoat over her chemise, tied the skirt around her waist; slid her arms through the bodice’s long laced tipped sleeves, tugged the sides tighter around her breasts and pinned the embroidered fabric of the stomacher together.

  Dressed, she stepped up to the looking glass. Staring at her reflection, a numbing tingle crept its way up her body…

  She reached to the bedpost for support and stared deeply into the glass.

  Overshadowing her silhouette a woman’s image appeared in the gilded frame. Dark almond-shaped eyes, set in a delicate oval face, with high cheekbones, gave an exotic appearance. Her full lips curved slightly up. Loose tendrils of dark brown hair framed her face, making her appear sultry, seductive.

  “Rebecca.” The name fell from Elizabeth’s lips.

  This was the mistress of the manor.

  ‘Twas her dress she wore.

  Her estate…

  Her husband.

  Elizabeth turned away as a wave of dizziness blackened the space before her. Her legs weakened. She gripped the post tighter. Air filled her lungs in a rush. She took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, regaining her composure.

  Try as she may, she could never get accustomed to the strong effect some visions had on her. Some messages were clear, others, just fragmented bits and pieces that left her confused, needing someone to confide in. There was no one.

  Heaviness settled over her heart.

  No one she could trust with her secret. Destined to be alone, isolated in a world of ghostly images and silent voices only she could hear, the danger of discovery was too great.

  Ignoring the ache in her heart, she gingerly made her way to the window, lifted the curtain and glanced out.

  In the distance beyond the large garden with its neatly planted rows of green and yellow leafy vegetables, past the apple orchard, a forest, dense, dark with no opening in sight, surrounded the property, keeping the outside world from entering.

  A warm, moist, breeze fanned her face. But a feeling of dark seclusion clung stubbornly to her spirit.

  Smoke billowed from the smoke house, chickens pecked at food left for them outside the fenced fowl coop.

  Two slaves hoisted wood planks up and thr
ough a silo, a moment, later Lord Ablington stepped from the barn.

  Elizabeth stared, transfixed, at the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  Not overly tall, though he gave that impression due to his high broad shoulders and the way he held his aristocratic body tall with confidence, his physique was of one who’d spent many a day under the sun putting in a hard day’s work; tan, lean, muscular.

  And he was married. There was no denying it. A twinge of disappointment sunk its teeth deeply into her heart.

  Her mouth puckered with annoyance.

  “The villagers were right. I am touched, in fact, quite mad.”

  The curtain slipped from her fingers.

  That he was married was a blessing from the heavens. She was safe. He would seek no pleasures from her, not with a wife as beautiful as Rebecca.

  Hesitantly, she drew back the drape to take another peek and watched as he shook his head trying to loosen particles of hay which had become intermingled throughout his wavy locks. By the look of his disheveled appearance, it appeared as though he had been sleeping in the barn.

  “Can you imagine rolling around in the hay like animals!” The remembered words filled her brain as a vision of her guardian flashed before her. The sun beat her shoulders. She shivered. Would his face ever leave her? Would the touch of his filthy hands remain forever etched upon her skin? She closed her misty eyes, willing his image away.

  “Ah blast it all!”

  The deep male words of obscenity jerked her from her thoughts.

  Ablington studied his foot, then furiously stamped and rubbed his boot back and forth in the grass, in an attempt to remove what she could only guess to be horse dung.

  She smiled. His actions so amusing, the frightening man of yesterday seemed like only a figment of her imagination.

  The sunlight cast a blue hue to his raven hair. Without a quill, to hold his unruly tresses in place, strands fell loosely to the nape of his neck. She was glad he didn't powder his hair or wear a wig like most men.

  Did Rebecca share her opinion?

  “Such poppycock.”

  To be thinking about her host’s person and he with a wife, she should be ashamed.

  Her gaze remained locked.

  He clenched his jaw. His lips pressed shut, his brow creased he appeared frustrated or perhaps annoyed. He squinted against the sun his hand on his chin as though he were pondering his next move, and stared into the barn.

  She watched him disappear into the stables, only to reappear, holding her cat, rather awkwardly, in his outstretched arms.

  Delighted, her heart lifted.

  ‘Twas obvious by the way he held Mozart at arm’s length, he was uncomfortable with the closeness of the animal.

  As if sensing her presence, he glanced up toward the window.

  A smile played upon his lips replacing all signs of exasperation. “It pleases me to see you up and about. Do you fair well?”

  “Yes. I thank you for your sincere, well wishes.”

  He nodded. “Wait but a moment, I shall be right up.”

  Before she could argue to the contrary, he disappeared.

  Hastily Elizabeth glanced away. Here? Alone?

  With hurried steps she ran toward the bed and grabbed the satin slippers left for her.

  The man is abominable!

  She jammed her foot into the shoe.

  The last place she wanted to entertain his Lordship was alone in her chambers.

  What would Rebecca say if she found them?

  Did the man have any scruples?

  She slipped the other slipper on in a rush. Nearly tripping over her own feet, she hurried toward the door.

  “I come with an offering of forgiveness…” He entered the room.

  Startled, she took a step back.

  “…for my quickness of tongue yester morn.”

  Dear Lord, did he have wings on which to fly?

  He stopped and stood before her.

  A little too close.

  Her heart throbbed with unusual fervor. “You have been more than gracious, allowing me to stay in your home. And‘tis I who should apologize, not you. ‘Twas presumptuous of me to have asked for my instrument and quite in bad form.”

  “Nonsense. I can understand you wanting something of your mother’s.”

  A brief silence stretched between them.

  She knew Lord Ablingtons presence here beside her had been only a matter of time. Did he not just the day before promise to return? He was, if nothing else it seemed, a man of his word.

  If she were completely honest with herself, his arrival, though shrouded with anxiety, was one of intrigue.

  A thought of Rebecca flashed across her mind, souring any fleeting pleasure.

  Ablington cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I believe this feline belongs to you.”

  Mozart dangled from his outstretched arms.

  “He put up quite a chase. I don’t believe he has a liking for me.”

  “Mozart, you naughty boy.” She gathered him close and scratched his ears. “Thank you for bringing him to me.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  Lord Ablington’s elegant waistcoat of dark blue appeared rumpled. His white shirt, open at the base of his neck, looked as though he had wiped his face on its ruffles.

  Wisps of coarse, curly black hair protruded from the shirt's opening and she wondered about the extent of that hair. Did it cover his chest, or form just a small triangle, leaving his skin smooth and bare?

  Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Her gaze darted to the floor, then quickly rose.

  “Tell me of these glasses you play.” He gestured she sit.

  She glanced to the chair hesitant to move. Her mind floundered. “Perhaps, we should talk elsewhere.”

  “There is no need.”

  Nay, there was. They were alone.

  A shiver of vivid recollection, a flash of her guardian, paled her cheeks.

  ‘Twasn’t proper. ‘Twasn’t safe.

  “I can assure you, your virtue is quite safe. No one shall think ill of you.”

  The thought that his wife might not approve tipped her tongue.

  Reluctantly, she settled into the chair.

  He took the seat opposite her.

  Mozart made himself comfortable on her lap.

  “‘Tis called a glass armonica.” She stroked Mozart’s back.

  Lord Ablington crossed his leg over his knee and leaned back against the chair with ease.

  “There are thirty-seven graduated size glass bowls.”

  Reclining the way he was, the white fabric of his shirt pulled tautly across his shoulders, she couldn’t help but notice just how developed his chest was; how the corded tendons in his neck flexed as he glanced down at his shirt to brush off a piece of straw; how the muscles of his arms, beneath his rolled up sleeves, rippled with the slight movement.

  Her gaze flew to his face. “Each bowl has a hole through its center.”

  A woman could get crushed in those arms.

  She dropped her hand to the cushion. It took all her composure to keep from bolting from the chair.

  When he glanced back up, he smiled, completely relaxed in her presence. “A hole in the glass?”

  His gaze caught and held hers. Against her will, she found herself becoming captivated by the color of his eyes, blue-green like the eucalyptus plant she used to cure colds and to dress minor cuts.

  “Yes. The center hole is corked so the glass won’t break whilst it turns.”

  Could he hear the fast thumping of her heart, she wondered, scratching Mozart’s back more intensely.

  The animal purred.

  “And a horizontal spindle passes through each of the bowls to keep them together.”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I do recall hearing of such an instrument created by Mr. Benjamin Franklin.”

  “’Twas my pleasure to have met him on several occasions.”

  “Yes, he is quite the ladies man.”

 
; Elizabeth blushed. Did he think her capable of such flirtation?

  “These glasses do they not rest in a box with legs?”

  Though he asked the question, he seemed uninterested and she wondered if she should continue.

  “Nestled inside of each other they are suspended, over a specially made cabinet, by the spindle.”

  Studying her with such strong intent her gaze dropped. Her palms grew clammy. She ran a hand over a crease in her skirt.

  “There is a foot treadle underneath the cabinet and on the side there is a wheel.”

  “I see. How did you come by that bruise on your face?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened with a jolt. She stared at him in stunned silence.

  How would he react if he knew a man’s hands had been the culprit?

  Her fingers dug into Mozart’s back.

  Mozart leapt from her lap and landed on the floor with a thud.

  Pray tell he asks no more. Her thoughts all balled up, her gaze followed her cat’s movements for a moment.

  “The wheel turns the spindle, which rotates the bowls. ‘Tis the pressure of one’s moistened fingers, which produces the sounds,” she continued quickly.

  “Perhaps it happened when you fell.”

  Her stomach coiled. Her fingernails dug into her palm. “Yes, perhaps.”

  He leaned forward and stretched out his hand. “Does it cause you much pain?”

  At the touch of his fingers upon her cheek, she jerked back into the chair. “Nay.”

  He should only know the bruise on her flesh was nothing compared to the bruises left on her soul.

  Her cheeks flamed. Her breath quickened. “The sweetness of the armonica’s tone is said to resemble the celestial purity of the soprano voice.”

  And where is his wife?

  He leaned back in his chair. His gaze seemed to probe her with questions she could not make known to him

  Elizabeth dropped her balled hands in her lap.

  Why has the mistress not come to inquire about my well-being?

  “Why do I frighten you so?”

  The stifling room flushed her cheeks. “Sir, you are most wrong. I fear you not.”

  “Tell me then, how it came to be, that I found you on my property?”

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose as though an insect crawled across her skin.