Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  In stunned silence, Elizabeth reluctantly left the room.

  Standing outside, she watched when, with much coaxing on Mary’s behalf, William clutched her hand.

  Mary ambled over to his bed and sat by his side. After a few softly spoken words, William lay quietly. She got up and stepped into the hall.

  “He be a restin’ now.” Mary closed the door behind her.”Well lassie, don’t just stand there with ye mouth open. I’m sure ye be wantin’ an explanation. ‘Tis better ye hears it from me. Lord knows I can’t have the entire staff neglectin’ their duties wallowin’ around gossipin’ to ye.” With a swish of her full skirt she proceeded down the stairs.

  Bewildered, Elizabeth followed.

  Mary stepped into Elizabeth's room without a word, stood by the window and stared out. Her finger tapped the glass pane.

  Elizabeth closed the door. “The child is his

  Lord--”

  “Yes.” Mary turned and took a deep breath.

  The truth rang in Elizabeth’s ears. A child? She grabbed the bedpost and lowered herself to the bed. He had a child?

  “Why didn’t he… We shared words on his wife. Why not tell me of his son?”

  “He told ye about her, he did.” Mary rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

  “Master William was born as blue as blueberries, without a breath in his little body. We all thought fer sure the little lad was gonna live with the angels, like his mama, God rest her soul.” She made the sign of the cross before her. “The doc, shook him real hard, knocked the air back into his lungs. Heard that cry clear up to the rafters.” She clasped her hand to her large bosom. “‘Twas the most glorious sound.”

  The mattress shifted beneath her heavy weight. “The boy’s not right in the head. The master, well, he’s havin’ a bad time with it.” She held up a thick finger and shook it furiously. “‘Tis not because the child’s a simpleton, mind ye. Master William has the same face his ma did when she was a young’un, and the master can’t look upon him and not remember. So broken up was he over Rebecca’s passin’ he locked himself in his study fer days without eatin’ or drinkin’.”

  Elizabeth rubbed her temple. “I find myself devoutly unable to grasp your words.” How could he care so little about his son that he could not bring himself to speak of him?

  Unanswered questions gnawed at the back of her mind, spilling from her lips in a tangled rush. “I realize I’ve only been here a short time, but surely the child has free reign of the house. I am apt to believe--”

  “Master William has his own suite, an entire wing. I make sure he is quite comfortable.”

  “But Mary, ‘tis like keeping the child a prisoner in his own home. I am ill equipped to believe his Lordship could be so cruel. Surely-”

  “He loves his son.” Mary struggled off the bed. Anger lit her eyes. “And I’ll not have ye thinkin’ he doesn’t.” She shook her finger in annoyance. “He visits that boy every night whilst the poor lad sleeps. He looks in on him. He does.”

  Elizabeth stood. “Then he could look on him in the daylight as well.”

  “‘Tis a start on his behalf. ‘Twas only a day hence, when he could naught look upon him a’tall.”

  That a man could love his son; yet not want to see him? Not want his son by his side because of some painful memories? Nay. She didn’t believe him to be so spineless that the mere thought of his wife would keep him from his own flesh and blood.

  Elizabeth cringed with disgust. “Surely the child has someone to play with?”

  “And who do you think will play with him? I see that the child keeps himself busy.”

  Mary must have noticed her look of disgust for her eyes narrowed with annoyance. “I don’t expect ye to understand,” she snapped. “Jest leave the boy to those of us who’s been seein’ to him all these years. ‘Tis none of yer concern.”

  “I’ve got things needin’ to be done. Ye best forget ye’ve seen him.” She turned and lumbered from the room.

  The housekeeper’s last words played repeatedly in Elizabeth’s mind, long after she had left. Forget I had ever seen William?

  What was wrong with this household? What was wrong with its master? His own wing! Was she the only one who saw that to be grossly wrong?

  ***

  Dusk was Elizabeth’s favorite part of the day. ‘Twas a time when the earth seemed blanketed in the warm glow left by the setting sun. When the first star of the evening peeked its head through the darkening sky.

  As a child it had been a kind of ritual of hers to search the sky every night for that first star. She’d close her eyes and make a wish. ‘Twas a child’s magic full of promises and hope. Only wishes didn’t always come true.

  Sadness tugged at her heart as she pushed aside the curtain and gazed upward.

  A small part of her still longed to believe, needed to believe in the magic of that star.

  “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…” What do I seek for in the heavens? A place to feel safe; a feeling of home and family? Those are lost to me. “I wish I may…” May what? Stay here? I am naught but a stranger in a house full of strangers, in a place where I don’t belong. “I wish I might…” Never again, see my guardian’s ugly face darkening my dreams. To beg he is long gone from this providence.

  “Have this wish, I wish tonight.” The familiar deep, resonant voice made her flinch.

  The curtain slipped from her fingers. She pivoted on her heal.

  “Pray tell I did not startle you.” Philip stood under the doorframe.

  Elizabeth blushed. “Nay. I was just…” She glanced away, embarrassed that he'd overheard her childish words.

  “Would you grant me entrance to your parlor? ‘Twould please me to spend a few moments in your company, if I may?”

  Nay. You have a child. A child you seem to forget you have. “Of--of course. Please…” She offered him a chair.

  He waited until she sat, then seated himself across from her.

  ‘Tis very disillusioning, his treatment of Willam.

  She smoothed her full skirt. “I wondered if any word has come for me?”

  Very unsettling.

  “‘Tis a bit early to hear from Boston.”

  “Yes. I suppose.” She studied her hands cursorily. He should be horsewhipped.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

  “I thought I heard music earlier.” He crossed his legs and placed his hand on his knee. His fingers were long, his hands neatly manicured. Harpsichord hands.

  She forced a smile. “I had thought you weren’t home.”

  Had he heard William’s earlier commotion and chosen to ignore him?

  “I spent the day in my chambers. Running a plantation as large as this one hardly leaves time for anything else.”

  Her back stiffened in her chair.

  “Mary tells me you met William.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I thought to spend some time with him.”

  “Mary told me of your concerns. Do not fret. He’s in capable hands.”

  “That may very well be, however-”

  “However, he is my child. I decide what’s best for him”

  “Well. I hardly think locking him in his little room--”

  “Locked up? Philip jerked to his feet.

  Her breath caught.

  “Is that what you profess to believe?” He scowled.

  William’s angelic face flashed before her, all the ammunition she needed to keep from backing down.

  Standing, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a notch. “Yes.”

  “Little room, you say? The entire floor is his alone.” Indignation clouded his eyes.

  Involuntarily she shrank from their glowering stare. Her gaze flew to the taut lines of his pursed lips.

  “And he’s kept upstairs, most days, to keep him from harm’s way.” His cold, gruff voice sent a chill down her spine. “This house is far too massive to allow him to roam freely. And my staff is far too busy
to watch his every move.”

  “He should have friends and go outside and… and--”

  “Friends?”

  She cringed at the hatred in his tone.

  “There are no neighboring friends who wish their children to play with a simple-minded child, whom they fear shall cause their precious babes discomfort; whom they shun.” His face grew red.

  Swiftly he began to pace. “Nay. I shall not have the child subjected to their cruelties. The boy has everything he needs.”

  “I recollect he needs a father.”

  He stopped short. His light blue eyes darkened dangerously.

  She had overstepped her boundaries.

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. He balled his hand. “What right do you have to speak to me in such a manner?” He stomped to her side.

  Uncomfortable, she stepped away.

  “What right to question me? You are but a guest in my home.” He grabbed her arm.

  She gasped, horrified by his liberties on her person.

  “You know nothing of what goes on here.”

  The fury in his voice chilled her, but she pushed past her fear and met his hard stare.

  “You think me a monster.” He relinquished his hold and turned, but not before she saw the look of disgust darkening his face.

  “I did not mean to draw you into a conversation that would offend you.” Elizabeth took a quick calming breath.

  He stood silent, his back to her.

  “I know you love him,” she added quickly, recalling Mary’s statement about his nightly routine.

  She wondered if he had heard her. “Tell me then, for I can see no reason why you disregard your own son.” Immediately she regretted her words.

  His shoulders slumped. Without looking back, Philip shook his head and moved toward the door. “You have your own evils to deal with. Do not concern yourself with mine.”

  Elizabeth stared, stunned. “Why do you speak to me thus?”

  He turned on his heal and with two quick strides stood before her.

  He knew about her nightmares?

  Old fears and uncertainties tore at her insides, like a clawing cat, shredding her confidence.

  She stepped back.

  “I have this little habit of wandering the halls in the still of night.” He paused, watching her closely. “What disturbs your sleep?” he whispered haughtily.

  She paled. “That, sir, is none of your concern.”

  “You, my dear, are quite right.” He turned on his heel. “And my son is none of yours.

  ***

  Katherine sat at her dressing table, admiring the rope of pearls intertwined throughout her hair, when her servant entered the room.

  “Well, what did you learn?” She stared at Sallie’s reflection through the looking glass.

  “Her name’s Elizabeth. She’s a strange one, she is, Madame. I’ve never seen hair so white. They say her eyes are as green as the meadow. I ain’t seen them but--”

  “Never mind her eyes. Tell me what you know of her.” Katherine pulled at the long curl near her cheek, twirling the lock in her finger then let it spring free.

  Sallie wrung her hands together. “I only knows what I hears from his Lordship’s help, Madame.”

  “Well girl, spit it out. I haven’t got all day. Where does the twit live?”

  Sallie’s face paled. “For the moment, in his Lordship’s house.”

  “What!” Katherine jumped from her seat and slammed her hands to the table. “Why that no good bastard. How dare he? When I think of all the… What else do you know?”

  “Duncan says she has no family, and -- and the landlord set her to the streets, only…,” she paused, swallowed deeply. “I heard from Nora and she heard from a friend back in Hampshire, that the miss has a father. And he’s been driven out of town.”

  “Driven out of town?” Stomping back and forth, Katherine’s red high-heeled shoes pounded against the wooden floor. “That’s exactly what I’ll do with that harlot!” She paused; the beginning of a plan churn in her mind. With a swish of her gown, she pivoted and strolled toward her desk. She could use a man with a shady character. “Tell me more.”

  “Yes, Madame. She plays this strange music. Edwin says it spooks the horses and Nora says it makes the hairs on her neck stand. Tessie and a few of the other girls are afraid of her. They say she’s been spending the last three days with the master’s son.”

  “Why that boy’s as mad as a March hare.” Katherine dipped her pen in the ink well.

  “Yes, madam. Got the devil inside of him that one does.”

  Katherine stared down at the blank parchment before her. She would have to lay her plans with care. Consider every detail-contingency, for it would never do for this scheme of hers to reach Philip’s ears.

  She scribbled a short note to an old friend. “Take this to Dobbs Ferry. Go to the Red Lion Inn and ask for Samuel.” She sealed the letter and handed it to Sallie. “Give this to him, and only to him. No one else. Do you understand?”

  Sallie nodded.

  Katherine’s thoughts strayed to Samuel. If anyone could dig up the dirt she needed, ‘twas he. Bless the man’s heart. He had introduced her to the late Mr. Welsworth. The very old and rich Mr. Welsworth. Within a month they were married. By the year’s end, he had dropped dead, and she had what she wanted. Well… almost.

  She glanced around at the richly decorated room, filled with polished silver, magnificent porcelain vases from abroad and superbly crafted tables and chairs, then snapped her attention back to her plan.

  By gaining the Ablington name, she would get the respectability marrying that old goat hadn’t brought.

  She cupped her thumb under her chin and tapped her lips with her finger. Yes, she had laid her plans well then, and if she played her cards right, Philip would be hers for the plucking.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she snapped, glancing toward the servant. “You are dismissed.”

  Katherine rose, strolled over to a table and poured herself a glass of claret. She dipped her tongue seductively into the glass as though she were licking her lover, tasting his warm sweetness in her mouth, closed her eyes and thought of Philip.

  The tips of her breasts grew taut; a throbbing warmth built in a place meant for a lover’s hands.

  She downed her drink and threw the goblet into the hearth. The glass shattered into millions of little pieces.

  Feeling somewhat better, she strolled to the looking glass and primped up her red curls, examining her features carefully for any signs of age.

  With critical eyes, she glanced over her gown of dark scarlet brocade trimmed with black lace.

  She ran her fingers up and down her sides, and turned sideways. She still had the figure of her youth. Any man would be mad not to find her attractive.

  Reaching for the etui, which hung from her waist, she took out the small scent bottle and ran the stopper slowly down between her cleavage, then up across the full mounds of her breasts.

  Inhaling the heady aroma of jasmine, she cupped her right breast with her other hand, pushing it free from her bodice, and left a sweet trail of perfume on the dark tip of her exposed hardened nipple.

  That harlot of Philip’s didn’t stand a chance against the likes of her.

  “Elizabeth, you little witch, don’t get too comfortable. The new mistress of Ablington Manor is moving in.”

  Chapter Nine

  The nightmare started as it always did.

  Her guardian stood before her, bathed in moonlight. His dark, deep-set eyes peered at her.

  Elizabeth stared, transfixed at his face, at the powdered wig that sat upon his head.

  He said nothing as he removed his cravat in a slow easy manner.

  A terrible pang of anxiety clutched her stomach. Her body tightened.

  Against her will, her gaze traveled down past the waistcoat he wore, slid still further down his body, down to where his manhood protruded from the opening in his breeches –swollen-–stiff
-–frightening.

  A knotted suffocating ache took root in the base of her throat and squeezed.

  He dropped his hand below his belly and cupped his private part with his hand. A lusty glint crept into his eyes.

  Horrified, she glanced away, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him move closer.

  Fear rocked through her.

  She stepped back. Her back pressed into a wall.

  Her mouth dry, words of protest jammed hopelessly in her throat.

  Gasping for air, she felt his fingers closing around her neck.

  Pressing against her, he squeezed her thigh, groped her breasts and jerked his fingers through her hair. His hands rubbed her everywhere.

  Hands like iron bands gripped her arms—shook her like a rag doll.

  She reached out, hating him with every fiber of her body and fought him, flailing her arms in an effort to ward him off. Sobbing, struggling, she pushed him away. He didn’t budge.

  She screamed.

  Her knees buckled and she fell.

  He held her down.

  Helplessness, panic, rioted within her. Tears of frustration clouded her eyes.

  From somewhere in the distance she heard her name; felt a pair of strong persistent hands shake her.

  Her eyes shot open. She gasped. The scream died on her lips.

  ‘Twas his Lordship’s face—his arms that held her.

  “Mistress Elizabeth, all is well. Look at me, Elizabeth.” He continued to shake her gently. “You are dreaming. ‘Tis just a dream. Do you hear me?”

  Like the shadows that cloaked the room, it took her dazed mind a few moments to grow accustom to the sliver of moonlight that played across his concerned face—to fight through the cobwebs of her nightmare-filled sleep…

  “Please, do not cry.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.

  …to realize ‘twas his Lordship’s blue caring eyes beholding hers, not the dark eyes of her guardian’s.

  “You are safe. ‘Tis over,” he said softly.

  The ugly black form of her guardian slithered away into the darkness.

  Gently, Philip clasped her shoulders and brought her to his chest.

  Too weak to fight, too drained to care that he held her, her tears blended with the heat of his shoulder as she pressed her face against him.