"Bartie?" he whispers, his voice trembling. He closes his eyes and rubs his face, and then slowly squints in my direction.
I cross my arms and lean against the doorway. "Hullo, Philip. Have you missed me?"
He shoves his hands into the sofa, pushing himself into the corner as he angles away from me. His next words surprise me.
"But you're dead!" he hisses.
"You know how I died? Tell me how, what… everything," I demand.
My authoritative tone pushes him to respond. "So you are dead. I surmised as much. I had overheard Clark invite you to the club in London. When I read the news of the bombing in the paper and you didn't turn up for work on Monday, I suspected you were both gone."
My mind begins to flashback onto that night, the women, raising our drinks for a toast and then the explosion. I force myself to stop there. I can think about my death later.
I step into the room, blocking the light from the hallway windows. My looming shadow causes Philip to shrink even further. I choose my next words carefully. Catherine and H were clear that I mustn't allude to the existence of the Eternals.
"And you didn't think to tell anyone of your suspicions? You should know that I have unfinished business here, Philip." I raise my finger and point it towards his chest. "Unfinished business with you!"
Philip's face drains of colour and he trembles under my heated gaze. He mumbles under his breath, "This is a prank… or a dream. Ghosts don't exist." He throws himself off the sofa, catching me off guard long enough to break my concentration. My form slips back to invisible as he tumbles through my body in his mad scramble to get out of the room. His pounding footsteps and banging cane echo along the hallway as he hobbles for the central staircase which will take him to the main entrance hall.
I walk quickly, but don't run. There is no need. I know he won't get far.
I round the stairwell in time to see Philip approach the last few steps. I call out, "Philip, where are you going? We aren't done with our chat."
When he glances up the stairs, H leaps from his hiding place behind the bannister. He takes advantage of my distraction to weave his way between Philip's leg, exactly as a cat would do. It is enough to cause Philip to lose his balance, his arms pinwheeling in an effort to right himself. But it is too late, and he falls to the ground, his cane clattering as he skids to a stop beneath Catherine's portrait.
Philip rolls over onto his back, groaning as he reaches for his injured leg. Catherine offers him no sympathy as she leans out of her portrait and says, "You cannot run from us, Philip. We are everywhere." To prove her point, she climbs out of the picture frame and lets her long skirt brush against the hand wrapped around his leg.
I speed up my descent when I notice his eyes start to roll upwards. "Oh no, you are not going to get out of this by fainting!"
I will myself into a solid form, jumping over the last two steps in my hurry. I grab the front of Philip's shirt and pull him upwards, forcing him to retain his lucidity. He looks left and right, desperately searching for someone to help him, but we've timed our activities perfectly. The entrance hall is empty of everyone save us.
I bend over, putting my face close to his. "What is it going to be, Philip? Shall we continue this game of cat and mouse or are you ready to confess. We know you stole the money and we have no intention of resting until you own up to it."
Philip stiffens but then realises the futility of his efforts. He slumps over and chokes back a desperate sob. Unfortunately for him, none of us have any pity.
I frog march him to a nearby chair and push him into it. Catherine and H join me, forming a half-circle around him and blocking any hope of an escape.
With his face buried in his hands, Philip's words are muffled when he finally begins to speak. "I didn't want to betray St Margaret, but I didn't have a choice. I was deep in, but I knew I could win it all back, and then some, if I had one good hand."
Catherine and I exchange looks, our expressions mirror images of one another. "Gambling!" I bellow. "You gambled away more than one hundred pounds? Are you mad?"
Philip rears up. "It's not my fault. Just look at me." He waves his hands at his leg and the cane. "What kind of man can I be when I cannot even walk on my own? How will I earn a living?" He folds his hands into fists. "I needed the money. I had planned to repay it, but then you disappeared and I saw a way for you to take the blame."
I growl, barely able to contain myself.
Philip rushes to justify himself. "You're dead, mate! It was a victimless crime!"
Filled with anger, I shout at him, "I may be dead, but I am far from gone. St Margaret was my home. I will not let you throw away my years of service to this institution by ruining my reputation."
Philip flinches, waiting for a blow. But it doesn't come. It is not in my nature to strike another person in anger. He releases a ragged breath when the moment passes.
Catherine taps my hand to get my attention, motioning for me to step back and allow her to take the lead.
She glares down at Philip and he wilts under her stern gaze. "Get comfortable in that chair, Philip, because you will be spending the night in it. We will escort you to Dr Gardner's office, first thing in the morning. You will confess your crimes and reveal the truth of Bartie's death, or so help me, we will take no responsibility for what happens to you next."
Chapter Nine
The initial elation from seeing my name cleared and the real thief brought to justice doesn't last long. It gives way to sadness as I watch my former colleagues mourn mine and Clark's deaths. After stumbling across Penny crying quietly at her desk, I banish myself to my former office. There I sit for two days and two nights, no human needs forcing me to move. I relive my years, lost in the memories of college adventures, the excitement of my first job and the comforting feeling of knowing exactly where you fit in the world.
The trouble is that I don't know where that place is any longer. I began my Eternal life with the conviction that I had to find St Margaret's missing funds and alert my friends to my death. With those tasks accomplished, what is left for me to do now?
I am loathe to admit it, but I grow melancholy as I sit in the quiet darkness. With the curtains drawn, no light enters the space. Dust floats in the empty room, passing through me as though I wasn't there. And I'm not. Not really.
Eventually, it is Catherine who takes matters into her own hands. She glides through the walls and rips the curtains open, sending dust motes to glitter in the morning sunlight.
"Bartholomew Kingston, you have been in this room long enough. I felt you needed time to mourn, but you are quickly becoming at risk of overdoing it."
She takes my hand and pulls me from my chair. I follow willingly and blindly behind as she passes through the wall and into the corridor. She doesn't stop once she has me back in a common area. Instead, she turns and walks the length of the hallway and exits into St Margaret's garden. Once our feet meet the cobbled path, she halts, allowing me to catch up to her side. She tucks her arm into mine. "Come with me, Bartie. There is something you need to see."
I raise my eyebrows in a silent question, but she shakes her head and nudges me forward.
The garden bustles with activity. Healing soldiers sit outside, basking in the sunlight. Students hustle from one class to another. I spy a squirrel leaping amidst the tree branches and it makes me think of H. Everywhere there are signs that life is carrying on without me.
I open my mouth to ask Catherine to turn around and let me go back, but she shushes me. Her gentle smile eases some of the pain.
Finally, in the distance, a small group of people comes into view, their black-clothed forms looking more like silhouettes. They reveal themselves to be individuals I know. Dr Gardner stands front and centre, with Penny not far away. The Major is there, as are the soldiers I had grown to know well.
Catherine lets my arm go, motioning me forward to have a closer look. I spot the cooks and cleaning staff, more assistants and some professors. When
Dr Gardner begins speaking, I stop and listen.
"Thank you all for joining me this morning. It is a sad occasion, losing two of our beloved staff members. And yet, it may also be a joyous moment, as we share our fond memories of Bartie and Clark."
Catherine slips beside me and wraps her hand around mine, squeezing tight to remind me I am far from alone. We stand there, silent, as Dr Gardner conducts her memorial celebration. Tears trace tracks down my cheeks, but I barely notice them. I am too busy being overwhelmed by the feelings of love and friendship, respect and appreciation as one after another, my colleagues share their favourite memories of me and Clark.
When everyone has had a chance to speak, Dr Gardner clears her throat. "I have thought hard over these past few days about how we can best honour the memory of Bartie and Clark. We hadn't announced it yet, but we plan to convert this portion of the college grounds into a garden for our Fellows to use."
I watch as sounds of surprise scatter around the group.
Dr Gardner waits for the group to quiet before continuing. "Before Bartie died, he had been working hard behind the scenes to help me find the funds for the landscaping. Clark had offered to come in on his days off to build the wooden fence. I had worried, with their loss and the stolen monies gone, that we might have to put on hold our vision of a quiet place where our Fellows could escape."
Catherine squeezes my hand again.
"However, we've had an anonymous donation come in, only yesterday, in fact," Dr Gardner clarifies. "It is enough to make up for the lost money and to pay for our garden plans."
The group breaks out into applause. I lean close to Catherine and ask, "I take it you helped with this?"
"I may have nudged someone to make good on their promise to provide funds," she replies coyly.
We turn our attention back to Dr Gardner.
"The garden fence will be installed next month, and the landscaping will follow shortly behind." She points towards the far corner of the garden. "Over there will be where we put a heated summerhouse, so the Fellows garden can be enjoyed year round, regardless of how fickle our weather may be. When we hold our grand opening, it will be my distinct pleasure to christen the summerhouse in memory of Bartholomew Kingston and Clark Grantham."
Catherine's firm hold on my hand keeps me tethered to the ground. I am so overwhelmed with emotions, I no longer know which way is up. We remain behind as the others make their way back to the main building, where Dr Gardner has invited everyone to join her for a cup of tea and a biscuit.
When I can find my voice again, I thank Catherine profusely for forcing me out of my office. If I had missed this moment, I certainly would have regretted it.
"There's one more thing before we go, Bartie," she says with a warm smile. "Dr Gardner has ensured your legacy will live on, but there is still the matter of your Eternal existence to sort out."
"Err, yes," I agree, looking somewhat lost. "I've been mulling that over these past two days. Now that the mystery has been solved, I'm not sure what is left for me to do."
"I may have a solution for you." Catherine's smile grows broader. "I've been spending time with H, learning about the other Eternals residing in Oxford. It would seem we are in need of a liaison, to strengthen our connection with these Prefects we heard about and to bring St Margaret into the Eternal fold."
My mind leaps as I realise where she is going, but I rein myself in. "But me? I've barely arrived in my Eternal existence. Surely you would be a better representative…"
Catherine interrupts. "Bartie, do you have any idea how much you have accomplished in your short time here as an Eternal? Not only have you identified a thief and likely saved the college from future losses, you've also discovered an entire group of individuals, just like us, residing in Oxford."
"I'm still not sure, Catherine…"
"Bartholomew Kingston, listen to me." Her tone brooks no argument. "You may have only known me a short while, but I have watched over you for the entire time you've been at St Margaret. I know you fashion yourself as an introvert, always with your nose in your accounting records, but you are far from that." She pauses, looking around the garden. "Did you see how many people turned out to honour your memory? Every single one of them had a special memory to share. That is no accident."
I scuff my feet, embarrassed by her praise.
"I have spoken with the other Eternals at St Margaret, few of us as there are, and we are unanimous in our decision."
I glance up, hardly able to contain my hope.
"Bartie, you are our new Head of Eternal Affairs. We have no doubts that you will represent us well — today, tomorrow, and for all eternity."
Murder at St Margaret
Oxford Key Mysteries - Book One
If you enjoyed Bartie’s story, you’ll love the Oxford Key Mysteries.
Set in the present day, Bartie, H and Catherine Morgan are joined by a new cast of characters.
Read on for a sneak preview of the first book…
Murder at St Margaret
Oxford Key Mysteries - Book One
A dead chef. A ruined gala. And the ghosts didn't see a thing.
As Oxford's new Head of Ceremonies, Natalie Payne's first task is to plan St Margaret's autumn gala. However, her plans are dashed when she finds their famed chef dead in the kitchen.
Next, a centuries-old cat informs Nat she has her own magical legacy... and responsibilities. A murder in the halls is a sure sign that something has gone wrong with Oxford's magical protections.
Now, Nat has to solve the murder, find a new chef for the gala, and figure out why Oxford’s magic is acting up. With the help of Oxford's magical Eternals and some new friends, Nat has a chance.
But can she do it before St Margaret loses its connection to the magic of Oxford?
If you like cozy mysteries where ghosts walk the halls, paintings come to life, wyverns play around, and magic seems within reach, the Oxford Key Mysteries are sure to delight.
Grab your copy of Murder at St Margaret now - it is free to read in Kindle Unlimited.
Get it now on Amazon
Read on for a sneak preview of the first chapter…
Murder at St Margaret
PREVIEW - CHAPTER ONE
The stall door next to mine crashes open. Peeking underneath, I watch as a pair of practical black rubber clogs stomps their way to the basins. I freeze in place at the sound of an angry muttering.
The words, mumbled in a growly voice, are hard to understand. “Interrupting me… how dare she… right in the middle of dinner prep… won’t be on my shoulders if the roast chicken is burnt… ringing my phone and demanding I come straight over… I’ll show her straight over…”
My legs start to tingle, a sure sign I need to get out of this position before they go numb. I’m working up the courage to stand up when I hear her stomping resume, followed by another door slamming. I slide the latch and open a slight crack, peeking out to make sure the woman is gone. After crossing to the sinks, I wash my hands, scrubbing one finger at a time. The last thing I want is to run into whoever that was.
Stopping for a last glance in the bathroom mirror, I fluff my blonde curls with my damp hands. The full day of moving combined with the humid air of the packed train compartment did me no favours. The stylist took my request for a serious cut to heart; I can barely get it up into a ponytail. I straighten my collar, smiling at the pair of cherries embroidered on my jumper. A touch of vintage felt proper for my welcome to one of the UK’s oldest institutions.
Having successfully exited the bathroom undetected, I make my way towards the lit doorway further along the hall. The sign next to it says ‘College Principal’. I tap a gentle knock before stepping into the cosy reception room. The older woman sitting behind the desk smiles a welcome. “Have a seat over there, hun. Dr Radcliffe is finishing up a quick chat and will be right with you.”
Her white hair is cut in a cute pageboy style, her jewel-tone dress accessorised by a vibrant floral sc
arf and an oversized golden broach. Her desk is in perfect order, not even a stray post-it note out of alignment. The tidy desk has one laptop, one phone, and a framed photo of an older man. Despite the regimental order of her workspace, the woman exudes an air of friendliness. Her blue eyes sparkle with merriment as she leans over the desk as though inviting me into her home for a chat.
I cross the room to perch on the upholstered chair the woman indicates, setting my flowery bag by my cherry red flats. Everything is as I imagined it would be. The mahogany walls offer a rich backdrop for gilt-framed Cotswold landscapes painted by a master. A shelf-lined wall showcases leather-bound books, priceless antiques and commemorative photos of rowing regattas.
The woman opens a desk drawer and lifts out a small cut-glass bowl. She places it on the corner of her desk and nudges it in my direction. “Go on, take one. I find a little sugar helps settle the nerves. Is this your first time in Oxford?”
I shake my head as I unwrap a bright red sweet. “Other than a quick trip for the interview, I visited once before as a child on a school tour of the museum. All I can remember is a long room with lots of sculptures of naked men.”
She chuckles in response to my honest, if somewhat ribald, response. “That’d be the Ashmolean. It’s the tip of the iceberg, plenty more places to explore. I guess you’ll have opportunities enough to do so in your new role. Lillian rang me up as soon as you accepted the job, asking if we could put you up in our faculty housing until you find your feet. Given our Autumn Gala is the first event on your To Do list, I could hardly say no.”
“I really appreciate your help, Mrs… um, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
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