Jace smiled at Nigh in a way that she didn’t like. “I forgot to ask Mrs. Fenney about Ann’s picture. Maybe we should wander about the house and see if we find a picture of someone who looks like you.” He got up from his chair and headed for the door, but Nigh didn’t move.
“What are you hiding now?” she asked.
Jace looked like he’d rather do anything on earth than sit back down and answer her question. But he sighed, then sat down across from her. “I didn’t see anyone,” he said, his head down, not wanting to face her.
“You what?” she asked, then she stood up and went to the window. She took a moment before she looked back at him. “I don’t like what you’re trying to say. Is it possible that you’re telling me that I was talking to no one?”
Jace looked up at her and gave her a crooked smile.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. She advanced on him. “You know what I think? I think you’re so obsessed with this whole ghost story that you’re desperate to have someone else in it with you. I think you made up the whole thing about seeing Ann and her cousin talking, and now you’re trying to make me think I too saw a ghost. I can assure you that the man I talked to at length today was as real as you are. I think—”
“Do you have a reason why I’d do something like that? So I could drum up business for the Ghost Center you made up?”
Nigh started to say something, but could think of no reason why he would make up the ghost story. But then, she knew he was filled with secrets. “I don’t know why you’d do such a thing, but I think—”
She broke off as he looked through the papers and pulled out one, then he went to the telephone and dialed a number.
“Who are you calling?” she asked.
“The vicar. If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe him.”
Seconds later, Jace was speaking to Father Innis. “Sorry to bother you again so soon, Father, but my assistant has some questions she’d like to ask you.” He handed the phone to Nigh.
With a look of defiance, she took the phone. “Check your sources” had been drummed into her head since she first started as a journalist.
“I wanted to ask you about what you said about there not being any Longstreets in the village,” she said. “I read somewhere or heard that there were some Longstreets living in the area.”
“Not any that are alive,” the vicar said, laughing. “We’ve had a number of reports that a young man fitting Danny Longstreet’s description has often been seen in the churchyard. I didn’t want to say anything as I don’t like to perpetuate such myths, but now that you’ve found out…”
“I see,” Nigh said, and her knees were feeling weak. “Why do you think Danny Longstreet is hanging around here?”
“I have no idea. He only lived at Tolben Hall for a few years, but the locals say that their grandparents told them that he was the unhappiest young man on earth. They say he used to ride his horse up the stairs of Tolben Hall. In fact, the legend is that that’s how he died. He got to the top of the stairs on his horse, then fell off, rolled down the stairs, and broke his neck. Dear me! Here I am carrying tales. What was it you wanted to ask me?”
“This morning I was talking to a young man while I was on the bench by the flowers. He left before I could get his name. I wondered if you knew him.” Nigh glanced at Jace, but he had his back to her as he looked out the window.
The vicar was silent for quite some time, and when he spoke, his voice was exaggeratedly calm. “I saw you sitting on the bench, your back to us, but I saw no one else.” His voice lowered. “Were you talking to Danny? We’ve had a couple people report that they’ve talked to him.”
“No, of course not,” Nigh said. “You’re right. I was talking to no one. I, uh…thank you so much, Father Innis, you’ve been a great help. Thank you,” she said again, then hung up the phone.
Jace turned to look at her and Nigh stared back. Every moment of that morning, of sitting on the bench with that good-looking young man and talking about his ancestors—and maybe hers too—came back to her. But it hadn’t been real. Had he been a ghost? Was that what she was supposed to believe?
She looked at Jace, saw his eyes widen in alarm, then the next second, everything went black.
When Nigh awoke, she was on top of the bed, the cover folded around her; the curtains were drawn and there was a cold washcloth on her forehead. As she tried to sit up, the door to the bathroom opened and Jace came out with another washcloth.
“Be still,” he said, coming to sit by her on the bed as he changed washcloths.
“I don’t want this,” she said, pulling the thing off and trying to sit up. But she was woozy and dizzy and she fell back onto the bed.
She looked at Jace. “How long have I been here?”
“About four hours,” he said, and when she tried to get up again, he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “The vicar sent the local doctor and he gave you a sedative. You’re going to be out of it at least until tomorrow morning.”
“Doctor? Sedative?” Slowly, she began to remember what she’d been told just before the world turned black. “Danny Longstreet,” she whispered. “I sat and talked to a ghost.” She put her hands over her face and began to cry.
Jace pulled her into his arms and stroked her back and hair as she cried.
“Why aren’t you afraid of ghosts?” she asked, sobbing into his shoulder. “And why can I handle bombs but not ghosts? What do they want of you? Of me?”
“You look like Ann and you’re related to her,” Jace said softly. “I would imagine Danny wanted to be near anyone who was part of the woman he loved.”
“But they never contacted me in all the time I was in Margate,” Nigh said. “I was in that house many, many times, but I never saw a ghost.”
“I think you felt Ann. I think she took care of you, looked after you.”
His words and the truth of them made her cry harder for a moment, then the tears began to lessen. Jace gave her a handful of tissues from the box by the bed.
“Do they want us to do something for them? Find out something?” Nigh asked as she blew her nose. “Why are they appearing to us?”
“And why are they giving us information?” Jace asked. He put her back on the pillows, but stayed sitting by her on the bed. “Does it seem odd to you that you and I are together? I mean, I own Priory House, and you’re a descendant of Ann Stuart. And now we’re together and we’ve both seen ghosts.”
“At least you dreamed them,” Nigh said, “so you can stay sane. I was talking to a dead man in broad daylight.”
“What do we know about ghosts?” Jace asked. “How do we find out more?”
Nigh blew her nose again. “We don’t know anything because ghosts don’t exist. I see those shows on TV and all people have are feelings, they feel ghosts. If they see one, it’s just as a light. They do not sit on a bench and chat with them. You saw me there, talking away to nobody. You must have thought I was insane.”
“I had an idea of what was going on. It was a been-there-done-that situation. My concern was if something bad happened.”
“You mean like Ann did to you, of nearly killing you?”
“Exactly.”
“I guess Danny could have carried me off on his horse.” For a moment she put her hands over her face again, then looked up. “This village should have danger signs posted. ‘Warning! You might be accosted by a ghost seeking his long-lost love. In case of terror, see the doctor.’”
Jace gave a snort of laughter. “In Margate you put a bogus article in a tiny local newspaper and we were deluged by people wanting in on it. Imagine what it would be like if you told a…excuse me…reporter that you’d sat on a bench and had a long conversation with someone who wasn’t there.”
“I don’t want to imagine it,” she said. “By the way, thanks for not letting me blurt out all that…that Danny and I had talked about.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t think the people here want more ghost sighting
s spread around. It seems that so many people have seen Danny that the local GP is often called in.”
“And he has barbiturates at the ready. Rather like keeping snakebite venom in a herpetarium.”
Jace smiled. “I think you’ll be okay if you have your sense of humor back. I spent some time with the doctor and the vicar and—”
“Who else knows?” she asked. “Did you call my editor in London? Is it on CNN that a war correspondent was felled by the sight of a handsome ghost in a village in England?”
“You didn’t tell me he was handsome,” Jace said as he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, then smiled when she started to defend herself. “I have orders from the doctor to give you what you want to eat for dinner and to talk about what you saw or not talk about it, depending on whatever you want to do.”
“Anything to keep me from going insane, is that it?” She looked at him in speculation. “It seems to me that I reacted in a normal way after seeing a ghost.”
“If passing out is normal, then I hope I’m never around another person who sees a ghost,” he said.
“My point exactly,” she said as he poured her a glass of water. “I’m normal. I reacted with hysteria and totally collapsed. But you didn’t. You saw a ghost but you didn’t freak out. Why?”
He handed her the glass of water, but when her hand trembled, he sat by her and held it to her lips. When she’d finished, she again asked, “Why?”
Jace walked to the window and opened the curtain a bit. It was dark outside. He turned back to her. “I think maybe I’m closer to death than you are,” he said softly.
Nigh’s eyes widened. “You’re ill, aren’t you? Is that your big secret?” Her eyes again filled with tears.
“No,” he said, smiling. “I’m not ill, but thanks for your concern.” He paused for a moment, as though debating about what to say. “I had someone I loved very much die, and since then, I haven’t really rejoined the living. Maybe these spirits feel that.”
She blinked at him. “You want to contact the person who died, don’t you?” she asked softly. “That’s why you made the room to look like Ann’s. You wanted to, as you said, entice her to come back because you wanted to ask her questions. Is that it?”
“Yes.” He smiled in a way that made Nigh think that he was relieved to have told her so much.
“I think maybe you’re assuming too much,” she said, and she could feel the investigative reporter in her rising to the surface. “When I meet people in other countries I’m often asked if I know so-and-so in England. They’ll say, ‘I met a man from England once, maybe you know him’.”
“I get that about the U.S. So what’s the point?”
“Do all the ghosts on this planet know each other? Do they know everyone who has died?”
“I don’t know,” Jace said, anger rising in his voice. “I don’t know any more about this than anyone else. What I do know is that I can’t hurt a ghost. I wish I could fall in love with Ann Stuart. I wish I could wed her and bed her and have children with her. I wish I could fill that huge house with little spirit children who would live forever and never die.”
With his anger spent, he sat down on the end of the bed, his face ragged from his emotion. Nigh tossed back the covers and went to him and put her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for whatever has happened to you,” she said. “I’m deeply and truly sorry.”
He patted her hand. “Look, I think I’d better go. I apologize for my outburst. There are sandwiches on the table and Mrs. Fenney said she’d bring up a pot of tea in about a half hour.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said as he stood up. “I may go into the village to get something to eat. I don’t know.”
“You’re going to go to the church, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re going to go sit on that bench and ask Danny Longstreet to come to you.”
“I…uh,” he said as he moved toward the door. “I think you’ll be fine now. The doctor said you’d be weak for a while, but you’ll be all right. After a good night’s sleep, maybe all this will seem like a dream. Maybe you won’t remember much of it. Good night,” he said, then left the room.
As soon as he was gone, the room seemed huge and very dark and very empty. If Jace was gone and Mrs. Fenney was in the opposite side of the house and there were no other guests, she was alone. It took some strength on her part to get out of the bed. Her legs were wobbly and weak, but she managed to go to the bathroom, then to turn on every light she could find. She didn’t want to be in the dark.
She ate half a chicken sandwich, drank a bottle of water, took a quick bath, and changed into her new nightgown. Mrs. Fenney didn’t show up with the pot of tea and that made Nigh worry that the woman was as afraid as she was.
It was still early when Nigh got back into bed. She felt as tired as if she’d climbed a mountain. She wanted to go to Jace’s room to see if he’d returned, but she didn’t think she had the strength.
She got into bed, all the lights still on, and images came to her. Talking to a man who’d died over a hundred years ago. “What did he want?” kept going ’round and ’round in her head. Over and over. What do they want? By “they” she meant Ann and Danny and Jace. What did Jace want? To say good-bye to the person he’d loved so much? To talk to her—and Nigh was sure it was a “her”—one last time?
It was difficult for her to fall asleep with all the thoughts in her mind and with all the lights on. She saw headlights through the curtains and her heart jumped into her throat. The bright lights moving across the room seemed ghostly, eerie. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
She didn’t know what time it was when she awoke, but the lights were out and the room was dark. Immediately, she was afraid, but a big, strong hand stroked her cheek. “Ssssh,” a voice she’d come to know well said. “Everything is all right. Be still and rest.” She felt the warmth of a strong body near hers, felt strong arms around her. She smiled and went back to sleep.
When she awoke in the morning, the curtains were open and sunlight was streaming into the room. She remembered what had happened yesterday, but it no longer seemed so clear to her, and certainly not terrifying.
She took a shower, washed her hair, dried, dressed, put on makeup, and hurried down the stairs. She felt like she could eat one of Mrs. Fenney’s fry-ups.
Jace was at the breakfast table. He looked clean and he’d shaved, but his eyes looked haggard and worn.
“You look like you’re the one who saw the ghost,” she said brightly, but her joke fell flat because Jace didn’t smile.
“I think you should leave here today,” he said over his teacup. “I think you’ve seen more than enough.”
In spite of what she’d been through, she didn’t want to leave. “We haven’t found Ann’s portrait,” she said. “Danny said it was here.”
Her eyes widened as she looked at Jace in wonder. “Did I just say that? Dead Danny told me where a picture was and I mention it as though I’d just talked to him on the phone.”
Jace reached across the table and picked up a folder. In it was a photograph of a pretty young woman wearing a dark dress with a bustle, à la the 1870s. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her face and piled in shiny loops on the back of her neck. She was a slender woman and looked to be tall. As Jace said, if she were alive today, she could have been a model.
“I am flattered that anyone thinks I look like her,” Nigh said.
“We see her as beautiful today, but I don’t think she was considered beautiful then. She was too tall and too thin. And her face wasn’t demure enough.”
“You mean that Ann looked much too sexy.”
“Yes,” he said, taking the picture from her.
Nigh went to the sideboard and filled a bowl with cereal and added milk. She sat back at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. “Where did you get that picture?”
“Mrs. Fenney had a box full of old photos. After Danny died, the hous
e and contents were sold, but no one bothered with emptying the attic, so a lot of things stayed in the house.”
“What happened to the money from the sale?”
“It all went to pay Danny’s debts.” Jace was pushing his eggs around on his plate. He hadn’t eaten much of Mrs. Fenney’s full English breakfast. “I think Danny knew he was going to die so he gave away a lot of money to charities, then he lived on credit for four years. Last night I talked to some man who is the village historian and he said the money worked out almost perfectly. The sale of the house and furniture exactly paid off what Danny owed.”
“You think he committed suicide, don’t you?” she asked softly.
He looked up at her. “I think that after Ann died, Danny didn’t want to go on living. He knew that her death was his fault. If he hadn’t been drunk and impregnated some village girl, she wouldn’t have killed Ann. How do you live with the knowledge that you’ve killed the person you love most in the world?”
His words were so heartfelt that she reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back.
“Nigh?” he said.
“Yes?” She sensed that he had something serious to say and she held her breath.
“You’ve been a great help to me in these last days and a great companion, but from now on, I need to work by myself. I checked and there’s train service from here to Margate. You only have to make one transfer. You can be at home, safe in your own house, by this afternoon.”
She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt by his words. Anger won out. “I freaked out in a normal way about having talked to a ghost, so now I’m being thrown out.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it exactly. You aren’t much use to me as a research assistant if I have to call a doctor because you’ve had a fainting spell, and if I have to sit up with you all night. I wanted someone who could actually help me with what I’m doing, but you’re much too cowardly to be of any use. I want you to go back to Margate and I want you to stay away from Priory House. No more snooping in my house. I’ll have the entrance to the tunnel sealed shut. Am I making myself clear?”
Someone to Love Page 17