Mr and Mrs Bennet looked at each other.
‘In that case, we should honour your mother’s kindness,’ Mr Bennet said. ‘Thank you, Beatty.’
Beatty’s smile couldn’t get any broader. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ She ran all the way home.
The crowd were surprised the family were actually talking to her, as they thought she’d be chased away. When Beatty ran off, they assumed this was how the meeting had concluded.
‘Ma, hurry! Where’s your cake?’
‘Packed in the basket,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’ve got cups, sugar, cream, plates, spoons, and a knife for slicin’. Oh, and the ginger beer. The tea is still on the stovetop, keepin’ warm and brewed.’
‘Good.’ Beatty grabbed a thick rag and took hold of the scalding tea pot. ‘I’ll grab the tea and the heavy basket, you grab your cake. Let’s go.’
‘Where’s that father of yours? He should be helpin’ with the heavy stuff.’
‘Where else would he be, ma? You know he lives at the pub. Anyway, he’ll only make a fool of us.’
‘Aye, you’re right there, sweetie. We don’t need his drama. Come on then, let’s go.’
They were out the door quicker than a blink of an eye.
Beatty’s ma was in a good mood, as excited as she was to meet the new neighbours. Maybe she needed a friend too. Beatty wondered if her ma and Lady Bennet would form a friendship, thinking how nice it would be.
Mr Bennet saw the ladies carrying their heavy loads and sent some of his men to help.
The crowd were surprised to see Beatty and her mother returning with supplies. They made no effort to help and were put out when the Squire’s men came to offer aid.
Some of the crowd started breaking away and made a move to approach the family too. If the girl and her mother could get away with it, then surely they could, but they were soon stopped and ordered to draw back.
No two faces were more put out than the two women who presumed their families had run of the town. After this turn of events, they had much to discuss with their mothers. They decided the game was on: Cordelia and Beatty Clarke had to go, and they could take that wretch of a man they called a husband and father with them.
The Squire’s men set everything on the table and Beatty helped her mother to empty the baskets.
The little picnic under the tree went splendidly. Everybody enjoyed the cake, even young George. He had a second piece.
Beatty and her ma both enjoyed the moment. The whole Bennet family was nice. Her ma and Lady Bennet clicked straight away while Beatty hit it off with the Bennet girls, even though they were children. She felt young and playful around them.
Mr and Mrs Bennet asked a lot of questions. They were very inquisitive about the Clarkes’ lives. Beatty and her mother answered openly and honestly. Their answers didn’t seem to put off their new neighbours. Beatty and her mother could be a little too open. They were both in need of learning ‘discretion’.
‘Where’s your husband, Mrs Clarke?’ asked Mr Bennet.
‘He’s at the pub, that lazy good for nothin’ sod. Drinkin’ is all he ever does.’
‘Oh dear,’ Mr Bennet responded. ‘Does he work?’
‘He don’t. He lives at the pub and runs the tab up and me and my girl have to pay for it. My girl here and I earn the bread, ya see. We have a gift. We pass on messages from the beyond. I read palms and tea leaves and Beatrice here reads the cards. She’s never been wrong. She can find things too, lost items.’
They looked shocked but took it in their stride. The daughters were bug-eyed with their mouths gaping. They chose not to say anything.
‘’Scuse me, sir, ma’am,’ Beatty said, clearing her throat. ‘While I’ve been here, I’ve been holdin’ back, but now I feel I must say somethin’.’ It worried her sometimes that people might think she was a bit of a kook or, even more dangerous, some might label her as a witch. She could get herself hung, but the Bennets had proven themselves sensible.
‘The ghost of the late Ol’ Squire George has been at your son’s side all this time. Now and then, he grabs your son by the earlobe and playfully wiggles it. That’s why your son has giggled here and there.’
Apart from young George, the whole Bennet family looked surprised.
Lady Bennet, who was sitting rigid in her chair, was the one to respond. ‘Esquire used to do that to our George when he was alive. It was their special game.’
Beatty had struck a chord. She sensed the lady and her husband were non-believers. Yet, what she was conveying to them was an accurate account. However, many had witnessed the games the Georges had played. She needed more. The lady and her husband were likely to presume she was playing on a known fact. The couple stared back at her, rather agog, deciding their verdict.
Beatty fell into deep concentration. Old Squire George was giving her a message. ‘The late George said he would prefer you move into the ol’ manor.’
Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair. ‘What did you say?’
‘He says you need to knock the ol’ abbey down and cleanse the land. It’s a bad place. ’Tis haunted. There’s evil that lurks in those walls.’
Suddenly he was reminded of an image depicting a similar message embroidered on his bed pillow. He blanked the image out. ‘You do realise I’m close to the community here,’ Mr Bennet said, sounding put out. ‘On top of that, the manor has gone to rubble while the abbey is in good condition. It makes sense to be here. It will take some time to restore the manor. As for the abbey, it is an historical landmark, centuries old. There’s no way I’ll tear it down.’ He sighed a heavy breath. ‘And there’s no such thing as haunted.’
Mr Bennet did not believe her charade, but at the same time he was defensive of her suggestion, or rather the demand that was supposedly being made by his late father.
Beatty didn’t want to provoke him any further, but Old George insisted. ‘He said a lot of bad stuff has happened in the abbey over the centuries. The bad energy has stayed and accumulated. It wouldn’t be good for your children. He said if you live there you’ll regret it. Just agree with him on this one thing.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Mr Bennet’s face was flustered with indignation.
Beatty stared in young George’s direction for a long time before turning to face the Squire. ‘He’s gone now,’ she revealed. ‘Either he don’t want to show himself any more or somethin’ has blocked him.’
Mr Bennet snorted. The way he moved around in his chair agitated-like started to unsettle Beatty. Times like this, she wished she was not the messenger. He rose from his seat and started pacing, putting his hands behind his back as he did so.
Beatty’s intuitive senses picked up on his troubles. She was opening up some old wounds. He loved his father, but his father had been too proud to let go of the reins and trust his son outright. Mr Bennet could not keep the bitterness from his tone. ‘Well, that’s that then.’
The meddling from the grave had rattled him. ‘This is my time to make the decisions. Do not give me any more messages from the old coot, will you, Beatty? He tended not to let me think for myself when he was alive.’
Mr Bennet questioned why he was playing along. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Generally, he would be straightforward and tell someone not to play games with him. For some reason, he felt soft towards Beatty. At the same time, he almost believed his father was talking to him from the grave.
Was it a subconscious reaction? Perhaps he should have set the boundaries and put his father in his place while he was still alive. He was acting out unfinished business.
Suddenly, Ol’ George appeared again. The message he conveyed was faint. He was barely getting through. Nonetheless, he succeeded in relaying his message to Beatty before disappearing. This time Beatty felt it was for good.
As nervous as she was, Beatty knew it was important to pass the message on. It was to be used as proof from the other side. ‘Um, he came back, My Lord.’ The steely look she received almost made her crumble. She straightened her back and lifte
d her chin. ‘He said the messages you’re findin’ on your pillows are from him.’
The squire looked straight to his wife. His eyebrows, sitting on top of his forehead, stayed fixed. His expression mirrored Lady Bennet’s startled look .
Visions ran through Beatty’s mind. Before going to bed, Mr Bennet often received an embroidered message on his pillow. It would say, ‘Destroy the abbey.’ The message would disappear as soon as it was read. Lady Bennet was the only person he had confided in about this strange occurrence.
Coincidentally, she was often preoccupied elsewhere when the occurrences appeared. He put it down to his mind playing tricks. Yet, he couldn’t help wanting his wife to verify this conclusion. He often tried to get her attention when it would happen. She had always failed to catch the image.
They made no mention to anyone else of this phenomenon. Mr Bennet settled with his final conclusion. His mind had become suggestive after imagining the first time. After all, at that time, he had been thinking about whether to move to the manor or the abbey. When he had decided on the abbey, he began receiving these messages.
‘We better get movin’,’ Cordelia said. She could see the stirring in the Squire, once the initial shock was over. He had already explained away the happenstances in his mind and he was finished with playing silly games. She stood up and started packing. ‘That useless husband of mine will be home soon.’
Beatty jumped up to help.
When the baskets were packed, Mr Bennet insisted his men carry the heavy loads to their home. The Clarke women accepted the offer.
‘Come again soon,’ said the older girl, Antonia.
‘Come anytime,’ Freya agreed.
‘Thank you, Antonia,’ Beatty said. ‘And you too, Freya. If it’s ok with your parents, I’d love to come again.’ Beatty looked over at Lady Bennet.
‘Of course, you can,’ she said. ‘You may come anytime too, Cordelia. I look forward to having many interesting chats with you.’
Her ma actually laughed. ‘Thank you, ma’am. It’d be a pleasure. Bye for now.’ She curtsied.
Four
Beatty preferred to visit next door when the family was in the gardens. Something about the abbey gave her the creeps. She felt an evil presence there and her ma was the only person who shared this concern. To all the others, the eeriness went unnoticed.
Regardless of some malevolent spirit lurking within the confines of the old abbey, it never stopped her ma from visiting the mistress of the house. She and Lady Bennet had become quite endeared with each other. Though an odd pairing, their friendship was close.
Beatty too shared an odd friendship with the Bennet girls. Regardless of their age, she favoured their company to the adults. The adults were inclined to take life too seriously.
Her unusual friendship became fodder for the staff. They sneered with disapproval every time they spied her cavorting with the children and cruelly branded her as not quite right in the head.
In any case, their opinions were of no importance to Beatty. Nothing existed outside her own little world while she frolicked with her two best friends.
Beatty’s bliss was short-lived. Over the next few months, the Bennet girls became ill and their time spent outdoors became less and less. In addition, there were signs they were losing interest in their newfound friend. While the evidence was clear, Beatty chose not to see it.
One day, Beatty was waiting for the girls to come outside. She had finished her chores and was sitting at the window reading a book. Every so often she glanced out the window. Each time, the neighbour’s garden remained deserted.
The girls had developed a weak disposition for the outdoor climate and were starting to become habitually resigned to their beds. They suffered from high fevers that brought on violent fits and delirium.
Now that the children’s outdoor adventures were few and far between, Beatty tried to catch them at every opportunity that presented itself. According to her ma, who had just returned from visiting the lady of the house, today was one of those days.
Beatty had her head buried in her book and was managing to keep her eyes peeled on the pages when she heard faraway voices. She caught sight of the girls walking with their dolls and a small picnic basket. Their playful giggles carried down the empty street.
Craning her neck, Beatty watched them enter the gardens and make their way to the big shady tree. Antonia laid her doll securely on top of the basket lid. She clutched hands with her little sister and both took off into a skip.
Beatty watched from her window as they sprung and bounded with childlike vitality. The picnic basket bounced in rhythm, yet the doll somehow managed to hang on.
When they reached the tree, Antonia sat the basket on a soft patch of grass, ignoring the table and chair settee nearby. She dropped to her knees and reached for her doll, putting it aside so she could open the lid and empty the contents from the basket.
She pulled out a square piece of material and laid it flat on the grass in front of her. Freya lowered herself to the ground and began helping her big sister.
It was a tea party, Beatty was sure of it. They were bringing out a sundry of small objects and sitting them on the miniature blanket, being particular about their position. It was hard to see from where she was, but Beatty was confident they were miniature pieces of a tea set.
With a keen eye, Beatty watched the girls entertain themselves on the grass with their dolls, until she could no longer bear to watch them without being a participant of the party. It seemed ridiculous sitting all alone, watching all the fun. Putting her book aside, she jumped to her feet and marched over to the door.
With trepidation, Cordelia watched Beatty from the deserted window make her way to the sheltered tree. She feared things were going to take a turn for the worse. There was no noteworthy sign that something bad was about to happen, only a mother’s intuition.
Beatty high-tailed it to the Bennets’ with a haste that exuded excitement. As she approached the girls, they lost their gaiety. They turned their backs and ignored her the whole time she stood in their presence. Beatty had not expected to be received with cold indignation. She stared down at them in bewilderment.
Their message was clear, but Beatty chose to feign ignorance.
‘Morning, mind if I join you?’ she asked, her tone friendly.
‘No, go away,’ Antonia snapped. Both girls glared at Beatty with pure hatred.
Beatty could do nothing but stare back at them like a wounded puppy. She could not attribute a reason to their sudden unfriendliness. ‘What have I done?’ she asked, finding her nerve.
The innocent question provoked Freya into a rage. She flew at Beatty and shouted in her face. ‘You know what you’ve done.’
Freya slapped Beatty, leaving a mark.
Beatty covered her burning cheek and stared at the once docile girl with widened eyes. Freya stared back with a ferocity that could light a human up in flames. The intensity was intimidating.
Antonia clambered to her feet and flanked Freya’s side. It was her whining voice that brought Beatty and Freya out of their hypnotic state. ‘We know what you are doing,’ she said. ‘We know it is you taunting us and making us sick.’
Antonia poked Beatty aggressively with her bony finger. Freya joined in and the two began pushing at Beatty. Beatty fell backwards and rocked on her feet before regaining some balance.
‘What are you talkin’ about?’ she enquired in a loud voice. She was genuinely in the dark, mystified at the nasty change in them. Their spite was so uncharacteristic. She had no idea what had prompted it.
They ignored her and continued to taunt and shove her. The pushing and jabbing irked Beatty, but they were children and she had no desire to attack them. She felt more bothered by the senseless accusations they were making.
‘You and your familiars are coming to us in our dreams,’ they wailed. ‘Admit it, you are purposely making us sick. You are in our heads. You have cursed us. Why?’
Their accusat
ions were untrue, but in the eyes of the law they could likely put a rope around Beatty’s neck. Beatty’s head was soon spinning from their nonsensical charges.
When their torment failed to cease, Beatty wanted to scream at them to stop. She thought she heard herself screaming the very word. She wanted them to quit hitting her before she lost all reserve. She willed herself to remember they were small, defenceless children. Instead, she spoke up for herself, maintaining her innocence.
‘Admit it,’ Freya screeched. ‘You’re a witch. You have bewitched us.’ She charged Beatty, sinking her nails deep into the side of Beatty’s face, scratching along her cheek like a clawed animal. Her movement was swift and unexpected, too quick for Beatty to react. The unseemly attack drew blood.
Freya’s violent stint surprised even Antonia, who went into a subdued mode.
Freya showed no remorse. If anything, she gleamed with conquest.
Beatty had had enough. She walked away.
Freya went back to sitting on the grass and invited her sister to join her. Antonia stared at her little sister with appalled shock. Freya wanted to continue with their tea party, but Antonia had lost all desire to play.
The game was over.
Five
For three days, Beatty stayed at home. Although her intentions to avoid the Bennet girls were adamant, she couldn’t help looking out the window every afternoon to find the gardens empty. Since the unseemly altercation, the little bullies had stayed indoors.
Nevertheless, Beatty was sick of the stewing. The hurt and betrayal was poisoning her. She was ready to confront them to demand a sincere apology. They better have a good reason for their tasteless demonstration, she thought.
She put on her best hat and marched out the door to brave the dreaded abbey.
Determined, she boldly knocked on their door. She waited but there came no response. She banged again. Either the pause was too long or her patience was thin. No one hurried to answer the door. Her knocking grew louder, letting those within know how annoyed she was at the rude delay.
At last, the door swung open. A new face glared daggers at her. She didn’t look much older than the Bennet girls. The maid looked her up and down with disapproval. Beatty stared back at her with similar distaste. The junior upstart was sure to make trouble. Beatty could feel it in her bones.
Indicator of a Curse Page 5