The medium has to concentrate hard to distinguish each spirit. He does a fine job of it. Every person who receives a message is uplifted. Those who don’t are moved, carried on this enormous wave of love that is flooding the room. And that’s what strikes me the hardest: the love that these people feel for those who have moved on, and the love that the spirits feel for those still living. Love is an unbreakable bond that ties them to each other. I look at JP, sitting there quietly, lost in thought. Is he thinking about me? Or our father, Bertie, perhaps? His face is very serious. His brow furrowed. But I cannot read his thoughts, I can only read his energy and there is too much of that in this room right now to read anything other than love.
The two hours pass very quickly. The medium cannot impart all the messages, but he reassures those in the audience who were hopeful of communication that he will be holding more of these events during the week. The spirits fade away, the people stand up and talk excitedly to one another. Margot embraces Mrs Walbridge, who cries onto her shoulder. I doubt she will be afraid of ghosts anymore.
And then I see the ‘housekeeping ghost’ Mrs Carbery. She is on the stage, looking bewildered. A drab little shadow of a woman, like a mouse, watching in amazement as the room slowly empties of people.
Then it is just her and me and a young woman walking through the chairs, picking up leaflets and tidying up.
‘Almighty Jesus, what was that performance all about?’ she asks me.
‘He’s a medium. He talks to dead people like us and passes on messages to those still living.’
‘Like a kind fortune teller?’ she says.
‘Sort of but not exactly.’
‘The priest used to tell us that people like that are limbs of the devil and to give them a wide berth, God save us.’
‘No,’ I reassure her. ‘They just have special gifts.’
‘Well, in that case and me being dead, do you think he would carry messages from me?’
‘Who would you want to get in touch with?’ I ask.
‘I think I have a daughter still alive.’
Of course she does. ‘Bessie,’ I say.
‘Bessie. My little girleen who I had to leave behind. Bessie who looked after me and brought me back from the jaws of death after Rafferty was killed. When he didn’t come home, I went into deepest black. In all the years since, I never wore a coloured garment. God help me, me poor heart was in so many pieces that only St Anthony himself would be able to find them and put them together. After that, me life was a Garden of Gethsemane. Where is Bessie now?’
‘She’s in the Hunting Lodge. She still works for Lord Deverill.’
‘And Rafferty? Is he in Heaven?’
‘I don’t know,’ I tell her.
Mrs Carbery begins to cry. ‘I believed that once I died, I’d see my boy again. It was one of the reasons I welcomed death and went halfway to meet it. What have I done to deserve this purgatory? I went to Mass every morning and was a daily communicant. I never touched a bite of meat on a Friday and I went to Loch Derg and Knock every second year. What did I do to earn this? What more could any living Christian do? It’s all a fine bit of blackguarding, it is. They tell you that you’ll go to Heaven if you lead a humble and devout life, but it’s a downright lie to keep us from rearing up. There is no Heaven. There’s only this old foggy existence. God almighty, I’m neither fish, fowl nor red herring. I’m like something that was flung together in a hurry!’
I don’t know what to tell her. I can only watch helplessly as she leaves to aimlessly wander the castle’s corridors and frighten those who happen to sense her there.
* * *
I am drawn then to the Hunting Lodge where JP, Colm and Margot are having dinner in the dining room. Mrs B has cooked them a feast. I notice how she lingers, keen to hear what this medium was like. She has a strained look on her face, as if she is struggling to reach a decision about something important. I wish I could tell her that her mother is in the castle and wishes to communicate with her. It is easy for me to frighten people but impossible to bring them comfort.
‘What an extraordinary evening that was,’ says JP. He is buoyant, his spirits lifted by the friendliness in the hotel. He thought he was a pariah but he was wrong. He is Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly whose family lived in the castle for over three hundred years. He has realized that that is something to be proud of. ‘Your friend Dan Chambers is truly gifted.’
‘I’m a sceptic,’ says Margot. ‘But, I have to admit, tonight has left me wondering.’
‘It’s a great comfort to know that the people you love who have died never leave you. I mean, you only had to look at Mrs Walbridge’s face to see how much joy the communication with her daughter gave her,’ says Colm.
‘Terrible to lose a child,’ says Margot sadly. ‘You know, she’s never mentioned Lillie to me, or that her husband died in a car crash. She’s had so much sorrow in her life and yet, you’d never know. She’s such a lively, happy person.’
‘It’s a gift,’ says JP. He has had his fair dose of sorrow too and is gradually learning to let it go.
‘Dan would say that that’s what life is about,’ Margot tells them. ‘That we’re here to grow through our suffering. If life were a bed of roses we’d all be selfish and complacent. Suffering teaches us compassion and appreciation. I think he’s probably right about that.’
‘When is his next meeting?’ asks JP. ‘I’d like to go and see him again.’
‘Tomorrow evening,’ Margot replies. Mrs B cannot linger any longer. She leaves quietly, her hands full of dishes.
‘Who would you like to come through for you, Dad?’ asks Colm with a chuckle. ‘Kitty?’
JP pulls a face. ‘Lord no! She’s furious with me for selling the castle. I think if she came through we’d all feel the chill!’ They laugh. But he is right, I am furious with him for selling the castle. However, I am humbled by the love communicated by the spirits in the ballroom tonight. Not one came through with a stony heart. Not one spoke in anger. There was only love. Does that mean that when I move on I will leave my resentment behind? Will I want to? Is it such a bad thing to love the castle so?
* * *
After supper they move into the drawing room and JP puts on a record. The sublime music fills the room and, as I anticipate, Tarquin Deverill is drawn from his murky realm. I notice at once that he is different. He has changed. He is cowed. His energy is less dense and softer in texture, and he is in despair. I sense his desolation in a heavy cloud that spreads throughout the room and I feel immense pity for this tortured soul.
This time he does not seek the music. He seeks me.
‘I need to confess,’ he says as soon as he sees me. ‘My soul is in anguish and I cannot take it anymore.’
‘What has inspired you, Tarquin?’ I ask.
‘I am in turmoil. I cannot endure another minute down there in that horrible place. I cannot. There is no colour, no light, no kindness, no music or flowers or…’ He gasps and clutches his chest. ‘But it is no more than I deserve. If I never see a single thing of beauty again it is what I have earned, but I pray for forgiveness.’
‘From whom do you seek forgiveness?’
‘From my son. From Gabriel.’
‘Tell me, Tarquin, what did you do?’ In truth, I do not wish to hear the terrible thing that he has done, but I know I must push him to see the error of his ways and to allow the light into the darkness in his soul. It is the only way that he can redeem himself.
He falls to his knees and drops his chin onto his chest. ‘I murdered my son,’ he whispers. I catch my breath. I had not expected that. ‘What did you do?’
‘I lured him to the pond on his tenth birthday. I told his mother that I would take him into the garden to look at the flowers. I had never taken him out before. I showed him the fish. He lay on his belly and put his hand in the water to touch them.’ He pauses. I sense his regret. It twists inside his heart like a shard of glass. He shakes his head, but there is no dispelling
the memory of what he did. ‘I pushed his head into the water. I held it down until the life had gone out of him.’
He stands up suddenly. ‘I was wrong to ask forgiveness,’ he says. ‘How can I expect my son to forgive his father for such a heinous crime? I cannot. It is beyond the capability of any human being. First, I robbed him of his joy, then I robbed him of his life. It is unforgivable and I must suffer in Hell for eternity. It is what I deserve. I will leave you now, Kitty, and return to the place I created for myself. You were right, after all. The life I lived on earth fashioned the life I live now. One cannot escape justice. I only have myself to blame.’
My heart swells with pity. I want to reach out to him, this tormented creature who has at last seen the light. He begins to withdraw.
The room is at once filled with a blinding radiance. I shield my eyes, for it is too bright for me. I sense Tarquin recoil. He also hides his eyes from it. It is too intense for us both. Little by little it dims and at last we are able to see the unearthly being now standing before us. At first I think it is an angel but I quickly realize that it is not an angelic being but a beautiful soul of great love and purity.
He looks upon the anguished creature trembling before him with compassion. ‘Father,’ he says.
I am astonished. Is this magnificent being the spirit of the crippled child?
‘Gabriel?’ Tarquin’s voice is a rasp. He cannot believe it, either. But I know that it is true. If he had looked into the boy’s eyes he would have seen what his mother saw: a beautiful, perfect, unblemished soul.
‘I have always been with you, Father,’ he says. His smile is full of joy, his eyes shining with love. ‘I never left you.’
‘But I… I…’ Tarquin fights his emotions. He cannot articulate the words. He is too full of shame.
‘Even in the dark place where you have been dwelling I have been with you. Only, you couldn’t see me. Now that you have acknowledged that you hurt people terribly, you have allowed the light into your heart and I am able to reach you. I am here to take you home.’
‘Home?’ Tarquin gasps. ‘But why would you care? No, better to leave me in disgrace.’
‘Come.’ His son holds out his hands. ‘I forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself.’
Tarquin is trembling. His entire energy is oscillating with a faint though unmistakable light. It is spreading through him, like a growing flame. He takes the hands and I watch in awe and humility as this very advanced soul leads his father into the next world. The light disappears and the room is restored to its usual tone. JP, Margot and Colm are sitting around the table, playing cards. They have no idea of the extraordinary event that has just taken place in their midst.
I realize then that it really is true. The way we choose to live on earth creates the life we go to when we die. And it is a choice. How many of us choose unwisely!
Chapter 17
Dorothy felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Lillie was still with her. Tonight had confirmed it. How could Dan Chambers know about the robins? How could he have got Lillie’s name and what she died of had she not been there, telling him? Lillie was not a ghost. She knew that now, having spoken to Dan. Lillie was a vibrant spirit. The same loving person as she had been when she was alive, only without her sick body. She hadn’t changed, sprouted wings or become pious. She was free, happy and full of mischief. Really, those robins were extraordinary. Never again would she fear spirits, although she’d prefer not to see the housekeeping spirit again. There was something about waking up in the middle of the night and sensing someone in one’s room that was very disconcerting. She’d rather that didn’t happen.
Dorothy was in her nightdress and dressing gown on the point of climbing into bed when there came a knock on the door. Wondering who it could be at this time of night, she called out a little anxiously, ‘Who is it?’
‘Me, Margot,’ came the reply.
Dorothy assumed something must be wrong for Margot to need her at eleven o’clock at night and opened the door. But Margot did not look like a woman in distress.
‘I’m sorry it’s so late,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to come and check on you. I mean, it’s been an extraordinary evening, hasn’t it.’
Dorothy opened the door wide, suddenly keen to talk about it. ‘Come in,’ she said enthusiastically, stepping aside.
Margot walked into the room. ‘I’ve always been a bit of a cynic myself,’ she said, sinking onto the bed. ‘But tonight Dan really threw the cat among the pigeons.’
Dorothy sat down on the small sofa by the window and folded her hands in her lap. ‘He’s a very gifted man. I mean, how could he have known about the robins?’
‘Exactly. It was amazing.’
Dorothy smiled. ‘There were so many people in the room, but my Lillie came through for me. She always was a determined little thing.’
‘It’s nice to know that she’s with you.’
‘It’s made all the difference,’ said Dorothy. ‘The one thing I always worried about was leaving her alone in Buenos Aires. That’s why I stayed for as long as I did. Much longer than I wanted to. Because she was there. Silly really. Of course I knew she wasn’t in her grave. I believed she was in Heaven, but still, that’s all I had left of her, her plot with her name on the plaque. It was a wrench to leave it. It still pains me sometimes to think of her there without anyone to visit her.’
‘You don’t have to feel like that anymore. She really isn’t there. She’s here.’ Margot smiled affectionately. ‘She’s probably here right now.’
‘That’s a nice thought,’ Dorothy agreed. ‘It’s also encouraging to know where I’m going to end up when I die. You know, when you get to my age, you think about death quite a lot.’
Margot looked horrified. ‘Oh Dorothy! You’re not going anywhere yet.’
‘I hope not, but still, I’m edging closer to the end of my life, aren’t I?’ She chuckled. ‘No one gets out of here alive.’
‘You have a good many years left in you, and besides, I need you.’
‘Well, I’ll hang around as long as I’m able to,’ said Dorothy. She had only known Margot a short time, but it was nice to feel needed. And it felt good to support Margot who hadn’t a mother she could count on. ‘You can count on me,’ she said and she was touched to see that her words meant something to Margot.
‘Thank you,’ said Margot, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.’ In the past, the only person Margot had been able to count on was herself.
* * *
After Margot had gone, Dorothy lay in bed and prayed. She thanked Lillie for communicating with her and she thanked whichever power it was that had facilitated it. She sent a prayer out for Margot, too. Had it not been for her, Dan would never have come to the castle. It was good that he was here. He would bring relief to so many grieving people. It was impossible to avoid death. At some stage in everyone’s life they would be touched by it and eventually death would greet them all. How much easier would it be if they could be certain that it wasn’t an ending, but a transition?
The following morning she paid Emer O’Leary a visit at her house by the sea. The day was blustery but sunny. Fat clouds bumbled across an azure sky and beneath, the waves rose and fell sharply, challenging the fishermen who were out in their boats in pursuit of the daily catch. She took a taxi, which the hotel organized for her, and drew up outside the O’Leary home at ten. Emer greeted her warmly at the door. Jack was in bed with a bad cold, she told her.
‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ said Dorothy.
‘It’s been a hard winter,’ said Emer, closing the door and accompanying her into the sitting room. ‘Jack’s out every day with the dog, come rain or shine, and he’s not getting any younger.’
‘None of us are,’ said Dorothy. ‘One foot in the grave and the other on a bar of soap.’
They sat and shared their news. Then Dorothy told Emer about JP. ‘He must have quit the booze,’
she said. ‘He’s looking very good. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed my father would have called it.’
‘What’s come over him?’ Emer asked pensively. ‘Do you think he’s in love?’
‘Possibly. I can’t imagine a transformation happening like that for no reason.’
‘But who with? Who does he see besides Margot Hart?’
‘I don’t honestly know. Perhaps Colm has convinced him to clean up his act.’
Emer shrugged. ‘He’s said nothing about it to us.’ She frowned. ‘Was he there last night, as well?’
‘Yes, it was JP, Colm and Margot. The three of them.’
Emer thought about it for a moment. ‘Margot’s young enough to be his daughter,’ she said, a note of disapproval in her voice.
‘Oh, I don’t think he’s in love with her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s not a fool.’
‘She’s very beautiful. Men behave foolishly when it comes to beautiful women.’
‘I don’t think he’s in love with her. They’re friends,’ said Dorothy firmly. She couldn’t tell her that she and Colm were lovers. She couldn’t betray Margot’s confidence.
‘Margot is not JP’s friend. She’s using him. Surely he can see that?’
‘I really don’t think so.’
‘You’re very naïve, Dorothy.’
‘Am I?’
‘Oh, yes. Margot is a sophisticated, cunning and ambitious young woman. She’s a journalist as well as an author and you know what they’re like, don’t you? They have no scruples. She’s playing with JP like a cat with a mouse, I tell you. Once she’s finished the book she’ll be off and he won’t see her for dust.’
‘Do you really think so? I’m not so sure. She’s got a good heart.’
The Distant Shores Page 27