Ghostly Manners

by K. E. O'Connor

  “Here we are.” Douglas entered the room a few moments later and kicked the door shut behind him. “I selected a fruity bottle of claret. It’s an excellent year. Are you a wine connoisseur?”

  “Not really.” I didn’t even like red wine. Cocktails were more my sort of thing, although I never turned down a glass of champagne.

  “This bottle cost almost one thousand pounds,” said Douglas. “So you’d better appreciate it.” He yanked the cork out of the bottle and poured two generous glasses.

  Flipper growled when Douglas approached me with a glass.

  “He needs to go.” Douglas placed the glass on the drinks trolley and glared at Flipper.

  “He’s only looking out for me,” I said. “Flipper doesn’t know you.”

  “Which is how I want it to remain.” Douglas opened the door. “He can’t stay. I have allergies. His fur will give me a rash.”

  “I thought you had dogs of your own?” I also had the feeling I was about to break out in hives. I was allergic to sleazy, drunk morons.

  “Hunting animals, not pets. You won't find me cuddling up to any of the mutts in the kennels.”

  From the stubborn set of Douglas's jaw, I wasn't going to be able to keep Flipper with me. “Flipper, wait in the hallway. I won’t be long.”

  Flipper bared his teeth at Douglas.

  “He has to go,” said Douglas. “If he bites me, I’ll shoot him.”

  He could try. I’d happily turn the gun on Douglas if he ever hurt Flipper. I pointed to the open door. “Go on, boy.”

  Flipper slunk out of the room, his tail between his legs.

  “At last, it’s just the two of us.” Douglas shut the door and returned to the glasses of wine on the trolley. He topped up the glasses, despite neither of us having drunk anything, and handed me a glass. “Bottoms up.”

  I took a small sip, and even though I wasn’t a fan of red wine, I could taste the smooth undertones of the Claret.

  Douglas took a large drink from his glass, his gaze never leaving me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a good wine.” I set my glass on the table by the side of the chair.

  “No hard feelings about our chat the other night?”

  “The chat where you told me to keep my nose out of family business?”

  “That’s the one,” said Douglas. “No point in rocking the boat over such a trivial matter.”

  I longed to argue the point with him. Beatrice’s murder was not trivial. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Douglas grinned at me. “And how are you finding life at Galbraith Manor? Do you think you will be staying?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I like working for Lord Galbraith.”

  “And what about her Ladyship? When she’s out of earshot, I call her Old Frosty Drawers.” He chortled to himself and took another gulp of wine.

  “I find her pleasant enough,” I said. “But I’ve not had much to do with Lady Galbraith.”

  “Yes, your little friend got the short straw when it came to this job. If Old Frosty Drawers wasn’t around, I’d be able to have a lot more fun with Sylvester. But she keeps him on a tight leash.”

  “Lord Galbraith doesn’t seem unhappy with his marriage.”

  Douglas finished his wine and refilled his glass, gesturing at me with the bottle. “Drink up, girl. If you’re intending to stay, I need a real drinking companion.”

  I took another sip of wine. “What plans do you have for Beatrice’s old room?”

  “Ah, yes, that room,” said Douglas. “This may surprise you, but in my younger years, I used to be something of an artist. Loved nothing more than getting my palate and a blank easel and spending the day in the garden painting a watercolour or two. Nothing more satisfying.”

  I was surprised to hear him admit that. I couldn’t imagine Douglas in paint splattered overalls as the muse overtook him and he created a masterpiece. “Beatrice’s room is going to be an art studio?”

  “That’s the idea. The room gets excellent light first thing in the morning. And the huge windows mean I’ll have almost uninterrupted views of the surrounding countryside.” Douglas had an almost wistful look on his face. “I believe I could be content there. You never know, might even sell a few paintings. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “I guess it would,” I said. “I’ve made a start on removing Beatrice’s items from the room. It should be yours in a few days’ time.”

  “That’s fine. In fact, I’m wondering if my new found artistic desires might attract a certain kind of lady.” Douglas squinted at me. “Do you find artists attractive?”

  And the slimy Douglas was back. “If they’re nice people, I would.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of these independent types, who doesn’t hold any value in money and material things.” Douglas laughed and downed half the glass of wine in his hand. “Can’t stand that kind of woman. Always bleating on about wanting independence and equal rights. But I can bet you this; show her a large diamond ring and a closet full of furs and she would fall to her knees and weep with joy. All that feminist rubbish forgotten.”

  I bit my tongue, wanting so much to tell Douglas where to stick his diamond ring and his vile fur coats. “Are you looking for a bohemian girlfriend? Someone who can inspire your artistic streak?”

  Douglas’s smile looked shark like. “I might be. Are you artistic?”

  “I can’t paint to save my life. I used to get my dad to do my art homework for me when I was a student. He even got some of his pictures on the art wall because they were so good. But as for me, completely talentless when it comes to producing a work of art.”

  Douglas’s gaze ran over me. “Yes, you do strike me as a more conventional type. So, what are your ambitions? I expect you’re hoping some of this high-class living will rub off on you. Planning on bagging yourself a millionaire husband?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I’m happy as I am.”

  “That old story. You’re telling me you are happy to go to bed at night on your own with only your teddy bear for company? That you don’t miss having someone to share all your little secrets with and plan your future together?”

  I realised he was being sarcastic, but sometimes, I did miss those things. “What about you? Are you looking to bag yourself a Miss Right?”

  “Too many to choose from; that’s my problem,” said Douglas.

  “I don’t exactly see you beating them off with a stick.”

  His sleazy smile slipped from his face. “I have girlfriends of a sort.”

  He most likely paid for those girlfriends. “You should bring some of them by the house. It’s bound to impress them.”

  “And risk the scrutiny of Sylvester and Penelope? Not likely. I like to keep the women I’m involved with away from the family. Otherwise, I get too many gold diggers. And while I have some money to throw away on totty, I like to keep some for myself and my own entertainment.”

  He was a disgusting example of a chauvinist pig. “You’ll need to settle down at some point, though. Maybe produce the potential heir and future owner of Galbraith Manor.”

  “There’s plenty of lead in my pencil to achieve that goal,” said Douglas. “You’re welcome to find that out for yourself if you’d care to.”

  I almost choked on the wine I’d just taken a sip of. “How thoughtful of you.”

  “I’m a busy man, with many engagements, but I can always make a little space for a new lady in my life.” He winked at me. “If ever you fancy a bit of fun, you know where to find me.”

  An unexpected yawn overtook me, and I blinked my eyes a few times.

  “If you’re feeling tired, my dear, my room is upstairs.”

  I shook my head. “You’ve lived here a while, haven’t you?”

  “On and off for about five years,” said Douglas. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that, well, you’ll think I’m being silly.” I made an attempt at fluttering my eyelashes.

  “Most women are,�
�� said Douglas. “Go on, ask your silly question.”

  My fingers tightened around the glass of wine, urging me to fling it in his face. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  He stared at me for a few seconds. “Ghosts? Things that go bump in the night? No, I don’t believe in ghosts. They are the ridiculous invention of an overactive imagination. When people die, they don’t return as ghosts. I suppose you’re going to tell me you have seen things in this house. That the creaking floorboards and rattling window frames aren’t caused by expanding and contracting wood, but spectral fingers trying to open doors and strangle people in their sleep in the dead of night.”

  “I didn’t say I’d seen or heard anything,” I said. “But I get a feeling there is a presence in the house.”

  “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” said Douglas. “Ghosts do not exist.”

  “So you’ve never caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, and when you turn to look, there’s nothing there? And you’ve never felt the presence of somebody you know is dead nearby? You’ve never wondered if Beatrice is still in the house?” I dabbed at the sweat that had formed on my top lip, an unexpected heat running through me.

  “No, all of that is your feeble female mind making you hysterical.” Douglas walked over and topped up my glass of wine. “Are you sure you are feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.” I wasn’t. My stomach churned and my armpits prickled with sweat.

  “I don’t think you are. Your cheeks look flushed. And you’ve been talking gibberish for several minutes.”

  I did feel overly warm, but wine always had that effect on me. I also felt tired and a little woozy. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Drink up then,” said Douglas.

  I raised the glass to my lips and paused. Why was he so keen on me drinking so much? I looked down into the crimson liquid. Had he drugged my glass of wine? Was that why I felt odd? I set the glass on the table, my fingers trembling.

  “Perhaps you’d like to lie down?” asked Douglas. “The sofa is incredibly comfortable in here. And we won’t be disturbed. There is hardly anybody in the house. We can make as much noise as we like.”

  “I don’t want to lie down.” I stood up, my knees wobbling underneath me. He had drugged me. That rotten, sleazy idiot!

  “Let me help you.” Douglas grabbed hold of my elbow and attempted to propel me towards the sofa.

  I yanked my arm out of his grip and staggered towards the door. “I don’t need your help, and I definitely won’t be lying down with you.”

  “Wait, wait,” said Douglas. “You misunderstand me. I’m trying to help.”

  “I’m leaving.” I gripped hold of the handle, hearing Flipper scratching on the other side of the door, aware something was wrong with me. Before I could turn the handle, Douglas’s hands grabbed my shoulders, and he spun me around.

  “You will leave when I tell you to. You work for this family. You must obey me.” He lowered his wet looking, slug like lips towards mine.

  My fingers latched onto his shoulders, as my knee jumped up and made contact with his groin.

  For a second, the only thing moving on Douglas were his eyes as they bulged out of his head. He staggered backwards, hands on his groin. “How dare you.”

  “I’ll do it again if you don’t leave me alone.”

  The lights in the room flickered on and off several times, and a cold breeze spun around me. I let out a sigh of relief. Beatrice’s timing couldn’t have been better.

  “You just assaulted me.” Douglas bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths. “I’ll have you fired for this.”

  “Do your worst.” I addressed the words to Beatrice. Douglas deserved it.

  A faint image of Beatrice appeared before me, a smile on her face. She turned and launched herself at Douglas.

  He shrieked and covered his head with his hands. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it at once.”

  “As you can see, I’m doing nothing to you,” I said. “Perhaps the house is haunted after all.”

  Douglas swatted his hands over his head as if trying to bat away a swarm of bees. “You’re doing something. I do not believe in ghosts.”

  “I’m sure your rational mind will figure out what’s going on.” I caught a glimpse of Beatrice as she grabbed hold of the bottle of wine and upended it over Douglas’s head.

  He let out another startled yelp and ran across the other side of the room. “This is madness. This place can't be haunted.”

  “That’s what people will say when you tell the police and Lord Galbraith you were attacked by a ghost.” I caught hold of the door handle, still feeling woozy, and pulled it open. “Have fun, Beatrice.”

  I slammed the door behind me before Douglas had a chance to respond, and heard the lock snap shut. I grinned. Beatrice meant business.

  Flipper jumped up at me, trying to get into my arms, despite being too big for me to carry. “I’m fine; nobody was hurt.” I heard a thud from behind the locked door, followed by a shriek of terror. “Well, maybe Douglas will have a sore head in the morning.”

  After Flipper had given me a thorough once over and decided I wasn’t harmed, I wobbled back to my room, Flipper by my side, helping to keep me steady.

  After Douglas's behavior tonight, if he was at risk of being bumped off by Lady Galbraith, she was welcome to him. I wasn’t wasting my time protecting such a horror for a second longer.

  Chapter 18

  My eyes blinked open, and I shivered, a dull headache pounding behind my eyes. Despite being under my duvet, I was freezing cold, as if I’d spent the night in an ice house. As my eyes focused, I realised Beatrice was perched on the side of the bed, her ghostly hands wrapped around one of mine. That would explain why I was so cold.

  Flipper looked up at me from the side of the bed and gave me a doggy smile. He was definitely friends with Beatrice. He hadn’t alerted me to her presence, and he normally whines or barks to let me know when we have ghostly company.

  I eased my hand from out of her freezing grip and rubbed some feeling back into my fingers. “Thanks for last night, Beatrice. That was a close call. Douglas isn’t a nice man.”

  Beatrice nodded her head.

  “I hope he’s still breathing after what you did to him.” Even though he was a sleaze, in the light of day, maybe wanting him dead was far-fetched.

  Beatrice shrugged and patted the side of her head a few times.

  “Yes, I imagine he is feeling a little bit delicate this morning. It might make him think twice before trying to drug a woman and have his wicked way with her.”

  Beatrice’s eyes widened and she blinked several times.

  “And yes, I was as surprised as you when I realised what he’d done to me. But I got out safely, thanks to you.” I smiled fondly at Beatrice. “Does his actions make you think he was the person who harmed you? Or are you still convinced your brother ended your life?”

  Beatrice gently wrapped her ghostly fingers around her own neck.

  “Fine, you don’t need to start that. I understand. You still think Lord Galbraith killed you. I just can’t work out why you believe that.”

  Beatrice nodded again.

  “Are we friends, now? I know I offended you by suggesting the bottle of alcohol we found in your room was yours. But I was just suggesting a theory. I don't think you were an alcoholic, but I found it under your bed and put the clues together. Looks like I didn’t come up with the right theory, though.”

  Beatrice wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and I shuddered deeply as her cold seeped through me again. “I’m glad we can be friends. I don’t like to think of you alone and worrying. We will get to the bottom of what happened to you. I promise.”

  Beatrice gave me a sad smile, and blinked out of sight.

  I spent a couple of minutes under the duvet, trying to warm up, before sliding out, taking a hot shower, and dressing in my warmest suit. Being cuddled by a ghost for any length of time always left
me freezing cold.

  I dashed down to the kitchen with Flipper and found Helen and Zach already eating.

  “How did your shift with Douglas go last night?” Helen sliced up strawberries and covered her granola with them.

  “It was interesting.” I helped myself to some toast and raspberry jam before sitting at the kitchen table. “He discovered me watching him and invited me into the games room.”

  “You didn’t accept his invitation, did you?” asked Zach.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Much easier to keep an eye on him. But then things got complicated.”

  “Did he try anything funny with you?” Zach’s voice was a low grumble. “He has a terrible reputation with women.”

  “He certainly had dark designs for me. And he spiked the wine he gave me.”

  Helen dropped her spoon, splattering milk across the table. “Lorna, that’s terrible!”

  Zach shoved his chair back and stood up. “I’m having words with Douglas. He may be Lord Galbraith’s cousin, but that doesn’t give him the right to mistreat people.”

  “Sit down.” I gestured to Zach, and after a few seconds of angry sounding huffing, he slowly returned to his seat. “As you can see, I’m quite well. I figured out what he’d done before I was too woozy. And I had someone come to my rescue.”

  “Did Flipper bite him?” Helen looked at Flipper and patted his head. “He’s such a good boy.”

  “No, Beatrice came back. She was magnificent. She surged into the room like some kind of banshee. The lights were flickering, the air was like ice, and she attacked Douglas. He was terrified. She poured wine over his head and then set to work on him.” I grinned at the startled expressions on Helen’s and Zach’s faces. “I don’t advocate violence, but this was a thing of beauty. I’d have stayed and watched, but thought it best to leave.”

  “Beatrice to the rescue.” Helen retrieved her spoon. “We knew she had some spark in her.”

  “That’s... incredible,” said Zach. “Beatrice is something of a superwoman.”