Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three

by Allie Harrison

  “It’s too horrid. Don’t say anymore.” Liam wished to hold her closer, but would only accomplish that if she melted into him. With one arm about her waist and the other across her back, he reached up with one hand and lost his fingers in the thick waves of her hair. He would never get over how soft her hair was. He wished to ease her pain. And if he had to stand and hold her like this to do so, he was willing to do it for eternity.

  Against his chest, she shook her head. “No. It helps to talk about it. It puts things into perspective.”

  He wanted to ask specifically what things and if any of them made sense. Because, right then, the only thing that did make sense was her in his arms.

  “We should contact the authorities,” she suggested, her words muffled as she spoke against his shirt.

  “I don’t know that that’s such a good idea.” Ben spoke from the door.

  They both turned and looked at him. Liam didn’t let her go, even though holding her was inappropriate.

  “Are you all right, Clare?” Ben asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. Liam didn’t like the fear in her voice.

  “Ben—”

  Ben held up a hand and halted Liam’s next words. “While I admit I had some concerns when I first met you, Clare, I can easily see how much Liam cares about you. And I’ve always been able to trust his judgment, despite the fact you looked a bit mad a few moments ago. I’m not quite sure what that was you experienced, but what would you even consider telling the City Guard? That you had some sort of an episode and saw the killers? The city is on edge. Without plausible proof, they wouldn’t believe you. They’d send you to the asylum or lock you up for being an accomplice.”

  Liam released her just enough for her to look up at him. “I have to agree, my darling. No matter what you think you saw, it is all quite unbelievable.”

  “They’ll kill again,” she insisted.

  Liam knew she was right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Except for the patter of rain on the roof and the crackle of the fire in the heart, the house was still.

  Liam sat at the small desk at the far end of the music room trying to write his legal arguments for the Brenners. He needed to be ready with their defense. So far, all he was able to do was read various reports. After lunch with Ben, and Clare’s horrid vision, he’d used his accident as an excuse and accomplished what work he could from home. He simply didn’t want to leave Clare or even have her out of his sight, not for a single second, hence his working at the desk in the music room and not at his usual work desk in the library. His assistant was accommodating and brought all work from his office to his home. Yet, with Clare close, it wasn’t easy for him to concentrate.

  Despite Liam’s orders that Gerard keep the fire burning brightly, the rain added an unneeded chill to the house that the fire’s heat couldn’t seem to penetrate.

  After her morning ‘episode,’ Clare had grown quiet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked for what was probably the hundredth time.

  Again, she replied, “I just have a headache.” She sat at the piano. She’d played various songs throughout the day, all haunting melodies he’d never heard before. But despite their unfamiliarity, he was certain he didn’t hear the ending to any of them. At his request, Millie and Gerard had served the two of them a supper of roast pork, which should have been delicious. But neither of them ate much of it. Now his servants were in their quarters and darkness blanketed his house. Except for the sound of an occasional wagon drawn by horses, activity on the street outside diminished.

  From his desk at the far corner of the room, Liam asked, “What is that you’re playing?” Again he attempted to engage her in some conversation. She didn’t answer him.

  He finally looked up at her and immediately saw the difference between a true musician and someone who could simply play notes.

  Her eyes were closed, she was lost in her music. Listening, feeling the music as she played. She played the notes over and changed one or two. He knew nothing about music except that he enjoyed it. She opened her eyes and found him watching her.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but watch you.”

  She gave him a slight smile. “It’s all right.”

  “How’s your headache?”

  “Still clawing at the back of my neck.”

  “You are still welcome to try some of my headache powder.” He’d offered it before when she first told him of her headache.

  Again, she refused his offer. “No, thank you. I’m sure I have some ibuprofen in my backpack.”

  “Something from the twenty-first century that’s better than headache powder?” he had to ask.

  “No doubt.” She met his gaze. “I didn’t even think to give you some yesterday after you hit your head. It would have helped you feel better.”

  He smiled at her. “It’s all right. I didn’t even remember my own headache powder until just now. But your little bandage helped a lot, and I feel better now. What are you doing?”

  She called the writing instrument she used a pencil, although it was like no pencil he’d seen. She used it writing her music notes on a strange spiral-bound stack of music paper that she called a notebook. She played another group of notes then played it again before she picked up the pencil thing and wrote with it. “Writing a song, but it’s a surprise, so pretend you can’t hear it.”

  “All right.” Whatever she wanted, he thought.

  “I haven’t been able to write a note since…” She paused and he knew what she didn’t say. “And when the mood hits me, I just have to. I can’t wait. It wouldn’t last. If I waited until you weren’t home, it wouldn’t be like it’s supposed to be.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll pretend not to hear it.” As if that was possible. He’d heard several of her songs since she’d somehow landed in his music room, most of them this afternoon. Even though he thought she didn’t end them for some reason, her music was his heartbeat. He returned to his work at hand, preparing a defense for his clients. And it was work. Despite the fact he was two days behind, he still couldn’t concentrate. He wrote out notes, listening as music flowed from Clare’s fingers. The music stopped and he heard the scratching sound as she wrote on her music paper. He could smell her clean, flowery scent from across the room, and it called to him.

  Wind blew against the house as a storm moved in. In the distant dark, not one but two, ship bells rang eerily. He glanced out the window. Fog slithered in, swallowing the city, putting a cloudy cast on the gas lights on the house across the street. At least his head no longer ached. Clare’s music and presence and touch had calmed that, too.

  He watched her write more notes, then use the strange soft end on the pencil to make her marks disappear before she wrote again.

  “You’ve got something more on your mind than the case you’re working on,” she said, as she wrote more notes on her paper.

  If it was anyone else who could read him so well, he’d probably be bothered. But since it was Clare, he smiled and hoped to be able to read her as deeply. Someday. “I was thinking about your vision.”

  She stopped writing. For a long moment, she sat perfectly still. He wasn’t ever certain she breathed.

  “Why?” Her whisper touched him.

  “Because I think it’s important.”

  “I don’t mean why are you thinking about it? I mean why did you have to ruin my concentration by bringing it up?”

  “Because I’m certain it’s important.”

  She finally breathed. He saw her chest inflate fully as she took a deep breath. Perhaps she just remembered to do so. “Okay, so what are you thinking about it?”

  “First explain to me this word ‘okay’. So many of your words make no sense.”

  “It’s just an agreeable term such as, ‘all right’ or ‘I approve’ or ‘that’s satisfactory’. In this instance, I agree with moving ahead in the conversation, so tell me what you’re thinking.” />
  “I see. Thank you for that explanation. What I’ve been thinking is… I think I understand how you came to be with me.” She finally met his gaze. “Not exactly how you leaped through time, but how you came to be with me.”

  She turned on the piano bench and put her pencil down. “So, do tell.”

  “I must first tell you this isn’t easy.” He rose from his desk and approached her. He didn’t speak again until after he took her hands and stooped down before her, putting himself at eye level with her.

  “As if any of this has been easy,” she pointed out.

  “I told you of my dream, the one I had when I suffered my fever.”

  “Yes, the bright lights.”

  He offered her a smile, wishing for some way to ease this. “Tell me. Please. If you were ill or injured in your time, where would you go? Would they carry you home or to some sort of medical clinic?”

  “No. If you had been hurt in my era, you’d be taken to a hospital, a lot like the ones you have here with doctors and nurses, but the hospitals in my time have so much more. They’re bigger and have highly trained specialists and technical with equipment designed to—”

  “To keep you alive and even breathe for you if necessary?”

  Shocked registered on her face, her eyes widened and her lovely mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yes, why?”

  “Because I dreamed of it again when I hit my head yesterday, only this time I saw more than the dream I had during my fever. At least I remember more.” He took a deep breath and squeezed her fingers. “This time I saw you. You were in a bed, with crisp white sheets, bright lights, and a machine that beeped in time with your heartbeat, with a ball that expanded and deflated with your breaths. You were surrounded by your brothers and your parents, your head was bandaged. There was a man dressed in a white coat who I thought was Dr. Drake, but that’s not who he was. He told your parents you were brain dead. Your parents were having him turn off the breathing machine.”

  Her face had gone white, which only made her eyes stand out all the more. “Impossible.” Her word was nothing more than an exhalation.

  “Since your arrival here, I’ve discovered that nothing is impossible.”

  “No, I mean it really is impossible. I flew here on a plane. There was lots of turbulence, and I sat next to a man named Forrest Lensbrook. He told me how much he loved Charleston.”

  “Forrest Lensbrook?” He stared her, blinked, then needed to remind himself to breathe as his heart stumbled in his chest. The name shook Liam to his core and for a long moment, he couldn’t reply. When he finally found his voice, he explained, “Forrest Lensbrook lived outside of the city on his farm until a little over a week ago when he was trampled by a horse and died. I know. He and I attended school together. I went to his funeral even though I was still weak from my fever. He was my friend.”

  “No!” She tried to jump to her feet and pull away from him.

  Liam held her hands and refused to let her go. “Yes.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m dead. I’m not dead. I can’t be dead. If I’m dead, why am I here? Is this supposed to be heaven? Because I promise you heaven will have modern plumbing with soft toilet paper.”

  He held her hands tighter. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  “It had to be a dream.”

  He heard fear in her voice, and it felt liked icy claws in his stomach. “Your brothers’ names are Nick and Justin. Right?”

  “How could you know? Maybe I talked in my sleep. Maybe I told you…” Her words came out in strangled tones, filled with fear and astonishment. She sounded almost as she did when she’d interrupted his dinner party.

  “You never told me. I saw them. Justin is older. Nick is angry, wanting to kill Doug Hall, but I gather from their conversation Doug Hall is already dead. I saw your parents, too. Your mother has red hair. Your father looks like an older version of your brother, Nick.”

  “No, I don’t believe this. This can’t be real.”

  If Liam didn’t know better, he’d think a horrible sea creature with huge, pointed teeth was biting chunks out of his heart. The pain of having to tell her was what he was very certain couldn’t be real. But just as the pain was real, the situation was, too. “It is.” He looked deeply into her eyes, wishing there was some way to soften the blow. There wasn’t. He had promised he would never hurt her. And he told himself it wasn’t him who was causing her pain, it was the situation.

  But he was the messenger. The idea left him feeling raw guilt he thought he’d never be able to shed.

  She finally managed to pull out of his grasp, jumped off the bench, and moved out of reach as if putting some space between herself and him would also distance her from the reality of the situation. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I thought you should know. I thought you could prepare.” Although how, he had no idea.

  “By doing what, buying a cemetery plot or a headstone?”

  “I don’t know,” which frustrated him more than anything. There was just so much he didn’t know. “I just think there has to be a reason for all this, a reason why you’re here and why I’ve been shown this. And I think we should not waste a single moment, not one second. Each one is so precious. And we don’t know what will happen when that machine is turned off. You might even…”

  “Disappear? Just like I suddenly appeared?”

  “Yes, it could happen.”

  She laughed, sounding a bit hysterical. “Maybe. Then again, maybe I’m already dead. And maybe this is purgatory or hell.”

  “This is not hell.” This was not how he expected this conversation to progress. He’d thought perhaps she’d be in his arms allowing him to comfort her when she learned her soul might be trapped in a body on a bed surrounded by her family.

  “It certainly isn’t heaven. Although, I must admit, Millie’s cooking is pretty heavenly. And being with you is…pretty nice, too.”

  He took a second or two to offer her a quick grin, but he was determined not to allow the conversation to stray to a different path just then. Liam took a deep breath and worked to choose the right words. “All I’m saying is we don’t know how much time we have, and I want you to understand that these past few days—despite the bump on my head—have been everything I’ve ever wanted. Hearing you play my piano, having you eat at my table, having you in my arms, waking up with you sleeping on my chest, knowing your heart beats close to mine, it’s all been the world to me. We might only have these few days if, when the machine goes still, you are taken from me. I want you to know you hold my heart.”

  Her eyes grew wide again, and he couldn’t stop the urge to touch her. He caressed her cheek, warm and soft beneath his fingers.

  “If there is one thing I’ve learned from our time together, it’s that I will never again take my time for granted. I will say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done or do what I want to do. I won’t put it off. And I just want to tell you, thank you, for showing that to me. If not for you, I’d still be searching. I’d still be buying something for my house. I’d still be waiting.”

  Her eyes swam in tears. He saw her fight them as she stared at him.

  “You don’t understand. I wasn’t waiting. I wasn’t searching. I had everything in my life I ever wanted. I had my family and music. I had the life I created. And the one person I trusted with my career pulled the rug right out from under my feet.”

  “That’s right. And I don’t know how this will end, but for as long as you are here, you can make your life in this house. With me.”

  “So what if they turn off the machine and I wake up somewhere else?”

  “Then you’ll handle it, with or without me, however it happens, because you’re strong and capable. And while I admit I’d love to be there holding your hand through all of it, it isn’t always a given promise, not in any aspect of life. Not for anyone.”

  “That’s true. So maybe I should just leave now.”

  “Please
don’t. Please promise you’ll stay with me. Play your music for me. Make your career here. You can teach. You can write. You can perform. You can do whatever you want. Here. With me. For as long a time as we’re given.”

  She nodded and blinked away more tears. She sighed loudly. “Okay.” She paused. “I never even got a chance to say goodbye to them.”

  “If it’s any consolation, your brother Nick refused to say goodbye. Justin kissed you and said he would love you forever.”

  “You saw all that?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him a forced smile. “That sounds so typical of both of them.”

  “Perhaps you could write a song for them, something that might cross the span of time and reach them.”

  She nodded. “I could try that.”

  He moved closer and took her in his arms. She allowed it and melted into his embrace.

  “Would you ever have guessed dying would be more confusing than living?”

  He didn’t have an answer.

  She let out a shuddered chuckle against him. “Hey, guess what? I’m dead…”

  She felt far from dead. She was warm and alive. He held her tighter. He still didn’t understand how or why, didn’t understand any of this. But right then, all that mattered was Clare. In his arms. “Not to me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a sleepless night for Clare. Once she set her mind to her music, there had been no stopping. Writing a song for Liam, geared to bridge time for her brothers, for her family, was an excellent idea, and she stayed up all night doing what she knew best, putting her feelings to treble and bass clefs.

  Although, there were no words, as the night turned to dawn, her song was now finished.

  At the top of the first page of the music notebook, she penciled in the title: A Bridge Across Time. Next to the title she wrote, To Nick and Justin, With Love, Clare.

  It needed some polishing, but maybe she’d be given time to do that.

  Liam had never left her. He stoked the fire throughout the night. And now, as it died in the hearth, with morning light turning gray in the windows, he slept on the sofa not too far away, looking almost the same as he had the previous afternoon.