Ghostly Manners

by K E O'Connor

  “Don’t forget, six o’clock sharp,” said Lady Galbraith to Helen.

  “I’ll be there,” said Helen, following me out of the dining hall.

  Flipper met me at the door, his anxious gaze pinned to me as we hurried along the corridor and into the kitchen.

  “I take it that the drop in temperature and flickering lights meant our ghost joined us for dinner,” said Helen, as I deposited the plates in the kitchen sink.

  “She was standing behind her brother,” I said. “At least we know now who she is and how she died.”

  “The ghost of Beatrice Galbraith.” Helen settled at the large wooden table in the center of the kitchen. The room furnishings were dated but clean, with an enormous Belfast sink by the window, wooden worktops, and pale grey kitchen units covering most of the walls. The floors were black slate and uneven in places, and a drying rack for clothes hung over the table.

  I joined Helen and sat down. “So it would appear. But if she died of a heart attack, why is she hounding her brother?” A glass shattered by the sink, and a second later, Beatrice appeared at the end of the table.

  Flipper whined and pawed at the ground, before resting his head in my lap and gazing up at me.

  “Let me guess,” said Helen. “Beatrice has arrived.”

  “And she’s not looking happy,” I said, focusing on the ghost. “You need to tell us what’s happening. If you died of a heart attack, why did you seem so angry with your brother?”

  Beatrice began doing her mock strangling impersonation again.

  “That’s not helping me,” I said to her. “You can’t throttle yourself and expect me to understand what you mean.”

  “Maybe her death was only staged to look like a heart attack,” said Helen. “Could somebody have killed her and left her outside to make it look like she collapsed and died?”

  “From what Cecil said, Beatrice sounded in good health and simply had an undetected heart defect.”

  Beatrice shook her head and wiped her hands down her arms as if trying to get rid of something.

  The back door to the kitchen opened, and Zach stood in the doorway. He had cleaned up since our last encounter, his dark hair still looking damp as he swept it from his sharp, stubbled jawline. In his clean jeans and white shirt, he looked downright handsome.

  “I saw the kitchen lights on and thought I’d investigate,” said Zach. “Mind if I join you for a cup of tea?”

  “Come in,” said Helen brightly. “You might be able to help us with something we were discussing.” She jumped up and switched on the kettle.

  “I’ll do my best.” Zach sat next to me at the table, and I detected a hint of citrus and possibly the lingering odor of grass cuttings. It was a pleasant combination of scents.

  “We were talking about what happened to Lord Galbraith’s sister, Beatrice,” said Helen. “Over the awful family dinner we’ve just had to endure, we discovered she died of a heart attack.”

  “Her death was before my time here,” said Zach.

  “You don’t know anything about her?” Helen turned and pouted at him.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Zach with a wry smile. “Nobody talks about her much, but I’ve heard a few things in the village.”

  “Such as?” Helen dumped some loose-leaf tea into a pot and poured on boiling water.

  “Everyone says the same thing about her,” said Zach. “She was quiet, kept to herself. Her only companion was her brother. Although she often kept dogs, she didn’t have any real friends and seemed to enjoy spending her time alone. There’s not much to say about Beatrice Galbraith.”

  I noticed a cup on the table shaking and grabbed hold of it before Beatrice could work up enough energy to shatter it. “And she died of natural causes?”

  “As far as I know,” said Zach. “People say it was her heart. Why the interest?”

  “Just curious about the family, that’s all,” I said.

  Zach’s intense gaze landed on me and a smile tugged at his mouth. “Beatrice sounds like a sweet old spinster. But that’s as much of the story as you’ll get out of me. What did Sylvester have to say about her?”

  “Much the same,” I said. “But then his dragon of a wife shut him up and said it was not polite to talk about the dead.”

  “The lovely Penelope.” Zach accepted a cup of tea from Helen, who joined us at the table. “Yes, she does tend to come down rather hard on the female employees.”

  “Do you think she’s jealous?” asked Helen. “Perhaps she sees Lorna as a love rival?”

  I choked on the tea I’d just taken a sip of. “She has nothing to worry about there.”

  “Do you have a husband waiting for you back home?” asked Zach.

  “No, Lorna is very single,” said Helen, before I’d had an opportunity to respond.

  “No husband or boyfriend.” I cringed, realising how desperate that sounded.

  “That’s a shame,” said Zach. “It’s always nice to have a companion in your life.”

  “I have Flipper,” I said, realising once again how desperate and lonely I sounded.

  Zach nodded. “Dogs are excellent companions.”

  “Are you married?” Helen asked Zach.

  “You don’t need to answer that,” I said to him. “Helen is being nosy.”

  Zach grinned. “No, it’s fine. I’m not married, I’m not engaged, and I have no girlfriend. This job keeps me busy. And, if I’m honest, there aren’t that many eligible women in the village. Unless you like the older ladies who specialise in wearing sagging stockings and clipping their hair into a bun.”

  “Just like Beatrice,” I said to myself.

  “What’s that?” Zach gave me a curious look.

  I bit my bottom lip, not ready to reveal to a stranger that I could see ghosts. “We saw a painting of Beatrice in the dining hall. She looked like the sort of lady who might like to wear a bun as a hairstyle.”

  “Oh, right,” said Zach. “There are a few other pictures of her around the house. And yes, she does seem to be rather matronly. I can also imagine her with a bun.”

  Another glass shattered by the sink, making us all jump.

  I hurried over and swept the broken shards up with a broom. “Must have fallen over.” I glanced at Beatrice who still stood by the table. There was no way I could communicate with her and tell her to stop breaking things, without looking like a complete weirdo in front of Zach.

  The back door of the kitchen opened for a second time, and Karl Jenkins strolled through. He paused for a second as he took in the group sitting around the table. “Wondered who was in here.” He poured himself a mug of tea without being asked and sat down.

  “You don’t usually come in here,” said Zach coolly.

  “Thought I’d make the effort, given we have new people,” said Karl.

  Zach snorted and drank some tea.

  “Enjoying your first day, ladies?” asked Karl with a smirk.

  “We were just talking about Lord Galbraith’s dead sister,” I said to him, wondering if he had any useful insights into her death since he’d been here the longest.

  “Old Beatrice,” said Karl. “What do you want to know about that biddy?”

  The air around us chilled, and I suppressed a shudder. “We were talking about how she died.”

  “It was a heart attack, so that poor excuse of a doctor reckons,” said Karl. “But Beatrice led a sheltered life. Can’t imagine anything making her heart give up so easily.”

  “You don’t think she had a heart attack?” I asked.

  “I’m no expert,” said Karl, “but her being found outside was strange. What was she doing in the grounds?”

  “You know where the body was found?” I moved towards the table, the broken glass forgotten.

  “Sure, she was discovered face down in a pile of oak leaves under the old oak near the compost heaps,” said Karl. “Dressed in her white nightie, buttoned up to the neck. And she had no shoes on. No one could figure out why she decide
d to go out walking in the dead of night barefoot in her nightgown.”

  “Did she sleepwalk?” I risked a glance at Beatrice and saw her shaking her head.

  “Never saw the old girl do it when she was still around.” Karl tipped his seat back, seeming to revel in the attention he was getting. “But she may have done so and I never noticed. I have a place next to the garage, and she was rarely over there, unless she needed a lift somewhere, which wasn’t often.”

  “Maybe she was disturbed by something in the night,” said Helen. “She could have gone outside to investigate and been attacked.”

  “Not possible,” said Karl. “Cecil might be an idiot, but even he would have noticed obvious marks on her body. And there was nothing. They did an autopsy, as you would expect, but it came back as heart failure.”

  “So it really was a heart attack.” I looked over at Beatrice who glared back at me, her image shimmering in and out of focus.

  “Why the interest in her?” asked Karl.

  “No real interest,” I said, “but we were discussing her with the family over dinner and were curious as to what happened to her.”

  “Don’t let Lady Galbraith hear you gossiping about the family,” said Karl. “There is nothing she hates more than gossips. Although there are plenty of rumours about her I could tell you.”

  “Haven’t you got a car that needs cleaning?” Zach tilted his mug from side to side in his hands.

  “Am I encroaching on your territory?” asked Karl, shooting a pointed look in my direction.

  Zach glared at Karl. “This isn’t my territory.”

  Karl stood up and drained his mug. “I can just see you in the kitchen, arms covered in soap bubbles as you scrub the pots clean. You might make a better pot cleaner than you do gardener.” The tension in the room notched up as the men glared at each other.

  I looked over at Helen and shrugged. I had no idea why they didn’t like each other. But I hadn’t warmed to Karl when we’d first met. Maybe he had a knack of rubbing people the wrong way.

  I faked a yawn and stood up. “Well, I’d better go to bed; it’s been a busy day.”

  “Yes, me too.” Helen joined me by the kitchen door.

  Zach nodded a good night, but Karl ignored us, seeming to delight in keeping his glare fixed on Zach.

  I glanced at Beatrice and saw her shake her head at me, a look of disappointment on her face. It wasn’t my fault she’d died, but that look made me feel like I’d let her down.

  Pulling open the kitchen door and beckoning Flipper to my side, I left the men to whatever drama was going on between them.

  “That was interesting,” muttered Helen as we walked away from the kitchen.

  “They don’t seem to like each other; that’s for sure,” I said.

  “It's likely that's how most people react when they're around Karl,” said Helen.

  “He's not going to win any buddy of the year awards anytime soon,” I said.

  “And what about Beatrice?” asked Helen as we reached the top of the stairs.

  “What about her?” I asked. “She died of a heart attack. There’s nothing to investigate.”

  Flipper barked, and the lights in the corridor dimmed. Beatrice appeared before me, her mouth downcast and her eyes shining.

  “Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you,” I said to her. “There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “But it is strange,” said Helen. “The way she was found. Why would she have gone outside on her own in the middle of the night?”

  “Beatrice could have gone outside to get some fresh air because she wasn’t feeling well because her heart was failing,” I said. “People do strange things when they get sick. I heard about one guy who was having heart pains and was found dead with his head stuck in the cleaning cupboard. Why would he be hunting for bleach when his heart was giving out on him?”

  “I guess that is a bit odd,” said Helen.

  Beatrice shook her head. She pointed at an oil painting mounted in a gold colored frame on the stairwell. It was of her brother and his wife.

  “Beatrice is showing me that picture,” I said to Helen, gesturing to the portrait on the wall. “She seems convinced someone was involved in her death. And from the way she kept glaring at Lord Galbraith in the dining hall, he seems like her prime suspect.”

  “I can’t imagine Lord Galbraith doing anything mean to anyone. He seems like a nice old boy,” said Helen.

  Beatrice frowned and shook her head sharply.

  “Beatrice is suggesting otherwise,” I said.

  “We could find out a bit more information about Beatrice; there’d be no harm in that. Perhaps she needs closure, needs to be convinced she did die of a heart attack.”

  “There is potential harm. We might end up without a job,” I said. “If we get caught poking around in family business, it won’t look good.”

  “We won’t lose our jobs over something so trivial,” said Helen. “No one will know what we’re doing.”

  I looked from Helen to Beatrice, feeling myself relenting as I stared into the ghost’s sad eyes. “Fine, but we are only going to do very discreet inquiries. No making it obvious what we are looking into. I want to give this job a proper chance, and won’t be able to do that if I get caught talking to ghosts and locked up for observation in some psychiatric ward.”

  “Discretion is my middle name.” Helen smiled. “Besides, it will make life more interesting and give me something to think about other than dirty sheets and having to deal with the scary Lady Galbraith and her dresses.”

  I had to agree. I was intrigued about Beatrice's death. She seemed convinced something bad happened to her, and it was odd how she’d been discovered outside in her nightgown.

  I looked at Beatrice. “We’ll help you, but you have to behave yourself. No more smashing glasses or turning lights on and off. And do not bother me in bed at night. I'll die of fright if you try to creep under the covers.” The ghosts I encountered did have a tendency to play with the bed covers or chill my toes. Maybe they were entertaining themselves, but I just found it annoying.

  Beatrice’s image brightened. I took that as a sign she was happy.

  “Fine, now it really is time for bed,” I said. “It looks like we’ve got some ghost hunting to do tomorrow.”

  Chapter 7

  I was up early the next morning, partly awoken by a crack of bright sunshine peeking through the thick crimson colored curtains. But I was also keen to get a head start on the ghost investigation. I had an hour before starting work with Lord Galbraith, and my first stop would be the garden, where Beatrice’s body was found.

  Flipper jumped onto the bed as soon as I stirred, and we had a cuddle before I hauled myself out from the warm covers. “Time for us to do a little snooping,” I said to him.

  He wagged his tail in agreement and circled the room a few times, eager to get outside.

  A quick shower and change of clothes, and I was out the front door with Flipper. The bright morning sunshine played across the water in the fountain at the front of the house, and birds sang to each other from the established oak trees dotted around the edge of the front lawn.

  I hurried around the side of the house, my feet sounding too loud on the gravel. There was nobody else about, although I imagined Helen was already having to endure Lady Galbraith’s icy manner as she worked on her dresses.

  Walking through the rose garden, I inhaled the heady scent of the flowers as they opened their petals for the day, splashes of deep red and intense orange around the borders. I made my way towards the compost heap and the oak tree where Beatrice’s body had been discovered.

  She was waiting for me under the oak tree, dressed in the same tweed suit as yesterday, her gaze fixed to the ground. Flipper ran towards her and circled the tree, before coming to sit by Beatrice’s heel.

  She raised her gaze, and a sad looking smile crossed her face. She passed her hand over the top of Flipper’s head.

  I checked aroun
d before speaking to Beatrice. Didn’t want anybody catching me talking to myself. “He likes you. Most ghosts he encounters make him agitated. I’ve never seen Flipper so calm before with a ghost. Did you have a dog when you were alive?”

  Beatrice nodded and pointed to her right. In the distance, I could hear the sound of dogs barking. They must be Douglas’s hunting dogs. A wave of anger ran through me as I thought about how carelessly he had talked about his animals last night.

  I walked around the oak tree, not certain what I expected to find. Since Beatrice’s death happened three years ago, there would be no evidence to be found. I stopped in front of Beatrice. “What can you tell me about your death? You seem convinced you were hurt by somebody. Was it a family member?”

  Beatrice nodded. She traced some symbols in the air, and after a few seconds of watching her, I realised what she was doing. “You’re spelling something. Do it again, but more slowly this time.”

  Beatrice tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows at me, but then began again, slowly, making the letters larger.

  “SYL... you think your brother was involved in your death? Are you spelling Sylvester?” That didn’t surprise me, since she’d seemed so angry with him last night.

  Beatrice nodded again. She waved her hands in the air and her agitation made her form shimmer out of focus.

  “What could he have done to you to make your heart give up?” I asked.

  Beatrice shook her head and began doing her choking routine again.

  “You weren’t strangled,” I said. “From what I learned last night, there were no marks on your body. If you had been strangled, that would be clear to see, even for an amateur like me.”

  Beatrice dropped to the ground and kicked her legs a few times, her hand on her heart.

  I tried hard not to laugh, but it looked so comical, a middle-aged ghost in a sensible tweed suit flailing about on the ground.

  Beatrice glared at me and stood up, her hands going over her skirt as if trying to remove spectral mud from it.

  “Lorna, is that you?” Zach emerged from behind a shed near the compost heap, spade in hand, and dressed in faded jeans and a checked shirt. “I thought I heard somebody talking.”