Secret Reflection

by Jennifer Brassel

  Kelly checked the bathroom in case a housemaid was still in there, but from the looks of things, nobody had been in to clean. Maybe … she glanced at the mirror then quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way she’d buy into the ghost scenario – it was simply too ludicrous to contemplate.

  Standing in the centre of the room, she again assessed the possible angle of projection then repeated her scrutiny of the wall and fixtures opposite. She knocked on all the walls in case a priest hole hid there but the all she heard was the dull thud of plaster.

  Definitely none in here, she mused as she tapped her chin. There were no electrical devices in the room apart from a lamp and her laptop so it was well nigh impossible that anything could be used as a receiver.

  On the windowsill, behind the bed, she found a row of small stones with weird markings on them. Her fingertips tingled as she touched the closest.

  These certainly weren’t here before. The girl?

  She gathered the stones and examined each carefully. The scratched symbols were shallow and smooth. They were all of a similar size and though they seemed to spark with energy as she handled them, she couldn’t see how they could be responsible for the projection. Still she went out to the hall and deposited them on the bureau that sat on the landing outside her room. She’d ask Nancy about them later.

  For the next hour, she frisked the entire room, looking for anything that might be suspect – everything from the single telephone/data outlet to the weird druid’s eggs. She even looked inside the cello. But she found no wires or infra-red. No power points. No speakers. Nothing.

  ‘That leaves the mirror itself or something behind it,’ she said out loud.

  Taking the chair from beside the desk, she tested if it would take her weight before placing it before the mirror and climbing up. Carefully, she ran her fingers over the upper frame, feeling in every scroll and indentation to be certain no concealed devices were hidden under the gold paint. Once she’d satisfied herself that one section was clean, she shifted the chair and went over another. Then she systematically inspected the sides of the frame. Finally, on all fours, she checked the bottom and the skirting board below.

  Chewing on her lower lip she straightened and slowly flexed her stiff and still achy knees. With no alternative she knew she’d have to look behind it.

  Although heavier than expected, she lifted one side of the mirror and carefully examined every inch of the wall beneath – no mean feat with heavy glass and plywood pressed against your skull. She just prayed the brass chain and hooks that held the whole thing in place were secure. Painstakingly, she felt every link in the hanging chain, and in and around each of the three hooks on the wall, as well as the two attached to the mirror itself.

  When she finally slid awkwardly from beneath she was not only dusty, but bewildered. She’d been confident that given time she’d find at least something. The only thing left was the glass itself but after scanning the entire surface, she had to concede defeat.

  ‘However they’re doing it – it must be really high tech.’

  For the next hour she sat at the computer researching the latest in devices for image projection and the only thing she learned was that she’d need a master’s degree in electronics to understand most of the search results. Frustrated, she sent off an email to a friend who had a reputation as a bit of a computer nerd asking his advice, and then placed an order for a sophisticated meter to detect the presence of even the smallest electronic emissions. Nancy would probably have a fit when she presented the bill to her but she’d asked Kelly to do a serious investigation – and, well, serious investigations cost.

  John Tarrant watched her work on her strange machine. The glow of the thing illuminated her face with a bluish patina that made the green of her eyes appear ethereal. He had seen such devices in recent times and pondered their purpose. He couldn’t comprehend how she communicated with it, but when it made strange whining noises she muttered curses in the most unladylike manner, or cajoled it as a mother would a recalcitrant child. If, by some miracle of fate he ever escaped his purgatory alive, he vowed to make someone show him one of these machines, along with a myriad of other inventions he’d seen come and go since his incarceration.

  Over the years the list had become a long one.

  Gaslight had been installed in his London house only a short while before he’d ventured up to claim Stanthorpe as his home, and now lights – so blindingly bright they pained his eyes – filled every room and hall so that one could move about with ease even on the darkest of nights. And then there was the radio machine, where one could hear music or plays, and at times unbearable cacophonies, without an orchestra or players of any kind. The viewing box truly amazed him and he had to admit that it took him a number of years, and the gentle interrogation of one of his potential saviours, to learn that the pictures inside were clever images and not tiny people, trapped like he was behind that small square of glass. The explanation the boy had given defied all logic and no matter how often he thought on it, he couldn’t quite believe it – invisible waves in the air? – utter nonsense, for a certainty. He suspected the boy had been toying with him.

  The portable case with the viewing screen and all those buttons that Kelly pushed so rapidly was merely another to add to his long list. He shuddered to think what he might discover if he remained in his cold prison for another 140 years.

  Once she finished her tapping and had closed the device, he decided it was time to reveal himself, to throw his soul before her and plead for mercy. He just hoped she wouldn’t react as she had done last evening.

  The house was empty – a godsend – at least he did not have to contend with interference from any other quarters this time. It might give him the opportunity to convince her.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he eased over to the place where he knew she’d see him when she returned from the dressing room. He wasn’t quite sure if he should pray or not, but since God seemed to have deserted him long ago he decided to simply trust the Fates.

  The minute she returned from the bathroom, Kelly knew she was being watched. Every fine hair on her arms stood to attention and she almost turned straight around to seek refuge in the bathroom. But even as that thought raced through her mind, her eyes darted to the mirror.

  In broad daylight the image appeared even more commanding. Just as he’d done earlier, he stood with his arms folded, staring at her with an intense expression. Tall, with longish black hair and deep blue eyes, he wore the same clothing and held himself rigid in the same tense stance as if ready to launch himself through the glass and into the room. He seemed to be waiting. Suspended.

  Despite all rational thought a tingling stirred low in her belly – a sensation she hadn’t known since the first heady days of rapture with Frank. Ridiculous! How can I be affected by a hoax?

  As she edged a small step closer his eyes followed her and she wondered how they could possibly have manufactured the projection to be able to do that. She felt fairly certain there were no cameras anywhere in the room because she had just gone over every inch of it. It must be a trick of some kind, or the result of some well-educated guesswork. Still, she made a mental note not to strip off her clothes – just in case.

  Another step closer and he shifted his stance, relaxing it ever so slightly.

  Drawing a deep breath, she too relaxed and crossed her arms to mimic him. It was uncanny. He looked so real, so tangible, that she felt as if she could reach through the glass and touch a real live man, and chances were he was exactly that – a hired actor, playing the part of a ghost. And an attractive one.

  She tilted her head to the side as she scrutinised him. ‘How the heck have they done it?’

  The image tilted his head just as she had done and said in a deep voice that rumbled through the room, ‘They?’

  Despite herself, Kelly jumped back with a start. Her heart began to pound. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

  ‘Please, I would prefer that yo
u did not shriek again, Madam – I vow I cannot harm you.’ The image dropped his arms and held out his hands as if to show her he concealed nothing. ‘I cannot reach beyond the glass.’

  There must be a camera! How else would he know that she was about to cut loose and yell for all she was worth? She swallowed and narrowed her eyes, not at him, but the frame and wall surrounding the mirror.

  ‘If you tell me what it is you are searching for, perhaps I might be of assistance.’

  She scowled at him before resuming her study of the wallpaper. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It?’

  ‘It – the camera.’

  ‘Cam-er-uh? I regret that this is a word I do not know. Is it a device of some kind? Perhaps you can describe it? I know this place well and have likely seen it.’

  Again she scowled. ‘Funny ha-ha! Everyone knows what a camera is.’ She stopped her inspection of the wallpaper to find him leaning to the side in order to view her progress.

  ‘Alas, I do not.’

  ‘Alas you do not,’ she muttered under her breath as her eyes locked onto his. ‘Why am I even talking to you?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Why should you not? I know we have not been formally introduced but that is easily remedied: my name is John Tarrant,’ he sketched the slightest of bows before continuing, ‘and you are in my bedroom – a situation which, in my time would be considered quite unacceptable, but from what I have learned of yours I believe it is an everyday state of affairs.’

  Kelly pursed her lips and tapped her chin. The camera was obviously something so hi-tech that she needed professional help. There was a guy … last year at the journalist awards … from one of those science magazines … now what was his name? Graham something-or-other … Graham … Zee … Graham Z … she snapped her fingers … Zatz – that was it! She’d give him a call and get some advice. She checked her watch: 12:45 … that’d make it … another couple of hours before he’d be in the office.

  Meanwhile, the more information she had, the better, she supposed.

  ‘Your time. Okay, I’ll play your game. When exactly was “your time”?’

  John straightened, looking a little surprised by her question. ‘My mother delivered me into this world on January 31st, in the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and twenty-eight. I was incarcerated at midnight on October 21st, eighteen hundred and sixty-one.’

  ‘What – so you died in jail and now haunt these hallowed halls?’ She narrowed her eyes as her skepticism surfaced in earnest. ‘C’mon. Who are you really? Are you working for the viscount or Tom and Nancy, or are they all in on it?’ She walked right up to the mirror so she could stare him in the eye. ‘This has been fun but you didn’t honestly expect that I’d swallow this trash, did you? How are you doing it?’

  A sad expression crossed his face for a split second before he schooled his features and returned to his former, tense stance. ‘In the first instance, Madam, I must correct your assumption: I am not, nor have I ever been, a ghost. Ghosts are quite boring souls who annoy merely for annoyance’s sake. There have been a few who have walked this place since I became trapped and I would offer none the time of day, though they are often distant relatives of one sort or another. I am quite alive, but I am incarcerated. Nor do I work for anyone – least of all the man who calls himself Lord Stanthorpe.’ His brows dipped into a dramatic scowl.

  While a little overbearing, she’d found Richard to be personable and gallant, and couldn’t for the life of her begin to fathom why the ghost would be so disapproving. Perhaps it was merely to create an illusion of distance between Richard and this whole farce?

  ‘I have learned to have some affection for your Tom and Nancy. However, that is by the by,’ he continued. Lowering his gaze, he whispered, ‘I humbly seek your help in freeing me from this prison.’ He opened out his palms in entreaty and for a long minute, Kelly almost believed him, so genuine was the little-boy-lost expression he wore.

  The sound of her mobile phone’s insistent trill broke the spell she had fallen under. She stepped back, her hand rising to her throat as if fending off a threat. Even as she made the gesture, she felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. Hysterically.

  Instead, she backed up another pace and again narrowed her eyes.

  ‘I’m not sure how many people have been conned by this grand performance … but I won’t be one of them.’

  She picked up her now silent phone and glanced at the display: a text message from Nancy saying that she and Tom would be delayed in the village. It might be a new (took out the ‘utechnology, but she’d found it very helpful in her line of work.

  After closing the message she looked up at the mirror to find her visitor watching her with a fascinated expression. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t know what this is, either.’ She waved the small handset before him.

  ‘Indeed, I have seen your friends using those on many occasions, although I have only seen them speak into the device.’ He straightened up and looked down his nose as if proud that he could answer her.

  Kelly didn’t let herself respond – for an instant she almost forgot that the image she saw wasn’t real. Instead, she scanned her contacts and found Graham Zatz’s number then composed her own text message, hoping that the phone company hadn’t lied when they said she could message across the Atlantic.

  When done, she popped her phone back into her pocket and gathered her jacket from the back of the chair.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ the apparition asked.

  ‘I was planning to spend some time researching surveillance equipment. I’d suggest you come along, but I can see how impossible that would be,’ she said once she’d donned her jacket and picked up her attaché case. ‘While this has been very amusing … I would prefer that this little charade ends right here.’

  Gripping the gilt doorknob she looked meaningfully at the man in the mirror. ‘Don’t be here when I get back.’ The door squeaked as she thrust it wide, blocking him from her sight.

  ‘Wait!’ John’s voice wrapped about her like a whip.

  She stopped. The logical part of her brain wailed as she allowed the door to swing back. His eyes captured hers in a vice-like grip that defied her to turn away.

  ‘What if I can prove I am who I say I am?’

  She tried not to smirk at the absurdity of such a statement. ‘I don’t think that is possible.’

  ‘I heard Tom say something about you being an investigator – if that is indeed the case, then investigate me. I could tell you all I know and you could look up the histories in the church records.’

  Kelly rubbed her forehead tiredly. ‘Anybody can do that … besides, all that would accomplish is to tell me that you have done the research to play your role.’

  ‘But I know things that are not in the records. And my cousin’s journal … Edward Ditchley … it would tell things that nobody but I could possibly know.’

  She sighed. ‘And where would this journal be?’

  John hesitated, glancing away as if staring out the window into an unknown horizon. ‘That is the great dilemma – I do not know. It is the very thing that has been plaguing me all these years past. I am certain the answer to my incarceration lies within those pages. Indeed, I know it is, because my cousin wrote everything down – it was almost a sickness in him.’ His eyes darted back to hers, burning with both fire and challenge. ‘Please, could you not look for the journal?’

  A vibrating silence filled the space between Kelly and the mirror – between Kelly and the apparition that had undoubtedly been very well rehearsed to play his role. Not once had he dropped the act, either by mistaken word or false movement. Yet she knew that the journal, like the man in the mirror, was surely just a device to make her fall more deeply into the trap.

  And there was one gaping hole in his argument.

  ‘If you have been in this house all these years, why don’t you know where it is? Surely, being a wraith, you can go through every room. If what you said is true, you’d certa
inly have had enough time to search the place a thousand times.’

  ‘Alas, the method of my incarceration allows me little movement and as the years pass, even less so. You see, I am trapped within the mirrors—’

  ‘Well, from what I’ve seen there are plenty of those,’ she scoffed, her fingers tightening on the doorknob as she again prepared to leave.

  ‘Ah, but I cannot enter all the mirrors – only those that were present at the time I became imprisoned. Each time a new generation takes up residence, they move, sell or sometimes break one.

  ‘In the beginning, I could move easily from room to room and know all the doings, but now only five of the original mirrors remain. This one, the mirror in the formal dining room, the one on the landing above the main stairs, one in storage in the pantry and my mother’s ivory hand mirror are all that allow me to see.’ His voice dropped to a plaintive whisper. ‘One day, if I cannot find a way out, all the mirrors shall be gone and I will be blinded – forever lost between the real world and the next.’

  Against her will she became so enthralled by the quiet desperation in his voice that her fingers slid from the gold knob and she stepped toward him, a tiny thrill racing through her abdomen.

  ‘Even if you do not believe me – could you not allow a little time to search?’

  He held himself completely still as if his whole world hinged upon how she would react. And yet, his eyes conveyed a silent dignity, which reassured her that whatever her answer was, he would accept his fate with grace. It was almost too difficult to meet his gaze.

  Against her better judgement the word ‘Yes’ tumbled almost inaudibly from her lips.

  In an instant his blue eyes caught fire and a buoyancy seemed to lift his shoulders till he stood tall and regal before her. His chest appeared to widen and his jaw took on a strength that made him resemble some of the more magnificent portraits that paraded down the staircase outside her room.