‘I do not know how, or even if I can ever repay your kindness, Madam, but as God is my witness, I shall find a way.’
Kelly raised her arms as if she were fending off an unexpected blow. ‘Hang on! – I said I’d look. That’s all. I didn’t say I believed you. Like I said to Tom and Nancy last night, the purpose of my investigation will be to disprove your existence and I haven’t changed my mind about that.’
She turned away and wondered whether she was finally having the nervous breakdown her lawyer, Kyra Goldstern, had warned of as they exited the courthouse almost a month ago. To even contemplate helping an apparition in a mirror – worse! – to allow the slight possibility that he was genuine, was quite insane and she knew it.
But.
But something deep within compelled her to know.
It had always been like that. For as long as she could remember she’d driven her family crazy with her persistent questions. And she was never satisfied with evasions. She needed to know exactly why things happened … why people behaved as they did. Later her obsession included the desire to understand what motivated people in power, or world events – whether momentous or insignificant.
That desperate need to know had been the impetus for her taking up journalism. That, and the profound disgust that so many people seemed to want to cheat each other, hurt each other. It had made her almost manic in her desire to find the truth. That same desire drove her to discover Frank’s infidelity.
And now, more than ever, she needed to find the truth.
‘So,’ she said as she again moved to the door, ‘be prepared. I will uncover this little hoax and I promise you, I’m not easily fooled. If Tom or Nancy come looking for me, tell them I’ve gone to London to find a surveillance expert.’
‘I cannot,’ John said.
‘Why not?’
‘They cannot see me – only you can.’
Convenient. ‘And why is that?’
‘I do not know, precisely. Indeed, I have found through the years, that I can only be seen for a short span of time every twenty or so years, and only by the person who sleeps in my bed.’
She darted a glance at the four-poster – his bed? She slept in his bed? That notion was especially disturbing. But she still didn’t see the significance.
‘Again, I ask, why is that?’
He shrugged. ‘I know not the method or rules of the sorcery that put me here – only the actual ritual, which I witnessed as I was incarcerated. The rest I have learned over time.’
‘All right,’ she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, ‘explain what you do know.’ This should be interesting, she murmured under her breath.
He raised a brow. ‘Indeed it is.’
A slow moment ticked past as Kelly tried to measure his face, to know whether he could be believed. Everything inside her screamed that she was a fool to even listen to his stories, that she was setting herself up for disappointment if not to be tricked.
And yet something vulnerable hid in his dark eyes … something needy that made her body clench with want.
She shook her head, astonished at her own wayward feelings. She couldn’t afford to buy into it. She needed his answers to catch him out –and that was all!
Leaning against the bedpost, she looked him in the eye with same intensity she would have used with a media magnate or suspected underworld mobster. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
As he returned her stare, she made a mental note that he didn’t seem to be taken aback by her assertive attitude, which, she suspected, would never have happened in his own time – if indeed, his 1800s origin proved genuine. Instead, he favoured her with a wry half-smile that suddenly altered his countenance in ways that promised mischief. Strike one, she mused.
‘It appears that every twenty years I have eighteen days to seek my redemption. As I have already told you, I was set into this place at midnight on October 21, 1861. My father became Earl upon the death of my grandfather, on May twelve of that year, which, in turn, conferred the title of Lord Stanthorpe upon me, since I am the eldest son.’
‘Whoa! If the title goes from eldest son to eldest son, how can you be Lord Stanthorpe when Ditchley is the inherited surname? Didn’t you say your name was Tarrant?’
‘Please, Madam, allow me to finish my tale.’
‘By all means,’ she replied skeptically and stepped back to sit on the edge of the high bed.
‘Thank you,’ he muttered before he started to pace the width of the mirror. ‘After inheriting, I invited my childhood friend, Elizabeth, to come and lend a hand with refurbishment as I was planning to marry in December—’
‘So you and Elizabeth were engaged,’ Kelly interrupted.
‘Heavens no,’ John stopped pacing and slanted her a look. ‘Elizabeth was my cousin, Edward Ditchley’s wife – yes, Edward Ditchley was my cousin, younger by a year– and heir, since my sire had no other legitimate offspring and Edward was my only other living relation, with the exception of my parents, of course.
‘Elizabeth, Edward and I grew up together.
‘Edward was off taking delivery of a shipment of goods from India and Elizabeth had been staying with my mother at our townhouse in London. Elizabeth joined me here to see to the house. It hadn’t been lived in for some length of time and was in need of much repair and a woman’s touch.’
‘So, your childhood friend arrived to help you redecorate. Then what? – how did you wind up stuck there?’ she asked lightly as if she truly believed what he’d told her so far.
John pinned her with a sharp glare. ‘Madam, you display little patience. Are all women from your country so rude as to preempt a man’s words at every turn?’
Kelly began to laugh – he played the role well. Majestic in his indignance, he stood ramrod straight with arms crossed. She made a secret note to herself to check out local actors then inwardly altered that to London and other major cities instead. Although she didn’t know Richard well, she suspected that if he had contacts in the theatre, they’d most likely hail from London. And if Tom and Nancy were party to this charade, they would be certain to find an actor who was not only professional, but also not easily identified by the nearby residents, otherwise the whole scam would be uncovered with ease.
‘You find my question amusing, Madam?’
‘Will you stop calling me that!’ she broke in. ‘Where I come from a madam is a brothel owner … as I am sure you already know.’
‘Indeed. An interesting thought,’ he murmured as his eyes raked her up and down, almost mockingly. ‘How then, should I address you? Mrs … ?’ one black brow quirked.
‘Not Mrs. I’m not that either, at least not any more. Just call me Kelly.’
‘It is not customary for a gentleman to address a lady by her given name unless she is well known to him.’
She giggled.
‘First you find my questions amusing, and now you make jest of my polite manners. Mada— Kelly, you would wound a gentleman deeply.’
She came to stand before him. ‘What amuses me is that you can keep in character for so long without slipping up.’
His brow creased. ‘I assure you, Kelly, the floor where I exist is not in the least slippery.’
Again she laughed. ‘Okay, if you want to keep pretending, fine by me. Tell me what happened after Elizabeth fixed up the house.’
He glanced down and away, almost like a child avoiding an admission of guilt. His whole body seemed to shrink in on itself and suddenly that air of vulnerability returned.
She took a hesitant step toward the mirror. He looked up and when his eyes met hers, they swam with moisture. ‘I killed her.’
Kelly jumped backward as if stung. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last she’d have expected.
‘What did you say?’
‘Madam – your hearing is quite adequate, I am sure, but I shall humour you and repeat my statement. It is said that confession is good for the soul.’
He heaved a great sigh before he again fixed her
with his stern stare.
‘I killed her. I killed my childhood friend, Elizabeth. Loyal, sweet, beautiful Elizabeth. I ended her life and in truth I deserve this prison in which I am bound. And though I cannot claim I am in hell, after one hundred and forty years I would have it done. I seek your help,’ he implored, ‘so that I might break this unholy spell and go to confront my Maker.’
Kelly didn’t know what to say. Compassion rose in her breast, despite her best logic. His face, his expression, appeared so genuinely self-loathing that for a few seconds she found herself almost buying into the whole charade.
Almost.
A knock on the door sent her inner alarms into overdrive and her mind back to reality.
The door swung inward and Nancy’s face peeped around it. ‘There you are!’ She looked about the room as if perplexed. ‘Were you just talking to someone?’
Kelly’s ‘no’ came out as a mere squeak.
Nancy gave her a questioning frown. ‘I could have sworn I heard voices.’
When Kelly remained mute, Nancy gave a dramatic wave of dismissal and entered the room, in full view of the mirror. ‘Well, we were just about to have some afternoon tea. If you feel like joining us, we’ll be in the salon.’
Kelly studied her friend to gauge if she showed any reaction to the man standing in the mirror. As far as Kelly could tell, Nancy had no inkling, but then again, she had a reputation in school for being an accomplished actress – in their final year, her death scene as Juliet had been particularly convincing.
For herself, Kelly pretended that she saw nothing and agreed to be down in a few minutes. ‘Just give me five to freshen up and make some phone calls,’ she said as she pushed the door closed.
When she turned back to the mirror, it displayed nothing but her own reflection and that of the room behind her. Had it all been in my mind? No –it may be an elaborate hoax but I was definitely talking to someone.
She just needed to find out who.
Her first call, to the local library, yielded some helpful information. Apparently, all the local histories had long since been sent to either the National Archives in Surrey or the Bodleian Library at Oxford. At the National Archives access to documents was possible but she needed to make a request two days in advance, which, though a nuisance, might figure in with her quest for finding the actor who played her illusive phantom. Thus, Kelly’s afternoon loomed as full of online research in order make lists of needed documents, as well as addresses of theatrical agents in London. If necessary, she’d try the Oxford library if she came up empty in London.
The second call, to the local vicar’s residence, also promised reward. The housekeeper suggested a visit to nearby Abingdon where the retired curator of the historical museum was renowned for his knowledge of local legends of the estate homes of Oxfordshire. Kelly took down the details deciding that if she had to wait till Wednesday to go to the National Archives, she could spend the next day or two doing some research in the local area. She’d also resolved that she would extend her physical searches to the mirrors the ghost had mentioned in his explanation. While she couldn’t for the life of her see how they were pulling it off, she was sure that one of the mirrors had to contain some clue.
Glancing about the room, she wondered about the pictures as well. Her mind flashed to some of the movies she’d seen where the eyes of portraits were used as peepholes so the villain could spy upon his victims. The idea might be absurd but at this point she was willing to consider anything. Like architectural plans. If Richard could be believed, the house harboured a number of secret passages and only the Lord knew what else. Perhaps the crew in charge of renovating the manor had some helpful information along those lines. She’d have to talk to the foreman in the morning.
As she closed the telephone directory, Kelly gave a little sigh. For the first time since the divorce, she felt in command. The sniff of mystery, admittedly ridiculous in nature but a mystery nonetheless, made her feel alive again. This is what she did best, investigating a story. It was what defined her as a journalist, what drove her to the truth. That inner fire she’d thought had died along with her marriage was rekindled and she knew, deep down, that Tom and Nancy had manufactured the whole scenario for that very purpose. The need to confirm they’d done so already dug at the core within her – a core that refused to be truly quashed. She acknowledged the irony with a wry smile. They’d pay for their attempted trickery, but afterward she’d probably also thank them for forcing her out of her self-indulgent melancholia.
The afternoon sun was just arcing beyond the row of willows when Richard pulled up alongside the coach house. He knew she would be there even if he hadn’t seen the bicycle. She had become too clingy of late and he knew he’d soon have to give Dee her marching orders. A shame really, she was a versatile little thing.
‘What are you doing here, Dee?’ he said in a low voice as he pushed the door closed. She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts, nursing a glass of wine.
‘Drinking wine is against the law for someone your age, Dee.’
She smiled, one of those smug little smiles she wore when she had grand plans for them both. ‘I’ve missed you, Ricky. We’ve barely seen each other in the past few weeks and you promised we’d start making plans once the lease agreement had gone through.’
Turning, he removed his jacket and took his time hanging it on the coat hook by the door. He kicked off his shoes and left them where they fell before turning back.
‘The money hasn’t come through yet, and the bank will be keeping more than expected. It seems a lot of interest accrues when you default on your loan repayments. So … the long and the short of it is … we won’t be able to take that trip for a while yet.’ He neglected to tell her that his bookie, Denny, still hadn’t been paid off and likely wouldn’t be so he’d have to come up with another way to get the money.
He’d done a little research and discovered that Kelly wasn’t just a high-flying journalist, she also came from a very wealthy family and had a trust fund conservatively valued in the millions, which made her a very good catch for a man in need of liquid assets. He’d decided on a whirlwind courtship. No woman he knew had been able to resist his charm, and he was certain he could make her forget that ex-husband of hers if she’d let him. All he had to do was get a little time alone with her.
‘You better not be taking that American away with you instead,’ she warned.
How the hell did Dee know about Kelly?
‘I think you’re jumping to conclusions again, Dee. I barely know the woman.’ He pursed his lips to suppress the snarl that wanted to surface; he hated that Dee always seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘Tom asked me to squire her about and show her the countryside. Maybe help her on her ghost hunt. She just got divorced and Tom and Nancy are worried about her emotional state. I’m supposed to help distract her.’
Dee sidled up to him and ran a blunt fingernail down the front of his trousers. He stirred, instantly hard.
‘Just how distracting do you plan to be?’ she asked, and though she smiled when she said it, he could tell that she wasn’t in the least happy.
He gripped her hand and held it still while he slid the zipper of his pants down. ‘Not as distracting as you can be,’ he murmured as he pushed her fingers inside his briefs.
She smiled again, this time with delight as he filled her hand.
‘You’d better be sure nobody saw you come here. Don’t forget I can still be sent to jail if they find out about us. You have to keep our secret. When you turn eighteen … mmmm.’ Her hands were hot, and though small, gripped him with just the right pressure to make him throb. He groaned deep in his throat as she smoothed along his length and circled him with her other hand sending ripples of pleasure down his spine. ‘You have such clever fingers.’
‘I had a great teacher.’
Yes, he hadn’t forgotten that Dee hadn’t yet turned thirteen when he’d set about seducing her. Or had she seduc
ed him? He didn’t quite remember and nor did he care. She’d dropped into Stanthorpe asking for a part-time job to earn money for a trip her class planned to take in France. He’d offered her work washing his cars and cleaning his riding gear. Of course, when she got soaked hosing down his BMW … well … she had to strip off and take a shower, didn’t she? He hadn’t meant to watch but he’d taken one look at those small breasts and faint thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs and his body reacted predictably. She’d caught him spying on her and flashed him that sexy look that had him hard and hot in an instant.
For the past three years she had been servicing his needs whenever he ventured up to Stanthorpe and in that time he’d taught her all the tricks he knew. She had filled out somewhat but was still a delectable piece of baggage. Eager to learn, she was completely uninhibited and amoral – just as he liked it. He could ask for anything, do anything, and she acquiesced without a single complaint. He still paid her … just to keep her father from wondering.
Right now he wanted to be in her mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed downward until she knelt before him, her eyes large and glistening when she stared up at him. First she licked her lips then as she put out her tongue he closed his eyes to revel in that silken heat. Yes, it was a sad thought that he’d have to give her up … but someone like Dee wouldn’t willingly take second place, and he knew that if he wanted to snare Kelly, Dee would definitely have to go. For now though, he’d enjoy her nubile young body.
As her hot mouth closed around him and the fire began to consume him, he stopped thinking altogether.
The room remained as she had left it – the mirror, thankfully, empty of anything but the usual reflections. Kelly wondered whether the actor was now off duty and thus would leave her in peace.
Again she felt compelled to go over every piece of furniture, every light fixture – every bubble in the wallpaper. After two hours of painstaking searching, she couldn’t find a single thing that resembled a camera or a microphone in either the room, or the dressing room. The bathroom was easier to check because the walls were all tiled and there were few fixtures but she made sure to be thorough. Screwing off the showerhead had proven a mistake as it continually wanted to cross-thread as she tried to reattach it. Her arms were aching by the time she’d finally set it to rights.
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