Secret Reflection

by Jennifer Brassel

  Little did he suspect my plan for retribution.

  So, my darling Elizabeth, our vengeance has begun and his hell will indeed be without end.

  The sorcerer is a most clever man. Plunkett brought him at the crone’s bidding and if I had not seen it I would not have believed it possible. After your murderer signed all the papers Plunkett prepared, the sorcerer made his spell and burned a foul-smelling posy of herbs and flowers that he had anointed with my blood and your murderer’s hair. Then with secret words from the lore of the druids, he slowly pushed John backwards into the mirror. In all honesty, your murderer did nothing to prevent it and showed no emotion once his fate had been sealed. Thus John is trapped and none but I can see him. How I shall enjoy taunting him!

  When the sorcerer returns tomorrow I shall learn all the secrets of your murderer’s prison. I wish you were beside me my love. My heart pains me that you are not but I have begun your vengeance and I will not end it until your murderer is destroyed.

  October 23, 1861

  Oh my darling one, our vengeance is quite delicious! So befitting your murderer’s crimes! I shall make his torture slow and long.

  The sorcerer has told me of his spell. The rules are thus, my love:

  Your murderer’s existence will ever be in the mirrors of this house. He shall never sleep, nor will he age and he will never know pleasure.

  As long as I live I shall see him, but no others will. His voice might be heard but it shall seem a mere shade and those who hear him will likely not comprehend his bleating words. Your murderer’s fate is thus sealed for all time.

  The sorcerer cautioned that the secret lore demands that there must be a way to break the spell, a chance for redemption. While I argued against this course, the sorcerer bespoke the consequences of fate, so needs must that I acquiesce. We have therefore agreed that upon each twenty-year anniversary of the joining of Jupiter and Saturn, your murderer has but the span from his inheritance until the moment of his incarceration, some eighteen days, to seek his release from the one person who occupies the master bedroom. But in order to succeed he must find a child of my blood to break the mirror, for only the blood from my line can release him.

  I inquired of your murderer’s fate should I, or one of my line, choose to release him. Alas, the sorcerer could not answer, as none he has so imprisoned has yet found freedom.

  Thus, my dearest love, I am content in our bargain. The sorcerer requested little for his part, a small house in which to live out his days. I have deeded your dowry cottage at Canterbury to him – for this I beg your forgiveness but I shall not have need of it since I shall now own all of your murderer’s estates …

  Deflated, Kelly lowered the journal and let out a long shuddering sigh. Richard. The answer was Richard. Weariness smothered her like a heavy shroud. While she now knew how to release John, she still had no idea if it would kill him – and if there was even a chance he’d die, she knew she could not bring herself to do it.

  Burying her face in her hands the sense of utter futility threatened to overwhelm her. How could she possibly tell him? How would she be able to walk away in a few days’ time knowing she had abandoned him to such a heinous fate; to know he is there but no one can see him?

  Oh, God.

  Just the idea of telling him made her want to curl up and hide. She took a sip of her now cold coffee and checked the time on the clock above the bar: 5:12 pm.

  She didn’t think she had the strength to face him yet. Nor Richard, who she felt certain would come looking for her sooner or later, after all, he must have discovered the journal had gone missing long ago and it wouldn’t take any great leap of imagination to realise she must have taken it. One thing she did know was that if she wasn’t at Stanthorpe, then for the moment she ought to be safe from him. Perhaps she could even attempt to return the journal to its hiding place on the off chance he hadn’t noticed it missing? While she knew that idea was a long shot, still, it could be worth a try.

  As for John, there were no words she could say that would soften the blow of what she’d discovered. Part of her felt numb with the shock of knowing there was nothing at all she could do to save him. The other part, the part that had fallen so deeply in love with him, felt as if her heart had been broken into tiny shards and scattered so wide that she would never be able to recover them. That part felt an aching coldness that seemed to want to swallow her.

  She needed time to gather her strength.

  Grabbing her handbag, she extracted her mobile phone and composed a text message for Nancy: Having dinner in the village, home late - don’t wait up X.

  A few short moments later she received the response that she didn’t really want: OK Call when ready Tom will come get you BTW Richard wants you to call him.

  Damn.

  Well, she reasoned, if she went home late she would at least be able to put him off until tomorrow. Kelly snagged the barmaid as she walked by and asked what time they served dinner.

  ‘Cook just arrived back and should start serving up at about half past five if you want to wait,’ the girl said.

  ‘Sounds great. I’ll have a glass of white wine to tide me over until then.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, taking a notepad from the pocket of her apron, ‘which wine would you like. We have chardonnnay, riesling or chablis?’

  Kelly didn’t care what she drank. She just wanted courage. ‘Chardonnay will be fine.’

  The girl nodded and wandered off while Kelly took the opportunity to visit the bathroom. There were few people about. The luncheon crowd had long since gone and she suspected the bar wouldn’t begin to fill again until well after dinner, which meant she could likely sit in peace and read the rest of the journal undisturbed for an hour or two.

  Exiting the bathroom, she was just about to head back to her table when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. She backed up a step and held her breath.

  Richard stood on the other side of the bar, speaking urgently to the barmaid. Perhaps Nancy had told him where she was? She almost kicked herself for not warning her.

  Kelly listened intently. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she suspected he might well be asking after her. Creeping backward, she retraced her steps but instead of going to the bathroom, she made her way out the nearby back door.

  The late afternoon sun still shone brightly, bouncing stark beams of light off the chrome and glass of the parked cars. Glancing back down the short hall, she saw no sign of movement. Yet. But she wouldn’t feel safe until she knew Richard was long gone.

  Taking a punt, she dashed around the side of the pub and up the short lane. Richard’s four-wheeled drive sat parked across the street. Sliding her hand over her carry-all to assure herself that the book was still there, she slipped behind the hedge that bordered the cottage next door, found a tiny gap that gave her a view of Richard’s car, and waited.

  Richard didn’t disappoint her – a few minutes later he emerged from the pub scanning the street, both left and right, before climbing back into the car and peeling off the kerb with a screech of wheels. Only when she was certain he was out of sight did she stand upright and stretch her aching legs.

  Logic told her that he’d be unlikely to return, so she went back inside to have that dinner she’d ordered.

  ‘Oh there ye are! The viscount was just in ’ere a’looking for ye,’ the barmaid said. ‘Would ye be wantin’ me to give him a call?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Kelly answered quickly then brandished her mobile phone. ‘I’ll call him myself.’

  The girl nodded with a knowing smile. ‘I’ll just go back and tell cook not to toss out yer dinner.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  For good measure, Kelly thought it prudent to sit at the back, near her escape route and opposite the window that gave her a view of the street – just to be certain.

  The dinner came and went untouched as she reread the journal – she hadn’t been hungry, she’d simply needed an excuse to sit there taking up
space while she read.

  By nine she could barely force herself to read on and finish it. With each successive entry, Edward Ditchley became more and more depraved in his actions. The brutality and sexual violence made Kelly sick to her stomach. The things he did to poor Anne! To say nothing of the mental abuse John’s mother must have suffered. He also raped or beat his servants mercilessly. The delight he seemed to derive from their pain was chilling, and time and again Kelly had to stop reading as the bile rose up her throat.

  Unlike a novel, this was more real, and far more devastating because it was a diary – in effect, the true account of the man’s descent into madness. She didn’t know how John could have witnessed such depravity, withstood that kind of mental anguish and remained sane.

  The last few entries in the journal became disjointed babblings that she could barely make sense of. One thing was certain though, his treatment of Anne became progressively worse and Kelly almost hoped that Anne had killed him, that she had finally taken matters into her own hands.

  A noise over by the bar caught Kelly’s attention and as she looked around the cosy pub, she was surprised to find all the tables were now full and a large contingent in rugby jerseys stood by the bar laughing and toasting each other. Obviously they had won their game. She’d been so engrossed in the journal she’d barely noticed anything or anyone around her. Richard could have come along and she wouldn’t have realised until too late. But then again, it didn’t matter now. She had read it. She had her answers. Richard couldn’t really do anything to her now.

  One of the locals caught her eye and offered her a beer. She shook her head, unable to force herself to even return his friendly smile.

  Time to go home and face John.

  After calling Tom she went outside to the street to wait. Stanthorpe House stood only a few minutes away and it wouldn’t take him long to reach her. As she glanced about the small village of Garford she pondered what it would be like to stay and live amongst these friendly people. It was a thought she’d barely wanted to acknowledge, but now she knew that she couldn’t help John escape his prison … she had begun to doubt that she would be able to bring herself to leave him even if it meant not seeing his face for another twenty years. She knew it was selfish and unfair. She knew that it would only cause them both pain. And yet …

  ‘Hey!’

  She turned to see Tom staring at her quizzically from the driver’s side of the hotel’s Landrover. ‘You want a lift or not?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said as she rushed around to the passenger side of the vehicle. ‘I was miles away.’

  ‘I could tell. C’mon, seat belt on,’ he ordered with a wink as he peeled away from the hedged roadside.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ she said as they turned into the estate. ‘I could have walked – it’s a really balmy night.’

  ‘Perhaps, but Nance would have killed me if you fell down a rabbit hole in the dark.’

  Kelly gave a wry laugh. ‘My name’s not Alice.’

  ‘Good thing too.’

  ‘Actually – I wish it was … then I might be able to step into the looking glass and …’ Her voice trailed off. It was impossible and she knew it. ‘I don’t suppose you know the local sorcerer do you? A druid perhaps?’

  Tom’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking, I hope. Those crackpots disappeared centuries ago. Nonsense if you ask me.’

  ‘This from a man who wanted me to prove the existence of a ghost?’ she scoffed.

  ‘That’s different and you know it.’

  ‘Why?’ She pulled out the journal and waved it before him as he parked the car and turned off the engine. ‘I’ve got the journal. Richard had it at his place. It says that Edward Ditchley used a sorcerer to put John in the mirror.’

  Switching out the headlights, he swivelled in his seat to turn toward her, ‘I hate to say it, Kel, but if you’re thinking a sorcerer will get him out, you’re likely to be out of luck. They just don’t exist anymore. If they ever did.’

  Shaking her head, she sighed. ‘No, I know that. Besides, I can’t take the chance of killing John … and if I try to get him out, that’s what will probably happen.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  She shook her head more slowly this time. ‘Honestly? … I don’t know.’

  One slow step at a time she climbed the servants’ staircase to the second floor. The closer she got to her room, the tighter her heart seemed to squeeze. She just prayed Richard hadn’t decided to come to wait for her.

  As the door creaked she closed her eyes, wincing, not at the sound but with the terrible fear that she was about to irrevocably break John’s heart. To know there was no hope was far worse than the faint glimmer he must have harboured all these years when he didn’t know the truth about his fate.

  Pushing the door closed she glanced up and tried to smile although her stomach was in such tight knots she found it hard to breathe.

  ‘Are you hurt? What did he do to you?’

  For a minute Kelly didn’t understand. She’d forgotten that when she left this afternoon, John assumed that despite his vehement protests, she was on her way to a rendezvous with Richard that would likely result in her having to prostitute herself in payment for the journal.

  ‘Nothing,’ she reassured as she approached the mirror. ‘I haven’t even seen him.’

  The look of relief in his eyes almost made her want to cry.

  ‘Then where have you been? I have been living in terror that you might be raped or worse!’

  ‘No – nothing like that.’

  Turning away, she tossed her handbag onto the bed and thrust her hands through her hair. She wanted to stall, but she knew there was no way she could put off the inevitable so she reached into her bag and retrieved the journal.

  ‘I’ve been at the pub in the village. Reading.’ She held the journal aloft.

  For a long minute John studied it, apparently without comprehension, then suddenly his eyes widened and the colour drained from his face. ‘Edward’s journal?’

  Gulping a large breath, she nodded. ‘Richard had it hidden at the coach house. He wasn’t there when I arrived, although the front door was ajar. I thought he must have been playing some kind of game with me … but the place was empty. I took a look around while I awaited his return. I found the journal under the bed.’

  ‘I can see from your face the news is not pleasant.’

  It was time. With a sad smile she stepped closer and hugged the journal to her chest as if it could somehow shield her heart from the truth. ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve read the thing from cover to cover – and you’re right, your cousin was quite insane in the end.’ She opened the book to October 23. ‘It says here that the sorcerer who put you there didn’t know whether or not you would survive if you were released.’

  ‘Whether I survive is not the dilemma, Kelly. I am so weary I think I would trade anything for one minute of complete peace. Is release possible? Does Edward say how I can finally end this hell?’

  Unbidden tears began to prick at the back of her eyelids and she had to fight to keep them at bay. ‘Is it still hell … truly?’ she asked, her moisture-filled eyes silently begging him to endure – if not for his own sake, then for hers.

  The look he gave her, a combination of desire and passion mixed with anguish and resignation, made her breath catch in her throat. She was torturing him as surely as Edward had.

  One of the tears she had been valiantly trying to hold at bay trickled slowly down her cheek. Spinning about she gulped in some air and whispered, ‘No – don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘Oh, Kelly, I wish so very much that I could hold you in my arms, just once. To know the feel of your skin, to touch my lips to yours. To bury my face in those magnificent dark curls would make waiting a thousand more years in this prison worthwhile. You have become my heart.’

  Turning back, the emotion she saw in his gaze consumed her and she rushed forward to press her entire body against the mi
rror as if she were flying into his arms. ‘You have stolen mine,’ she whimpered, her hot breath misting the glass. ‘If I could find a sorcerer I would have him put me in there alongside you.’

  ‘The man who imprisoned me is long since dead, my love. As I should be.’ His voice dropped to a mere whisper. ‘While I love you, it is a love that cannot be. So if the journal has the key to my release, even if it means my death, it must be done.’

  Choking down her emotions she shook her head slowly then tossed the journal back on the bed.

  ‘It is the only answer.’ His voice held a calmness that belied the look upon his face. His strong jaw seemed to be clenched so tight his teeth might crack.

  Falling to her knees, she hugged herself as she tried not to fall apart. ‘I can’t!’ The ache that rose in her chest earlier returned worse than before. It felt as if a lump of cold black stone had settled where her heart should reside. She shivered from the chill of it – knowing she would have to live with it forever if she helped him to die. ‘Forgive me for being a coward but I just can’t do it.’

  John dropped to his knees as she had done and smiled a smile that spoke of both sadness and compassion.

  ‘We have some days left. Eight, if my reckoning is correct. If I may spend that time with you, then I shall be content as any man who must face his end. Do not be sad for me. If my Maker allows that I become the ghost all have supposed these past one hundred and forty years,’ his lips lifted in a glowing grin, ‘I vow to haunt you until the day you can join me in the hereafter, no matter where you go.’

  Despite the heaviness in her chest, she couldn’t help but laugh. ‘A genuine haunting this time?’

  Tilting his head to the side, his grin widened and he flourished a hand before her. ‘The dreaded Ghost of Stanthorpe House, at your service, Madam.’

  Even so, she knew she couldn’t do it. Even if he could become a ghost in the true sense, it would change little and regardless of his assurances she could not chance the possibility that he would cease to exist.