by K E O'Connor
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 around 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.”
“Oh, yes, I was having one of my usual conversations with Flipper.” I nodded at Flipper, who had followed Beatrice’s antics with interest, his ears pricked up and gaze intent.
Zach grinned at me. “I bet the two of you have great conversations.” He looked at the oak tree and shivered. “There’s a surprising chill in the air this morning. Autumn isn’t too far away.”
The chill had more to do with Beatrice’s ghost than the arrival of autumn. “You could be right.”
Zach’s gaze remained on the tree. “This is where Beatrice’s body was found.”
“Was it?” I attempted to feign innocence.
“Almost right where you’re standing if Karl’s account of her death is to be believed.” Zach inspected a loose piece of bark on the oak tree. “It’s strange, but I often get the sense there is something here.”
“You think her spirit is still here?” I looked over to Beatrice and saw her studying Zach intently.
“I’m not saying her ghost is haunting the garden.” Zach glanced over at me. “But it’s almost as if a part of Beatrice was left behind in the place she died. Some leftover memory or energy. That must sound crazy to you.”
I shared a smile with Beatrice. It looked like I'd found a kindred spirit in Zach. “It’s not so crazy. There’s a lot people don’t understand about this world. Ghosts or spirit energy could be real. Maybe only a few people can tap into it. You might need to be a little different to do so, but I wouldn’t rule out anything. What’s to say Beatrice isn’t standing here, right now, watching us?”
“I hope she isn’t. I’d find that unnerving,” said Zach.
“For all we know, ghosts could be all around us.”
“I’d prefer it if they weren’t.” Zach gave me a curious look. “You seem interested in this sort of thing. Are you a psychic?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Well, that’s good. I don’t believe in that sort of thing. People can’t communicate with the dead.”
A pang of disappointment hit me. There I was thinking Zach might be open to the possibility of ghosts. “I’m happy to say I’m open-minded about the idea. After all, didn’t people think that, when electricity was first invented, it was some kind of evil spirit, and they were afraid of it?”
“Quite possibly.” Zach ran his hands through his hair. “And maybe you’re right, and there is some of Beatrice still in this house. She spent most of her time here, and she seemed to love the place. Perhaps she doesn't want to leave.”
“It is odd how Beatrice came to be out here on the night she died.”
“I agree.” A smile traced across Zach’s face. “A lady should never be on her own at night.”
Beatrice whipped some leaves from the ground and stirred them around our feet, not looking happy with Zach.
“Some of us ladies are more independent than others,” I said to him. “We can look after ourselves.”
“And while that’s a great thing,” said Zach slowly, “it’s most likely a nice thing to have someone to take care of you as well.”
“It’s a shame there was no one here for Beatrice. No one to keep her safe,” I said.
“Mr. Booth and Miss Shadow, what are you doing out here at this early hour?” Lady Galbraith stalked towards us, a thick woollen cardigan wrapped around her thin frame.
“I was getting some air,” I said, a feeling of guilt running through me, even though I’d done nothing wrong.
“And I was checking on the compost heap,” said Zach. “Needed to get an early start today.”
Lady Galbraith gave Zach a curt nod. “Get back to work then. And Miss Shadow, your work is inside with my husband, not spending time with our gardener.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly. “I’m on my way.”
I looked over to Beatrice and saw her give her sister-in-law a sad smile and shake her head. I couldn’t work out why she reacted that way. Lady Galbraith didn’t inspire feelings of warmth and affection in me. But the look Beatrice was giving her seemed full of pity.
Saying a quick goodbye to Zach, I hurried after Lady Galbraith, who had already walked away from the oak tree, not waiting for me to join her.
My investigation into Beatrice's death would have to wait until later when I wasn’t being observed by the steely gaze of Lady Galbraith.
Chapter 8
I went to the kitchen, fed Flipper, grabbed a mug of tea and ate some toast, and headed to Lord Galbraith’s study to begin work.
Three hours of rather boring filing later, my back ached and my fingers were sore from numerous paper cuts. Lord Galbraith had left a scribbled note on his desk with details of how he wanted his filing done, but there was no sign of him.
My throat was dry from the dusty files I’d been handling. I left the study in search of another mug of tea and walked straight into Cecil.
He staggered back a couple of steps, his hands raised. “Miss Shadow, I must apologise. My mind was elsewhere.”
“No harm done. I was just taking a break from my work.” I took a shallow breath, trying to avoid the overwhelming scent of alcohol seeping out of Cecil’s pores.
“Good idea. All work and no play can make for very dull times.” He adjusted the dishevelled jacket he wore, and I noticed he was in the same clothes as yesterday.
“Would you like to join me?” I asked. Now might be a good opportunity to get some information from Cecil about Beat
rice’s death. If he was still a little tipsy from last night, he may be more amenable to chatting and breaking patient confidentiality.
“Ah, yes, some tea would be good,” said Cecil. “Must admit to having had something of a heavy night. Douglas brings out the worst in me. I think we ploughed our way through the best part of a bottle of brandy before the night was over.”
I walked side-by-side with Cecil to the kitchen and, finding it empty, set to work on brewing some tea. “Were you thinking about Beatrice?” I asked Cecil.
“My goodness, whatever gave you that idea?” Cecil sat up straight in the seat he had slumped into. “She is not a recent patient of mine. I’d have no reason to think of her.”
“I just wondered, since we were talking about her over dinner last night.” I poured the tea into two mugs. “Perhaps it brought back memories. You said you looked after her health for many years. Were you close?”
“As close as any doctor and patient can be,” said Cecil.
“Didn’t you know the family all that well, back then?” I sat down in the seat opposite Cecil and passed him a mug of tea.
“I knew them well enough,” said Cecil. “Sylvester is my closest friend. We’ve known each other since we were young lads. Growing up in boarding school and all that, you have no choice but to get close to each other. He’s a good friend, always looks out for me.”
“And did you become friends with Beatrice when you were here?”
“We were not enemies,” said Cecil. “But she was quiet and enjoyed her own company.” He took a sip of his tea, grimaced, and pulled out a hip flask, dumping a glug of liquid into his mug. “Besides, you need to keep the relationship professional when you treat somebody. Patients tell you all kinds of deep dark secrets that I don’t think they let anybody else know about. The bond between doctor and patient is a sacred one.”
I leaned forward. “Did Beatrice have a deep dark secret?”
“No! She was a lovely, quiet lady.” Cecil straightened the cuffs of his jacket. “It was sad what happened to her. In a way, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. Perhaps if I’d completed a few more tests or examined her heart more frequently, I may have picked up on the defect. There could even have been an operation to repair any damage if I had known about it.”
“Was the problem with her heart treatable?” I asked him.
Cecil shrugged and looked down into his mug. “It may have been. But it was several years ago. My mind gets a little fuzzy on the details.”
No surprise there if he worked his way through a large amount of brandy on a regular occasion. “I think I'd have liked Beatrice. She seemed like a nice lady.”
“Yes, she was a nice person. Rather overshadowed by Lady Galbraith. They were polar opposites. Beatrice liked the quiet life and dressed conservatively. Her idea of a nightmare was going to one of Lady Galbraith’s giant soirées and being presented as the spinster sister-in-law.”
“She didn’t like to socialise?”
“I got the impression she thought people looked down at her because she hadn’t married into a well moneyed family or made a name for herself,” said Cecil. “But she was content. She didn’t trouble anybody, and nobody bothered her. Like I said, a sweet lady.”
I glanced around the room, half expecting Beatrice to appear and try to tell me if Cecil was saying the right things about her. But the room was silent, and there was no sign of Beatrice. Perhaps her appearing to me in the garden had worn out her energy, and she was hiding somewhere recharging.
“How is Sylvester treating you so far?” asked Cecil. “Don’t let him work you too hard. He can be a devil in the detail, and he’s a real grammar fiend. We were taught the importance of good writing and grammar when we were at school together.”
“Well, I’ve been sorting out his files this morning, so I haven’t had to worry about that,” I said. “I did get told off by Lady Galbraith this morning for being outside before I started work.”
Cecil grimaced and nodded his head. “Penelope is a firm woman. She does not believe in flexibility. Be a little careful around her. She will accept one mistake, but do it again, and that will be it. I’ve seen plenty of staff come and go from Galbraith Manor, and all of them were fired by her ladyship. She has very exacting standards.”
I glanced towards the kitchen door, half expecting a stone-faced Lady Galbraith to be there about to give me my marching orders because I’d been caught having a break.
“I should return to work,” I said. “Don’t want anyone to think I’m slacking off on my first day.”
“Good idea,” said Cecil. “I may stay and have another tea. Then I need to get to the village surgery. Had to cancel a few appointments this morning because of my sore head.” He rubbed at the creases on his forehead with his stubby fingers.
“Maybe you’re getting a migraine,” I suggested, ignoring the scent of whiskey drifting from his mug.
“Quite possibly,” said Cecil. “I often suffer with a bad head in the mornings.”
I stifled a laugh as I left Cecil to his whiskey and tea drinking marathon and returned to the study to complete the filing. On my way, I heard Lady Galbraith’s raised voice and increased my pace, keen to put as much distance between us as possible. I hoped she wasn’t being too mean to Helen.
Evening arrived, and I was bored of working on my own. Flipper was good company, but he did enjoy taking long dog naps, so I hadn’t even had him to talk to most of the time. Beatrice hadn’t dropped by for a visit, and Lord Galbraith hadn’t returned from wherever he was. I tidied my work, closed the study door, and wandered to the kitchen with Flipper in the hope of finding some company.
I was pleased to see Helen in the kitchen, standing at the stove, stirring the contents of a pot.
“That smells great.” I inhaled the rich vegetable scent. “Is there any for me?”
“Of course there is,” said Helen. “I’m making our favorite, butter bean and roasted vegetable stew.”
“Don’t we get food from those fancy caterers the family uses?” I eased myself into a chair by the table. Flipper rested his head on my knee, his gaze on Helen’s cooking.
“We can have whatever they’ve bought as a starter,” said Helen. “We only got one measly tray of food, though. Tiny delicacies of air and fluffy pastry between the two of us. We are growing girls; we can’t be expected to survive on that.”
I noticed a covered tray sitting on the counter. “I need more than that.”
“Exactly. I did a good search of the pantries and cupboards, and there are loads of preserved foods and tinned goodies. I’ll be able to rustle us up something nice every evening to go with the fancy treats that get brought in.”
“Happy to see you survived your first day with Lady Galbraith. Just how terrible was she to work for?”
“Not too bad,” said Helen. “She was a bit on the frosty side to start with, and complained about almost everything I did. But after I’d completed the alterations and adjustments on her first dress, she softened a little. She even asked me a few questions about myself. I’ve only finished two of the dresses and have more work to do, but I think Lady Galbraith has realised I’m not a total idiot when it comes to dressmaking.”
“I don’t think she likes me. She caught me sneaking about outside this morning,” I said. “I went to the oak tree where Beatrice’s body was found. I wanted to have a look around and get a feel for the place. Beatrice was there, but she wasn’t much help.”
“Have you seen much of her today?” Helen dished the rich smelling stew into two large bowls and spooned some into a smaller dish for Flipper, before carrying them to the table.
“Only this morning at the oak tree,” I said. “And then she vanished. I did manage to get in a bit of questioning with Cecil, although he was a little worse for wear. He seems a bit too fond of alcohol to be reliable.”
Helen carried over the uncovered tray of tiny filo pastry tarts and sat them down. They looked delicious, but she was right; the
y wouldn’t have filled me up, even if I’d eaten the whole tray.
I placed Flipper’s dish on the ground and then selected a few of the pastries. “This all looks great.”
“Maybe Cecil’s incompetence led to Beatrice’s death.” Helen sat down opposite me and selected her own pastries. “If he’d been drinking when he treated Beatrice and missed her heart problem, maybe that’s why she’s still around. She could blame him for her death.”
“She didn’t appear when I was questioning Cecil,” I said. “I’d have thought if she believed Cecil was involved, she would have helped me when I was speaking with him. Cecil might be a bit incompetent, but I don’t get the sense there’s anything off about him. I think he’s just easily influenced and a bit too fond of brandy.” I paused for a moment to enjoy Helen’s stew. It was full of rich flavors, a hint of cinnamon, some plump juicy apricots, and a dash of spice.
“So no further forward with discovering if Beatrice was killed,” said Helen.
“Not yet. And Zach almost caught me talking to Beatrice this morning,” I said. “I had to pretend I was talking to Flipper.”
“You don’t want him to think you’re crazy.” Helen grinned at me.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why not?”
“Because he’s really good looking,” said Helen. “And single. I thought he might be your type.”
“He is a nice-looking guy,” I said. “And he mentioned being able to feel Beatrice’s presence at the oak tree.”
“Somebody else who can see ghosts.” Helen’s blue eyes brightened. “You could form a team and go ghost hunting together. You know, like they do on those TV programmes.”
“No, he can’t actually see ghosts. I think he meant he got the sense Bridget left a lasting impression on the household. And now she is gone, there’s a hole that nobody has filled.”
“You should ask him more about what he knows about ghosts,” said Helen. “Maybe he’ll confess he can see them. It would be great for you to have a ghostbusting buddy.”