Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil

by Nancy Atherton

  Adam favored me with an enticing, sidelong glance before answering, “Not entirely.” He put his hand over mine, drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a satisfied rush. “I’m glad you suggested the walk. I haven’t been to the Ring in ages. It’s a special place.”

  “Edward and Claire thought so.” As the words left my lips, my head began to spin and I stopped short, clutching Adam’s arm for support.

  “You’re tired,” he said firmly. He motioned toward a grassy rise some twenty yards to our right. “We can rest out of the wind over there.”

  “Rest? Who needs rest?” I shook off the dizzy spell, shot past him, and scrambled to the top of the hillock, where I raised my arms in victory, only to let them fall slowly to my sides. “Adam,” I called, peering curiously down the far side of the hill. “Come and see what I’ve found.”

  He clambered up the slope to stand beside me.

  I looked at him uncertainly. “Is it the Devil’s Ring?”

  “No,” he replied. “But I’m damned if I know what it is.”

  Below us, at the bottom of the long, narrow hill, lay a complex formation of rocks. The rocks were small enough to carry, too large to blow away, and they’d been arranged in regular lines to form squares, rectangles, and an enormous half-circle. The manner in which the shapes intersected and connected reminded me of Scara Brae, a many-chambered Stone Age village I’d once visited, up in the Orkney Islands.

  “Scara Brae,” I said, “writ large.”

  Adam understood the reference. “They do look like rooms,” he agreed. “But the formation’s not neolithic. It wasn’t here the last time I visited the Ring.”

  “Are you sure?” I glanced over my shoulder. “It’s pretty well concealed from the path.”

  Adam conceded the point, but remained perplexed. “Why would someone build a Stone Age village?”

  “Maybe it’s not a Stone Age village,” I reasoned. “We’re on army property. It’s probably something to do with military exercises.”

  “You may be right.” Adam squatted to scrabble in the dirt at my feet. When he stood, he held six shiny brass cartridge cases in his palm.

  “Do not handle military debris,” I pronounced. “It may explode and kill you.” I looked askance at the cartridges. “Kind of small for artillery, aren’t they?”

  “A new secret weapon, no doubt.” Adam smiled as he pocketed the cartridges.

  “I’ll ask Guy. He’ll know.” I turned a slow circle, savoring the moment. “You can see forever from up here. If we looked hard enough, I’ll bet we could see Scara Brae.”

  “I don’t know about Scara Brae,” Adam said, “but we can certainly see the Ring.”

  He lifted his arm to point me in the right direction, but I’d already spotted the six gray stones that jutted like broken teeth from the tussocky ground.

  I’d seen them before, in my dream.

  The shock wave of recognition ripped me from my moorings. I felt an instant’s giddiness and then everything came unglued. The blue sky seemed to ripple, colors tumbled and swirled, and the world seemed to slow on its axis. The chill wind gentled to a velvet breeze, dried grasses blew green and supple, and heather bloomed, cloaking the hills in soft clouds of lavender. The air was perfumed with the sweet scents of summer, warmed by a high summer sun, filled with the music of laughter and long-silent voices.

  “You mustn’t leave,” I murmured. “You must never leave me.”

  I swayed again, on knees as weak as water, but when Adam reached out to steady me this time, I turned into his arms and kissed him.

  It wasn’t a chaste kiss. It was the kind of kiss that leads to shameful things, but I felt no sense of shame. I was drunk on pure sensation, as if tasting for the first time the sweet, heady elixir of love. I twined my fingers in his curls, arched my back, and pressed myself against him, aching to feel once again every curve and hollow of the body that had shared its warmth with mine.

  Then Adam was gripping my shoulders, hard, and pushing me away. “Lori,” he managed. “Stop. It’s not right.”

  I stood back, chastened. “Of course. Not here. We might be seen. Come on.” And I started down the hill, toward the rock formation.

  “Where are you going?” Adam called.

  “To our place.” I turned toward him. “We’ll take the shortcut.”

  Adam approached me slowly, his troubled eyes never leaving my face. “Lori,” he said softly, “how do you know about the shortcut?”

  “Don’t be a goose,” I replied, smiling. “You showed it to me.”

  Adam shook his head. “We’ve never been here before. Not the two of us. Not together.”

  “But I…” The velvet breeze turned razor-sharp. “I remember…”

  Adam cupped my face in his hands. “No.”

  The supple grasses shriveled and the lavender faded to brown. I backed away from Adam, looking wildly from side to side. “I do remember. Not just the shortcut, not just the terrace door…” A sharp pain lanced through my head and I crumpled, gasping, to the ground. “I knew where my room was. I turned down the corridor before Nicole told me which way to go. I led her to my room.” I clenched my fists and pressed them to my temples. “I knew the dead animals didn’t belong there. The room was a prison, not a zoo. Josiah put the bars in, to keep me from…to keep Claire from…” Adam dropped to his knees and I leaned into him, terrified. “I knew the books were hers before I found the notes. I dreamt of the Devil’s Ring. Oh, Adam,” I whimpered, “what’s happening to me?”

  “I don’t know.” He tightened his hold. “But I’m here, Lori. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Through a haze of pain I seemed to see, in the stitches of his blue ribbed sweater, the loops and curls of royal-blue ink repeating the fierce, solemn promise: I won’t let anything hurt you.

  I buried my face in his sweater, whispering, “Dimity…”

  CHAPTER

  Adam all but carried me back to Wyrdhurst. I staggered along as best I could, but my mind was still half clouded, laced with memories that did not belong to me.

  Adam asked no questions, demanded no explanations. He simply followed my faltering instructions, depositing me in his beat-up car, retrieving the blue journal from the wardrobe, and taking me away from Wyrdhurst Hall.

  The farther we drove, the more coherent my thoughts became. By the time we reached the fishing hut, the pain in my head had subsided and the false memories had faded to dim shadows.

  Adam guided me through the peacock-blue door, helped take off my jacket, and seated me in the leather armchair. While he got a fire going, I noted that the room had been put to rights. The narrow iron bed was back in its corner, the armchair cozily tucked to one side of the small hearth. Still, the hut seemed as familiar to me as my cottage, a safe place where I could recover from yet another accident.

  Adam pulled a beechwood chair from the pine table and sat facing me across the hearth.

  I must have looked haggard, and I felt as fragile as a teacup, as if a single misstep would shatter me. Tears welled in my eyes as I told him, quite firmly, “I’m not crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “What I’m about to do will seem crazy”—my voice broke and a tear spilled down my cheek—“but it’s not.”

  “I believe you.”

  I swiped the tears away and opened the blue journal.

  “I’m sorry, Dimity,” I said. “I’m so sorry. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  As the elegant copperplate curled across the page, a sense of calm came over me. Dimity’s love was like a fortress, shielding me from harm. Nothing evil could touch me, so long as she was near.

  Tell me what happened, my dear.

  “It’s been happening for a while, but I didn’t realize it until today.” I took a deep breath. “I have memories and…and feelings that don’t belong to me. It’s as if…someone else…is in my head.”

  Someone else IS in your head, my dear. As I told you before, you’re not
yourself.

  Dimity’s literal use of the commonplace phrase provoked a ragged chuckle.

  The handwriting continued. You’re not entirely yourself, at any rate. It’s my fault, I’m afraid. Your relationship with me has made you vulnerable. Once the door is opened between the living and the dead, there’s no telling who will come through. We’re not all of us charming, sensible, and sane, you know. Some of us are quite mad.

  “Are you telling me…?” I paused, momentarily at a loss for words. I’d always regarded Dimity’s presence in my life as a blessing. It had never occurred to me that it might also be a liability. “Do you mean to say that any passing noncorporeal being can just walk in and take up residence in my head?”

  Not exactly. Have you been unwell since your arrival at Wyrdhurst Hall? Dizziness, headaches, queasiness?

  “All three,” I admitted.

  I thought as much. You’ve always been a stubborn girl, Lori, and admirably independent. No one could enter your mind without a struggle. Hence the headaches.

  “Who’s inside my mind?” I asked, though I was already fairly certain of the answer.

  Someone called Claire.

  “Claire Byrd?”

  She doesn’t use a last name, but if “Claire Byrd” means something to you, it’s undoubtedly she. You’ve taken an interest in this Claire Byrd, I presume.

  “A great interest,” I acknowledged.

  Influenced, no doubt, by Claire herself. She’s been working on you ever since you entered Wyrdhurst. That’s why I insisted on joining you. I felt the bond between us waver alarmingly. Other bonds wavered as well, I’ll wager.

  My conscience burned as I recalled the framed photograph of my beloved boys, clattering to the floor. “Marriage and motherhood,” I murmured. “How could I, Dimity? How could I forget my family?”

  You mustn’t blame yourself, Lori. Claire’s a very clever, very desperate girl.

  “Why did she choose me?” I demanded. “The woman who lives in Wyrdhurst isn’t nearly as bullheaded as I am. Why didn’t Claire go after Nicole?”

  Is Nicole a virgin?

  “I think so.”

  Claire has a great need to express physical affection. She’d find it difficult to use an inexperienced woman. In Nicole’s case, ignorance truly has been bliss.

  You, on the other hand, have a passionate nature and the experience to go with it. You also have, if you’ll forgive me, a roving eye. I take it there’s an attractive man on hand?

  I looked over my shoulder at Adam, who was quietly making tea, and remembered the warm flush that had spread through me as I gazed upon his face in the firelight, well before I’d set foot in Wyrdhurst Hall. Aunt Dimity was right. I did have a roving eye. It was part of my passionate nature. Claire had chosen her puppet wisely.

  “His name’s Adam,” I said, under my breath. “Adam Chase. He saved my life.”

  Claire could use such a connection for her own purposes. Did she attempt to express herself through you?

  The breathless moment on the moors came back to me in a vivid, visceral rush. I felt the heat rise again, and the hunger, and the helpless sense of losing him forever.

  You’re slow in answering, Lori. Perhaps I should restate the question more explicitly. Did Claire make use of your bond with Adam to express her own physical desires?

  “She did. I threw myself at Adam. He stopped me before things got out of hand, but if it hadn’t been for him…” I groaned softly and hung my head.

  Let’s not become melodramatic, my dear. Do you think you’re the first married woman to be distracted by a pretty face? Distraction is not action. You might have looked at Adam Chase, but you would never have touched him if it hadn’t been for Claire. The shame is hers, not yours.

  While Adam resumed his seat, there was a pause, as if Dimity were pondering her next words. Then the handwriting continued.

  Claire is, alas, deeply troubled. I sense heartache, yes, but also anger, and an ardent desire to right a wrong. She’s terribly concerned about the fate of a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man. That’s why she drove your family from your mind. She wanted you to focus solely on one man.

  How well she succeeded, I reflected. I’d been drawn to Adam from the start, but I hadn’t become obsessed with him until I’d entered the hall. Aloud, I said, “She must be worried about Edward.”

  Whoever it is, I would counsel you to leave Wyrdhurst and never return. It’s much the safest course.

  Aunt Dimity’s suggestion was tempting. Claire had entered my mind uninvited. She’d tampered with my dreams and taken advantage of my weaknesses. She’d blurred memories of my children and replaced my love for Bill with a fantasy of her own devising. I should have resented her, but I couldn’t.

  I turned toward the fire and saw in the leaping flames a young girl torn between her father’s wishes and the dictates of her own heart. I admired her courage, understood her fears, and felt with every fiber of my being the depth of her love for Edward. For better or for worse, Claire had become a part of me. I couldn’t abandon her now.

  I returned my attention to the journal. “You say she’s desperate, Dimity. You say she’s deeply troubled. There must be a way to help her.”

  It could be dangerous.

  “What’s the alternative?” I asked. “To leave her in agony until another woman with my extremely rare qualifications just happens to visit Wyrdhurst?” I gripped the journal tightly. “I’ve felt Claire’s longing, Dimity. I’ve experienced her grief. I can’t walk away from her without at least trying to help.”

  I didn’t think you would. Ah, well. If anyone can help Claire, you can, and there are ways to minimize the risks. Now that you’re aware of her machinations, she won’t be able to manipulate you so easily. She might even be willing to work with you. But you’ll need something more. You’ll need someone you can trust, to tether you to the world of the living.

  I looked across the room, to the narrow iron bed I’d shared with Adam. I recalled the way he’d tucked the blankets in between us when I’d first awakened, and the humor he’d used to put me at ease. I’d been his for the taking up on the moors, but he hadn’t taken me. Instead, he’d pushed me away, because it wasn’t “right.” Even now he watched me patiently, accepting without question what would have seemed to most men insane behavior.

  “Would it be playing with fire to choose Adam?” I asked.

  I think not. I’ve no doubt whatsoever that Claire has been trying to influence his behavior as well, but he’s demonstrated admirable self-control when faced with temptation. He’s clearly less vulnerable to her machinations than you are, and his invulnerability may help to protect you, now that you know what Claire’s up to.

  “Tell me what to do,” I said.

  Ask Claire to guide you. Something is amiss at Wyrdhurst. It must be put right or she’ll never rest in peace. The handwriting stopped briefly. Few people would put themselves at risk to help a suffering soul. I’m proud of you, Lori.

  Tears pricked my eyes even as I smiled. I brushed them away, closed the journal, and sat in silence, pondering how best to explain the inexplicable.

  “Adam,” I began. “Do you remember when I told you that I wasn’t afraid of ghosts?…”

  Two hours later, we sat across from each other at the pine table, eating bread and cheese and nursing mugs of tea. The blue journal lay beside the cutting board, and Reginald presided over the teapot. Adam had retrieved my flannel bunny from the wardrobe when he’d fetched the journal, but I’d been too dazed to notice at the time.

  I cringed to think that I’d let Reg tumble to the floor while I cuddled the dashing Major Ted, but Reginald seemed unfazed by my disloyalty. He regarded me complacently, secure in the knowledge that no bear in uniform could ever take his place.

  I kept my communion with Reginald to myself. I’d already given Adam enough food for years of thought, and though he’d accepted my improbable tale so far, I didn’t want to push it.

  “So,” I said
, “you’ll come back to Wyrdhurst with me? You’ll stay until I’ve found a way to help Claire?”

  “Need you ask?” Adam slivered a curl of cheese and popped it into his mouth. “It’s fascinating to think that Wyrdhurst is haunted after all, but by a ghost no one suspected.”

  “You must remind Claire of Edward,” I said. “He’s got dark hair and eyes, just like you. That’s why I”—I caught myself—“why she finds you so attractive.”

  “Perhaps Josiah was right in keeping them apart,” Adam observed.

  “I’m not sure right and wrong come into it,” I said. “Young love’s a pretty powerful force. Bad things can happen when you get in its way. Do the names Romeo and Juliet ring a bell?”

  “It was love, then,” Adam said, “not simply adolescent urgings run amok?”

  “It was for Claire,” I replied. “I don’t know about Edward.”

  “Why not?” Adam asked.

  “He left, didn’t he?” I shivered at the memory of Claire’s voice speaking through me on the moors. “She pleaded with him to stay, but he left, and I don’t know why.”

  “Perhaps his letters will tell us,” said Adam.

  “Will you help me find them?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Adam stared into the middle distance for a moment, then folded his arms and rested them on the table. “Thank you for taking me into your confidence, Lori. I swear to you that I’ll never tell another living soul about Dimity and her journal.”

  “I know you won’t.” I poked his arm playfully. “I trust you, Adam.”

  He laughed a small, helpless laugh, as if my words had pained him. “Lori, there’s something I must tell you. I—” He broke off, interrupted by the chirrup of the cell phone in my jacket pocket.

  “Hold that thought,” I told him, and hastened to answer the phone.

  It was Guy, with reports on several fronts, each of which served to remind me that Nicole needed my help just as badly as young Claire.