Sunlight painted the room from the only window in the chamber. She stepped toward it, but then watched in awe as she glided forward. Her momentum halted just in front of it and she peered out wondering if the view would help her recall where she was.
She discovered she was in a grand castle cresting the top of a hill. A thick forest darkened the land in the distance. Much of the scene consisted of green grasses lined with hedges that needed a trim, and roses appearing to have gone wild. Yellow and green ribbons of farmland radiated from houses sprinkled along the bottom right side of the hill. But even after studying the landscape, it did not help her recall this place.
Ivy had climbed its way up to this bedchamber within a tall turret. She could see four more towers from this perspective. Whilst this grand palace was a lovely stone structure, she still could not recollect ever living here, or traveling here. And it was too quiet. Far too quiet.
There was some noise, just not the right noises. Birds chirped in the trees and she could hear the skittering and buzzing of insects. A breeze whistled around the structure, but there was no sound of human life. No creak of the floors as people moved about the enormous castle, no gardener tending to the landscaping, no farm animals.
Drawing her attention from the view, she moved back to the bed. On it was a piece of parchment she had not noticed before. Three words were written in a scrolling script upon it.
You are loved.
Was this message for her? She hoped it was. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back tears. Dead. She opened her eyes and refocused on the paper. Dead, but loved. Those three words soothed her trembling soul. A little.
Her gaze slid to the door. She glided to it and reached for the handle, then withdrew her hand. “Well, I cannot open it that way,” she muttered as she noticed she could see the knob through her fingers.
She studied the door for a moment. A carved diamond pattern embellished the surface of the wood. The door was further adorned with long, ornate hinges and a decorative handle.
After staring at the detail for several moments, she thought, Perhaps I can do it with my mind. Concentrating on opening the door, she gasped when the handle jiggled. She attempted again, again it moved, but the door would not open. Again, and again, and again she tried, then exhaled in frustration when she remained unsuccessful.
Once more she pondered it, pouting. Then, “Oh, how could I be so foolish?” she groaned aloud, just then realizing that ghosts, such as she appeared to be, can walk through doors.
She gathered her skirts and stretched one toe through the wood, as if testing the temperature of water. Her foot passed through as though the solid-looking substance was no more substantial than air. She withdrew her foot and then stretched it forth again, further this time. Nothing bad happened to her person. She felt no pain or resistance whatsoever. After another moment’s hesitation, she decided to follow with the rest of herself, only imagining at the last moment getting stuck inside the door. Forever.
When she emerged on the other side, she nearly collapsed with relief.
Here she found a wide hallway lined with more closed doors. She floated through each one finding many furnished bedchambers, but none occupied. However, when she came to the master chamber, she noticed that a man did live here, or had lived here. The wardrobe, which he had apparently not shut tightly enough, had swung open letting light from the window illuminate the contents. To her, the clothing inside appeared to be masculine in nature, though the tunics and braise were fashioned differently than she was accustomed to seeing…or what she thought she was accustomed to seeing. Strange how things such as this were almost within her reach, yet the past memories about herself felt so utterly vague. No, she thought, ’tis much more than that. ’Tis more like missing and lost within a dense fog.
She took a deep calming breath, though she did note the act of breathing appeared to be more habit than necessary. With one more sigh, she continued to explore the castle. She found that servants had also lived here as recently as the man. She then wondered how long she’d been here. How long had she been sleeping in that bed? And where was everyone?
After covering almost every inch of the deserted dwelling, she decided to head back toward her bedchamber, or at least she thought it was hers. She froze when she got a good view at the door from the outside. It looked like a wooden gate to a secret garden in which the plant life was sneaking its way through the cracks between the frame and door. Ivy and moss, and other blooming vegetation were fanning their way out from the edges. And it looked quite different from every other door in the demesne. Even the hinges were unique and the handle was placed and fashioned differently. It appeared older. Centuries older.
Lifting her hand, she reached for the handle. It irritated her that she could not physically touch it. With determination swelling in her chest, she dropped her hand, squared her shoulders and focused on the mechanism with her thoughts. It turned halfway. She tried again. This time as the handle twisted, she heard a small click and the door cracked open. Smiling now, she refocused her efforts and watched with joy as the door swung all the way back. Those ancient-looking hinges groaned in protest.
This room was the one she wanted to investigate more thoroughly, she pondered, as she glided into the odd spellbound chamber.
Perched above a narrow table on the left wall, which she had not noticed before, was an oval looking glass. She traveled to it, and gasped. She could see her reflection!
And she recognized the face, though she did not….
Leaning closer, she studied her phantom self. The golden dress she wore was quite pretty, and complimented her pallid complexion and pale pink lips. The square neckline was tightened with laces at the bust. The intricately embroidered fabric shimmered with her movement, and the blue and green colors of the embellishment picked up the flecks of color in her green eyes. Little pink-colored roses in the stitched design added more color. The skirt had many layers and a train in the back. This dress was formal, a gown.
Her blonde hair hung in natural waves around her shoulders. It drifted down past her hips. And it was drifting, moving actually, as if a breeze swept her body. Silk ribbons in many colors had been tied in her hair. She also noticed a lacey white veil.
A bridal veil.
“I was a bride?” A crease formed between her brows. “Did I die on the wedding night, or before?” She lifted her left hand, but found no wedding band there. “Before then. I am not yet wed.”
“…but how did I die?” she asked herself again. Without attempting to touch the glass, she lifted a hand, palm forward, to the reflection gazing back at her.
“Was I murdered?” Her hand began to shake as emotion gripped her, and a glistening tear trickled down her cheek. “Did the groom do it? Was it violent? Painful? Is that why I do not remember, because it was so horrific that I forced myself to forget?”
Shuddering, she felt as though someone was watching her. She spun away from the mirror to see if another person had entered the chamber, but saw no one. It did trouble her that she’d left the door wide open. After focusing on closing it, she startled herself when she managed to slam it shut.
With a resigned sigh, she slid to the bed. Feeling distressed, she wanted to reread the comforting words written upon the missive.
You are loved.
“Who left that here? And why?” She pouted and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “And why did they not address it properly? A simple ‘to’ and ‘from’ would have been helpful.”
Using her thoughts, she tried to pick it up. The parchment rippled and then began floating from the bed, but just as it did, the edges started to crumble away. She dropped it before it was lost completely. It is old, she realized, and has clearly been here for a very long time.
As I probably have, too….
Collapsing onto the bed, tears continued to roll down her face as she reached her translucent hands out and attempted to stroke—what she imagined to be—the petal-soft fabric with her fingertips.
And sobbed when she felt nothing.
“Why?” she asked the butterflies, who did not answer.
“Why have I not gone to Heaven, or even Hell?” Anger suddenly joined defeat, loneliness, and frustration. “And why is no one here for me to haunt? Oh, no,” she worried, “perhaps this is Hell.”
Days passed. She counted by the rise and fall of the sun. Today she was strolling, no, floating along a path that trailed past shrubs and a tall stone fence that appeared to be the edge of the property. Curious about what was on the other side of the wall; she slid toward it and stopped suddenly. She had not meant to stop, and realized as she bumped against something she could not see that she’d actually found a barrier. An invisible barrier. Running her hands along the solid nothingness, she tried to find an opening or an end to it, but it seemed there was none.
Her gaze caught onto the movement of a blue and tan swallow that flew from the hedge and over the wall.
“Am I a prisoner?” She watched in irritation as the plump little bird happily returned and left again, as if taunting her.
She could not leave this place! The realization baffled her deeply.
With a sense of panic seizing her, she spun back toward the castle, forgetting about what might be on the other side of the wall. Then as she neared the kitchen garden, her eyes widened in surprise. There, bent over the herbs, was a female maid. She’d bunched up her apron to create a makeshift basket to hold the clippings of thyme and rosemary.
“Hello!” she called, waving her arm as she sped toward the blonde girl in the black and white dress.
There was no reaction from the maid. Of course there was no reaction!
She spoke anyway, knowing a pout controlled her mouth. “Hello, I am…well…I’m so very pleased to see you,” she said, desperate to speak to anyone.
Still, she received no reply or any physical response to her speech at all. The young maid simply hummed a sweet tune as she worked—obviously oblivious to the spirit next to her.
Keeping the frown firmly fixed upon her expression, she went inside to see who else had returned. Drifting through the door to the kitchen, she paused, and then watched as servants bustled about hastily preparing a meal. A meal for one. A plump woman was spooning stew into a bowl, whilst an old, slender man held out a tray for it. Another maid set a hunk of bread next to the bowl, along with a porcelain cup and another little bowl with white, sparkling cubes in it. Then the older man shuffled through the doorway with the loaded silver platter.
The realization settled in. They had only just arrived and were rushing to feed their master.
Him. The lone man who occupied the great bedchamber!
She had to see what he looked like, even if he could not see her. Perhaps I can haunt him, she thought with a pixyish smirk forming about her lips that swept the pout away.
Chapter 2
The Earl of Krestly Castle
Christian Henry Sparks dropped himself, with a gusty breath, into the head chair at his lonely and long dining room table. He’d been here, at his newly acquired estate, for only a few days when he’d been summoned back to the city. His insufficient numbers of servants were forced to accompany him and abandon their duties as well. They hadn’t even had time to fully restock the shelves with food or the grounds with livestock at this older, medieval castle. Though there’d been many upgrades, it had stood empty for a few years until being handed down to him from his father’s many holdings.
Even so, while this castle was empty, but for himself and a handful of servants, he preferred this country estate over the city. Regardless of the fact that he was more accustomed to urban life. In fact, he despised London.
It wasn’t so much the geography that irritated him, but the people living there. The snobs. The ones utterly concerned with fashion, and gossip about who was wedding who, and when the next soirée would be, and if they were invited…. For now he was the earl, but, as the rightful heir, he would someday replace his father as marquess. Because of that, Father expected him to return to London for study in his future responsibilities. Even though it irked him to revisit, he went and did not speak of his internal displeasure. He would not show ingratitude by complaining about it. At least not out loud.
Underneath the pride of ownership, however, he was simmering. Curse his father! How could the man give him this enormous charge only to withhold the funds needed to run it? Christian laughed humorlessly. This was likely another one of his sire’s challenges. Let’s see how Christian manages that huge estate without his allowance. Oh, the laugh he must have had.
His father had supported him financially up until now, and he knew he was due to gain an increased amount when he turned six and twenty. He certainly hadn’t expected to be cut off when his father gave him Krestly.
Christian did not want to look the fool in front of his sire or peers, but he feared he would not be able to maintain the place and hire the needed servants. And because of that, he worried this castle would fall into disrepair and dwindle under his care if he did not receive the money soon. He knew there was some condition to ascertaining it, but he didn’t yet know what that was. He hoped that his father would send his solicitor quickly to clear up the matter. Until then, there was nothing he could do about it, but try and manage with what he did have.
Footsteps echoed through the people-sparse room to his ears, announcing the arrival of his dinner. Which he knew would also be sparse since they’d only just returned. But he didn’t mind. “Thank you, Jackson. That will be all for now,” Christian said as the gray-haired, ashen-faced man settled the tray onto the table with a trembling grip that caused the china to rattle.
“You’re very welcome, Lord Krestly, it is my pleasure to serve you.”
Christian couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. Just the sight of the man brightened his sullen mood, but, it was the formal address that made him chuckle. Jackson had served him since he’d been an infant. The man felt like an uncle to him and was dear to his heart. Therefore, he did not expect such proper conduct from the loyal manservant, but Jackson had persisted in calling him “lord” instead of “little lad” once he’d been given this castle. “You know there is no need for such formalities.”
“But I insist, my lord.”
“Jackson,” he said, his tone a gentle reprimand.
Jackson waved it away, offered a quick bow, and then shuffled slowly toward the exit. “I insist. Now be a good boy, and eat your supper.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and laughed when that got the reaction he was hoping for: A cringe and another sharp wave of the elderly butler’s hand. “You’re the best, old man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d survive.”
No, I wouldn’t, Christian thought to himself as he listened to the doors close behind Jackson. Well, at least not as comfortably. And he’d be lonelier than he already was.
He knew he needed to fill this cold dwelling with the warmth that only a wife and children could provide. His lips cracked a smile at the images that fond thought conjured. The cacophony of a chattering wife with rambunctious youth clutching her skirts would brighten these hollow walls nicely. But the smile slipped, he couldn’t even consider looking for a bride until his finances were settled, and he wondered how long his father meant to torment him. It could take days or months or...who knew? He certainly didn’t.
His finger hooked around the handle of his teacup, and he sipped at his tea. Chamomile, he thought, and then he noted, as the bland liquid warmed his taste buds with temperature and not flavor, that they’d rushed the process a bit. Again, he didn’t mind. Tasteless tea was the least of his worries. He dropped two lumps of sugar into it.
While the cubes dissolved, he reached for the stale bread brought in from the city no doubt, since Cook truly had not had time to bake it from scratch. Smiling, he broke off a hunk and dunked it into the fragrant hot soup. The ton would frown on him for that, but here, in his home, he could do whatever he liked, eve
n if it wasn’t entirely civilized behavior. There was no one here to see it.
Spooning up the last bit of potato from the broth, Christian caught sight of movement near the door. He lunged to his feet. A lovely young woman in an exquisite gown was moving across the room to the chair opposite him. Her glide appeared utterly graceful, so much so, that it was unnatural. She then sat down and studied him with the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. His spoon dropped from his fingers and clattered to the bowl. The impact sent droplets of soup popping into the air.
He gaped, and she gaped, both of their eyes rounded. It seemed she didn’t expect him to be surprised that a woman he didn’t know sat in his home, at his table. Unannounced.
He lowered back into his chair. “Excuse me,” –he cleared his throat when his voice croaked— “might I ask who you are?”
She turned to look behind herself, her eyes still wide. Then, when she apparently saw no one else around but her, she twisted back toward him, and set one hand on her chest, then said in a voice that sounded like a melodic breeze, “Me?”
“Yes. Are you a guest whom no one told me about?”
“I, uh…y-you can see me?”
At that his brows tugged together. Because now that she mentioned it, she did look slightly transparent. He could see the tapestry-covered chair through her bodice. Christian stood abruptly, his chair tipped backward with the sudden movement and rocked to the floor with a loud bang. She’s not solid!
Jackson opened the door and popped his head inside; clearly he’d heard the commotion. “My lord, is everything all right?”
Christian held a shaky hand out, pointing in her direction. “Do-do you see?” he sputtered.
The butler followed the line of his straightened finger and frowned. The ghost looked at the old man as though she prayed he’d be able to see her too. “See what, my lord?” Her face fell. “Is there a rodent? I’ll fetch Nathan to take care—”
Forever (Book #3 in the Fateful Series) Page 29