Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  Julia had stifled a scream upon seeing him, stood staring at the space he was in for moments after he was gone and then she slapped the draperies shut. She spent the rest of the night trying (and failing) to talk herself out of believing what she saw.

  There were no such things as ghosts.

  Were there?

  The next day, Monique thankfully left for a spa visit in London with no word on when she would return and no good-byes.

  With the vision of the man still foremost in her mind (and seeing a ghost was not a relief from having Monique or Douglas’s bizarrely passionate kiss good-bye (he’d never kissed her, passionately or otherwise) being the things foremost in her mind), Julia approached Mrs. K and Veronika in the afternoon while they were in the kitchen.

  Without leading into it gently, she simply announced, “I saw a man outside my window last night.”

  Veronika, who had spent the last week desperately attempting to be neither seen nor heard, especially when Lady Ashton was around, let out a little scream.

  Mrs. K turned from the stove where she was making a delicious-smelling stew, taking advantage of Monique’s absence to fatten up the children.

  “Oh dear,” she muttered.

  “Oh dear is right,” Julia replied even though she felt oh dear was an understatement. “And Ruby sees him too. She waves at him and I even saw her talking to him the other day.”

  Ruby was off with Carter picking up Lizzie and Willie. Mrs. K looked at Veronika who looked back at her, the young girl’s face pale and frightened.

  “All right, there’s nothing for it. You two, yes, Veronika, the both of you, sit down,” Mrs. K ordered, dipping her head to the kitchen table.

  Without further coaxing, Veronika and Julia sat together at the big, wooden kitchen table with its friendly yellow oil cloth. Mrs. K put the lid on the stew and was about to turn to them when Mr. Kilpatrick walked through the door.

  Julia had only met Roderick Kilpatrick a couple of times. According to Mrs. K, her husband took care of the grounds, oversaw the gardeners, allowed or disallowed hunters as the case may be and also maintained and oversaw several other properties and farms that Douglas owned in the vicinity. He had a wealth of coarse grey hair, a big, droopy moustache and ruddy cheeks.

  “Miss Julia. Veronika,” he touched his cap to them and looked at his wife, “I’ll come back later.”

  “You’ll stay, Roddy, she’s seen The Master.”

  That brought Roddy up short and he swung his head toward Julia and then looked like he’d try to make good an escape before he saw the severe look his wife gave him. Upon seeing her look, he reluctantly entered the room.

  “Veronika, have you seen him?” Mrs. K asked, her voice losing its wifely authority and turning kind.

  Veronika nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Nothing for it, Rod,” Mrs. K said decisively, her eyes swinging back to him.

  Mr. Kilpatrick sighed and both the Kilpatricks sat across from Julia and Veronika.

  “There’s nothing to fear, lasses. Really there ain’t. He’s been around, and so has his missus, for as long as this house has been standin’,” Roddy Kilpatrick announced.

  Julia glanced at Veronika who returned her look, her dark eyes frightened.

  “No one knows the real story,” Mrs. K began. “Some say he killed her, some say someone else killed them both. The truth is, they found his body outside, dead from exposure and looking like he’d been trying to get in. They found The Mistress in the house and she’d been strangled.”

  Veronika’s English may not have been the greatest but she understood that and let out a frightened peep.

  “Nothing missing, no forced entry, all the doors were locked from the inside and no one knew of any enemies that would hate either of them enough. No one knew, either, of any troubles they were having,” Mr. Kilpatrick went on.

  “Who were they?” Julia asked.

  “Lord and Lady of this very house,” Roddy Kilpatrick explained. “He built it for her, the biggest, grandest house in the county. He was rich, just became the Baron on the death of his father, and everyone says he loved her more than money or titles or anything. She was a merchant’s daughter, not of his class but enough so that he could court her. They said she loved him just the same. They lived in this house for weeks, maybe a few months when it happened.”

  “She left a baby boy,” Mrs. K added. “He was raised by her mother and the line was safe but, ever since, he’s been trying to get in and she, well no one knows what she’s doin’.”

  “She?” Julia prompted.

  “Ever feel a draught around yer ankles? Or hear any whispers? People say sometimes that she screams,” Mr. Kilpatrick explained, Julia’s mouth dropped open and Mr. Kilpatrick nodded. “Yep, that’s her. No one ever sees her but they feel her. No one knows if she keeps him out or if she’s tryin’ to let him in.”

  Mrs. K took the story from there. “They say, and Lady Tamsin believed this, that this house is cursed. That the curse will only lift when a living Sommersgate baron finds a bride that he loves truly, and she truly loves him in return, then The Old Master will be let in to reunite with his bride and then they’ll be at peace and so will Sommersgate.”

  “But,” Julia began, “this house is over a hundred years old. There has to have been some baron that loved his wife in that time.”

  The husband and wife looked at each other and then looked at Julia, shaking their heads.

  “It wasn’t often done in that class, my love,” Mrs. K explained.

  “But now, these days it is… isn’t it?” Julia asked, wondering about Monique and Maxwell (not that she could imagine Monique loving anyone, including her dead husband).

  Julia received more shaking of the heads.

  It was then the kids came home, crashing loudly into the kitchen and story time was over.

  But Julia found a moment to search out Veronika before the girl left for the day. When she did, Julia touched her arm.

  “Are you okay?” Julia asked. “With this, er… ghost business,” she went on to explain.

  “Sad,” Veronika said, her eyes making that one word far more expressive.

  Julia nodded and smiled and was about to walk away when Veronika stopped her.

  “You?” she asked and then went on hesitantly. “Okay?” Julia nodded again but Veronika forged on, looking scared but determined. “Not with ghosts, with…” She let that hang and Julia knew exactly what she meant.

  Without thinking, Julia pulled the girl into a hug and after a moment Veronika returned it.

  “I’m fine,” Julia whispered. “Don’t worry about me. It’ll be okay for all of us,” Julia stated with feeling. “I promise.”

  This time, Veronika nodded, pulled away, gave Julia a pretty but tentative smile and then walked away.

  That was yesterday. Tonight was different.

  The scratching was back, intent and determined. He was out there.

  It was late and although Monique was gone, the scratching and everything on Julia’s mind wouldn’t allow her to sleep. She was averaging less than five hours a night and she was constantly exhausted.

  Douglas had disappeared, no word, no sign. Pride was now stopping her from calling both him and Samantha to find out what he was doing and when he would return. He should be home; he’d been gone for over two weeks. He was supposed to be helping her with the kids and he’d not even had the courtesy to phone. She was furious and the minute she saw him again she was going to let him have it.

  She had to think that way. If she allowed herself to think of the way he sometimes looked at her and the fact that he kissed her…

  Kissed her!

  She still couldn’t fathom it.

  She’d been right, a game was afoot. Perhaps he was trying to get her to slip up, seem like the gold-digging monster his mother thought she was. Perhaps he was going to try to prove her unworthy of taking care of the children by seducing her, making her look the brazen hussy. Why, she did not k
now, as he had little interest in the children but who knew exactly how Douglas Ashton’s mind worked.

  If she wasn’t careful, he would succeed. It had been a long time for her. She’d not had a lover since Sean. When Douglas had kissed her, she kissed him back, she didn’t want to but she couldn’t help herself.

  He was a good kisser.

  No, he wasn’t a good kisser, he was an excellent kisser.

  And he was Douglas.

  There was a time when she’d dreamed of him kissing her, when she’d have practically paid him to do it (not that he’d need or take the money). She never imagined that he would even want to kiss her, let alone do it.

  And it had been good, oh so very good to have that hard, sexy mouth with its mysterious scar on hers. He tasted like… like… well, he tasted like all man and like sex, touching her tongue to his, feeling his tongue in her mouth, the only thought on her mind was having his mouth on her body, everywhere on her body. He barely had to try before he broke through her struggle and she was clinging to him and kissing him back like a wanton.

  His body was so warm and hard and…

  She shook her head to clear it. She would not, could not think of Douglas. She had to get a hold of herself. She could not live the next more than a decade panting after the Lord of the Manor. It was humiliating and she wouldn’t allow it to happen, not ever again.

  The scratching was fraying her nerves and when she could take it no more, she threw the covers back and stalked to Douglas’s study to get a whisky to soothe her tension and hopefully put herself to sleep. She’d get drunk if she had to, sleep on the sofa in the study to avoid the infernal, constant scratching. She threw her lilac, cashmere robe on over her pyjamas and headed out of her room.

  The draperies were open in the study and moonlight lit the room. The moon was so huge and bright, she didn’t bother with the lights, walked directly to the drinks cabinet and picked up the decanter she’d seen Douglas using. She was reaching for a glass when she heard a deep, baritone voice.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  She jumped, whirled and almost dropped the decanter.

  “Douglas!” Julia cried in surprise.

  He was sitting in the armchair that faced away from the door, towards the window. He was lounging with feet up on the table in front of him like he had no cares in the world. As if he didn’t have three children he was supposed to be looking after. As if he didn’t have a harridan of a mother who was making everyone’s life at Sommersgate a living hell and had been for years. As if none of this touched him.

  Something about this made her both angry and on edge.

  She could see the glint of a glass in his hand.

  “Julia,” he replied calmly in greeting.

  “You’re home,” she noted unnecessarily, feeling foolish.

  She should be shouting at him because he’d abandoned her to the fate worse than death that was Monique. But something made her stop.

  Something made her nervous.

  He didn’t reply, just looked up at her, his face partially in shadow, partially lit by the moonlight and the effect was decidedly ominous.

  “What are you doing, sitting in the dark?” she asked.

  “Thinking,” he answered shortly.

  She stood there mutely, holding the decanter and waiting for him to say more.

  He didn’t.

  She twisted, put the decanter down and turned back. In that time, he had silently risen from his chair and her faint feeling of dread intensified as ominous turned menacing.

  What was he up to now?

  She wanted to escape but curiosity got the better of her.

  And curiosity killed the cat, Patricia always used to say.

  “Thinking about what?” she asked.

  He walked forward a couple of steps, stopped a foot away and leaned into her.

  She inhaled sharply with alarm but he only reached around her, grabbed the decanter she had just set down and refreshed his drink.

  He leaned back in to replace it and she said belatedly, “Let me get out of your way.”

  “Thinking,” his deep voice rumbled, rooting her to the spot as he paused to take a sip from his glass, “about a woman who would give up everything to come and look after three children. Children who lived thousands of miles away from her and who, upon reflection, she barely knew. Why would someone do that?”

  “Do you mean me?” Julia asked stupidly.

  He didn’t answer.

  She slid away from him in order to put a healthy distance between them. He was frightening her with his tone and his question and with his overall mood.

  Douglas didn’t have moods. Douglas glided through life guarded by Teflon.

  “Why do you think I did it?” she inquired, trying to read him.

  “You tell me,” he responded.

  She’d escaped to stand in front of his desk, putting furniture between them. He had to turn and his face was again illuminated by the moonlight. It was blank, not naturally so, carefully so.

  “I did it because Tamsin and Gavin asked me,” Julia gave the obvious reply. Again, he said nothing and her nervousness made her go on. “It isn’t as if I barely knew the children. We spoke on the phone regularly. We spent holidays together, I’d come over for vacations. You know, you saw me every time I came out.” That was true, she realised in distracted surprise; he did. Regardless of how busy he was, every visit she made to England, (save for the ones during the time of his Disappearance) she saw Douglas.

  He leaned his hip against the drinks cabinet and continued to watch her, his face showing nothing.

  “Can we turn on a light?” she requested, her voice pitched a little high, her tone sounding damnably, and obviously, uneasy.

  “No.” Her anxiety escalated at his answer and he continued. “You’ve damaged your career, sold your home, left everything behind. It seems a noble sacrifice, extraordinarily so. One might say unbelievably so.”

  “Gavin would have done it for me,” she told him, her anxiety beginning to fade to anger as the intent behind his questions began to dawn on her.

  What exactly was he inferring? Did he think this was a walk in the park for her? Did he honestly think that she was thrilled to ruin her life, stall her career and live with his Attila the Hun of a mother in this beautifully scary but incredibly ostentatious house that was so far from a home it wasn’t funny?

  He didn’t respond, just kept watching her and she felt compelled to explain.

  “In fact, he did do it for me, in his way. We take care of each other, we always did,” she said with feeling.

  “Gavin gave up his life for you?” he asked, not attempting now to hide his disbelief. “When did this happen?”

  “With Sean. And he didn’t actually ‘give up his life’ but if he’d been caught…” Julia stopped, her voice still sounded nervous but it had a slightly belligerent edge.

  “Webster? How?” Douglas questioned, his tone still disbelieving.

  Julia shook her head. Could she trust him with this information? Obviously he was leading somewhere with this attack and she had the distinct impression she knew where he was leading. He’d obviously taken Monique’s accusations to heart and, with so very much time away to think about it, he decided that Julia had come for the same reason that Monique did. The kiss, she had to admit, undoubtedly helped.

  As angry as that ridiculous and arrogant assumption made her, she felt it necessary to explain if just to throw it in his face. Gavin was now gone and even if it changed Douglas’s opinion of her brother, so be it. She’d never spoken to Gavin about it, never told him she suspected but, with Gavin gone, what would it matter?

  “I told Gavin what Sean had… done to me,” she started tentatively.

  “The cheating,” Douglas interrupted and she was surprised he knew.

  But then again, everyone knew, even Julia.

  She shrugged lightly and said, “Yes, that…” she paused not willing to share more so she finished, “and other t
hings.”

  His eyes narrowed before he put his drink down and took two steps toward her.

  She took two steps back and her bottom hit the edge of his desk. She might be angry but she didn’t like talking about this and, furthermore, it was none of his concern. She was beginning to be furious he’d put her in a position of defending herself, just as furious as she was scared of him. He was frightening when he was brooding like this, immensely so.

  “What other things?” he asked when he’d stopped advancing.

  “Nothing, just… it seems silly now but at the time –”

  “Yes?” he prompted, obviously not willing to read into it and demanding she explain.

  “Sean could be very cruel,” Julia replied simply.

  Cruel was not the word for it. It was more than cruel the way Sean spoke to her. It was soul-destroying.

  “How so?” Douglas pushed.

  She sighed deeply, wondering how to explain it, wondering if a man like Douglas could even understand it.

  “He didn’t hit me or anything.” Her eyes skittered away. She hated to think about it and had learned, over the years, to set it aside. It wasn’t her, she told herself over and over again, it was Sean. He was destructive, belittling, domineering and hurtful. She didn’t make him that way; he’d been that way always. It still made her heart ache, even after all these years. “He would just… say things,” she finished.

  Silence.

  Then in a tone that was far quieter, dangerously quiet, Douglas pressed, “Say things?”

  “Yes, things. Stupid things. Hateful things. Just things meant to hurt me. They were just words and it was silly of me to give them power.”

  Again, he was silent and she felt it sounded foolish even to her own ears.

  “He was mean, a bully,” she explained, exasperated with herself at the memory of how she was so weak, and further angry at herself for letting those long ago memories tear at her insides now. “He just wanted me to feel small so he could be the big man. I shouldn’t have let it affect me but I loved him and wanted him to love me, so I did. Let it affect me, that is. It was… he meant to… it just…”