The Women of Heachley Hall

by Rachel Walkley

  ‘You must have feared Felicity’s death, what I might bring: new owner taking you back to the days of fleeting existence – the snapshots in time.’

  ‘I selfishly wanted her to stay here, probably part of the reason I fought Maggie’s idea of a nursing home. Nevertheless, Felicity, although increasingly infirm, had always been alert and aware of her surroundings. She witnessed my anxieties, what little I’d shown of them and she reassured me not to worry because she had in hand a solution.’ He ceased stroking my hand and paused.

  I digested the implication of his last statement.

  ‘She said that?’ I stared at Charles, my cheeks flushing with heat. ‘Why, she planned this.’ I sprung to my feet. ‘She left me this house, wrote that stupid stipulation into the will to trap me here knowing I would likely uncover the truth within that time period of a year and a day, just like she had and…’ I ceased pacing and spun to face him.

  Charles remained on the sofa. ‘Yes, she worked it out within a year,’ he murmured. ‘Unlike the previous tenants, you and she live here alone. It makes it harder for me to explain my presence.’

  ‘She wants me to free you. She couldn’t love you, for whatever reason, but she believed I could and that if I did, do. Oh my.’ I collapsed onto the sofa and sank into the sagging cushion. The constant flood of nervous energy over the last couple of hours was exhausting. ‘She left this house to me for your sake, not mine – she never considered money as the motivation, she saw it as a temptation, but not the goal.’

  ‘I’m truly in debt, aren’t I?’ He smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps for both our sakes. A premonition maybe. Whatever, she gambled that I, we, you know, would—’

  I didn’t want to hear him say it. I wasn’t ready to hear him admit to his feelings and for me to acknowledge them. I hunted for something else to say and interrupted his flow.

  ‘Do you think the world is filled with ghosts like you? Amongst us, breathing, talking, interacting?’ I bombarded.

  He blinked and shot a look of bemusement in my direction. ‘How can I tell, I’m a prisoner here.’ He surveyed the room. ‘So perhaps, there are others like me, walking about, looking alive, but only to those who can see them. Or maybe trapped and confined to small spaces.’

  When Bert and I had entered the claustrophobic cellar, I’d struggled with the darkness, the oppressive gloom, yet Charles had been down there countless times without warning. ‘That sounds horrible. That closet’s like a grave, too. That’s hell on earth.’

  ‘So it could be I’m in hell, except—’ he rested his hand on my knee and squeezed gently, ‘ – I’ve had the fortune to meet decent, kind people.’

  I tried to ignore the firm placement of his hand, but it triggered an odd tingling sensation in inappropriate places. Haste wasn’t necessary was it? He, and I, weren’t going anywhere in the near future. I cleared my dry throat and decided to keep to my tactic of ignoring what needed to be said.

  ‘Catholics believed in purgatory, an in-between place for the soul.’

  ‘That isn’t my religion and I’m more than a displaced soul; I have living flesh and I feel emotions, sense the passage of time. I’m here, am I not?’ He spoke softly.

  Another reminder he was not the ghost I’d imagined haunting Heachley Hall. No malicious spirit had pushed Felicity downstairs or sought to harm either of us. Secretly, and without my knowledge, Charles had protected me, and Felicity had paved the way for him to do it.

  I swallowed; my mouth felt paper dry. ‘So maybe there are others. I always thought the undead were zombies.’

  ‘Zombies?’ He smirked. ‘I don’t recall that word in any book I’ve read.’

  ‘Flesh eating monsters who prey on the living. Stuff of horror films.’

  ‘Ah. Films. I gather they like to scare for fun? Why I can’t imagine. So, I could be unique, then. The one ghost who lives and breathes, and never dies. The immortal man held captive by what? What truly traps me here?’ He rose and walked over to the window, keeping his back to me.

  ‘A curse?’ I scoffed, still struggling to understand what bound Charles to the confines of the house. My constraints were easier to break. ‘We’re both held hostage to the demands of another. Except, if I choose, I can walk away from this place and wash my hands of it: sell and forgo the inheritance. You can’t leave.’

  Charles continued to view the freshly mowed grass, avoiding eye contact with me. ‘I can leave. It’s possible. But. I don’t want to ask for your help. It seems ungracious.’

  ‘Ask me what?’ My stomach twisted into knots, because I knew exactly what he was alluding to and ungracious wasn’t a word that sprung to mind. The awkwardness on both our parts was almost unbearable. Such a polite discourse, and on any other occasion it might have been humorous listening to us dance around the issue. I wasn’t seeking a romantic cliché to justify what he needed from me, but he had to say something.

  ‘To free me.’ He turned to face me.

  At last, a declaration, an acknowledgement of what I felt.

  I glanced away from his searching gaze that called out for me to express what I’d nurtured for weeks, but left unsaid. A low sigh, quite unintentional, slipped out of my mouth before I spoke.

  ‘She gambled we would fall in love, that is what you want to say. So you can die properly and be gone forever. Is that what you want?’ I fought to hold back the tears.

  For a second he closed his eyes, and I thought, maybe, that his lips trembled, then I realised that was my overactive imagination, my illusion. Nothing. Except his sad eyes, which once I’d considered translucent and empty, now I saw poured out his soul.

  ‘What I want is to be with you and if I can’t have that.’ Another pause, another moment when he seemed on the brink of displaying his raw emotions. ‘I’d rather not exist on any plane: physical or spiritual.’

  I walked the few steps to stand in front of him and I placed my palms on his chest, knowing the heart beneath my fingertips still beat and always at the same unhurried pace. ‘You said that because of the curse you would fear to love again.’

  ‘I feared to have my love returned in kind,’ he confirmed.

  ‘It’s too late. It’s already happened.’ I reached out and stroked my hand down his cool cheek. He didn’t flinch, but briefly, he closed his eyes, allowing his long lashes to dip lower.

  Covering my hand with his, he held my palm against his face. There was no hiding the warmth of my skin compared to his. ‘You will leave here in a few months and I will remained trapped, with Liz possibly,’ he said softly.

  ‘Both of us heartbroken. In that case, what have we to lose by showing our love? I can release you, Charles.’

  ‘You wouldn’t see me ever again nor know what we could have been together. I mean if you wanted, you could stay, could you not, and live here, just as we’ve been doing'?’ he suggested.

  Like Felicity? I wasn’t my great-aunt.

  ‘I can’t afford to pay the bills. The house would crumble about us: the wiring, plumbing,’ I fretted, unfairly, because there was no need for me to live under the roof every day of the year. I would be free to choose when I came and went, but for how long?

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that of you. You’re right, you should leave. Sell the house and live a full life. You’ll meet a fine gentleman and marry.’

  The tears swelled around the rim of my eyes. ‘I’ve met a fine gentleman, haven’t I? What the fuck are we to do?’

  He chuckled. ‘Such coarse language from so pretty a girl. Well, if you wish to be uncouth, we could f – ‘

  I shook my head. ‘No, I know what you’re saying. Do it without passion and make a mockery of our feelings. No, I won’t. Consummation is to share something special – our love.’

  The smile slipped off his face. ‘Then, if we truly make love, I shall cease to be Charles.’

  The tears trickled down my cheeks. ‘And you will be free and I will be too. Free to move on and leave this place knowing you are resting in
your grave and at peace.’ A teardrop hung from my chin and he wiped it away with his thumb.

  ‘Would you mourn me?’ he asked, drawing me closer. His breath was surprisingly warm.

  ‘Naturally, but don’t pity me. Let’s beat this curse, end it. One night with you is worth it. I’ll cherish it.’

  How much I wished we could find another solution, one that kept us both together. After Charles had been dispatched to his permanent rest, I would mope, commiserate myself in solitude, unable to mourn in public or explain my sadness. I would imagine those missed opportunities to grow together, the children we might have had. Love wasn’t a transient emotion to be tossed aside and I realised, there in his arms, being in love was life changing and impossible to ignore. What of a broken heart? I didn’t want to experience it.

  I blinked, struggling with my blurred vision. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ I faltered.

  He sighed. ‘It is as I feared; I will leave you heartbroken.’

  ‘But full of memories, which I’ll cling on to and never forget,’ I said fervently while wishing for something different.

  For a while, we contemplated the impasse in silence. Such a dilemma we’d created for ourselves to solve. Great-aunt Felicity had conjured up this situation by tempting me into staying at Heachley. To ensure I discovered the truth about Charles, she’d dictated a timescale. Six months would have been too short, whereas even with her lack of foresight about the current state of the property, any longer than a year and I might not have taken up the proposition.

  What had she envisaged would happen next given her understanding of Charles’s captivity? If love had been the outcome, she would also understand how hard it would be to break that curse. What if I’d been indifferent to Charles’s attentions and hadn’t found him attractive or intriguing? If in those circumstances I’d learnt the truth of his situation would I choose to stay and give him an existence without interference from the world outside, as Felicity had done? She’d successfully borne the secret to her grave and then given me the opportunity to continue to help Charles. Could I be that selfless? The worse scenario would have been my failure to notice the unusual ghost in my house. Any lack of curiosity about the Chindi box might have left him undiscovered and struggling to cope.

  I gently smirked: his clothes wouldn’t have survived another winter. ‘Charles.’ I lifted my head from his shoulder and gazed straight into his pale eyes. ‘What became of the money I gave you?’

  He looked embarrassed, if that was possible for a supernatural man. ‘It’s under my bed.’

  ‘Felicity never paid you with money, did she?’

  ‘No,’ he grinned. ‘She gave me books, the radios, the wind up one especially is a blessing. Plus clothes and other necessities. I will return the money to you, it is of no use to me.’

  I plucked a loose thread on his jumper. ‘It would be if I used it to buy you clothes and a new pair of shoes.’

  ‘Tomorrow—’

  I pressed my finger to his lips, rose onto my tiptoes and supplanted the digit with my mouth. Our first kiss awoke more than I possibly imagined. I’d kissed other lips, felt the warmth of moist flesh and the flick of a tongue, but Charles had a delicate manner, quite unlike the hard pressure of other men’s smothering mouths and I treasured its uniqueness.

  ‘Miriam,’ he murmured, breaking free. ‘There will be no tomorrow for me if we do this.’

  We could wait until nearer my final days at Heachley. Force him to linger in a tortured state fearing I might change my mind, but in doing so he’d be unable to demonstrate his love until the very end of my time here. My reason for keeping him at my side was unfair, because frankly, the house didn’t need much else doing to it that would make a huge amount of difference to its price – only the garden required any effort to achieve a grandiose impression. But that would be the wrong reason to keep him at my side.

  I gathered up both of Charles’s hands and drew him away from the window and the light. ‘I can’t let you stay as you are. I couldn’t bear to look at you, knowing I have the power to send you to your rest. There’s always the chance that misfortune could strike one day and I might not be here to buy your clothes. I would rather have one night with you, cherish it, than have you exist in despair, uncertain of the future. I won’t be broken hearted because I will have saved you. It’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  He bowed his head. ‘Yes, I wish to be free of this affliction, and if we delay this, I worry that your emotional attachment to me would grow and blossom. If you became dependent on me, my loss would be harder to bear. It would be too great a sacrifice. Nobody should be forced to grieve for their loved one. I know that now.’

  The decision was sudden, or so it seemed, and that was necessary. Talk might persuade us to reconsider and neither of us could probably stand the agony of debating the right or wrong of it.

  I led him out of the sitting room and up the stairs he had diligently renovated. With our backs to the nightmarish closet, we climbed higher into the attic and the bedroom. I closed the door behind us.

  Whether he’d been in the room before or not seemed irrelevant. He paid no attention to the sprawl of discarded clothes or the unmade bed. I swallowed hard, aware of every nuance, every little signal of intent: was I eyeing his face too much, or too little; had I just licked my lips again; when had I last brushed my teeth? Charles stood rock still, not quite the startled rabbit in headlights, but he wasn’t relaxed.

  ‘Forget about the curse, Charles. Can you for me? Just pretend we are two ordinary people, in love.’

  He broke into a broad smile and it melted all the doubt in my mind that I was doing the wrong thing: love isn’t always about a lifetime, a commitment forever, because it is also just this – one moment in time to remember and enjoy.

  Neither of us hurried in our preparations. I plucked at buttons and the clasp of my bra with quivering fingers. Issues over body image lost their relevance: Charles had vivid scars – my blemishes hardly matched up in comparison. I skirted around the outline of his body, tracking the contours of his ribs and waist, allowing myself a brief glance at his masculine feature, and I found it to be worthy and strangely reassuring. A ghost some might say, but not one that had lost his sexuality or attractiveness. Or realness, because I reminded myself, he wasn’t a ghost.

  I recalled his brief affair with Vanessa and how he’d modestly referred to his abilities. Neither of us were virgins, however, I guessed we weren’t the kind of lovers who’d come to bed with vast experience. It helped, knowing we might fumble at it, and I suppressed a nervous guffaw. Charles frowned and cocked his head towards me. My cheeks must have flushed.

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing, just…I’m happy to be here.’

  ‘Me, too,’ he said and smiled.

  I wriggled out my underwear, and immediately had to quash the temptation to mask his view. The subtle smile remained as he surveyed me. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘Up to now, I daren’t imagine this. Nights of listening to the owls, closing my eyes and wishing.’

  How many nights? The awkwardness tied my tongue; it impeded him too. Instead of offering romantic overtures, I rearranged the bedding and created a welcoming nest.

  We slipped under the cool sheets of the bed and I lay on my back with my hands tucked at my sides. Charles propped himself on an elbow and stroked my butterfly riddled belly. I shivered – a gentle tremble across my skin. I recognised the delightful sensation and it was desired; I understood it as a preamble to more intense ones.

  ‘I think we should close our eyes,’ he suggested, leaning over me. ‘And savour these precious moments and make them last.’

  I looked up at him, past his hollow eyes and mentally traced the gentle curls of his hair, the v-shape of his collarbone, the swirls of red and white scars which patterned his torso. I wanted to draw him again, keep all his attributes alive on paper so that I might remember him long past that day. The need in me triggered an emotional leap forward. ‘I love you, Mr
Charles Donaldson of Heachley Woods.’ There, I’d said it. Made it real.

  ‘Miss Miriam Marsters, Mistress of Heachley Hall,’ he kissed my forehead, ‘I love you, too.’

  Naming him reminded me of the other man. ‘Will you be Christopher again, when I wake?’

  ‘I suppose,’ he paused in his caresses. ‘I don’t know if I have a grave. You could lay flowers on it. If not, plant something in the garden.’ He stumbled over his words, but the suggestion was good. I would lay flowers somewhere or perhaps plant a rose bush. He’d also reminded me of another grave; he should know of it.

  ‘Nuri Sully. Beatrice,’ I said. He tensed slightly and I cupped my hands about his face to reassure him. ‘She lies there in the churchyard. Your father paid for a headstone.’

  ‘He did?’ Charles’s eyes widened. ‘Then, please, lay some flowers on her grave, too. Tell her, I am sorry, that I—’

  I nodded. ‘I understand.’

  He wriggled down under the covers. ‘No more sadness. We are about to experience joy, aren’t we?’

  I giggled – a childish display of nervousness. ‘Oh, I do hope so.’

  Swiftly and with purpose, he drew me into a tight embrace, pressing himself against my body. So passionate, so ardent in nature. My heart pounded, bursting to be heard. Our breaths melded into one. I closed my eyes and curtailed my sight. Now we would rely on other senses to conclude what Felicity had envisioned years earlier.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I stirred from a deep slumber, pushed the duvet away from my nose and reached across the bed. There was a dint in the mattress where he’d lain, but the space had been vacated. Charles was gone.

  I curled into a ball and stifled a cry, reminding myself I would not show grief at his belated death, but tears threatened to break me. I had to nip this melancholy in the bud. Charles was free. I’d released him from his curse, his fragile existence and somewhere his soul rested – hopefully in peace.