Ghostly Vows

by K E O'Connor

  “What the...” Tilly turned toward the now animated suit of armor as the ghost struggled to get everything to work at the same time.

  One of the legs kicked wildly as a metal hand wriggled around.

  I hurried to Tilly’s side. “Maybe I will have that drink now. Why don’t we get out of here and see what’s on offer?”

  Tilly scrubbed her hand across her eyes and took a step toward the armor. “Are you seeing this?”

  “It’s nothing. How about that drink?”

  “It’s something.” The sword slipped from Tilly’s hand. “That armor is moving on its own.”

  “It can’t be. It must be the wind.”

  “It looks like the armor’s alive.” Tilly’s laugh came out shaky. “Maybe Charlotte was right, and the suits of armor do come alive and chase people.”

  “That’s not possible.” I couldn’t see the ghost anymore. He was completely inside the armor, shaking it around as he tried to get everything to work.

  Tilly looked around the great hall and shivered. “This place is supposed to be haunted. It’s not really a surprise, given how old it is. I’ve never seen a ghost before, though. Do you think that’s what this could be? We’re being haunted by an evil spirit?”

  “I don’t think it’s evil.” I stared at the ghost as he finally floated out of the armor and approached Tilly with a menacing look in his eye. “More like annoying and misguided.”

  He looked at me and raised his eyebrows before jabbing his finger at Tilly.

  Tilly groaned and grabbed her stomach. “I’m not feeling so good.” She ran to the cabinet where an expensive silver bowl sat and threw up in it.

  I grimaced. That would lower the value of that particular antique. I gestured for the ghost to back off as I hurried to Tilly’s side. “Are you feeling better?”

  Tilly waved me away with one hand, her head still over the silver bowl. “Maybe I’m getting sick. Was I just hallucinating?”

  “Yes. That must be it. Maybe you’re getting a bug.”

  Tilly groaned. “I hope not. I hate being ill.”

  “Stay where you are. I’ll get you a coffee.” I ran to the kitchen, swiftly made a mug of instant coffee, and raced back.

  By the time I got back to the great hall, Tilly was sitting on the floor, the silver bowl by her side. She looked unhealthily pale, and her eyes were fixed on the armor that hung limply in the corner.

  The ghost hovered next to her, now looking more concerned than angry.

  “Drink this,” I said.

  Tilly took the mug without a word and had a sip. “No sugar.” She passed it back to me.

  I set the mug down next to her and knelt by her side. “Have the hallucinations stopped?”

  “I think so.” She sounded sober and unhappy. “I was so sure that armor moved.”

  “Maybe it did. Do you really believe in ghosts?”

  “I’m not certain. Maybe. I sometimes get a sense someone is watching me, but when I turn around, no one is there.”

  “Does that happen a lot when you stay at the castle?”

  “No. It’s a new thing.”

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “Ever since I moved back in.”

  I nodded, not surprised to hear that. It was right after Johnny’s death. He might have been trying to make contact with people when he first died as he tried to figure out what happened to him.

  “There are also loads of cold spots in the castle. Charlotte said that’s one way you can sense ghosts. They make everything cold.”

  “If you believe in them,” I said.

  “If they are real, I don’t think they do us any harm. What do you think?”

  “I agree. If ghosts do come back, they’re returning because they have unfinished business. They can’t move on to wherever it is they go until they’ve resolved their problems here.”

  Tilly nodded. “That makes sense. It must be the same as when you’re alive. If you have a problem and you need to fix it, you can’t stop thinking about it. You have to deal with it, or it plays on your mind.”

  “What about Johnny? You don’t think he would come back as a ghost and haunt the castle?”

  Tilly’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that?”

  “Like you said, he could have something on his mind. Maybe he feels he’s leaving something behind. Or he’s got a problem and needs to solve it before he can move on to wherever it is ghosts go.”

  “I’d never thought about that.” Tilly picked up the mug, took another sip, and grimaced.

  “You don’t get a sense he’s still around?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. And Johnny was too nice a person to haunt the family.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t see it as haunting. He might be missing someone he’s left behind, somebody he cared about when he was alive.”

  Tilly rested her head back on the wall. “You’ll have to ask my sister about that.”

  I wasn’t expecting that response. “Countess Ponsonby? She was fond of Johnny?”

  Tilly shook her head. “I’ve said too much.”

  “Wait. Do you mean they were close? What about Ralph?”

  “Forget I said anything. It’s the drink talking. I should never have cocktails in the afternoon.” Tilly placed the mug down. “I’d better go. But don’t forget we have a sword fight to arrange at some point.”

  I shook my head as Tilly stood and stumbled out of the hall. Could she be telling the truth? Could Johnny and the Countess have been having an affair?

  Chapter 8

  “I tried to get Tilly to tell me more, but she wouldn’t stay.” I sat at the kitchen table while Helen made our dinner. I’d just updated her about my interesting conversation with the drunken Tilly that afternoon.

  “Johnny and the Countess.” Helen placed freshly made bread and a salad in the center of the kitchen table and then returned to the stove. “Who’d have thought it? Isn’t she older than he is?”

  “Only by five years or so.”

  “The Countess is well-preserved. She has barely any wrinkles. I hope I age as well as she has.”

  “I sort of understand if she turned to another man for comfort. Her husband is very sick. She must get lonely in this big castle.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to cheat.”

  “I agree. Maybe she made a mistake. It could have been a one-time thing, which she regrets.”

  Helen’s nose wrinkled as she walked over with two dinner plates. “We’re having homemade pasta with a tomato and basil sauce.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “It will be.” Helen sat down. “So, what do you think happened? Johnny called off the affair, and the Countess shoved him off the turret in a jealous rage?”

  “Or it could be the other way around. She called off the affair, and they argued. They tussled, and Johnny lost his balance. This could still be an accident. Johnny might not be ready to forgive her yet, which is why he’s haunting the castle.”

  “Or he jumped because his heart was broken, and he couldn’t face life without his Countess by his side.”

  We ate in silence for a moment.

  I mulled over the possibilities. “Johnny sounded like he was a happy guy. I don’t think suicide is likely.”

  “When you’re desperate, heart broken, or feel trapped, maybe that’s the only option.”

  “Sticking with the suicide idea for a second, Countess Ponsonby might have nothing to do with Johnny’s death. It could be somebody found out about their affair and was threatening to blackmail them. Johnny decided to do the noble thing and end it all to save Charlotte’s embarrassment.”

  “Who would blackmail them?”

  “A jealous sister? Or a girlfriend who knew something dodgy was going on?”

  “Or Will. He can’t earn much money looking after the horses.”

  “I don’t think he does it for the money,” I said, taking a slice of bread and dunking it into the sauce. “He loves his work.”


  “Don’t have too much bread,” said Helen. “I’ve got cakes in the oven.”

  “I thought I smelt something yummy. What are you making?”

  “I’m trying a few new recipes for my wedding cake.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You’ve ordered one from Buns of Steel. We must have sampled fifty different kinds of cake before you made up your mind.”

  “Their cakes were all nice. I can do better.”

  “You can’t make your own wedding cake. You’ve got enough to worry about. You don’t need to stress over missing ingredients, or if the sponge is fluffy enough, or if the fruitcake is cooked all the way through. Let someone else do that.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to make it. But if I come up with something I love, I can give the recipe to Buns of Steel bakery and have them do it. You see, no added stress.” She popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

  “How long have you been baking cakes today?”

  “This is my third batch,” said Helen. “Don’t worry. None of them went to waste. I gave a cake to Parsons. Will got a cake, as well. And I’m only making small ones, so it’s no bother.”

  “How many are in the oven?”

  “Three.”

  I tipped my head back. “We should have skipped the pasta and just had cake.”

  “Eating cake for dinner is not going to do my bride-to-be waistline any good. I have to be sure I’ll fit into my wedding dress.”

  “So, you serve up pasta and bread. Aren’t carbs supposed to make you fat?”

  “They don’t seem to do you any harm. Finish your meal, and I’ll get the cakes out of the oven.” Helen jumped up. She was closely followed by Flipper, who looked like he loved the idea of cake for dinner too.

  Helen sorted out the cakes while I ate the rest of my pasta. “What flavors have we got?”

  “A traditional fruitcake. A rosewater and lemon sponge. And I’m trying something a bit different for the final one. I baked a meringue inside a sponge cake.”

  “Will that work?”

  “It will. Don’t question my cooking abilities.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. I’m sure it will be lovely.”

  “Grab that pile of magazines on the chair beside you,” said Helen, her back to me as she extracted the cakes from their tins.

  “What am I looking at?” I picked up the top magazine. I wasn’t surprised to see it was a bridal magazine.

  “I was thinking about older women and younger men. It’s all the rage. One of those magazines is dedicated to older brides marrying younger men.”

  I flicked through the magazines and found the edition she was talking about. “Are you thinking of trading in Gunner for a younger model?”

  “I’m not into dating teenage boys.”

  I grinned at her back. “I wasn’t thinking of a teenage boy. Maybe a guy in his early twenties. You do have a lot of energy. Gunner is always saying you wear him out.”

  “I couldn’t cope with dating a younger guy. I’m always telling Gunner off because he’s so immature, and he’s two years older than me. Can you imagine what it would be like handling someone who still lived with his parents and didn’t know how to work the washing machine, pay a bill, or buy the food shopping for a week? Not that I’d ever let him do that.”

  “Guys in their twenties don’t all live at home.”

  “Most of them do. Anyway, since it’s fashionable to have a younger boyfriend, maybe that’s why the Countess was tempted by Johnny.”

  “Will did say he was charming. Maybe he took a liking to the Countess and she couldn’t resist him.”

  “Even though I would never stray from Gunner, I would be flattered if a handsome, charming younger guy made a move on me. It shows you’ve still got it.” Helen wiggled her hips from side to side.

  “You’ve definitely still got it. Anyone with your baking skills will always have men hovering around, hoping to get a piece of your pie. You’ve always said the way to a guy’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “It worked with Gunner. After a few of my triple chocolate brownies, he was putty in my hands.”

  I kept my mouth shut. The start of their relationship had not been that easy. They’d spent months ducking around their feelings as they tried to deny they were into each other. Still, probably best not to mention that just before they got married.

  “Here we go.” Helen walked over with the cakes. “Let’s start with the fruitcake.”

  I placed the magazine down and sampled the still warm fruitcake. “Amazing.”

  “You don’t think there’s too much alcohol in it?”

  I hadn’t even noticed the alcohol. “It tastes perfect to me.”

  “Okay. Try the rosewater and lemon sponge cake next. This is much lighter on the palate.”

  “Again, an amazing cake. You can really taste the lemon.”

  Flipper nudged me with his nose. He wanted to try the sponge as well and see if he agreed.

  “It’s not too sharp? I don’t want the citrus to drown out the delicate rose notes in the sponge.”

  “Nope. It’s perfect.”

  Helen frowned. “Honestly, you’d eat anything.”

  “No I wouldn’t. I’m not a fan of tripe.”

  “Who is? Fine. This next one is my very own recipe. I had three attempts at this before it came out the way I needed it to.” Helen sliced into the next sponge. A long strand of gooey meringue emerged. She twirled it expertly on top of my piece of cake and set it in front of me.

  I lifted the plate. “It’s almost too beautiful to eat.”

  “Try it.” Helen grinned at me. “This might be the one.”

  I scooped up the cake and tried a bite. “Oh, wow! That is good.” The meringue was soft and chewy, and the sponge added to the delicate sweet flavors, creating a dance of delightful, sugary heaven across my tongue. “I could happily face plant into that sponge and eat the whole thing.”

  “I’ll get onto Buns of Steel and change my order. They’ll have to practise to get it right. I’ll need samples to make sure they know what they’re doing.”

  “You’re having four different types of cake as it is,” I said, “sponge, fruit, caramel, and red velvet. Isn’t that enough? Which one are you going to get rid of?”

  Helen’s smile faded. “I hadn’t thought of that. I love them all.”

  “Stick with what you’ve already ordered. Everyone will be happy with that, including you.”

  “They’ll miss out on my new creation if I don’t include it.”

  “We’ll have this at your one-year anniversary party.”

  “I’ve got the solution,” said Helen. “We’ll add another layer to the wedding cake.”

  “That’s way too much cake. You’ll be eating it for weeks.”

  “I won’t object to that.”

  I shrugged as I ate more cake. “It’s your wedding. If you want another layer on your cake, then go for it.”

  “I’ll ring the bakery now. Keep eating. I’ll be right back.” Helen hurried out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with a mountain of cake and a persistent dog who wanted in on the action.

  I cut off a small piece of sponge and fed it to Flipper. “Helen is no good to me at the moment. How am I going to figure out who killed Johnny without her? Or even if anyone did kill him? Maybe he did just jump.”

  Flipper gobbled down the cake and looked at me hopefully, not giving me any useful feedback as to what to do about Johnny.

  “One more small piece. I don’t want you getting sick on me.”

  He tilted his head as if to say that wouldn’t be possible.

  “I don’t want you losing your trim figure for Helen’s big day. Nobody likes a podgy dog waddling down the aisle.”

  Flipper’s muzzle lowered.

  I laughed and fed him more cake. “I know. You can run it off.” I patted my stomach. “I need to do the same, as well.”

  But before I did, I decided to sample just a bit more cake. Maybe when I
had enough sugar flowing through my veins, I’d come up with some inspiration as to exactly what happened to our ghost.

  Chapter 9

  I only realized I’d eaten too much cake when I was on my fifth slice.

  I hiccupped loudly and got a head rush from too much sugar.

  Flipper tilted his head and looked at me.

  “You’re right. I’ve overdone it this time.” I dropped my fork and pushed my plate away.

  His gaze went to the remaining cake.

  “No more for you, either. Let’s get some air and walk off this dessert.” I stood, walked to the back door of the kitchen, and stepped outside into the pleasantly warm evening air.

  Flipper happily joined me, always ready for an extra walk.

  We’d completed two circuits of the lawn when an ambulance drove along the driveway and stopped outside the castle. From its leisurely speed, I guessed no one was having an emergency inside.

  Two men dressed in green uniforms climbed out and walked into the castle. They seemed to know their way around. Perhaps they’d been here before.

  A few moments later, they emerged, one of them pushing Ralph in his wheelchair.

  I hurried over. “Is everything okay?”

  Ralph raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Nothing to concern yourself with. I’m off to physiotherapy. I’m forced to do it every week.”

  The men in the green uniforms exchanged an amused smile behind his back.

  “It’s late to be going for treatment,” I said.

  “I have to stay overnight,” said Ralph. “They pull me about and then monitor me, like a rat in a lab.”

  “Does it help with your condition?”

  “It’s supposed to. Sometimes, I come back feeling worse than I did when I left.”

  “It’s very good for your condition,” said one of the men. He extended a hand to me. “I’m Alfie, and this is Rick. We’ve been coming here every week for the last two years.”

  “Even when I ask them not to,” muttered Ralph.

  “You know we ignore everything you say,” said Alfie good-naturedly. “The physio helps to keep his muscles strong.”

  “My muscles are fine.”

  “You know what the doctor said. If you don’t use them, you lose them. Sitting watching documentaries all day won’t get you that six pack all the ladies love,” said Alfie.