Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  If he learned about her guardian or of the villager’s hatred of her…

  “I was picking herbs,”

  …he would think on her as they did, an odd curiosity, a wicked woman whose reputation was judged by the likes of a man thought to be a charlatan.

  “The…the weather turned stormy.” Her heart pounded, roared in her ears. “Lost. I got lost. I know ‘twas foolish of me to have gone out. I felt poorly that morn. That was why I was gathering my herbs, to make a tea for my… “

  Struggling for control, her gaze dropped, then quickly rose.

  “…Head, she quickly added as her mind tried to come up with an explanation.

  Where would she go if he learned she had fled the village?

  He rubbed his chin, studying her speculatively.

  She glanced down at her lap, then quickly met his gaze.

  She was a poor liar. Her deception probably showed on her face.

  “May I ask if you by chance know the whereabouts of my mother's diary? I seemed to have misplaced it.”

  He blinked with surprise, astonished by the quick change in conversation.

  “Nay, my lady, I regret to say, I have not. I left the book by your bedside.”

  “Oh. Then perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me of the whereabouts of Mistress Rebecca.”

  His stolid expression suddenly turned dark with an anger that sliced the breath from her lungs.

  The veins in his neck stood out in livid ridges. His jaw tight, noticeable thin creases deepened around his taut mouth.

  “I would very much like to thank her-.”

  “How have you come by her name?” His voice was surprisingly calm despite the anger she saw flashing in his eyes.

  He arose from his chair.

  “I--” What could she say, without divulging her earlier vision? Nothing.

  His light blue eyes congested with cold exasperation. “Is the gossip in this house so rampant that in one day’s time you already know its secrets?” His voice raised an octave.

  She flinched.

  “The lady of the house is no longer with us.” His expression was one of pained tolerance. “Her personals have been long gone from this house.” His voice stern, no vestige of sympathy found its way through the harshness.

  “And when I find the servant responsible for speaking her name, they shall no longer be of my employ.”

  Though her knees shook as she stood, Elizabeth faced him squarely, determined not to let him intimidate her. “Well, then your Lordship, may I send word to her?”

  “I'm afraid ‘twould be most difficult.”

  “Then I would but ask--”

  “Mistress Rebecca is dead.” His words were as flat as the look on his face.

  ***

  Restless, Elizabeth paced back and forth, wearing an invisible groove in the floorboards of her chambers.

  Rebecca is dead.

  Elizabeth stopped mid-step, her thoughts whirling.

  And I am the guest of a man I know nothing about. The thought both frightened and intrigued her.

  She brought her hand to her face, remembering the touch of his finger upon her cheek. His actions had sent her heart into a panic as quickly as his questions had.

  She bit her lip till it throbbed with the same intensity as her racing pulse.

  That he had pried no more into her past, had eased her mind to some extent, but the lingering touch of his person had stayed in her thoughts all day.

  Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she crossed the room, grasped the cool brass handle beneath her fingertips, pushed the door open and peered down the long hallway.

  How had Rebecca died? When? Why had his Lordship reacted so heatedly at the mere mention of her name?

  Last eve, Tyler, upon inquiring about the exact location of her home, hadn’t said much when she had asked about the mistress of the manor. She could still hear those cool, aloof words. “With all due respect, her person is not a subject I’d care to discuss.” That had concluded the conversation.

  Why all the mystery?

  Elizabeth made her way toward the stairway. She hesitated on the landing, debating whether ‘twas wise to leave her chambers.

  Curiosity pushed her forward. A curiosity, she swore would someday be her demise.

  Her fingers glide over the smooth, polished banister and she wondered if Rebecca had done the same.

  Elizabeth’s gaze lifted to the gilded life size portrait of Lord Ablington that hung beside an outline, on the wall, where a large picture once hung.

  She didn’t know why she felt a twinge of resentment prick her, or why a strong sense of loss flashed through her. Lord knows she had no designs on him.

  Momentarily abashed, she took a step back and stared.

  Whose picture had hung beside that of his lordship? Rebecca’s? Why remove it? Was it the custom of this home to remove all images of the dead?

  A chill seemed to cling to the earth-toned tapestries draped on the walls.

  She glanced around and began to notice other barren spots marked by the ghostly imprint of a missing portrait.

  The hall felt devoid of life.

  “Ah, there ye be.”

  Elizabeth’s heart jumped at the young girl’s words.

  “I wondered where ye’d gone off to.”

  Elizabeth pivoted around.

  Pie-faced, with an elfish nose, the thin woman stared at her with nervous eyes that seemed to dart around as though she waited for disaster to strike her.

  “I was restless.”

  “And no wonder with all that horrid noise. Ye could bounce a mouse off the bumpies on me arms.”

  Elizabeth stepped off the stair. “Yes, that noise--”

  “That one’s evil, he is.” The hissing sound of her tone lingered in the air

  “Who?”

  The servant glanced around then leaned toward her, hesitant. “The little devil he-”

  “Tessie, stop ye dawdlin’ and get about ye chores.”

  Mary hurried down the hall toward her.

  Tessie turned white.

  Mary tugged her apron, straightening out the creased fabric. “‘Tis about time ye were up and abou-good Lord!”

  Mozart sprang out from under a table.

  “Shoo. Go away.” She waved furiously toward the cat.

  “He won’t hurt you.”

  Mary made the sign of the cross before her. “Ye may think not, but that cat don’t have a liken fer me, nor anyone else fer that matter. He’s been hissin’ like the devil’s own all morn.”

  Elizabeth bent down, straightened then held Mozart out before her. “See. He quite gentle. Perhaps if--”

  “Mercy me. Mary backed away. “You be a leavin’ that little beast where he is, thank ye very kindly. I’ve no use fer him.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and brought the animal close to her chest. “His Lordship, is he home? I thought I heard footsteps on the floor above me this morning.”

  “Nay. The Master and Tyler have gone to town. I expect them back later this eve. More than likely ‘twas the staff ye heard movin’ about.”

  “Actually the sound was more like a stampede of --”

  “Perhaps ‘twas yer beast of an animal runin’ about the house, scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of everyone.”

  Mary shot her a look of disgust. “And you never mind the happenin’ upstairs. Nothin’ up there but the servants. No place for a lady like yerself.”

  Though Mary hadn’t demanded she stay away, Elizabeth got the feeling that hidden behind a concern over social status and reputation lay a threat, to stay away, or face a fortuitous consequence.

  Chapter Five

  Philip, puffed on a cheroot, and watched a group of chattering laughing children, roll an off-balanced ball down the dusty street, as they played balling the jack, a favorite past time amongst the youngsters.

  A mother called to her child.

  From his vantage point, in front of the printing office, he could see the little barefo
ot boy dodge past a horse-drawn carriage, run up and across the wooden plank walkway to his parent’s outstretched arms.

  Philip flicked his tobacco to the dirt, ground his smoke into the earth and turned away.

  Just another typical afternoon in a child’s day, he thought bitterly. So different from the family life he would ever have.

  He turned to his steward who sat in the nearby wagon. “I see your mission of mercy was successful.”

  In the back of the cart a large crate, of musical glasses, lay nestled amidst sacks of flour, tea and various bags of spices.

  “Yes Sir, ‘twas. I am glad you had a change of heart.”

  Philip untied his stallion from the hitching post and adjusted the harness. “Well, it seemed important the mistress get her instrument.”

  And he understood why. His own mother had died when he was very young. His father, dealing with his grief in the only way he knew how, rid the house of all her belongings. Many a time in his youth he’d wished some token to remember her by.

  He took a deep breath of warm summer air and his thoughts settled back on Elizabeth.

  His spirit lifted.

  Perhaps his gesture would bring a smile to her lips

  “But Sir, no one was about. I left the money and a note where the landlord would see it.”

  Philip gave a polite nod to an elderly couple strolling by.

  “Leaving him the shillings you gave me, though for a worthy cause, still leaves a bitter taste upon my tongue.” Tyler’s gentle, contemplative eyes darkened as he held his gaze. “Why that man is as cold as a paddock, a worthless mongrel undeserving of scrapes, let-alone a bag of coin.”

  Philip placed his foot into the stirrup. The stallion, waiting patiently beside him, snorted, then shook his head. “My design was only to keep you from jail,” he hoisted himself to his horse’s back, “lest I be without your jovial presence by my side each morn.” He grinned, then tugged on the reins, moving his mount forward.

  Tyler grunted, slapped the harness against the horses’ backs and followed Philip’s lead out of town.

  They traveled the deep-shaded dirt road past fields of tobacco. A scarecrow kept watch over a cornfield, and the large fan-like wheels of a post mill cut circles into a blue azure sky.

  “And what news do you bring of Mr. Skent?” Philip drew his gaze from a group of black slaves tending to a vegetable garden. “I warrant my money shall do well enough to buy the information I seek on Rebecca’s lover?” Just thinking about the man sent a stab of anger to his gut.

  He swatted a fly as it buzzed past his face.

  If ‘twere the last thing he did, he’d find the bastard who disgraced his home.

  “Sir, you should be wary of Mr. Skent. He is an underhanded rogue. Though if one has secrets needing seeking, he is the man to go to.”

  A tight knot formed in Philip’s chest. “I shall deal with, and do, whatever it takes to finish this once and for all.”

  Nothing could be said betwixt Rebecca and he, but he’d be damned if he didn’t take his anger out on her lover.

  “Alas, Sir,” Tyler shrugged, “Skent was also not to be found. Out of town I believe.”

  “Damn.” Philip let out a long, audible breath, then clenched the rein in his hand. The leather cut into his palm. “Every day that passes without the knowledge of that scum’s name baits me like a bull. I am blinded to all else but the revenge I seek.”

  “Yes, sir. ‘Tis a wonder you can see at all.” Tyler’s aloof voice dripped with sarcasm. He arched one unkempt white bushy brow.

  Philip shot him an annoyed glare. “Can you not blame me? The man not only stole my wife’s virtue, he stole the last six years my life.” Not once, in the six years since her death, had a day gone by when he hadn’t thought about her, pinned over her passing.

  “Had I known then of her deceit –”

  “You still would have mourned her as long as you did.”

  Now ‘twas his turn to grunt. Tyler was right; he was a fool. He would have forgiven her, if she’d only told him the truth.

  “I demand satisfaction. That bastard shall face me. A year. One full year they--they--” He waived his hand before him. “And right under my nose. I am a fool.”

  “I hardly think that Sir.” Tyler rocked in his seat as the wagon rolled over a rut in the dusty road.

  Glasses clinked with the motion of the cart.

  “And what ye of Mistress Elizabeth?” Philip asked, wishing to change the conversation.

  “I also left another note with Mr. Skent as you requested. Any information on her person, her origins, her acquaintances, shall be forwarded to you.”

  Elizabeth. Why had she lied to him? He had found no bag of gathered herbs near her side that day in the forest. And the way she had stumbled over her words, as though she had been making them up as she’d gone along.

  “You grow quiet my Lord. Perhaps ‘tis because you feel some remorse over your inquiry into Mistress Elizabeth’s past. I doubt the lady--”

  “The lady,” Philip snapped, annoyed his thoughts once again had settled on a woman, a lying one at that. “And what do we know of this lady? She could be a thief, a runaway. Perhaps as we speak, she is scheming to rob me of my money, or--”

  “My Lord, I do not mean to give offense, but with all due respect, I think it highly unlikely a woman of such fine breeding and of such innocence cou-- “

  “And you deduced these traits in the short span of a few minutes in her presence?”

  “When one stands in the background, one tends to notice things others just take for granted.” A familiar stolid expression spread across Tyler’s face, replacing the slight rise of emotion seen only moments ago. “I also met with the lady last night before she retired, to confirm the whereabouts of her home.”

  Could he be wrong about her? Philip rubbed his chin, pondering his steward’s words. Was his judgment colored by Rebecca’s betrayal? Was he too quick to think the worst of Elizabeth?

  But why the nervous twitch in her eyes? Deceit? Or Fear?

  He weighed the thought in the silence that engulfed them.

  And that bruise on her cheek? ‘Twas the mark of a hand. A bruise turned ugly over the past days. He had seen violent marks like that on the face of a mistreated serving girl.

  She could have dropped her bag of herbs and because of his drunken stupor he had overlooked it.

  “Yes, perhaps I have erred.” Philip straightened in his saddle. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

  ***

  Sadness fell over Elizabeth as she sat in the parlor her hands resting on the harpsichord; a sadness brought on by thoughts of a mother who rested with the angels, and of Rebecca.

  Had devastation, over her passing, been the catalyst that caused his Lordship to order the removal of her portraits

  Recalling his anger, at the mere mention of his wife, Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder if there lay a different explanation.

  Her fingers descended upon the harpsichord keys and the twang resonance of music filled the air.

  One would wonder, she mused, at the oddity of this house, its master and his servants.

  Mary both feared and hated her cat and Tessie, upon inquiry of strange happenings on the second floor, a floor deemed forbidden, spoke of evil. Even the mention of Rebecca’s name ‘twas forbidden for no servant would speak on her.

  Odd indeed; Elizabeth closed her eyes. As odd as that persistent feeling, like a fly to a horse’s hindquarters, that someone continually watched her from a distance.

  Refusing to let her melancholy thoughts engulf her, she concentrated on the keys as her fingers danced along the ivory.

  Every limb, nerve and muscle began to relax. Her ears rang with the vibrating crescendo. Her heart slowed, as the music grew soft, then rapidly took off again with the increase in tempo.

  Caught up in the romantic strains of Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes, her surroundings blurred, as the musical notes seeped up through her fingers and crept into he
r body.

  Then suddenly, breaking into her musical bliss, she felt it—the tingle—then the flash as visions of Rebecca appeared in her mind.

  Though faded, like an old weathered portrait, Elizabeth could see Rebecca holding a babe against her breast; as she sat, in a spindle armchair, rocking the child in her arms, tears fell against her cheeks.

  Pain cut into Elizabeth’s heart as sharp as the quarter note played beneath her fingertip.

  More images broke through in a mingled rush, scampering across her mind. She could see a dark-haired boy, his face blurred, bathed in shadows; and a grave.

  A sudden flash of light burst across her closed lids. The kaleidoscope of oranges, blues and gold forced the dingy grays of death away, and once again, an image of Rebecca flashed.

  Aglow with the sun’s rays streaming upon her long flowing hair, with a smile upon her face and a spring to her steps, she ran through the street to the outstretched arms of a man who stood in the shadows. But as body merged with body, an overwhelming sense of frustration, guilt and betrayal tumbled together like crashing waves upon the shore.

  Elizabeth’s hands slipped from the harpsichord.

  The images of Rebecca so clear in her mind, she half-expected her to be standing in front of her when she opened her eyes.

  Mozart sat by her feet, watching her.

  “Mozart, I felt her pain. Poor woman.” She shook her head sadly. “ Betrayal? Why not love and compassion? Understanding? Why do I get the sense that her world, though sheltered in the loving arms of her husband, was filled with deception?”

  Elizabeth bent and picked Mozart up. “What did his Lordship do to make her feel in such a manner?”

  Holding her cat against her chest, she ran her fingers through his soft fur, needing to feel comforted by his nearness.

  “I know I take it upon me to make such a bold assertion, but plainly speaking, most men are the cause of our tribulations.”

  Mozart meowed.

  She held him up at eye level, then shook her head. “You would speak up for him. You men folk always bond together.”

  Chapter Six

  The hour had grown late when Philip pushed open the front door of his mansion.