Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Her heart slowed to the rhythm of his.

  The faint smell of tobacco filled her nostrils.

  Strangely comforted by his embrace, her breath evened as she drew strength from his presence.

  Then, realizing how tightly, his arms surrounded her, she eased away.

  The silence strained.

  He reached for her hand and clasped her fingers tightly.

  Nervousness devoured her. She pressed her back into her pillow, relinquishing his hold.

  Her gaze darted to the window, where a soft warm breeze blew passed the heavy gold drapes adorning the wall.

  Crickets chirped.

  He cleared his throat.

  She glanced back at him.

  Stress lines crinkled his brow. “I fear ‘twas my words that brought about your troubles. Had I not mentioned your dreams earlier--”

  “Nay. Do not cause yourself any grief on my part.” She shifted her leg away from his hip. “I share the blame for our disagreement.”

  “Then setting aside our earlier discussion, do you wish to enlighten me with your troubles? Or…” he raised himself from the bed. “You have but to say the word and I shall leave.”

  She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.

  Bedoosled, she couldn’t think clearly.

  She shook her head.

  A look of relief, relaxed his face. “Nay ‘tis naught my concern, or nay, I shalt'n leave?”

  “Stay.” The word felt strangled as it left her throat.

  “Good. There are words that must be said betwixt us, which I…” He brought his hands, pray-like, to his mouth as though lost in thought. “I want to assure you--No matter how foul in temper, I would never strike you.”

  Her heart stirred.

  “On my life I swear to you that as long as you are in my home no one will ever hurt you again.”

  Tears misted her eyes.

  He carefully studied her. “Are you in want of discussion?”

  “I… Nay.”

  “Then close your eyes and let us just sit here in silence.”

  Anxiety churned in her chest.

  “Upon my honor, I promise. I shalt'n bite.” He smiled.

  “But the servants…”

  Surely he knows there’ll be talk, looks of speculation.

  He stepped nimbly around her bed to a chair beside the window and sat. “Fear no blemish on your reputation. I will see to that.”

  Drained of emotion, she took a deep breath, and lay her head against her pillow.

  In the silence that once again fell across the distance between them, she watched the shadows of moonlight play across his face; accenting his firm sensual lips, sharp jaw line and high chiseled cheeks. The reflected light glimmered over his features, making them appear more angular, severe, yet boldly handsome. A wisp of dark hair curled at his temple.

  “Mistress Elizabeth, I was thinking.” His soft, seductive voice broke the stillness.

  “Yes?”

  His luminous eyes beheld her fondly.

  “I believe William would indeed enjoy your company.” The huskiness of voice lingered, in the air, like the resonant pluck of a bass fiddle’s string.

  Goosebumps kissed her arm.

  “Spend whatever time you wish with him, whenever you wish to spend it.”

  ***

  Elizabeth strolled across the highly polished floors of the parlor. “Oh Grand-mama ‘tis Saturday.”

  The sweet fragrance of lilacs filled the air.

  “Two days passed, and I still cannot put to rest his Lordships visit.”

  On identical marble tables, two silver vases, filled with purple and white blossoms, reflected the soft light of the afternoon’s sun. Warm rays bathed the leather-covered walls.

  “He stayed for some time offering me comfort from my nightmare.”

  Deep in thought, Elizabeth ran her fingers along the mantel.

  Although grateful for his kindness, as the minutes had ticked by, uneasiness had grown in her breast.

  Though he had lifted one burden from her shoulders, another had grown in the stillness; one filled with foreign feelings of radiating warmth, tender feelings of security, and newly awakened coveting.

  “I am ashamed to say, I feigned sleep in an effort to see him leave.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Whatever shall I do?”

  If the servants had seen him in her room-if they’d seen the flush on her fac--

  Ping. The sound of someone flicking a finger against a glass caught her ear.

  “Mother’s Armonica!”

  In her mind’s eye, the vision of her grandmother vanished as Elizabeth gathered up her skirt and hurried toward the music room.

  “Please, take care--”

  William stood beside her instrument, giving her a blank stare.

  Ping. He tapped the glass again.

  Afraid to move, she stood rooted to her spot. “Do you like the sound?” she asked, hesitant, afraid her voice would cause him to bolt from the room.

  No response. Not even with a shake of his head. He just stared at her with those dark black expressionless eyes. His small flat mouth held no trace of a smile, or frown.

  She entered the room, as slow as possible, pretending to ignore him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed he didn’t seem the least interested in her. He continued to tap the glass with a steady, almost trance-like motion.

  Ping, ping, ping.

  Like the continual rhythmic ticking of a clock, he kept up his ritual, until she finally worked her way over to the Armonica and stopped at his side.

  His small chubby finger locked in a bent position he stared at her. Then, he let his finger fly against the glass—ping.

  “Nay!” She grabbed his wrist. A beastly mistake, she realized.

  William jumped back breaking her hold.

  Expecting him to bolt from the room, she yanked up her hem.

  To her horror, he began to rock, flick his fingers back and forth in the front of his face.

  The deep droning sound, made in the back of his throat, coiled her stomach muscles into a tight ball.

  Her mind floundered. Her pulse raced.

  Quickly she pulled over the bench, sat, wet her fingers and frantically began to play, hoping the music would somehow calm him down.

  When he lowered his hands and stared, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mesmerized by the sounds his head went round and round with the motion of the glasses.

  How long would he keep this up? Following him made her dizzy.

  He reached out to touch a bowl, only to quickly draw his hand away before his fingers made contact. He reached out again, but the glasses’ friction caused his quick withdrawal.

  She stopped playing, ran her fingers lightly over the bowls and hoped he would follow her lead, which to her delight, he did.

  “Would you like to try?”

  He nodded, a slight nod, but never-the-less, ‘twas an understanding nod.

  Quickly she pumped the treadle.

  William kept his fingers on the turning bowls and to her surprise, he showed no reaction, good or bad. Then abruptly he pulled his hand away, turned and bolted from the room.

  She stared after him, through the now empty doorframe.

  He hadn’t cringed, hadn’t thrown himself into a tantrum of uncontrollable hysterics.

  A moment’s joy clasped her heart. To a small degree, she had gotten through to him. Excitement began to course through her. Perhaps, with a little time, she could teach him how to play.

  A smile tugged at her lip, a smile of triumph. Perhaps he no longer feared her. The thought, gave her hope.

  Quickly, she lifted her gown, stood and hurried up the stairs toward his chambers where she suspected he’d be.

  She passed a young rose-cheeked maid carrying a tray laden with flat cakes and grabbed a small round cake from the plate.

  “For the child,” Elizabeth explained as she hurried
down the hall.

  An Irish brogue wafted from William’s room.

  Elizabeth stepped to the door and watched Mary fold William’s shirts and breeches in a burst of energy. Quickly, furiously she tucked and creased the clothes till they were neat and orderly and stacked away on the high shelves. Then, she sat beside William on his bed and ruffled his hair with gentle fingers.

  “Such a pretty face.” She shook her head sadly. “God rest yer mamas’ soul she should have ever seen ye like this. ‘Twould break her heart.” Gently she rubbed William’s hand. “Never was a strong one, that lass. ‘Twas her weakness that destroyed this household. But…” Mary sighed. “I took care of ye papa and fer the rest of me days I’ll do the same fer ye, laddie.”

  Silently Elizabeth observed the tender scene before her.

  Mary was the mother William never had. A good woman with a warm heart and a kind soul, she reminded her of her own mother.

  Heavy sadness pressed Elizabeth’s heart. Pushing past the lump, in her throat, she let her thoughts drift to Rebecca.

  Weak in spirit? What had Mary meant a moment ago when she’d said Rebecca had destroyed the household? ‘Twas more than likely his Lordship’s cool indifference toward his son that made it feel as though a heavy black cloud hovered over its roof.

  The other night when he had awakened her from her nightmare, she had been in no condition to question him more intensely about his son. That he had given her permission to spend time with William had come as a surprise.

  The remembered feel of Philip’s arms, holding her close, sent a wave of heat to her cheeks. He had been so gentle, so caring; not at all like the unfeeling man who hadn’t once stopped in to pay his son a visit yesterday.

  She had spent part of her day walking the halls outside William’s room, observing him without the child’s, or any of the servants’ notice.

  His Lordships’ lack of presence had played over and over in her mind a few times. Try as she might, she’d tried to push aside her growing annoyance, toward him and yearned to think on his comforting words and compassionate face of that night, the woman in her could not excuse him.

  She could still recall Tessie’s words when she had questioned her about him. “His Lordship never visits this part of the house in the day’s light. Can’t blame him any.”

  Elizabeth glanced back into William’s room.

  The child tugged on Mary’s apron.

  “Now laddie, we’ll visit ye mama, upstairs, later.”

  He reached into her pocket and pulled out a large key, and Elizabeth realized, that in an attempt to keep the image of Rebecca in William’s mind, they visited her portraits up in the attic.

  “Pardon. I don’t wish to intrude, but --”

  “Nay.” Mary stood and gestured she come in.

  Elizabeth stepped into the room.

  William jumped off the bed and hid behind Mary’s skirt.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Now laddie there’s no need fer ye to hide.”

  “William come, I have a pretty kitty for you to see--”

  “Mercy me,” Mary snapped. “Don’t ye go and brin’ that beast with ye!” She shifted her weight shielding William from her view. “I won’t have that cursed animal near the child again. Lord knows what diseases that filthy beast carries.”

  “He’s not dirty.”

  “Ifn’ I see that disease breeding animal in this chamber or any of the child’s quarters again, the master is goin’ hear of it.”

  “Mary, why do you fret so? Mozart isn’t going to get William sick.”

  She grunted in disagreement. “Me own nephew got bit from the likes of one of those beasts and nearly died he did.”

  “Mozart is not rabid. And--”

  William peeked out from behind her skirt.

  “Hello William,” Elizabeth said softly, realizing the conversation between her and Mary was getting a little loud and distress him.

  His big brown eyes stared right through her, as though he focused on something far beyond in the shadows.

  Feeling invisible, she sighed. “Look,” Elizabeth reached into her pocket and brought out a sweet flattened cake. “This is for you. Here.” She held the cookie out to him.

  His glance went to her hand. He stared. He glanced back at her face and stared. His gaze dropped. He stared.

  “Here.” Frustrated, she inched the cookie closer.

  To her horror, he shot out from behind Mary, bolted to the other side of the room and threw himself down into the corner.

  “Master William!” Mary ran to his side.

  Sourness, like a mouthful of lemons, puckered Elizabeth’s stomach as she watched William moan and rock back and forth on his haunches.

  “Why does he do thus?” Her voice quivered. She held back the tears and hurried over to them.

  “‘Tis his way. There be no explanation.” Mary knelt and reached for William. “Honey child, quiet. ‘Tis all right. Shss. No harm’s done. Shss.” She rubbed his arm, his leg, his hair.

  Still, he wailed and rocked.

  Elizabeth wrung her hands together.

  His heart piercing cries wrenched her gut.

  No tears ran from his face, only a blank stare into nowhere and that continual droning moan.

  The color drained from Elizabeth’s face. She knelt beside Mary.

  “Shss.” Elizabeth reached out, but quickly withdrew her hand. The child was still afraid of her. Why she’d thought differently for the moment escaped her.

  Unease settled in like a heavy weight upon her chest. Her shoulders drooped with despair.

  Mary’s endless crooning blended with his endless droning. The jumbled sound roared in her ears; a crescendo, un-pitched, musical mishap.

  “Twas her fault. The words scamper around and around in her head loud and clear till she thought she’d burst from their screaming.

  Her attention back on William, she found that involuntarily she had started to match his movements.

  Like two frightened children they both rocked back and forth; one in fear, the other for comfort.

  “Nora… Nora!” Mary called out, glancing around frantically. “Where is that girl when I need her?”

  Elizabeth bolted to her feet. She had to help pull him from his trance.

  Her gaze darted, searching for something in which to calm the boy.

  She spun on her heels, her mind whirling.

  What kind of educator would I be if I let a child’s hysterical outbursts upset me so? What would break the pattern of his thoughts? A toy? A… what?

  She swung around, scanned the other side of the room and saw a toy boat by William’s bed. Running over, she bent down and picked the tiny boat up. Out of the corner of her eye, hidden between the floor boards and his mattress lay a flute. She grabbed the wooden instrument and hurried back to William.

  “Look, see what I have?” Quickly she blew. A high-pitched toot spiked the air. “Listen, hear the music?”

  Still rocking, William stared at the floor.

  “Child, look what the nice Missy has brought ye.”

  Elizabeth blew again, lifting her fingers randomly off, then over the holes. A shrill fluting sound floated upward. She tooted repeatedly, till the high-pitched noise buzzed in her ears.

  His arms still wrapped tightly around his knees, William unlocked his head from his bent position and looked up.

  Elizabeth noticed with relief that he stopped rocking and stared at her.

  Then, slowly, like a rose unfurling in the sunshine, his limbs and troubled mind relaxed. He shuddered, unwrapped his arms, and stretched out his legs.

  Mary took a deep breath of relief.

  The falsetto melody of notes floated through the air, grasping hold of and demising the heavy, clinging tension.

  William’s breathing slowed.

  Glancing in her direction, Mary smiled. “Ye did good,” she whispered. “I’ll be a thankin’ ye.”

  Tears of relief choked Elizabeth’s throat and she had to s
top blowing. She held her breath, waiting, watching William’s reaction. To her surprise, none came

  Chapter Ten

  Elizabeth’s nightmare, three days past, still tormented Philip as he entered the garden, in search of her.

  His thoughts centered on the remembered image of her terrified face, he was barely aware of the muted splays of pink and gold light, from dawn’s early rise, blanketing the narrow path.

  What kind of monster had caused her such fright?

  The gravel crunched beneath his feet.

  What had transpired betwixt them?

  He stopped short as ugly images filtered through his mind.

  Her horrific cries spoke of more than just a bruised cheek.

  Philip’s hand tightened into a fist.

  He stared blankly at a red rose, misted with dew.

  Elizabeth was like that rose; soft; delicate. He fingered the velvety edge. A rose in its entirety could withstand a storm… He plucked a petal… but pulled apart ‘twas nothing more than a pile of petals lying scattered and broken on the floor. Had Elizabeth been plucked? The rose petal fell from his hand. Was that the true nature of her nightmares?

  He gazed skyward as though the answer would somehow emerge from behind a passing cloud.

  If they were to become better acquainted, he would need to tread on tender feet. Perhaps a flower or two would be a good start.

  He reached for a red rose.

  In the language of flowers red was for love.

  Nay.

  He strolled over to a bush of bright yellow buds and snapped off a stem.

  Yellow for companionship t’would be a good place to start.

  Satisfied with his choice, he made his way down the winding path.

  Elizabeth’s form, bent over a flower, stole his breath away.

  Wisps of silvery hair danced in the soft breeze, and seemed to sparkle under the sun’s rays. He had the urge to caress the long braided locks that lay gently against her back.

  The blue silk brocade gown, he had chosen from the seamstress’ fabric, had been a wise choice and complemented her coloring.

  He took a step forward, then hesitated; stared at the flower in his hand.

  Foolish. She will think me a jester.

  Blood began to thunder in his temples

  The act of a silly schoolboy.