Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  “Did he ever talk?” Elizabeth drew her gaze back to Nora.

  “Not sure miss, but then oi ‘aven’t been ‘ere long-”

  “Nay?” That is not what Mary was fretting about when I passed her not too long ago.” Philip strolled through the door.

  Startled by his appearance, Elizabeth’s gaze jerked in his direction.

  “I’m sure I heard her say she couldn’t find you for some time now. Best go see what she wants,” he suggested in an authoritative tone.

  Nona’s sallow face turned crimson, and Elizabeth wondered, as she guessed, Nona had, on just how much of the conversation he had overheard.

  “Yes, sir.” Clearly nervous, Nona curtsied. “Right away, sir.” She slipped from the room.

  “I do wonder, what could be so devastating as to put such a frown on that lovely face of yours?” He stepped before her, so close she could feel the heat from his body.

  Her heart fluttered in her breast. “Why didn’t you tell me about William’s accident?”

  The question hung in the air like a musical note pressed upon for too long.

  Unspoken pain clouded his eyes. The same pain she had seen in her vision, in Rebecca’s eyes.

  He took a step back then shrugged his shoulders.

  “I prefer not to talk about the past.” His full lips thinned with displeasure. “Especially when nothing will change from discussing it.”

  “Though I am only his educator, it would benefit me greatly to know all I can about him.”

  A muscle bunched in his jaw.

  Candlelight flickered from above, picking up the indigo highlights in his shoulder length hair.

  Had Rebecca liked his hair un-wigged, tied back away from his face?

  “Perhaps.” He gestured she sit, then pulled a chair opposite her. “Ask what you wish.”

  I want to ask about Rebecca. Elizabeth twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.

  Why her feeling of guilt? Why the sadness I so strongly feel? Why do I feel as though she is trying to tell me something?

  Elizabeth met his intense gaze. “Has William ever talked?” Do you still love Rebecca?

  There was nothing she could ask, about Rebecca, without giving her secret away.

  Philip’s lids dropped. His strong chin lowered. “Not since the accident.”

  The sadness in his murmured words sank her heart into her chest like a heavy rock thrust upon a lake.

  “Then he did before?” The need to ease his pain-to run her fingers against his cheek in comfort, made her senses spin. She clenched her hand in her lap.

  “He was but a babe.” He starred at her, weighing the question. “Perhaps a word here, or there.

  Look--” He rose and held his hand out to her.

  Their fingers met. Her body tingled from the contact.

  His grip strong, comforting, he helped her rise from her seat.

  “I dare say…” his muscular chest heaved a heavy sigh “… we have had this discussion before.”

  His warm breath fanned her face. “He has had only the best doctors examine him. They say at this point it seems highly unlikely he ever shall talk, and I have no doubt they are proficient at their profession.”

  “I beg to differ.” She drew her hand from his. “Perhaps they are wrong.”

  She knew she was being difficult, but she refused to give in. She refused to believe there was no hope.

  His flat, passionless eyes beheld hers. His jaw clenched with stubbornness. He had heard it all before and had given up.

  “At this point I do not care to discuss who is right and who is wrong.” His hand sliced the air in anger. “Help the child. I shalt stop you.” His voice rose with annoyance. “But do not be disappointed if your effort is for naught.”

  “Aaaaaaaagh.”

  At William’s piercing cry, Philip turned with a start. His stance stiffened.

  Elizabeth’s gaze followed his, to settle on William, who now stood.

  “How long has he been here?” Philip’s voice sounded strained, as if his vocal cords were being squeezed.

  “I was teaching him. I…” She wrung her hands together.

  “See what all your prying has started?” Philip’s face paled.

  “Me? Don’t be ridiculous. What about--”

  William moaned louder.

  Philip’s gaze transfixed on his son, with alarm.

  She found it rather unsettling that the man she had come to know, the one who ran his house and his business with the confidence of a bull was incapable of handling his own son.

  Instinctively, she rushed over to William, knelt and wrapped her arms around him.

  Violently he broke away. His moans grew louder; his rocking more intense.

  Anxiety stretched her nerves. She rose, her feet unsteady.

  Why she’d thought she could hold the child, just because he’d let her hold his hand for a moment earlier, was beyond her. ‘Twas a stupid thought on her part.

  Her gaze darted to Philip.

  “Well, do something,” he ordered, his voice shrill, edged with panic. “I do recall you saying you can help him.” His nostrils flared. His breathing quickened.

  The hem of her gown clenched between her finger, with a swish of her petticoat, she hurried over to her armonica. Her heart raced, but she calmly washed her hands and wet the glasses.

  William stood by not paying her any heed and continued to moan.

  She started to play.

  William moaned.

  Philip glanced around the room as though he wanted to escape.

  William’s rocking intensified with the spinning glasses.

  Philip’s footsteps thundered across the floor. He stopped in front of his son.

  “I told you ‘twas a waste of time.” The tone of his voice, a mixture of despair and anger set her teeth on edge. “Your music isn’t calming him, ‘tis making things worse. Look at him.” He pointed then wrung his hands together.

  Completely distraught over his son’s behavior, he began to pace back and forth.

  Too distraught to respond, not knowing what else to do, Elizabeth kept playing.

  She glanced from her instrument, to Philip, then at William, then back to Philip, and she prayed they’d both calm down. Father and son looked like stewing pots about to boil over.

  “William, stop that this instant!”

  Startled by Philip’s outburst, she jerked her hands from the armonica.

  William ceased his moaning.

  Surprise arched Philip’s brows.

  Disheartened by her inability to get through to William, especially in the presence of his father, Elizabeth just stared.

  Relief flooded Philip’s face.

  Satisfied, he was about to turn when, William brought both hands up and began to nervously twitch his fingers back and forth before his face.

  Horrified Elizabeth jumped from her seat. “Now look what your shouting has done.”

  Guilt flashed across Philip’s face. “The boy needs a calming balm. I’m fetching the doctor.”

  “And what… drug him to silence?” She knelt in front of William. “You shouted at him. He’s angry at you.”

  “Me?”

  “William, child, you must stop. Dearest, you must stop.” She clenched her hands, afraid she might reach out and touch him in comfort. Her heart wrenched.

  “You are blaming me for this-this-” he turned “Mary,” he bellowed. “Mary!”

  “Lower your voice, lest you frighten him further.”

  Her gaze darted back to William. “Dearest, your father didn’t mean to scream at you. William look at me. You must stop.”

  Desperately she wanted to hold him. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

  Philip knelt beside her. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, as though he was trying to ease his tension.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He reached out, then withdrew his trembling hand.

  His eyes met hers and she saw in their blue depths his anxiety a
nd unspoken desolation.

  William’s fingers twitched fast and furious. With his hands so close to his face, she couldn’t tell if he was paying his father any heed, or ignoring him.

  “I… I don’t know what to do.” Frustrated, Philip raked his hand through his hair. “You saw his reaction when you tried to hold him. Mary’s the only one he trusts.”

  Despair tightened her throat. Elizabeth rose. “I’ll try playing again.”

  Philip jerked his gaze after her. “Don’t leav--”

  “Stay there. Keep talking to him. Calmly.”

  He turned back to William “Boy. You listen to me. Stop this right now.” Realizing the severity of his tone, he quickly softened his voice. “Look, the pretty lady is going to play for you.”

  Pretty. He thinks I’m pretty. She hurried over to the Armonica.

  “William, stop. If you stop, I’ll… I promise to stay and we shall both listen to the nice music,” Philip said, his voice filled with compassion. “My God - Elizabeth. Look.”

  The whispered words stopped her dead. She swung around.

  William no longer fidgeted.

  She watched as he dropped his hands to his side and stared at his father.

  His face relaxed.

  Then, to her surprise, he gave them a tentative smile.

  ***

  The next day, Philip strolled through the music room, and stopped at the large wood box nestled by the window.

  Elizabeth’s smile like a ray of sunshine warmed him to the very center of his belly. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s smile affected him such.

  “May I?” His fingers rested on the lid.

  With an acknowledging nod to proceed he unhooked the cover and lifted it to the floor. “What name did you give it? A harmonica?”

  “Me? Nay. Mr. Franklin. “

  Graceful, silent, the casual flow of her movement, sensuous and luring as she made her way toward him, caused his heart to thump rapidly.

  “Armonica, not harmonica. ‘Tis the Italian word for harmony.”

  Her green eyes looked brighter than usual; her face, more radiant and he wondered if her elation was due in part to their progress with William.

  A strange, peacefulness came over him as he stood in her presence.

  “I devoutly wish to hear you play, if you don’t protest?”

  He pulled the small embroidered bench away from the wall and indicated she take a seat.

  She sat then smoothed out the folds of her blue skirt.

  Standing over her, he inhaled the clean scent of her hair, and the faint aroma of rose water.

  He had the sudden urge to rest his cheek upon her head; to feel the softness of her silver locks against his skin.

  His gaze lowered.

  Her low-cut dress revealed up tilted, creamy white breasts, which rose and fell rapidly with each breath.

  His pulse quickened.

  He stepped to her side and glanced at her face.

  Did his closeness make her nervous, afraid? Did she feel the strong attraction of awareness that sent a surge of blood coursing through his veins?

  “Please hand me that pitcher of water by the window.” Her voice broke the silence and his trance.

  He reached over and passed her the urn.

  Too aware of her touch when their fingertips brushed one another, he silently cursed his foolish desire and racing heart.

  “You thirst? Yes ‘tis quite warm in here.” He reached for a goblet.

  She smiled. “Nay. ‘Tis to wash my hands.”

  “I see.” He swallowed dryly, leaned back against the windowsill and tried to ignore the rapidly growing ache throbbing in his veins.

  She poured a small amount of liquid into a basin, and the rest into two white porcelain bowls, which sat in the cabinet beneath the instruments’ glasses.

  Then, she dipped her hands into the basin and with painstaking care proceeded to wash them.

  The simple act of cleansing took on a whole new meaning as his aroused mind began to picture her naked body slick with water. Her glistening wet skin would feel like satin beneath his hands, of that he was certain. They would lie upon silken sheets. Their slippery bodies-flesh upon flesh would be warm with the passion of their desire. She would moan with delight, as his exploring caresses made her quiver and beg for more. And how sweet the water, which fell from her breasts, would taste as he sucked upon those hard rosy buds.

  His heart thumped in his chest and roared in his ears.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat; sanity returned, breaking him from his reverie. “Did you know, 'twas only for a moment, but William let me hold his hand?”

  Mesmerized, he stared as she lifted her hands to the instruments’ glasses. Water dripped down between her fingers, dripped down her wrists.

  “Nay.” He shook his head.

  She ran her hands over the bowls, wetting each one till they were slick and moist. Moist - like the center of his palms and the flooding tightness of his loins.

  He wanted to jam his hands into the water and splash his face to cool the sudden fire invading his limbs.

  He raked his hand through his hair. “I am pleased to find music affects William so.”

  “It pleases me as well.” She turned the wheel and began to pump the floor treadle with her foot. “’Tis very distressing to see him so distraught.”

  She stretched her fingers lightly across the bowls and began to play. Delicate, sweet ethereal music emanated forth. A sound beyond those of any other he had ever heard.

  He stared at her hands, captivated by the enchantingly light, high tones, and the eerie, spine tingling low tones that dissipated into the air, lingering long after she had stopped playing.

  “Are those soprano notes not celestial, like the voices of the angels?” An enticing smile of delight lit her green eyes.

  He nodded. “A magical voice indeed.” She was as magical as her music. “What does it feel like?”

  “Like hundreds of tingling pine needles on the tips of your fingers.”

  A tug tightened his loins. “Wouldst thou allow me?” He moved around to stand beside her.

  She stood. “The greatest difficulty for beginners lies in the touching.”

  He slipped into her seat.

  ‘Twould be his pleasure to show her how and where to touch him.

  “Nay!”

  Her shout yanked his thoughts from the bedchambers and to the present.

  Leaning across him she grabbed his hand before he had a chance to touch the glasses.

  He stared transfixed as she placed his fingers into the water.

  “First you must wash your hands to remove any oils that may be on your skin.”

  Did she realize what an effect her words were having on him? How his aroused mind, turned those words into erotic foreplay? How the sound of her silky voice so close to his ear blew hot against his cheek?

  Warm water blended with the touch of her fingers as she gently rubbed his hands, and he yearned to bring those fingers lower to caress the root of his sex.

  It took every ounce of control to keep his manhood from responding. A feat that became increasing difficult with every graceful move that sent a wave of her sweet perfume to the air.

  “You must play with long outstretched fingers.” Her voice from behind him floated above him like a warm summer’s breeze.

  Bending over him, he could feel her breasts resting against his upper back.

  Her hands placed over his, she brought his fingers to the glasses. “These colored bowls are comparable to the white keys of a harpsichord and the white bowls to the sharps and flats.

  Perspiration dotted his hairline.

  Scented rose water filled his nostrils, intoxicating him.

  “Now pump,” she ordered softly.

  His mind stuck on the word pump and what it conjured up, a split second passed before he realized what she meant.

  He pushed down on the foot pedal.

  She turned the wheel then guided h
is hands back and forth, from the smallest to the largest bowls.

  The veins in his neck pulsated along with her movements and that of the continual friction of the glasses.

  Her warm, gentle, touch distracted him with the temptation of kissing those delicate fingers.

  If she had any notion of the effect she was having on him, would she’d bolt from the room has she had from the garden?

  The sound of his pounding heart echoed over the grinding of the wheel and the dreadful shrillness emanating forth.

  “This is more difficult than it seems.”

  He could feel his loins tighten. Any longer in her presence and there would be no denying his body’s urge for release.

  “You’re pressing too hard.”

  ‘Twas an understatement; if she only knew how hard.

  She stepped around him, to his side. “Try again, only this time barely touch them.”

  Philip concentrated on the glass bowls before him.

  After a few more tries he managed to produce, an irritating, squeaking.

  She laughed. “Your hands are too dry.”

  As was his throat.

  “Cool them off in the water and try again.”

  Why didn’t he just douse his entire body with water?

  Philip glanced at her relieved to see a glint of excitement in her eyes.

  She had no notice of the havoc she played on his mind, nor the consuming fierce urgency coursing through his veins.

  He wanted to crush her to his chest and taste her sweet mouth.

  The torment…

  He bolted from the chair. “‘Tis best that I stop.”

  “Nay. You are doing fine.” She grabbed his wrist. “Come. Let me show you again. ‘Tis not difficult.”

  He stared down at her hand intertwined with his.”You have the most beautiful fingers.”

  She inched her hand away; he held tight and raised the tips to his lips. “So long… “

  “I--”

  He kissed her gently. “So soft.” He opened her palm and pressed a kiss in the moist center.

  Her tantalizing lips parted, and to his pleasure, she remained steadfast.

  Slowly, he leaned toward her.

  She breathed lightly.

  He stared into her eager eyes, brushed his mouth against hers as he spoke. “You are so beautiful. “

  She didn't move.

  The caress of his lips on her mouth set his body aflame, but he continued to kiss her slowly, gently, lest he frighten her.