Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  “You may take the earl’s place.”

  “What?” The word came out in a hoarse croak. He whipped his head around to study the monk. It could not be possible, surely? It had happened before, to his brother, but only at a great cost and in particular circumstances.

  Nathaniel knew his sins, but they couldn’t be changed now. He had killed his brother, as his brother had killed him. Pride had forced him to join the Parliamentarians, not principle. How could he redeem these things?

  Brother Anselm spoke in measured, deliberate tones and Nathaniel listened carefully. “There is unfinished business. The earl should not have died today. I cannot explain, I only know. And I know you have this chance.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “Explain yourself.”

  “I cannot, I know no more. There is something on the mortal plane left undone, something that needs to be completed. If you do not, the earl will appear in this plane, with us, in a few days’ time.”

  Another companion! But Nathaniel hated the present earl for what he had done to the woman he loved. He couldn’t bear the thought of living with him for eternity.

  “You have a week to try to complete the cycle, and if you do, you will both pass on to your heavenly reward.”

  “Why can’t you go too?”

  Brother Anselm’s expression twisted in grief and agony. “It is not my story. I doubt I will be allowed to go now. I don’t know how my story will be resolved.”

  “Would it not help to tell me, to share your story? You know by now I can keep my own counsel.” Nathaniel longed to help the grief stricken religious man. He prayed every day, but his prayers were not answered, but his faith had remained as firm as it ever was. Nathaniel envied Brother Anselm’s certainty. His had gone long ago.

  “It would only double the burden. But you have a chance. You may go on, and that may help to atone my sins. If I help you, and this earl, it might just be enough.”

  “So I will be helping you, as well?”

  The monk nodded. “If you wish it. I will not condemn you if you refuse the challenge.”

  Nathaniel turned away, biting his lip. “But it’s so vague!” he burst out, turning back, twisting on his heels.

  “I know. I am telling you all I know, all I am allowed to understand. Finish the cycle.”

  Nathaniel stared at him. “Is there any penalty?”

  “Only that if you fail, we remain here with one more companion.”

  Punishment enough. The fickle, tortured, selfish Nev Heath would make their existence more miserable than it was already. At least they had achieved a kind of peace, this last century, despite the turmoil going on in the world beyond.

  “I swear this is all I know. You must enter the body for a week, and leave it on the dawn of Christmas Day.”

  “What then?”

  The monk frowned. “I do not know. I have told you everything, I swear it. We are in limbo here, neither one thing nor the other. I know you wish to go, as do I. If you succeed in your task, I believe you will be allowed your wish. I envy you.”

  Nathaniel smiled. “Isn’t that a sin?”

  The monk’s mouth twitched, almost breaking into a smile. “If it is, I shall do penance. It would be a worse sin to deny I felt anything. That would be a lie.”

  “If I don’t accept this challenge?”

  All trace of humor fled. “Then evil will have the victory.”

  “It seems I have no choice.”

  Chapter Two

  Sylvie lifted her pen to sign the letter to the contractors. There was always work to be done on the estate, and this time it was the drive, due to be resurfaced in the spring. She sighed, mentally calculating how much money she would have to raise, when a muffled sound made her lift her head. She listened, but there was nothing more. Probably just a noise from the people upstairs.

  She was about to turn back to her work when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up. And caught her breath.

  A shadowy shape stood by the bookcase on the other side of the room. It was as tall as a man, but shapeless, as though covered by a mantle of some sort, like a monk’s habit. A ghost.

  She felt no fear. Was this the owner of her voice, the man who had become her friend in the past few years? Or was she going completely mad? The fine hairs at her nape prickled, and goosebumps rose on her skin, despite the warmth of the fire crackling in the grate.

  A voice, a whisper, shushed in the still air, the sibilants unnaturally emphasized. “You must go to him.” The sound slid across her sensitized skin, raising the hairs on her neck.

  “Who? Go to who?”

  “Walk up the drive towards the gate. You will see.”

  The vision slowly melted away.

  A trick of the light, or her tired brain playing tricks on her. She was almost sure.

  What harm would there be in making sure of it? A walk in the fresh air would be welcome, in any case. She pushed back her chair, walked over to the door and grabbed the jacket hanging from the hook. Shrugging into the fake fur lined denim, she left the office and locked it, pocketing the key. The papers inside were boring, but confidential, and she would give nobody any opportunity to call her careless or inefficient.

  Her heart lifted when she let herself out of a side door, and strode into the crisp, clean air. Time to walk, time to think.

  She was leaving the place she loved, but putting a miserable marriage behind her. It was Christmas in a week’s time, so she would leave afterwards. Start the New Year in a new place, with a real future. She owed it to herself.

  Although she would be here for a week or so yet, she felt free already. The decision had freed her, and she could think of the future. With her experience of managing a large estate and house, packed with valuable antiques, she could find a job with one of the large agencies, the National Trust or English Heritage. It might be fun.

  Walk up the drive, the apparition had said. She grimaced. Was she completely mad? Well, it didn’t matter where she walked; the air was much the same everywhere.

  The drive curved in a picturesque sweep, designed so that about half a mile out, anyone approaching got their first, spectacular view of the Abbey. Unfortunately, that meant the drive was uphill, but it was a gentle slope, and Sylvie ran up it every morning when she exercised, so she hardly noticed it now.

  She hadn’t expected to run today, but when she turned the corner, she broke into a fast sprint.

  A short distance away, a motor bike lay on to its side, its wheels still spinning in the unnaturally still air. Closer still, she could see over the bulky vehicle to the body lying supine beyond.

  Nev! Oh God, Nev!

  Forgetting everything except the scene before her, Sylvie leapt over the machine and knelt next to Nev. No blood. That was the first thing. His eyes were closed, his helmet fastened tightly under his chin. He wore the heavy leather suit made for cycle riding, padded at elbows, knees and shoulders. Hopefully that had helped reduce the severity of any injury.

  Trying desperately to recall the first aid she had learned so long ago. What was it—yes! ABC—Airways, Breathing, Circulation. Chanting the trilogy under her breath like an incantation, she leaned over him, placing her cheek next to his mouth. A puff of warm air rewarded her. He was breathing, he was alive!

  Desperately fighting to control her panicked response, Sylvie sat back on her heels and took a couple of deep breaths.

  She mustn’t take his helmet off, because of the dangers of head injuries. His arms and legs splayed out, but they didn’t seem to be in an unnatural position. She breathed out in relief.

  Dear God, had he got away with this as well as all the other close calls in his life? Nev had followed the troops into Afghanistan, Baghdad and Jerusalem, and come out without a scratch. To die here, on his own estate, would be an irony not lost on the media. But he was breathing, he didn’t seem to have any broken bones. He’d done it again. Sylvie didn’t know whether to be glad or disgusted by him pulling off another narrow esc
ape. She reached into her jeans pocket for her mobile phone.

  After the call, she felt better, more in control. The ambulance was on its way. All she had to do now was wait. She examined Nev more closely for non-life threatening injuries. There were no obvious signs of injury, but his eyes were still closed and his breathing shallow.

  There was something wrong, though, she felt it. She glanced at the bike, Nev’s pride and joy, and her breath caught. Her pace quickened, and she reached out to snag the gleaming thread on the ground.

  A fine, nylon thread, glistening in the winter sun, a fishing line perhaps. She pulled it between her fingers to test it, and cut her forefinger slightly when it didn’t break. A very strong thread. Her heart missed a beat.

  This was no accident. Someone had pulled the thread tight across the road, too fine to be noticed by a speeding motorcyclist. Someone wanted to kill Nev. Her throat tightened, and she found it hard to breathe.

  By the time her heart had regained its usual rhythm, the ambulance had arrived and Sylvie was relieved to watch the paramedics to take over. She’d cut the thread from the tree and shoved it in her pocket. She would tell the police, but there was no sign of the local force yet, and if she left the thread, she was afraid whoever put it there would return and remove it. Then there wouldn’t be any evidence it was anything but an accident.

  The paramedic went completely still. “Nev Heath,” she breathed, before she went back into action. Nev always had that reaction on people, awake or asleep, mesmerizing them for a moment, giving him a split second’s advantage on them.

  After a brief check of his limbs, they strapped him on to a board and loaded him into the ambulance, careful not to move his head and neck more than they had to. Sylvie held back, not knowing what to do, but the medic had recognized her, too. “You’d better come too, my lady.”

  It took her a moment to realize they were talking to her. “What? Oh—yes, yes.”

  Sitting in the ambulance next to her unconscious husband, Sylvie felt heat surge through her veins. Anger simmered inside her, but this time totally unwarranted. Still, she felt it.

  How could he? She had so nearly gotten away this time! She’d tried before, but Nev had always drawn her back with promises of fidelity and even more control over the house she loved. It was as though he’d come off his bike on purpose. She couldn’t walk out on him now, the press would have a field day, and her conscience wouldn’t let her go. Not until she knew how he was, if he’d survive.

  Besides, this was attempted murder, and she couldn’t walk away from it.

  Silently, she prayed. Let him be all right. Please let him be all right.

  Her mind went back to the brief time after they married when everything had seemed right. He’d been charming, loving, completely devoted to her, for about three weeks, until the next project had emerged, the next passion. She suspected he had some kind of disorder, but he was happy with it, he didn’t want to change. She’d wasted enough time on him, but now, if he was seriously injured, it would get worse.

  Sylvie hadn’t realized the ambulance had its siren going until they reached the hospital, and dimly recognized her reaction as shock. Slowly, the world came back into focus, but the anger simmered deep inside. He’d done it again. He’d won again.

  * * * * *

  Groaning, Nathaniel came awake. Pain assaulted him all over his body, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. He almost welcomed it. Almost.

  Keeping his eyes firmly closed, he let his surroundings slowly seep through his being. Smell came first, an unpleasant smell, strong, tangy and metallic. He hadn’t smelled anything similar before. He winced, happy if he never smelled such a stench again.

  But there was something else, a floral perfume, much more pleasant. Eau de cologne.

  He opened his eyes and blinked at the bright light directly overhead. He was lying down, between cool, clean sheets, in a room he’d never seen before, and he knew every room in the Abbey intimately.

  The transformation had worked. He could feel, really feel. He’d missed that so much, the everyday tactile sensations he’d taken for granted while he’d been alive. Well now he was alive again, if only for a few days.

  “Hello.”

  He knew the voice, soft and feminine, with a delicious American edge. “Good— hello,” he corrected himself from using the old form of greeting. He knew perfectly well what had happened, at least if it had been as Brother Anselm had told him, but he said what he was supposed to say. “What happened?”

  “You had a bike accident. You’re in hospital, but they say you should be fine. A few bruises, that’s all. One of the doctors said it was a miracle. You hit your head so hard you should have died.”

  She didn’t sound sorry. Nathaniel couldn’t blame her, but he would have given anything for it to be otherwise. “Can I go now?”

  “After you’ve had one more test. They want to give you another CT scan to make sure your head’s all right. The first scan was quick, and you were unconscious. They want you awake this time.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Not long. They’ll take you down soon.”

  He bit his lip. It had better not take long, he hadn’t much time. Cautiously, he moved his limbs. They felt fine. He moved his feet, enjoying the sensation of toes against freshly laundered cotton. “Was I unconscious for long?”

  “Overnight. The blow to your head knocked you out. I’ve been home and changed. I’ve brought you some clothes. They had to cut the ones you were wearing off you.”

  When he tried to turn his head, he found they had strapped him down in some kind of harness so he couldn’t move. “Can you come here, where I can see you?”

  He heard her stand up and move across to where he lay. No rustling of petticoats, or tap of heels on the floor, such as he would have expected from the women of his time, just a gentle susurration of cloth. Taking a deep breath, Nathaniel closed his eyes and opened them again. And she was there. The woman he loved.

  He could see her, he could smell her. Nothing between them, no gauzy veil of ectoplasm, no barrier of any kind. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her, really touch her, and not watch his fingers pass through her. She smelled like flowers, with a subtle undercurrent that was pure woman. And she looked like heaven.

  As he watched, a pink flush spread over her cheeks. “What are you looking at?” she demanded, her voice huskier than usual.

  He told her the simple truth. “You. I will never get enough of looking at you.”

  Even her frown was attractive to him. “Don’t be an idiot, Nev. I’m staying here until you’re well, but then I’m going. It’s over, just like I told you earlier.”

  Now it was his turn to frown. “Did he upset you again?”

  Her frown deepened, but this time into puzzlement. “What are you talking about?” She bent down, and he felt her breath on his face. “There’s something wrong with your eyes.”

  “What? I can see you, and that’s all I need.”

  She drew back, straightening up. “Don’t do this, Nev. It worked once, but I’m not completely stupid. It won’t work again.”

  He ignored her comment. “What about my eyes?”

  “Nothing. It’s probably the light in here. Are you wearing contacts?”

  “What are they? As far as I know all I have on is this tasteless hospital gown.” He knew what it was; he could feel the slick surface. One of the cleaners at the Abbey loved hospital dramas and as a result, he’d seen quite a few. He cursed inwardly. She meant contact lenses. Why should she think that?

  The frown returned. “What are you talking about?” She studied him closely, and he lay quietly, enjoying the sensation of her attention. After a moment, her face cleared. “Oh, you were hit on the head. I suppose you’ll be shaky for a while, although they say if you do have concussion, it’s very mild.”

  She bit her lip. “Your bike was very badly damaged, you know.”

  “Was it?” He didn’t care, an
d she frowned again. Nev must have loved his bikes. Well he wasn’t Nev, and he didn’t particularly want Sylvie to think he was. It didn’t matter. If he could get her on his side, he might be able to achieve his objective easier. But telling her would be difficult.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the nurse came in to take him down for his CT scan. He reached out his hand and to his relief Sylvie took it, walking by the side of the trolley where he could see her.

  They pushed through a set of double doors and then Nathaniel saw it and remembered what a CT scan was. The gleaming white machine waited to take him.

  He couldn’t do it.

  He was in Nev’s body, so there wouldn’t be any differences for them to see, but it wasn’t that. There was a word for the way he was feeling, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Panicked, for sure. Scared, almost witless. His throat dried to the consistency of a prune.

  “Don’t put me in that thing,” he said, very quietly.

  The nurse leaning over him gave him a reassuring smile. “It won’t hurt. Just a few minutes.”

  “No,” he croaked. “I can’t go in there.”

  Presumably, he wasn’t the first patient to have this reaction, because the nurse glanced away to someone behind him. A male voice answered her. “We could give him a mild sedative.”

  “Get me out of here. I won’t go in there.”

  “Mr—my lord―” came the quick correction—“With your injuries it would be highly advisable to allow us to do a scan. We need to know what is happening, and if we find it now, we can most likely correct it. Leave it and it might be too late.”

  Very soon, it will all be too late, Nathaniel thought, grimly, and realized it didn’t matter. It would probably be the cause of the earl’s death on Christmas day, a death Brother Anselm seemed to think was inevitable. Nathaniel had no reason to doubt the monk. He would have to remind himself constantly of this, especially when faced with his greatest temptation—Sylvie.