Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  “So no Christmas holiday for the staff?” Sylvie said.

  Angela shook her head. “I’ll work with a few technicians over the Christmas period. Spectacular bonuses all round. We’ll just celebrate after the show goes out. What a great Christmas present! A real live ghost, without a doubt! Bloody brilliant!”

  Sylvie followed Nathaniel’s lead when he tugged on her hand, leading her from the room. “An easy manifestation,” he murmured when they were out of earshot. “Meant to distract. I hope it worked.”

  It hadn’t. They ran the mediums to ground in the library, where they shouldn’t really have been, as they hadn’t been given permission to use that part of the Abbey. There were some treasures locked in the glass cases. Nathaniel didn’t say anything about the trespass. Neither did Sylvie.

  Instead, Nathaniel strolled forward with a smile of welcome. “Studying?”

  The mediums exchanged a look. “This is a beautiful library. You have some real treasures here,” Doris said, moving some papers. No doubt that was to conceal what they were up to.

  “We do, don’t we?”

  Sylvie walked up quietly behind Jo, where she sat at the large table, open books spread around her. “Find anything interesting? We’ve just seen the film of your experiences last night. Quite a display.”

  Jo’s eyes narrowed, her heavily mascara’d lashes coming together, in danger of tangling. “Are you saying that was faked? I can assure you it was not.”

  “Not at all,” Sylvie replied. She leaned over and flipped over the nearest book to read the title. “Magic texts? I thought you were mediums.”

  “A hobby. I have a gift, so I might as well use it to its full ability. It might turn into something else in time.”

  Doris chipped in. “She’s very talented. I’m teaching her all I know. The gift of power runs in families, you know.”

  “Really?” Nathaniel turned to her with his most charming smile. “My wife tells me you’re Jo’s mother.”

  Doris returned the smile, but hers wasn’t as charming, stretching her lips in a grimace. “Jo tells me I’m soon to be your mother in law.”

  Neither looked away. A spark, deep in her eyes, gave him pause. “You mean Nev’s.”

  “I mean Nev’s, of course. It worked then.”

  “What worked?” Nev lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. Challenge her. He felt another presence enter the room. Brother Anselm. Welcome, Brother.

  “Brother who?”

  A ripple of shock ran through him when he realized Doris had heard his internal greeting. “My secret,” he said briefly.

  “Who has come in?” Jo said suddenly. “There’s somebody else here, isn’t there?”

  He felt rather than saw Sylvie take a step towards him. He daren’t speak to her internally, now he knew they were overheard.

  Jo’s look turned sly, her eyes drifting half shut, a smile creeping over her lips. “We know who you are, Vernon.”

  He kept his facial features steady, deliberately showing her nothing. “It shouldn’t have been too difficult for you. I thought you were supposed to be at the top of your particular profession.”

  “We are,” the women chorused, then glanced at each other, before Doris went on. “You know we brought you back, don’t you? Do you want to know how we did it? We can make you stay, did you know that?”

  For a moment hope leapt in Nathaniel’s heart, but he didn’t need Brother Anselm’s voice in his head to remind him. You were sent here by a higher force. Their efforts were merely coincidental.

  The thoughts came in on a different wavelength to the one Brother Anselm usually employed. Nathaniel replied on the same wavelength. Are you sure?

  The hesitation was miniscule, but it was there. Of course I am sure. He wasn’t sure. How could he be? Nathaniel couldn’t be certain. Neither could he put himself in the power of these women. Avarice and jealousy ruled them, not an atavistic desire to see him united forever with the woman he loved.

  No one will believe them.

  I agree. Perhaps I should destroy my little demonstration last night.

  Nathaniel laughed. No, don’t do that, Brother.

  “He’s talking to the ghost!” Doris’s already heavy brows drew together in a deep frown. “How can you do that?”

  “I may be talking to myself.” Nathaniel met her angry glare. “One thing is certain ladies. I’m not your puppet, your Frankenstein’s monster.”

  “He’s not real!” Jo cried, turning an accusing stare on her mother. “You said he was a Royalist. How can he know about Frankenstein?”

  Nathaniel’s lips curled in a sneer. “You think I haven’t watched and learned over the centuries? Think again, ladies.” He turned abruptly away from the table. “I want to spend the time I have left with my wife, not with you. You’ll excuse us.”

  Spinning around, he bowed to them, a perfect courtly bow. He only wished he had a hat with a plume in it so he could finish with a spectacular flourish, but he demonstrated how often he’d done it by the ease and grace of the gesture. The bow was a royal bow, deep enough for a King, but he displayed his disdain when he turned his back on them.

  He put his hand in the small of Sylvie’s back and guided her to the door. The library had two doors at each end of the long room, and unfortunately the one he chose seemed to be locked. So much for a dramatic exit.

  They had to walk the length of the room, only to discover the other door was locked, too. Nathaniel rattled the handle in a futile attempt to shake the lock loose. Without turning round, he growled, “What have you done?”

  He wasn’t speaking to Sylvie.

  Sylvie turned, her face blandly impassive. “Have you locked us in?”

  Doris chuckled low in her throat. “Yes. We haven’t finished here, although his lordship seems to think so.”

  Jo murmured something, and the murmur became a chant. Nathaniel couldn’t hear the words, only feel the effect. He was rooted to the spot, unable to move. Sylvie tugged at his hand, but it fell away, unable to grip. “What have you done to him?”

  Slowly, he turned around. He screamed into the void, unable to contact Sylvie or anyone else. For the first time since he died, he was completely alone. Terror gripped him, but it had done before, and he fought to defeat it. Going into battle against one’s own countrymen led to terror and horrified realization that one could be fighting one’s own brother.

  Nothing could be that bad. Not even this.

  At the realization, his current situation came back into focus and he concentrated his energy on breaking free of the force that held him in its iron grip.

  It was impossible. Every time he fought, the barrier seemed to increase threefold, as though it fed off his strength.

  “Come here.” Doris’s words sounded as sweet as honey, although he knew her voice was harsh, roughened by her smoking habit. Nathaniel had never seen her smoke in public, but yellowed teeth and a hacking cough, as well as the lingering smell on her clothes all spoke louder than any words.

  Such knowledge didn’t help him now. Despite willing his feet to stay still, they moved, turning him towards the women seated at the table in the center of the room. As he passed Sylvie he saw her eyes, anguished, asking him what to do, but he knew no more than she did. How could these women exert so much power?

  It showed on their faces. They were taut with strain, both of them. They held their hands before them, the left of one and the right of the other interlinked, and lines etched their way around their eyes and foreheads.

  It wouldn’t take much extra effort to break their hold.

  “Don’t fight them.” The voice from behind him was Sylvie’s. He couldn’t turn his head to look at her. God, keep her safe, don’t bind her up in this spell!

  “She’s right. Don’t fight. Draw them out with your withdrawal.”

  Brother Anselm had spoken. Nathaniel could hear his voice, but not see him, although he could be out of his eye line. He wasn’t sure anyone else had heard the monk until J
o’s eyes shifted a little to the right, and gained a new expression. Something had surprised the younger medium, and by the look on her face, it wasn’t a pleasant surprise.

  Draw them out with your withdrawal.

  Of course! An old military trick. Pretend to retreat, let the enemy follow in triumph and then turn and set on them when they least expect it.

  “Look at me.” Doris’s voice compelled him. He didn’t want to, but he met her eyes. “You are under my control,” she continued, smoothly and evenly. “You must do as I say, do what I wish you to do.”

  He found he could speak. “Yes,” he said, keeping his tones as smooth as Doris’s. “I will do as you wish.” But Brother Anselm was with him now, and he felt the monk moving in his mind, freeing what he could from the heavy compulsion weighing him down. It was true. When he ceased to fight, the barriers lightened, leaving it possible for him to insinuate his way through the maze of threads that bound him.

  He felt the strength of the spell, weaving its way through him, persuading him, compelling him to its will. “You will remember the love you have for my daughter. You will love her, and continue with the plans you made together, to divorce your wife and marry her.”

  “I will do as you wish.” Now, while Brother Anselm freed him, Nathaniel tried to keep up the façade of obedience, of subservience to her will.

  “I called you back, Vernon Heatherington, because my daughter wished it. She wants a royalist of her own. It was I, not any other force, that gave you being. Nev Heath was a philanderer, and no spell I could cast would keep him steadfast. I will not see my daughter disgraced in that way. It might have suited some—“ she shot a venomous glance to where Sylvie stood—“but not my precious Josephine.”

  He felt a stirring, then heard her voice. I’m here. Take what you need from me.

  Just your love.

  You know you have that.

  Her devotion, her faith in him astounded him. The bond they had formed over the last six years, strengthened in the last few days of physical contact, could not be broken by any tin pot witch or sorcerer. The power of their love was elemental, unbreakable. Even death would not break it.

  That knowledge above everything else gave him the strength to defeat the insidious spell sneaking through him, invading every pore, every bone.

  The barrier holding the true state and the phantom appearance he was keeping up for the benefit of the witches grew thinner. When he saw their expressions change to bewilderment he knew it was time.

  Shaking off the tattered remnants like an old cloak, shattering their fragile hold on him, he stood before them, free and stronger than they could have imagined. “Did you think your puny attempts would keep me for long? Nev Heath was a wounded human being, easy to seduce, easy to compel. I am not.”

  He turned away, taking Sylvie’s arm. “I am yours for ever, my love. Nothing will ever part us again. Come.” She glanced back at the women, frozen in place where they sat. He followed her gaze.

  “Ma, I can’t feel anything anymore.” Jo sounded scared.

  He knew what he had done. “Your psychic abilities are gone. You exerted everything you had to bend me to your will, and you failed. You’ll have to learn to fake it, or give up. And every day you’ll wonder if anyone will realize you’re no more mediums than anyone else, until someone finds you out. Or Sylvie chooses to tell.”

  He smiled at Sylvie. “They’re no threat to us anymore.” He strode to the door and this time it opened easily for him when he touched the handle.

  Brother Anselm stood just behind the women, though they showed no sign of awareness of his presence. “By the way,” Nathaniel added, as his parting shot. “You got the wrong Heatherington.”

  Chapter Nine

  He took her to an anteroom on the ground floor. He wouldn’t let her speak until the door closed behind them.

  “Did they summon you back? Was it them all the time?”

  He shook his head. “They might have made the transition easier, but no. I accepted the choice presented to me, and chose to come to you. A power greater than those two brought me here.” He kept her gaze fixed with his. “And will send me back.”

  “They tried to make you stay. Will they have succeeded?”

  She saw the regret in his eyes, knew his answer before he spoke. “No. The bargain was for me to fulfill my quest, then return home. I’ve destroyed the power in them. I doubt they’ll even be able to contact the spirits of the dead any more.”

  “They were evil?” still trying to come to terms with what she had just witnessed, Sylvie felt she was groping in the dark.

  “Ignorant, more like. They weren’t sure what they could do. There are some people in this world who are born with a power, and if they are guided the wrong way, or discover the wrong books, they may cause catastrophe. I think I was sent to stop them. Now I have.”

  He kissed her lips, closing his eyes before drawing back and gazing at her again. “I will have to leave, Sylvie. But one thing, one more favor.” In a sudden, graceful movement he knelt at her feet. “Will you marry me?”

  “Nathaniel, don’t be foolish! We are married!”

  He shook his head. “I want you to marry me, Nathaniel. I might be occupying the body of your husband, but he has gone now. Every trace of his personality, what made him Nev, has gone.”

  “But we can’t marry!”

  “Sylvie, if it were possible, if you could accept me, free and clear, would you?”

  Her heart went out to him, displaying his love for her so fearlessly, so honestly. “Yes, you must know I would.”

  He smiled, and got to his feet. “Then come with me.”

  The chapel at the Abbey was one of the few survivals from the medieval origins of the house. It was reached at the end of a small corridor, which exactly followed the course of one underneath in the old servants’ quarters, recently discovered to be the remnants of a monkish cloister.

  Together, Sylvie and Nathaniel crossed the worn stone at the threshold of the chapel, the remains of the old chancel. Originally, the chapel had been larger, but once Henry VIII had handed the abbey over to a favorite courtier, the rebuilding had been relentless, obscuring most of what had gone before.

  The atmosphere in this place was almost tangible. Half a dozen long pews lay on each side of the aisle. Sylvie and Nathaniel passed between them.

  A shadowy figure stood at the end of the aisle, just in front of the altar. Brother Anselm. He smiled when they walked to stand just in front of him. “Welcome, my children. Please kneel.”

  Sylvie trembled, but not from fear. This was a moment out of time. An air of sacred peace surrounded her, such as she had never known in her life before. Even the sight of Brother Anselm, solid, but as spectral as Nathaniel had been didn’t worry her, although deep inside she wondered why.

  She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her head, but she couldn’t understand any of the chanted words that accompanied the gesture. Latin, undoubtedly, but her Latin was nearly nonexistent. The chant sounded smooth and soothing, as the chant the women upstairs had uttered had been jarring and uncomfortable.

  Warmth spread through her body, a steady heat that felt right and good. When Brother Anselm said, “Join your hands, please and lift them up,” the modern English felt almost wrong. But she linked her hand with Nathaniel’s and lifted them. The soft silk scarf Brother Anselm dropped over them smelled of lavender, and was exquisitely embroidered with symbols of Christianity. She had never seen it before.

  Brother Anselm continued to murmur in Latin. Now the heat in her body localized at the place where their hands joined. They would never be apart, not in spirit. This ceremony joined them. Their bodies might not have long to spend together, but whatever happened after tonight, whatever happened to her in the future, he would be in her heart, and her soul.

  Joy spread through her, that he would accept her devotion and offer her his. She gave him all she had with all her heart.

  Brother Anselm lifted the sc
arf away, and murmured, “That is all. You can stand now.”

  They stood, and Sylvie got her first real look at the monk.

  He had thrown back the hood to his floor-length brown gown, and she saw a dark haired man with a weathered face, perhaps around forty years of age. He stood only a little taller than Nathaniel, although he was a step higher than they were. That would make him around five and a half feet, maybe an inch or two taller. His eyes were dark, so dark they seemed black. And his smile was gravely patient, and welcoming.

  “It is good to see you, my sister. You have cared for this house very well in your time here. Now you are bound to it, as we are.”

  “Good.”

  His smile broadened a little. “Nathaniel assured me you would say that, otherwise I would never have consented to marry you. Not all monks were qualified to perform marriages, but before I entered the community, I was a priest. The ceremony was the marriage service and blessing, although in my day, to be legal, only handfasting was required.” His face turned grave, the deep grooves between his nose and mouth deepening when he lost the smile. “You have little time to complete the sanctity of your union. You have my blessing.” He turned his attention to Nathaniel. “I wish events could be different for you, but nothing has changed. I will be sorry to lose such a steadfast companion, and this may well be the last time we meet.”

  “Can you not accompany me?”

  Brother Anselm shook his head, the lit candles on the altar striking gleams in his dark hair. A glimpse of pink flesh displayed his tonsure. “I have not atoned for my sin, although I hope my acts today have gone some way towards it. It may not be soon.”

  “I’ll be there, waiting for you.”

  “I know you will.”

  He stretched out his hand and Nathaniel extended his own, dropping Sylvie’s. She took a step back. This was a private moment, not meant for her. Nathaniel hauled Brother Anselm into his arms and hugged him before drawing back taking a step back to join her. He swept into a low bow, but this one had none of the mockery he had used before with the women. This was deep, reverential and heartfelt. For the first time in her life, Sylvie wished she could curtsey. Nev had never run in royal circles, and the one time she had met the Queen, a short bob had sufficed, not the elaborate obeisance usual in the past. She did her best. She bobbed.