by Jan Burke
Charles and I waited in relative comfort, hidden from view, our lantern shielded. We soon knew who the first of our arrivals would most likely be—Lucien came to report that within a few minutes of one another, Henry and Fanny had each softly knocked at the door to my room, and peered inside. They had then hurried back to their own rooms.
But it was William who opened the door at the top of the stairs, carrying a candle. He had opened the door and was halfway down the stairs when the door opened a second time. He turned to see Fanny.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked her.
“I might ask the same of you.”
“I’m looking for Henry. Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t the vaguest. Where are Edward and the brat?”
In the darkness of our hiding place, I laid a finger to Charles’s lips. He nodded his understanding.
“How should I know?”
“I should have known it was all a Banbury tale,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to gammon me, dear brother. You’re here looking for the treasure, too!”
“I’m not worried about any treasure—”
“Not worried about any treasure! That’s a loud one! You who’ve been punting on River Tick for I don’t know how long!”
“If Mama could hear you using such terms—”
“Mama is sound asleep. Go on, deny that you’re one step ahead of the bailiff.”
“All right, I deny it. I’m not in debt. I’ve come about—thanks to Cousin Lucien.”
“What!”
“I never told you or Henry, but it’s true. He helped me, Fanny.”
“Why you?”
“Because he cared about the family, you baconbrain! Wasn’t just the money—he talked to me. Made me think, I tell you. So if anyone is planning any further mischief around here, they’ll have to come through me. I was too late for Lucien, and last night, I was sure I was too late to help Charles. But this time I’ve caught you, and I tell you I won’t allow it!
“Help Charles? Mischief? What on earth are you talking about?”
“My horse is in the stall next to Fine Lad. I think you know what that means.”
“That he’s eating his head off at his lordship’s expense.”
“Fanny!”
She eyed him malevolently. “Enough of your nonsense, William. Let me by. Edward and the brat will be down here any minute—probably working their way through the secret passage now.”
“Secret passage!” William said. “What secret passage?”
“The place is full of them. Don’t you remember me telling you that when we were here that last Christmas?”
William frowned. “No.”
“Well, maybe I told Henry, then. Which is of no importance in any case! Move off this staircase before I have to shove you off!”
“Touch me, and I’ll tell Mama that nothing pleases her spinster daughter so much as to dress up like a man and ride astride!”
“Oh! You won’t be alive to tell her! They’ll be burying you next to Lucien!”
“Now!” I heard Lucien say, and I pulled the shield off the lantern.
The sudden light caught the attention of the two Banes. But it was Lucien who caused William to give out a blood-curdling scream.
Charles clung to me, apparently more frightened by the scream than anything that had gone before.
“Lord Almighty!” Fanny said. “You frightened the life right out of me. What’s gotten into you! You’ll bring the whole house down on us!”
William, the color gone from his face, pointed a shaking hand toward Lucien.
“What?” Fanny said. “Speak up, now!”
“The Headless Abbot.”
“Headless Abbot! I don’t see any Headless Abbot! It’s just a light coming from one of those passages I told you about.”
“Don’t you see him?” William cried. “In riding clothes!”
“Are you back to giving me trouble over that? What’s it to you if I find men’s clothes more sensible for riding?”
Lucien tried moving closer to her. But while William swayed on his feet, Fanny was oblivious to him.
“William?” she said. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”
In frustration, Lucien materialized completely.
“Lucien!” William said, and fainted. Unfortunately, he was still on the stairs when this happened. Lucien tried to make a grab for him, but William fell right through him, tumbling down to the ledge.
Now Fanny screamed, but she obviously still could not see my brother.
“Fibbens, please take his lordship to safety,” I said, over Charles’s protests. “Ask Bogsley to bring some men with a litter to me.” And picking up a lantern, I limped out as quickly as I could to the landing, where William lay in a heap.
“Edward!” Fanny called, hurrying down the stairs and straight through Lucien without so much as a blink,
“Oh, help him, Edward!”
She stood nervously watching me. William made a groaning sound, and opened his eyes. “Edward?” he said dazedly. “Was it you all along?”
He then caught sight of Lucien standing behind me, though, and fainted once again.
I did my best to make him more comfortable. “Help will be here soon, Fanny,” I said.
“He’s broken his arm,” Lucien said, “but I don’t think he has any more serious injuries. Why do you suppose he could see me, but she can’t?”
“I don’t understand it,” I said.
Fanny, thinking I spoke to her, said, “Well I understand it! It’s all because of Lucien’s stupid story about the monk. He thought he saw the ghost. Just your lantern light, I daresay.”
We heard a sound then, a faint cracking noise from below.
Fanny’s face grew pale. “The abbot!” she said weakly.
“Henry,” I called, “are you down there in the dark eating walnuts?”
A long laugh echoed up the tower.
“Henry!” Fanny exclaimed. “Get help,” I said to Lucien.
“I’ll stay here, thank you,” Fanny replied. “Besides, you said help is already on the way.”
“Oh it is, dear Fanny, it is!” Henry said, lighting a lantern. He started up the stone stairs. “Where’s Charles?”
Lucien made a wild banshee sound, and swooped toward Henry. Nothing.
“Never mind the brat,” Fanny said impatiently. “Here’s your brother broken to bits!”
“I wouldn’t trouble yourself too much over William, Fanny.” Henry said. “He discovered my little plan, so I think it’s best if the next accident concerning an earl has something to do with trying to save my brother. Edward and Charles make a valiant, combined effort. Alas, it will be unsuccessful.”
“Will no one talk sense to me?” Fanny asked.
“Your brother Henry wants to be an earl,” I said. “So he murdered Lucien—right, Lucien?”
“Right.”
But Henry laughed and said, “Don’t tell me you think you can try that ghost business on me at this age, Edward! Now where’s that treasure? I warn you, I’m armed.”
“You’ll never own the Abbey’s treasure,” I said. “The Abbey’s treasure then, as it is now, was in the good men who have lived here—Lucien, and his father, and Charles.”
“Henry,” Fanny said, “tell me you didn’t harm Lucien!”
“Lucien? Oh, not just Lucien. Don’t forget his father and his ninnyhammer of a stepmother—you didn’t think that carriage overturned by chance?” I heard the sound of rock falling, and Henry said, “When I am earl, I shall have these steps repaired.”
“You’ll never be earl!” Lucien vowed.
I heard a commotion in the passageway. Fibbens’s voice was calling desperately, “Your lo
rdship, no!”
Suddenly a white, headless figure with a bloodstained cassock came barreling onto the landing. Fanny, who did not see me grab hold of the small boy who carried it, let out the fourth scream to assault my ears in nearly as many minutes.
Lucien grabbed the pillow ghost, and went flying off the landing. Literally. Previously unable to support it, this time—perhaps somehow strengthened by his need to protect Charles—he was able to make the Headless Abbot billow impressively, and to aim it directly at Henry Bane. Henry fired his pistol at it, but the stuffed costume came at him inexorably, and knocked him from the stone stairs. His fall was harder than William’s, and fatal.
I called to Lucien, but he had disappeared.
TWO WEEKS LATER, WILLIAM, RECOVERED ENOUGH TO BE MOVED, left with his sister and the much quieter dowager for Bane House. They wanted to be home in time for Christmas, which was drawing near. William and his sister were getting along fairly well by then—as we all were—and none of us told the dowager about her daughter’s clothing preferences. Although a scandal of a far more serious nature had been avoided, both Henry’s duplicity and his death had left Lady Bane shaken.
But even with the Banes gone and the immediate crisis over, I was feeling dismal, as was Charles. One night he came to the library at midnight, upset—not because he saw a ghost, but because it had been so long since he had seen one. I tried to explain his father’s traveling coach analogy, but Charles wanted that coach to return. “At least for visits,” he said tearfully.
I took out the packet of letters again, and read to him—this time, the letter Lucien had written to me on the death of his wife.
“I used to be able to picture her so clearly after she was gone,” a familiar voice said. “To feel her watching over Charles and me, sharing our joys. Do you know, I believe I now know why Fanny and Henry couldn’t see me, but you who’ve loved me can?”
“Papa!” Charles cried out.
“Yes, my boy, I’m back—for a visit.”
GRADUALLY, OVER THE YEARS, WE SAW LESS AND LESS OF HIM. BY the time Charles had grown into a man, it was no longer necessary to trouble Lucien to be our ghost. By then, we knew how to recall his spirit in other ways—through fond remembrance, and the knowledge that we can never be truly parted from those we love.
AND THAT, I’VE COME TO BELIEVE, IS THE TRUE SPIRIT OF Christmas.
PACING MY SMALL CELL, TRYING NOT TO LISTEN TO THE racket around me.
They’ve just brought a meal to me, and I’m going to settle down to enjoy it. In the two days since Cindy’s death, I haven’t been able to get enough to eat. The authorities don’t know what to make of my appetite.
They’ve been by to see me a couple of times now; can’t make up their minds. I’ve watched them eyeing me, trying to figure out what went wrong, why I didn’t save her. Wondering if I killed her, or if it was an accident. They aren’t convinced of my innocence, but they’re equally unsure of my guilt.
I’ll tell you what I couldn’t begin to try to explain to them. Decide for yourself.
The last time I lost my appetite, I was with Cindy. We were together that evening, as we were every evening . . .
SHE SET THE MEAL BEFORE ME WITH A SMALL FLOURISH. I STARED at it, only half-listening to her prattle mindlessly as she fumbled around in the kitchen, dishing up her own dinner. She insisted on this, this “eating in” every evening. And believe me, she was no gourmet cook. I could barely force myself to eat the unappetizing lumps in gravy that were supposed to resemble beef stew. Not that I know the first thing about cooking, but I wouldn’t have minded going out once in a while, nabbing a bite on my own. Fat chance. Cindy wouldn’t let me out of her sight.
Out of her sight. Poor choice of words, Alex.
Cindy was blind. That sense of duty I felt toward her, that protectiveness that is a part of my nature, welled up in me and made me feel ashamed. As penance, I finished off the last of the tasteless gruel.
Don’t let me mislead you. I didn’t stay with Cindy out of guilt or pity. I knew she was blind when I met her. I thought, at the time, that I was fully prepared to live with that fact. Being with her gave me a sense of purpose unlike any I had known before. I thought I loved her. I had even thought she loved me.
From the moment we met, though, Cindy had taken over my life. I admit that I allowed her to do so. In the beginning, I had an illusion of power. I was piloting her through the obstacles of life. What I failed to understand at the time was that I was also becoming completely dependent on her, not just for material things, but for companionship and a sense of being needed.
I was shuffled around a lot as a kid; I confess that I wouldn’t know my own mother if I met her on the street. Cindy offered stability, a chance to stay in one place. You don’t know how much I longed for that as a kid. But even the chance to have a place called home doesn’t explain how much I needed her. The praise and affection she lavished on me in the beginning became all-important to me; I would have done anything for her. But these days, she doled out her praise and affection in a miserly fashion.
Some might say I was ungrateful. After all, I was better off than a great many others. I wasn’t homeless, begging for a handout. Many in my position, with my background and limited education, would never live so well.
To our friends, we still appeared to be devoted to one another. Few of them realized that my devotion was a chore or knew how hard I had to work at it. Even the ones who knew how demanding Cindy could be still idealized our relationship.
I wondered at that, scratching my head in puzzlement. She heard the sound, of course. “Alex! Will you quit that scratching!” she snapped. I silently sulked off to my favorite chair. I didn’t like admitting she was right. Lately I had gotten into the nervous habit of scratching my head, and it annoyed the heck out of her. I’m sure it bothered her as much as her whistling between her teeth bothered me. Our nervous habits had started grating on each other.
Face it, Alex, I thought with a sigh, everything about her is grating on you.
Perhaps you think I was unnecessarily harsh in my evaluation, especially considering her physical challenges. Not so. Through my association with her, I met other blind people, and have found that they are as varied in personality as the sighted. I can honestly say that I would have been happy to be a friend or even more than a friend to a great many of them. Cindy would have driven me crazy even if she’d had 20/20 vision.
But I was stuck with her. My dependency on her for my livelihood was never far from her mind. Or mine. At night, I often dreamed of running away, living on my own. So vivid were these dreams that I would often startle myself awake. “What were you dreaming, Alex?” Cindy would ask sleepily. “You’ve been running in your sleep.”
I’ve been running away from you, I wanted to say, but it was no use. She always fell right back to sleep after asking the question. What did she really care about my dreams?
I HEARD HER WHISTLING TO HERSELF AS SHE FINISHED CLEANING up the dishes. That damned whistling was the worst of it. I tried in every way I could think of to let her know it annoyed me, but to no avail. She didn’t understand me at all.
Sure, the age-old complaint.
By the time she suggested an evening walk, I was more than willing to get some fresh air. I anticipated a stroll through the nearby park; maybe a chance to run into a friendly neighbor. But as I made the turn outside the door of our building, Cindy tugged at me so hard I nearly lost my balance.
“Oh no you don’t, Alex. I know what you’re up to. Well, we’re not going to the park. Not this evening.”
Well, okay, I admit it—there was a good-looking gal who often took a run through the park about that time of day, and she and I had exchanged some tender looks of longing. But it never went any further—how could it, with Cindy never more than two feet away from me?
I guess Cindy picked up on even my most momentary lack
of attention to her and her needs.
I was soon distracted from all thought of the park. Cindy was, as usual, directing me in rude and abrupt tones. “Left, Alex.” “Right, Alex.” It was humiliating, being treated more as an errant child than as her partner.
I suddenly realized that this was what she envisioned every day of our life to be like. She would never trust me completely. She would depend on me, but not as a trustworthy companion. Not someone to really love. Knowing that I wasn’t trained for anything that would allow me to live as well as I did with her, she meant to use me shamelessly. She would rely on me to guide her from corner to corner, to keep her from bumping into things, to listen to her, to sleep beside her. But my own needs—to be treated with dignity, to be loved—those were of no consequence to her. She was in control.
“Slow down, Alex!”
All of these commands! I thought angrily. Couldn’t you think of some gentler way to let me know what you want?
She started whistling again. If it had been real whistling, real honest-to-God whistling, I think I could have lived with it. But there we were, walking toward the intersection, and she was doing it, whistling through her teeth. A tuneless, maddening sucking in and out of breath. I wanted to howl from the irritation of it.
It was just at that moment that she insisted on crossing the street. There was a van coming. I saw it, knew she was unaware of it. Knew without a doubt that the young driver was too intent on beating the light to pay attention to anything but the color of the signal.
Cindy tugged at me.
I stopped to scratch.
She lost her balance, losing her grip on me as she stumbled off the curb.
I let her go.
IT’S GOING TO BE HARD TO FIND WORK AGAIN. MAYBE YOU CAN explain to them that I won’t fail next time. Tell them, if you would be so kind, one other thing: please don’t give me a whistler.
