Oxford Whispers

by Marion Croslydon

  She wasn’t like any little girl Madison had ever seen. Her dress was from another era: a dull green velvet with a lace collar.

  “I want to speak to him. Why does he not listen to me? We never said goodbye.” Tears filled the little girl’s eyes, and her voice waivered.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  The child pointed past Madison, who looked back at the bar. Students swarmed the area, shouting and gesturing for drinks.

  “Madison.” A hand grabbed her elbow, making her start.

  “Oliver.”

  He frowned. “You look spaced out.”

  She blinked and turned back to the little girl, desperate to understand what happened. But she had disappeared.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Pippa?” Oliver frowned. “Probably with some guy … I got us a bottle at the college bar downstairs. I thought you’d both wait for me.”

  Madison drew in a breath without paying attention to his words. Glancing at her hand, she saw she still held the glass of wine. She brought it to her lips and gulped half of it down. The alcohol burned her tongue and her throat.

  The vanishing act she had witnessed remained stamped on her mind for the remainder of the evening.

  AT MIDNIGHT, SHE made it back to her room, Ollie cruising by her side, half-asleep. Tomorrow’s headache was going to be a killer. She’d have to pay for the many glasses of wine she had indulged in after bumping into Mr. Adonis and the eerie child. Neither of them had crossed her path again for the rest of the party. Pippa had left the ball with a stocky rugby player she had chosen earlier in the evening. As expected. And Ollie had noticed Pippa’s conquest too.

  Madison waved goodnight to her neighbor. She and Ollie lived on the top floor of one the buildings overlooking Tom Quad. She was about to open her door, but one last glimpse at his slouching gate pulled at her heart. She took a step back and gave him a bear hug.

  Misfits stick together, don’t they?

  Once in her room, she stripped off and pulled on flannel PJs. Eager to forget about her day, she tucked herself under her duvet and drifted into an alcohol-induced sleep, inhabited by tearful little girls and smoking-hot dudes …

  … Until a chill air brushed her face.

  Her eyes opened wide, and she took in the change of scene around her. She stood in the middle of a dark clearing near a mottled, slender oak tree and a crumbling stone wall. Dried leaves and ferns stung her bare feet. Instead of her own pajamas, she was wearing a loose white gown.

  No singing bird, no whispering wind, not a single sound. A stillness prevailed over the landscape. Almost a deadness.

  Understanding flashed across her mind, and she recognized the place. This time, Doctor McCain’s voice wouldn’t extract her from the surrounding darkness and drag her back to reality. She wasn’t in a classroom full of other students.

  She was in the painting, and her first impulse was to run. The prospect of a ghostly encounter with the Puritan froze her to the ground, her numb legs struggling to carry the rest of her body.

  Shaking herself out of the state of limbo, she managed to turn around, in search of an exit, a quick path out of the trees. Fear and darkness blurred her sight, and she couldn’t make out specific shapes.

  Then she heard crying, and other muted sounds coming from behind her. An overbearing force urged her to return, one tentative step at a time.

  A woman who hadn’t been there before leaned against the tree. Her hands hid her face and her tears, but Madison recognized the Puritan girl. She wore the same somber gown as in the painting.

  Madison stumbled toward her. Gathering her courage, she laid her sweaty hand on the maiden’s shoulder, the texture of the gown harsh against Madison’s palm.

  The young woman uncovered her tear-streaked face, and the charcoal shade of the stranger’s eyes sent shockwaves through Madison.

  Those eyes were her own, and those of the child from the ball.

  Madison stepped back. How could I have missed that before?

  “We never said goodbye.” The lips of the girl trembled. “He has to know the truth.”

  Her words echoed those Madison had heard from the girl earlier in the night.

  “Tell me your name,” Madison whispered, fear clenched like a fist in the pit of her stomach.

  “Sarah … You’re here at last.”

  “I shouldn’t be.” Madison’s voice broke. She wanted to escape, but the poor girl’s tears tugged at her soul.

  “You have the gift. You will know what to do. Time is against us.”

  Madison had crossed an ocean to get away from her roots. She wouldn’t give up on her dreams now. Not ever. “I don’t want to use my powers. They will destroy me.”

  “This is who you are.”

  Sarah lowered her gaze, and Madison’s heart tightened. The moment of pity didn’t last long, as Sarah grabbed Madison’s hands.

  “You are not here just because you can see us. This is your story too.”

  “I want nothing to do with you.” Madison stepped back, holding her palms out in front of her, to protect herself from the danger she breathed in the still air around her.

  “But you have no choice. You are me, I am you.” Sarah walked straight toward Madison, giving her no way of escape. “He is coming after you, don’t you see?”

  “Who? Who is coming after me?”

  “Peter.” Sarah locked eyes with Madison and added, “I know him, he will never let you be happy. He will never allow you to love again.”

  Shock made Madison bite her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood spread through her mouth. She swallowed, but almost choked on her own saliva. She had to get away from this place. She swiveled and ran, ran for her life while everything around her blurred and turned shapeless.

  And she heard Sarah’s words, as if the girl had whispered into her ear: “Peter will kill you. He will. Like he killed me.”

  Madison stumbled and fell into a hole, bottomless and black.

  She awakened with a jolt, back in her bed. She gasped for breath, and laid her hand on her pounding heart. Pulling her knees close to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them.

  A death threat.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she struggled to stop her teeth from chattering. To calm down, she rocked her upper body and stared at the ceiling with her duvet tucked underneath her chin. Her thoughts whirled.

  She wanted to pretend this latest episode had never happened, but circumstances had changed. Within a day she had gone through more encounters with the afterlife—or whatever it was called—than she’d ever thought possible.

  She didn’t want spirits and ghosts to hassle her. She didn’t want her family heritage to stand in the way of a normal college life. Escaping from Louisiana had meant leaving all that madness behind. Had she failed to do even this?

  Toughen up.

  What just happened was a dream. A stupid dream. For sure, alcohol didn’t do her any good.

  In search of a comfier position, she shifted in her bed. Only then did she hear the crinkle of dead leaves spreading around her.

  Chapter 4

  A FULL WEEK PASSED without another impromptu meeting with Sarah, Peter, or any other dead person for all that mattered.

  Right now, Madison was glad to be sitting in the back seat of Pippa’s Austin Mini, warm and a little removed from the quibbling in the front seats.

  “You’re totally wrong,” Ollie said to Pippa. “The Fours Head dates back to the 1950s, not the nineteenth century.”

  “Since when is Nerdy Guy a sports expert?” Pippa’s voluptuous curves spread over the narrow seat, a pronounced contrast to Ollie’s willowy frame. She waved her hand like a magic wand, which worried Madison as Pippa was driving on the highway.

  Her eagerness to freeze her butt watching a rowing race made Madison curious. Not just any kind of race apparently. The Fours Head was a rehearsal for the Varsity Race, the rowing competition between Oxford and Cambridge each spr
ing.

  They vanquished London’s early-morning traffic and finally made it to Putney, where the race finished. Ollie sprinted for the parking meter to get a ticket. Pippa and Madison climbed out of the car. Standing next to it, they huddled close to each other for warmth.

  “It’s a good thing there’s no wind,” Pippa said. “Oftentimes, they won’t start the race if it’s too windy.”

  “Do we really have to stay until every boat has arrived? It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table.”

  Pippa flashed her dimples. She did that at least twice per hour. Madison had counted. “Darling, I can understand your lack of enthusiasm. I don’t give a damn about rowing. But much more than sport happens to be at stake.”

  “I want Oxford to win, but it’s not worth catching a cold.”

  “Shhh. Honey, where there are boats, there are boys.”

  Hence the blowdry and the fresh manicure.

  “Any target in particular?”

  “Too many to name. Most of the guys who row are gorgeous. Some more than others.”

  Oliver returned and prompted them to follow him quickly toward the boathouse. “We’ll miss the first arrivals otherwise.”

  “That would be tragic.” Madison wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck.

  Ollie had heard her whisper and he glared at her, but Pippa burst into laughter. Flipping her hair, she walked away. Madison followed.

  “Come on, is there one guy in particular?”

  Pippa’s lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were now fixed on the river. “Let’s say that I have some old business to take care of.”

  TWO TRAINING SESSIONS a day, six days a week, for four long months. That’s what Rupert had faced until today.

  He couldn’t wait for the end of Michaelmas … for Christmas … for one day without putting his body through more pain. But before that, he had to prove himself. The Fours Head race would be his big day, his breakout.

  “So, Vancie, you’d better be ready this time,” Claus Jensen taunted. The muscular Dane stood erect, chest out, head up, hands on his hips. “This race is our first test, and you’re in my boat. Didn’t have any say in it, but you’d better try harder than during training.”

  Refraining from throwing an uppercut into Claus’ square jaw, Rupert turned his back on his teammate. He grabbed the bottle of mineral water at his feet. Swallowing a few sips, he stared at the Thames. A northerly wind against the incoming tide pushed the water into choppy furrows.

  With the temperature two degrees above freezing, the rowing conditions would be extreme.

  Rupert swiveled and stared back straight into Claus’ eyes. “I’ve trained as hard as you. I’ll keep doing so until the race. I’ll be selected.”

  Arsehole.

  The Dane gave him a shrug and returned to his warm up.

  Underneath the neoprene of his rowing suit, the contact of his mother’s wedding ring warmed Rupert’s skin. Hung on a chain around his neck, the charm injected courage into him. He ignored the underlying guilt that never went away.

  “Guys, let’s get ready,” Coach Bartlett shouted. He clapped and everyone jumped into position.

  The Oxford squad marched steadily down the inclined bank and waded into the polar water. They moved in a straight line, their gait brisk, and prepared themselves in absolute silence.

  Once on the boat, Rupert breathed in the mucky smell of the river. His stomach turned. He closed his eyes and opened them again to look up at the seagulls flying over him.

  The shrill sound of the whistle provoked the birds into doubling the intensity of their high-pitched screeches.

  For the next twenty minutes, Rupert tested his limits to the maximum.

  They took the lead early on. Another Cambridge boat chased them down, one powerful stroke at a time. Rupert blocked out the world around him, all thoughts and emotions … even the burning pain the effort shot through his muscles.

  Passing under Hammersmith Bridge, the crews clashed, their oars thumping against one another. The umpire intervened.

  After the clash, his squad lost momentum, settling into an irregular rhythm to inch forward. Rupert’s attention was now all helter-skelter.

  His mind registered details that had nothing to do with the race or with winning: the troubled sky, the choppy river, the back of his teammate in front …

  He focused on the sound of his own breathing, but failed.

  They passed the finish line, a shadow behind the Cambridge boat.

  Seconds after the arrival, his head buried between his knees, Rupert blocked a strong wave of nausea. The heavy pounding of his heart resonated across his ribcage.

  I screwed up. I screwed up again.

  FIFTY CREWS IN the Fours Head, and Madison braced herself for a long morning. She was already bored from watching boats cross the finish line.

  She sat between her friends, desperate to steal some of their body heat. She tucked her hands underneath her thighs, but the cold surface of the wooden bench they sat on didn’t provide much comfort. Pippa kept shifting next to her. Oxford wasn’t doing well, and the school’s supporters were still waiting for their first boat to arrive. “I can’t believe Cambridge is going to win,” Ollie repeated.

  How could the rowers not freeze their butts off wearing only skanky shorts? Okay, the whole race seemed a pretty grueling effort, but watching it wasn’t much fun, either.

  Looking at the fog caressing the Thames, Madison shivered. It was thicker than any she’d seen on the bayou. The whole scene could have come straight from a Victorian novel. Jack the Ripper wasn’t too far off.

  Ollie walked briskly toward the riverbank. The first boat of the Cambridge Light Blues was finally in sight. The Oxford Dark Blues’ crew was closing in as well, and the final result would be embarrassing. Oxford was fifteen long seconds behind Cambridge’s winning boat.

  Commotion exploded around Madison. Students screaming, booing, laughing, shouting.

  “Open your eyes,” Pippa whispered. Like a hawk, the Irish girl stared at the Oxford boat.

  As soon as the athletes made it to the finish line, they labored over to the shore and climbed out of their boat. The sight of the crew was impressive—all tall, healthy-looking guys.

  Madison now understood why Pippa was ready to face polar conditions.

  “So which one is your victim?”

  “All of them, but the blonder the better, starting with Rupert Vance.” Pippa looked like a kitten about to lap up a saucer of creamy milk.

  Her target towered well above six foot and stood out amid some pretty appetizing male samples. Instead of looking like he had been rowing hell-bent, he could have stepped out of some Regency salon. A rogue, a damned attractive rogue.

  No amount of sweat or messy hair could take his attitude away.

  And Madison found him annoying. Again.

  “I talked to him.”

  Good heavenly days. Madison was surprised her brain could still function in spite of the testosterone flaunted before her.

  “Where?” Pippa didn’t take her eyes off her prey.

  “We exchanged a few words at the ball last week. He must hit on pretty much anything with panties.” Well, he had hit on her.

  The object of their attention chose that exact moment to turn toward where they stood. His gaze wrapped around Madison. A warm sparkle lightened up in his eyes.

  “Gosh, he saw me,” Pippa was getting all flustered by Madison’s side, giving a sexy wave with her manicured hand.

  It didn’t have the desired effect. Except for a slight rise of his eyebrow that lasted for a second, Earl Boy stopped paying attention. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and he began helping one of his teammates.

  But his presence a few feet away was enough to make the riverside as steamy as a Louisiana swamp.

  Pippa smiled at Madison, and her Irish lilt gave a bounce to her words. “I could look at that guy all day. He’s mouth-watering.”

  Madison turned her eyes
back to where Rupert had stood, but he was already heading toward the boathouse. The air around her had lost its electric edge. She was back to cold, gray-skyed London.

  Chapter 5

  THE ANCHOR INN was nothing fancy, but Rupert’s memories of the riverside tavern were of good times, like drinking beer with friends on the terrace overlooking the Thames. Today, he went only because the rest of the team was heading here.

  His performance at the race had been utter shit. The last thing he needed was a drink with his teammates. They thought he was a fraud, with the coach being his father’s mate. He wouldn’t contradict them on that front.

  Then he saw her, and forgot about the race, the team, and the walking failure he was. The tension inside him went away. A warm glow took central stage. Just like earlier, after the race, on the bank when he had seen her.

  She sat at the end of a large wooden table next to last year’s Ginger Girl and a bespectacled guy Rupert had seen around a few times. Her hands were hidden in her duffel coat.

  Its woolen hood covered her heart-shaped face. The sun had replaced the earlier wind, but she had her arms tightly wrapped around her upper body to keep herself warm. The heating lanterns on the terrace weren’t enough for the girl from Louisiana.

  She was as he remembered her, and Rupert wanted to take away the shadow in her eyes. He wanted to jump on the table, clown around, behave like a fool, and put a smile on her face.

  Shaking off all the schmaltz, he waited for the American girl to turn her face in his direction. As soon as she noticed him, his mouth broke into an inviting smile. That usually did the trick.

  She glanced away.

  Okay…

  When she stood and moved back inside the pub, he knew he had to talk to her. The girl was a tease.

  Inside, the tavern was old-fashioned and warm, but the low beams made the place dark. The only light came from ships’ lanterns and an open fire.