Oxford Whispers

by Marion Croslydon

  But Sarah needed more than that. She needed Peter’s spirit annihilated. For good. Forever. So did Madison.

  THE FLOOR OF THE police station had seen better days. Madison could feel the threadbare carpet beneath the soles of her shoes.

  She kept her gaze downcast, absorbed in contemplating the dirt from the graveyard splattered all over her sneakers. Chief Inspector Crawley sat on the opposite side of a messy desk where a calendar, files, staplers, and Post-it notes cohabited in professional harmony. His bald head glinted under the harsh ceiling lights.

  “Did Miss Lindsey often check the students’ rooms?” he asked.

  Miss Lindsey loved spying and lurking. A real passion of hers.

  Badmouthing the dead wasn’t a smart move, especially when the dead person had been murdered in your room.

  Ollie stepped in and filled the silence by providing answers to the cop’s questions. Madison disconnected herself from her surroundings and replayed in her head the moment she had found the body, the instant Peter had strangled her, and the scene when she had knelt in front of Sarah’s grave. Peter’s grave.

  Her satchel pressed against her chest like a shield, she fought the urge to stand up and scream. She hadn’t been the one who’d killed the censor, but she was responsible for the woman’s death all the same.

  Since the first time she had seen the painting, her fears had controlled her actions. The fear of being viewed as a freak, the fear of losing her sanity, the fear of rejection and a terrible fear of loneliness.

  All Madison had wanted was to belong, to fit in.

  But you can only belong to one place, and a humid corner of Louisiana already owned her. At least, for this lifetime.

  If she hadn’t shrunk away from her heritage, poor Miss Lindsey would still be alive. That was the cold, hard truth.

  A woman had died because of Madison’s shallowness, because she was so goddamned immature, and too much of a coward to put up a fight.

  Crawley brought a paper cup full of the liquid to his thin lips. The caustic smell of bad coffee tickled her nostrils. Awareness fell down on Madison, and background noises started reaching her ears again: papers rustling, clicks on keyboards, file cabinets jerking open.

  “Do you know why she was in your room?” The policeman pointed the question at her. Ollie couldn’t substitute anymore.

  Madison managed to shake her head.

  “Have you noticed anything missing?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “Miss LeBon, a few weeks ago you were burgled. Yesterday, a woman was murdered in your room. You don’t seem to understand how serious the situation is.”

  “I do, inspector,” she mumbled in an attempt to sound polite.

  “Have you been threatened?” The bald man continued with his questioning. “Has someone …”

  Her cellphone rang throughout the police station, a “quiet” area. She rushed to grab the phone. Rupert had called her back. She really wanted to take the call, but Inspector Crawley’s accusatory eyes convinced her not to.

  Once Madison had put her cell on mute, Crawley finished his sentence. “… someone around you changed their behavior?”

  “No,” Madison answered, but she was lying. To kill any doubt in Crawley’s mind, she insisted, “I haven’t noticed anything suspicious.”

  There was no point involving the authorities. They could put Jackson to jail, but Peter would still be free to go and invade someone else’s soul. Nobody would believe her story anyway. Jackson had zero motives.

  Madison had to find a way to punish Peter for what he had done. Without making Jackson the latest of his victims.

  Chapter 53

  PETER HAD, FOR the moment, lost control. The human shell he had taken on was becoming weaker and weaker. Maybe he had made the wrong choice when he selected his accomplice. The behavior of his host had become erratic. He could not foresee when the next outburst would come.

  Peter was in a state of high alert. After the woman’s murder authorities would look for him. He had let his emotions rule him, and now modern sciences would trap him. They would prove his guilt. He had not been careful enough about the physical evidence he had left behind.

  His possession of the body he inhabited would not last much longer. The murder had asked too much from him. His energy faded with each tick of the clock. Dormant at the moment, he was being carried around in the realm of the host, reduced to helplessness and impotent silence.

  He had to break out and get to Sarah. By nightfall this long journey would be over, and Sarah would be his.

  THINKING INTENTLY, Rupert took a long, deep drag on his cigarette. He stood with his back against the wall of the Faculty of History, where he had just gone through a frosty tutorial with McCain. On George Street cars sped by and slowed down, bicycle tires whirled, and car doors slammed. He didn’t pay attention to any of it, the noises were all background.

  Hopefully nobody would report him for the breach of Coach Bartlett’s training rules. But God, how he needed a smoke. Even if the taste was bitter and less satisfying than he remembered.

  He threw the cigarette butt on the ground and started tugging at his ear. It was an old habit of his. Getting to Iffley Road might be a sound idea. He had already missed the first half of his daily training routine by going to Magway early that morning.

  “Rupert?”

  A clipped voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Harriet’s voice.

  He didn’t have to move because she planted herself in front of him, all blond, all picture perfect, and for once without that hairy coat he hated.

  “It’s great to bump into you,” she said, her words soaked in honey.

  Rupert released a sigh. He didn’t want to pretend, but Harriet loved games.

  “I have to get to training,” he said, trying to get around her. He stared down and tried to hold his impatience at bay.

  “I’ll follow you then, at least part of the way.”

  Some girls didn’t get the message easily. Oblivious of her stilettos clicking on the pavement, Rupert strode toward Cornmarket Street. He quickened his step there, forcing Harriet into a trot. But she could talk and run in heels.

  “Monty told me about your breaking up with the American girl.”

  Rupert froze. What the hell? Had Monty broadcast the news to all Oxford?

  Years of hiding his true feelings kicked in. He gave a half-shrug and rammed his hands into his pockets. When he moved again, it had started drizzling, but he had a swagger in his step.

  “Rupert please, stop walking. I need to say something.”

  Another sigh, but he did what she asked.

  In a rare show of shyness, Harriet fumbled for her words. “I thought … I would say that … well, I owe you an apology.” She might have practiced this hesitant delivery, but she sounded sincere. “I’ve been unfair to you. You had the right to leave me, of course. But I don’t think that girl understands who you are, not the way I do.”

  Her hand now lay over his forearm. When Madison touched him there, even through thick layers of clothing, his heart beat faster, and he always wanted more. His pulse didn’t even flinch at Harriet’s contact.

  She flicked her hair and fluttered her eyelids in a textbook-style flirting attack. Falling into the trap would be so darn easy, but he was done with screwing up his life. “I’ve somewhere to be.”

  She leaned in, and the flowery scent of her perfume brushed across his face. “Take a break. Let’s have lunch together, maybe a glass of wine. You need to relax. You can’t train the whole time.” She nodded toward a nearby restaurant they had been to before. The food odors fused with the exhaust fumes in an unappetizing mix.

  Rupert looked back and forth between the restaurant and Harriet’s questioning face.

  “Harriet, you and I are over. For good.”

  Her chin dropped.

  “I don’t want any ambiguities between us. I was a prick last night with Madison, and she might never want to talk to me again. But
I’d choose one more second with her holding my hand over an eternity with you in my bed. ”

  Anger twisted her face, and she looked ugly. Just as ugly as she was inside.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go and beg my girl for forgiveness.”

  A BLANKET OF DARK clouds had moved overhead, and fat drops of rain splashed onto the pavement. Some of those in the crowd around Madison on the High Street rushed to find shelter. She hunched her shoulders in an attempt to avoid the downpour and pulled her coat up to cover her head.

  The police interview over, she was eager to go back to her room and do what needed to be done. Her objective was to rid the world, or her world at the very least, of Jackson-slash-Peter. The question was how?

  She drew comfort from the prayer in her satchel. The extract from Mamie’s book of magic followed her everywhere, ready to serve. She had to find the right time and strike at a moment when both Jackson and Peter were vulnerable.

  Unlike Ollie, Madison had chosen to play truant. For the first time in her life, she was skipping school. She crossed the High Street with a quick stride. Her momentum broke when she caught a glimpse through the window of the Queen’s Lane Coffee House.

  At a table Pippa was in full-throttle, flirting mode. She was absorbed in conversation, her hands entwined with those of a man, and the dude wasn’t Ollie.

  Chapter 54

  NO WONDER PIPPA hasn’t checked on me after Miss Lindsey’s death. She’s too busy.

  Squinting, Madison focused on the square-jawed face of Pippa’s companion. When had she seen this dude before?

  The Christ Church ball, last November. He was the rugby player Pippa had left the party with. Her mouth fell open. What was Pippa playing at?

  Her body tense, Madison stepped into the cafe. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon tingled in her nostrils. Not wasting time, she planted herself in front of Pippa.

  “Hi.”

  The redhead jumped in her seat and let out a small yelp of surprise, while her hand flew to her chest. The place was baking hot, but she was wrapped in a cashmere shawl.

  “Madison,” the girl acknowledged, but didn’t pause to introduce her companion.

  “Can I talk to you?” Given Pippa’s lack of response, Madison added, “In private.’

  Taking her time, Pippa sipped her coffee, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and stood. A few steps away from the table, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Who the hell is he?” Madison snapped, her eyes fixed on the stocky guy.

  “Who? Patrick? He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “An old friend you happen to have slept with a few months ago?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I was there, remember? I saw you leave the ball with him.”

  Pippa’s gaze flicked upward. “So what? I slept with the guy. That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him anymore.”

  “No. You’re right. But you can’t flirt with him. What about Ollie?” Madison’s nails bit into her palms.

  Pippa looked over her shoulder, as if to check whether her friend was still waiting for her. Reassured, she turned her eyes back to Madison.

  “I know what you’re getting at. It’s a bit rich coming from you. After all, Jackson McCain is not just a tutor to you. You spend more time with him than you do with your own boyfriend. The guy is in love with you, and you’re leading him on.”

  To control her reaction to the insult, Madison ground her teeth together. She answered with a shake of the head. “Pippa, you’re repeating yourself.”

  “And you’re such a hypocrite,” she sulked.

  Madison was ready to spout off with a cutting reply, but her cell vibrated against her hip. Annoyed with the interruption, she checked the screen nevertheless. The police had told her to remain at their beck and call.

  BACK AT HOME. COME ASAP PLEASE. REALLY URGENT. R

  Urgent? Urgent like I-want-to-get-back-with-you urgent?

  Pippa had kept her eyes on Madison, and her eyebrows raised in an arc.

  “I have to go.” Eager to convey her feelings, Madison laid her hand on Pippa’s wrist. “Please, don’t hurt Ollie. He loves you very much.”

  Pippa nodded, her lips frozen in a pout, but she refused to apologize.

  A CHILL OVERTOOK him. He saw Sarah walking out of the coffee house.

  Where was she headed?

  Peter had to follow her, stay close to her. The host had been in control for a while, but he was now in charge again. Streams of energy seeped from his essence as he exerted his will to control the human he inhabited.

  Now Peter had a plan.

  Soon he would carry Sarah away from this world.

  FIFTEEN MINUTES after leaving the Queen’s Lane, Rupert opened the door and invited Madison into his house. That was it. Nothing in his expression betrayed the fact that they had made love for the first time a few days before. If anything, he looked tense and ill-at-ease. He cleared his throat and kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, almost insecure.

  So not Rupert.

  Her heart banged against her chest, but she took a seat on the Chippendale sofa without showing any emotion.

  A woman was killed in my bedroom last night. I could use some support.

  Rupert didn’t mention Miss Lindsey’s murder, so Madison assumed he hadn’t heard about it. Refusing to play the role of victim again, she didn’t volunteer the information. Instead she straightened her posture, lifted her chin and kept her ninnies high.

  “So, what did you find out in Magway?”

  Rupert remained standing and dominated the room.

  “I think I found out the mystery behind The Wounded Cavalier. The missing piece of the jigsaw.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran through Madison’s body. Breaking her concentration, she threw a glance toward Rupert. “I know you’re fascinated by that painting. Archie Black told me so yesterday. What I discovered at Magway answers some of the questions raised by your research on Robert Dallembert and Rose Alspeth.”

  Rupert ignored Madison’s gasp of wonder. His catch-up with Archie Black must have been pretty intense. Rupert kept on leaning against the wall, his posture now more relaxed. Hunger for him overwhelmed her. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to touch him, to taste him.

  Only she couldn’t. Not anymore.

  Thank God he hadn’t noticed his effect on her. His voice was deep and clipped, like the first time she heard him speak at the ball.

  “I was intrigued by your obsession with Robert Dallembert.” He punctuated his sentences with a dismissive nod. “Archie mentioned that you knew about Shakespeare Burton’s association with my family. Apparently, very few people are aware of it.”

  Guilt, for holding everything back from Rupert, made Madison shuffle in her seat.

  Shoving his hands back into his pockets, Rupert forged on. “I checked on this Shakespeare Burton, and that’s when I found a reproduction of The Wounded Cavalier. I knew …” He shook his head. “I knew I had seen that painting before. I knew it meant something to me.”

  Rupert stared straight into the empty side of the room, his thoughts seeming to be on hold. Then, at an unhurried pace, he came and sat on the other end of the sofa. Madison wanted to move closer to him, but she stifled the impulse.

  He turned his head and planted his bright blue eyes on her. “I told you about my grandfather, Charles Vance?”

  “The one who gave you the old records and your fancy car?”

  Rupert nodded, and the shadow of a smile broke his face. “I used to be very close to him. He was a history buff.”

  Rupert’s face showed his affection for the dead man. “When I was a boy, we used to spend countless hours in Magway’s library, going through our collection of artifacts. That’s when I first saw the painting.”

  “You mean the painting’s in Magway?” She forced her mind to focus and remember. “Impossible. It’s in London, at the Guildhall Art Gallery —”

  Rupert cut her off. “Not
the painting itself, but a sketch of it. It was on the reverse side of an old piece of paper, like something from a diary, a page that could have gotten loose …” He stopped and looked down, his eyes on his shoes. “I went to Magway to find the drawing, which was still in the private papers of Charles Vance. I discovered more than I was looking for. A great deal more.”

  Chapter 55

  FROM THE FOOT of his chair, Rupert grabbed a manila folder similar to the one Madison had seen with Archie at the Oxford & Cambridge Club. She knew the drill now; the acid-buffed paper, the white cotton gloves, the careful handling of antique documents.

  At last the contents of the folder sat displayed on the coffee table before her.

  Madison struggled to swallow, for in front of them was the familiar scene in the forest and the same three characters she knew so well. Their expressions, drafted with a pencil, were more striking than in the painting itself. The lack of color and background detail emphasized their emotions.

  Compassion on the face of the Maiden, despair in the posture of the Cavalier, jealousy in the eyes and hands of the Puritan.

  On the bottom right, were scribbled three initials. Madison squinted and read out loud, “W.S.B.”

  She shook her head, forcing her brain to start churning again. “Okay, but I don’t understand why this discovery is so important. I knew Burton had stayed at Magway for a while. Professor Black told me so.”

  “Turn the page.”

  With her gloved hand, Madison turned the timeworn leaf. Old-fashioned, neat handwriting covered the parchment, the ink almost erased in some parts. That’s when she realized that the document must have been torn from a book. The right-hand edge was jagged and the first line started mid-sentence.

  Rupert confirmed her suspicion. “It’s been torn from a diary. Perhaps by Burton himself. I believe the diary is Robert Dallembert’s.”

  He gestured for Madison to read.

  She started doing so. Robert’s words morphed into images, as if the scene were happening all over again in front of her, as if he were telling her the story.