The Ghost of Emily Tapper

by Nita Round

  Emma opened her mouth to speak when three huge drops of water, cold and dirty, fell on her face. “What the hell!”

  Maggie glanced at the splodges on Emma’s face and concentrated on the lock.

  “Maggie?”

  She stopped. “Very well. Put it like this, you have a haunted pen, and I’m a haunted heir to a failing and haunted estate. Does that help?”

  “Not at all, Maggie, and it doesn’t matter to me even if you are.”

  “It does to me. I’m not going to be the one to break another Tapper heart.” With a little effort, the key turned, and with a loud grinding clunk, the door swung open. Warm air rushed out. “Come in before it gets any worse,” she said and strode into the chamber.

  Inside, Emma soon forgot the chill and Maggie’s off-hand manner. All of the east wing turret had been converted into one large, circular room, with so many lights it glowed. High above, the ceiling was several floors up, and rings of stone corbels marked where the other floors should have been. Vaulting, embedded in walls, marked where other doors might have opened on to other floors. Windows, all small and narrow, circled around the tower where these tower rooms would have been.

  There was so much to see Emma didn’t know where to start. “That’s a lot of books,” she said.

  “These are my collected works, but there are other tomes in the library.”

  “Lots of portraits here too.”

  “Yes, my family members. There are others, around the house, as I am sure you have seen.”

  “I have, but this is a very interesting collection of pictures.”

  “Yes,” Maggie mumbled. She pulled a set of stepladders to one side of the wall and climbed to the top. “Never mind them, look at this.” She tugged at a sheet of cloth and with a soft swish; the cloth fell to the stone floor. Underneath, a square board, about twelve feet by twelve feet, and decorated with a stylised tree, marked the full lineage of the Durrant family. “You have your lineage in your hands, this is mine.”

  “Wow, look at the work that has gone into it,” Emma breathed as she scanned the whole diagram. Names, relationships, and tiny images drawn to illustrate the names. “It’s beautiful. Impressive.”

  “No, no, no,” Maggie moaned, “use the step ladders and look at the top. I need you to see all of the important bits.”

  Emma climbed the steps. “Charles Magwood,” she said. She knew this part already. She’d read about it, about him, a few hours before.

  “Just look.”

  She stopped when she saw the cloud drawn around the names of Charles Magwood junior and his wife. She frowned. “I see, they’ve added Emily to your tree, linking her with Charles and his wife. Do you fear there is more of a relationship between the three of them and the rest of the Durrant line?”

  Maggie shrugged.

  “But all they’ve done is demonised her, painted her in as the bogeyman, with horns and a forked tail? How mature.”

  “Yes, but it was a different time then, and witches and demons were a very real thing for them,” Maggie said. “Can you see the symbols of a witch? They have included the raised left hand, a goats head, toadstools at her feet, a pentagram on her breast, and a crow on her shoulder.”

  Emma nodded. “Anything to diminish the fallen woman. Blaming her for what they did together. Sex out of wedlock was a big thing, even though many did it.”

  “Exactly.”

  Emma’s eyes skimmed lower, and a golden scroll marked where Edward Charles Magwood became Edward Charles Durrant. “I see the name change, but why, Maggie?”

  “When they realised the Magwood first born sons and daughters all died rather young, they decided a new name might be more fortuitous.”

  “And was it?”

  Maggie snorted. “Check the dates of birth and death of all the heirs, none of them live beyond thirty.”

  “I know.”

  Maggie glanced in her direction. “Is this all written in your records too?”

  “Yes in part. I went to the cemetery.”

  “I see.” Maggie considered the new information for a moment. “And so now do you see the uncertainty of my heritage?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Your own great grandmother, Emily Tapper, the mistress of Charles, may have also mothered the Durrant line as well. Why else mention Emily in the family free? I know there was a child, a bastard born, and he, Charles, would have taken his child into the family. It seems to me, Emily is killing her own children for the hate of one man.” Maggie whispered. “Now here you are. Another branch of her Tapper tree, and the differences between these two branches are so slight the animosity between our families should cease to exist, but it doesn’t.”

  “What? You think we are related and so we can’t be close? Good grief Maggie, at the worst it would make us very distant cousins and no one bats an eyelid.”

  Maggie shrugged. “And don’t forget the curse of the first born.”

  “All nonsense. Besides, you’re not descended from Emily Tapper.”

  “What?” Maggie answered, and after a moment of deflation, her eyes sparkled. “I am not an Emily Tapper descendent?”

  “No Maggie, you’re not. And neither am I.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  EMMA GLANCED AT the pictures on the walls around the tower room as she considered what to say next. “Have you ever wondered why all of you Durrants have blue or grey eyes?”

  “What a daft question,” Maggie answered, but her eyes skimmed over the portraits in the tower. Even so, she wasn’t looking too hard. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Have you wondered why my family has brown eyes?” Emma persisted.

  “Tapper eyes are famous for being brown.”

  “It’s almost as though our families could not run the risk of ever being confused as a member of the other isn’t it?”

  “Now you sound almost paranoid. Emma, there is no conspiracy.” Yet her voice betrayed her. Maggie didn’t sound convinced.

  Emma unrolled her papers. “Look there is a note here. ‘Brown are the eyes of the Tapper True.’”

  Maggie snorted. “Aren’t prophetic statements supposed to rhyme or something?”

  “You’re not taking this seriously are you?”

  “How could I not be serious about all of this? It’s my life destined to end early so I think I have the right to indulge in a little frivolity.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, really. I am.”

  “What else does your sheaf of papers have to say about my family?”

  “‘Evil lies in eyes of blue, beware the Magwood.’ it says.”

  “What?” Maggie looked shocked.

  Emma laughed, “See, Tappers can be frivolous too.”

  “That was dreadful.”

  “Yes, but you asked for it.”

  “Please be serious. Now you’ve read all about your family, are you going to share with me?”

  “Share? Share what Maggie? You know everything.”

  “No I don’t. I mean, what’s this about Emily Tapper?”

  Emma pointed to all the books, the best over flowing with papers and notebooks. “I bet you do know. You are always so evasive, it is hard to know for sure.”

  “And now you’re returning the favour?”

  Emma didn’t answer.

  “What could I say to you, Emma? How could I say I am living a legacy a few hundred years old and it will kill me? Why would anyone believe me about such things?”

  “I would’ve believed you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, you’ve already said it was all nonsense. Besides, I had to know what you knew.”

  “You sound so cynical.”

  “What was I to think? You appear, out of the blue, and given our histories I had to assume you knew everything. You were going to be instrumental in my future.”

  Emma nodded. It made sense. “Is that why you waited for me, Maggie, down by the gate house?”

  “In part.” Maggie bit her lower lip. “I adm
it I was curious about you.”

  “So all this friendship was a ruse?”

  Maggie shook her head. “When I say I was expecting you, I was not talking about any Tapper. I was expecting you, and no one else.”

  “You didn’t know who I was.”

  Maggie blushed. “I have seen you,” she said and tapped the side of her head. “Many times. Just here. And I have stared into your eyes for hours.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you think me quite mad?”

  Emma didn’t answer straight away. “Did you keep records of all the strangeness?”

  “No, not at first. Not until we, my family, realised what was going on, and several generations of bad luck had been and gone. By then it was too late to look back with any certainty.”

  “I can see how it would happen,” Emma said.

  “So do you trust me? Do you trust me enough to tell me your secrets?”

  “I have always trusted you Maggie. Always.” She shook her head. “But you have never trusted me have you? You still don’t.”

  “This is not about trust, Emma.”

  “Answer me.”

  “I do trust you Emma, and when I knew you would come, I feared you. Yet you are different to the person I expected.”

  Emma nodded. “Well according to these papers, Emily had a sister, a mirror twin they called her, because although they looked identical some things were mirrored. Emily was left handed, but her sister, Emma was right handed.”

  “A twin!”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know she had a twin.”

  “Not many people did.”

  “Emma is the twin? You were named after the other twin?”

  “I don’t think it was intentional Maggie.”

  “Maybe it was. Maybe your parents knew you would come back to claim your inheritance one day.”

  “Why?”

  “They would always want a Tapper to witness my demise.”

  “I don’t think so,” Emma said, but she couldn’t be sure if her parents knew anything. It was too late to ask them now. “I think it is just a coincidence. I think Emma is a nice name, and it doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

  “Do you think in a world where the supernatural happens, there are such things as random coincidences?”

  Emma thought for a moment. “All right then, no such thing as coincidences here.”

  Maggie shrugged. “It explains everything, but there is nothing in the records about this though, and I have had access to them all.”

  “This isn’t the official records. This is all personal and private. John Tapper, Emily’s father, was so incensed about his daughter he charged someone, a priest, to write it down, and all of the Tappers have maintained the records ever since.”

  “And I am not Emily’s?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. I told you.”

  Maggie’s relief was almost visible. “Thank goodness.”

  Emma grinned. “Does this mean you’ll stop backing away from me?”

  “I don’t want to back away. I never did, but I don’t want to hurt you either.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “And there is this curse thing.”

  “I don’t care. You are not going to die young, and no curse will take you, I won’t allow it.”

  “You won’t allow it?”

  “No. Look we’re not related, except by tragedy, and if we can figure it all out then the curse will stop too.”

  “Related by tragedy. You make it sound so straightforward.”

  “I can’t see why there is such hatred of one family to another. Emily would not be the first woman to succumb to the charms of a more privileged man,” Maggie said.

  “And she will not be the last to be the one vilified for it either.”

  “Not something anyone has to worry about with me,” Maggie added.

  “You could charm me.”

  “I thought I already had.”

  “Yes, Magwood Durrant. You have.” They both stared at the oversized tree for inspiration, Maggie’s hand sought Emma’s and their fingers entwined. “What do you want from me Maggie?”

  “Everything.”

  “You have everything I can give.”

  “I am not sure I deserve you Emma Tapper.”

  “Blewitt,” Emma corrected. “Believe in yourself Magwood and we can make this all work out for us.”

  “Good, because I have nothing without you in my life. You know, I thought if we could reconcile our differences, then maybe we could get Emily to forgive me.”

  “So it was all a ruse. You want the feud to end?”

  “I want the feud to end of course, but what we have, you and I, is not a ruse.”

  “I know. Do you think it can be fixed?”

  “I have no idea. I would do anything.”

  “To save your life?”

  “To be with you.” She waved her hand with a dramatic flourish. “Everything you see here is dressing. Decorations of a life I do not value, and I would give it all away in an instant.”

  “What do you want?” Emma repeated.

  “I want to live. I want to spend time with you. I want to enjoy what I have, with you.”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  Maggie didn’t even need to think about it. “I will give it all to my brother, my title, holdings, everything, and I will leave here and go with you back to the city if you would have me.”

  “Are you serious? You would give this up?”

  “In a shot.”

  Emma stared out of narrowed eyes, “Is it to escape the wrath of the ghost?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. One way or another, Emily will take her due.”

  Emma took a step closer and held Maggie’s hand in hers.

  “Rueben Durrant,” Maggie said pointing to the name half way down the tree, “thought he was above all this, so he moved away. Left the estates to his brother and moved to a vineyard in Italy.”

  “And what happened?”

  “They found him in bed, wrapped in wet bedsheets, his throat bearing the marks of someone hung.” she shrugged. “It always ends. No matter where we are.”

  “What do you want Maggie?”

  “Let’s leave here. Tonight.”

  “It won’t solve your problems though, will it?”

  “I know, but I don’t know what else to do,” she said.

  “We need to think of a way to solve this, not run away.”

  “Until she forgives the Magwoods there can be no peace.”

  “I know, I know. So what did happen to Emily?”

  “I don’t know. In the same way no one knew about our misfortunes, no one noted why it all started. There have been rumours, and speculation, but rumours solve nothing.”

  Emma waved her sheaf of papers about like a weapon. “My records say Charles murdered Emily and her baby, and then they strung her out on the tree to make it look like a suicide. Her last words to her father were, ‘Charles will accept this child, his son, name him his own or pay the price for all time.’ In another place, the rumour was the child was a daughter.”

  “I see.” Maggie looked thoughtful.

  “See? See what Maggie? What do you know?”

  “There was a rumour.”

  “You’ve been holding back Maggie.”

  She flushed. “No, and before you get mad at me hear me out. As I said, there was a rumour, and it didn’t amount to much, but it is now.”

  “Well come on. The suspense is killing me.”

  “You remember how the steps here were cold?”

  “And wet.”

  “Yes, indeed. This is new, it started a few weeks or so ago.”

  “About the time I arrived?”

  “Give or take. Yes.”

  “And the rumour?”

  “Recorded in an old journal. It suggested Charles Senior sent his son away and when Emily came to confront the son she met the father and his wife instead. They pushed her do
wn the stairs in the east turret—”

  “This one?”

  “Indeed. They killed the child then dragged them to the tree. Suicides were such an evil and ungodly thing then. They all wished to forget the whole thing as fast as possible, for fear the taint would affect other members of the community.”

  “And what do you think?” “I think it’s true. The tower has never been so...so ill-disposed.” “So how can we persuade the ghost of Emily Tapper to forgive you for what Magwood senior did?” “I’m thinking about it,” Maggie answered. “I’m thinking.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I KNOW YOU wanted to leave, but it’s late and I don’t like the idea of travelling through the mountains in the dark. Not again,” Emma said.

  Maggie looked at her watch for a moment and groaned. Midnight. Time was already too short. “We need to go now. I have a bad feeling about this.” Maggie cocked one ear to the side and listened. The clock ticked its way to the quarter hour, and with each tick-tock the sound seemed louder, more defined. “It’s already too late.” They were no more than ten steps from the door when it burst open and then slammed shut. Cold air wafted in cloudy gusts from a very small gap at the bottom of the door. Ice crystals settled on the floor and cold raced through the wood faster than heat through a metal plate.

  “Do you?” Echoed around the tower.

  “What?” said Emma. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “That wasn’t me Emma,” she replied and the two women drew closer together.

  “Do. You?”

  “Is that...?”

  “Yes. She is coming.”

  “This is where it gets bad isn’t it?” Emma asked, but Maggie didn’t respond. “How bad will it get Maggie? What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this room with a Tapper before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A breeze, cold and bitter, circled around the women. “Magwood,” whispered the distant voice, and every letter stretched and echoed around the turret.

  “She knows your name.”

  “No, I think we are all Magwood to her.”

  “It is time. I come for you.”

  “Crap,” Maggie mumbled.

  “No more...Magwood.”

  A woman, small and petite, in a stained white gown, walked out of the cold breeze as though walking through an open door to another place. She glowed with a pale and eerie green radiance. Her clothes, her skin, and even her long dark hair and eyes should have been black as coal, yet blazed with stark inner light.