The Ghost of Emily Tapper
Page 15
Emma thought for a moment as she looked into Maggie’s eyes. “It will help.” She pressed a cup into Maggie’s cool and stiff fingers. “Drink.”
She watched Maggie for a moment, but there was nothing she could do to make Maggie’s pain go away. She needed to occupy herself as well as care for Maggie, so she made them both poached eggs on toast. Simple, easy to digest, and plain. “Eat,” she said as she placed a plate in front of Maggie.
“Not hungry,” she grumbled.
“Yes. You are. You need to eat and finish your tea. Then we can have something stronger.”
Maggie took a mouthful of her food. Chewed a few times, and swallowed. Emma did the same. They ate without much appetite until they were done.
“Finished,” Maggie said and pushed away her empty plate.
“Then it’s time for a strong drink.”
“Emma,” Maggie started, “do we have to go to the local for a drink?”
“No sweetheart, we can stay here.”
“Good.”
Emma got to her feet and left the room, she returned a few minutes later with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. “Maud has all kinds of things in her pantry. She just happens to have a bottle of this. It’s not good brandy though.”
“It will do,” Maggie said.
Emma poured two glasses and sat on the sofa. She patted the seat next to her, “Come sit with me.”
Maggie threw a log on the fire and added a little coal. She stared into the fire for such a long time, Emma thought she would never move. “Here you are, take this,” she said as she stood next to Maggie and pressed a glass of brandy into her hand.
“I seem to be pretty useless today,” Maggie said.
“You’ve a lot on your mind.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed and took a good mouthful of her drink and coughed. “That’s dreadful stuff.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Give me another shot.”
When they sat on the sofa, Emma pulled Maggie against her side and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. It felt good to cuddle up together.
“Thank you,” Maggie said.
“For?”
“Being here.”
Emma smiled and held her close. “I’ll always be here.”
MAGGIE DID NOT say a word when Detectives Tallins and Peters picked them up the following morning. It would have been better to walk up the hill, to be under their own steam, but there were so many cars and vans coming and going the walk would not have been a safe one.
At the house, the crime scene teams were still wandering around, carrying things in plastic bags and plastic boxes, filling trays and cartons and fitting them inside small white vans.
They were ushered through the front door and into the kitchen. At first glance, it looked normal, but as soon as they walked in Maggie realised so many things were not how or where they should be. All of the kitchenware had been thoroughly displaced. Even the heavy kitchen table had moved, and every pot and pan was no longer in the places they were supposed to be. The same was true of other kitchen implements, and on every surface there lay tiny shards of china, pottery and plastic. These things weren’t just smashed, it looked as though they had been exploded. If she thought of any natural reason for such destruction, then it would be as though a hurricane had blown through the place.
“And?” Maggie asked her escorts. They lead her to the top of the cellar steps and Maggie closed her eyes. Her heart beat a little faster, but she composed herself carefully. “Here? Again?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“The writing on the door,” Detective Tallins directed. “What do you make of it?”
Maggie opened her eyes. Crude rust red letters formed the words. “And to the puppet master the debt is paid.”
Maggie shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.”
“And you madam?” he said to Emma.
She also shook her head. “No idea either.”
He nodded. “All right. Come this way please.”
As they marched toward the corridor, Maggie stopped to look at the old kitchen clock. It had run so sure for generations, and now didn’t. Its hands stopped at a quarter after twelve, and Maggie knew, with as much certainty as intuition would allow, this was the work of Emily.
They walked to the east wing, and up into the turret. It was as Maggie recalled, but now a rope hung from the top of the stairs outside the turret door. The ends of the rope, cut and frayed, wafted on the currents of warm air that flowed in and out of the stairwell.
“Here?” Maggie croaked.
“Yes,” Tallins answered. There was no more to be said.
“Who found him?”
“Philip Jackson,” he answered. “He was the one who called to say there was a fatal incident.”
Maggie stood there, silent and unmoving. No one disturbed her, not now. She stepped into her turret, it was just as she had left it, the night they met Emily.
“Is there anything else officer?” Emma asked.
“Indeed, one other thing.” Tallins marched them through to the main hall and pointed. The whole room had been rearranged, with the furniture forming a huge circle on the outer edges of the room. In the centre of the room a straight-backed chair was overturned. The broken leg caught her attention, as if the act of breaking a single chair was more worthy of note than the rest of the destruction. More rust on the carpet merged in with the colours of the rug, and she wondered if that was blood she saw. “And what do you make of the message?” Tallins prompted.
At the end of the room was a side table, over which the wall had been defaced with large and crude lettering. Maggie walked closer. Her eyes focussed on the lettering.
A gift for my daughter.
Settlement of debt, in fullness paid.
Long may she live,
the LadyMagwood.
About the Author
Nita Round, has been writing all of her life in one form or another, and her head is full of stories, all screaming for her attention. Chosen as one of the winning entries in a short story competition, this was to be the catalyst for her to write more.
Born in the heart of England, she studied for her degree in London before she returned to Staffordshire. There she lives, with her wife and their King Charles Cavalier, Rosie.
Nita can found on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.
Website: www.nitaround.com
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When Catherine finds herself on the brink of losing everything, Cassie, her family, and even life itself, then she must awaken. She must become The Samuel, The Gate Keeper and guard the way between the living and the dead. To make it safe she must travel to hell, with the warrior that she has chosen, and there, if they survive, she must heal the problems of the Gate before all hell breaks loose.
ISBN: 978-1-61929-314-4
eISBN: 978-1-61929-315-1
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Table of Contents
The Ghost of Emily Tapper
Copyright © 2017 by Nita Round
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
About the Author
Another Title from Nita Round
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