Gene of Isis mt-1

by Traci Harding

  ‘Mr Cavandish, have your wits taken their leave?’ demanded his wife. They had obviously gone to great lengths to keep the suicide a secret. ‘You have no place raising such issues with a child!’

  Thus was the guilt of the first son and heir to an earldom. The younger brother had had little by comparison and Lord Cavandish couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for his brother’s sad end. I had hit an emotional nerve and the lifeblood of the lord’s guilt had come pouring out; even he now looked surprised at his reaction.

  ‘I see the dagger in your heart, my lord.’ I gamely defended the earl as he had defended me. ‘I understand that there is unrest in a good heart that should be at peace.’

  All eyes turned my way. My father would have apprehended me at once, but he saw fit to apologise to Lord Cavandish first, who wouldn’t hear a bar of it. His focus remained on me. ‘How do you see these things, Miss Granville?’

  Allow me to handle this. The ghost knelt before me on one knee to beseech my permission.

  I nodded, unaware of what I was really agreeing to. There was a rush of stabbing cold, reminiscent of the chill I felt when I had first sought the whereabouts of the watch. It seemed likely that this spectre had caused the watch to go missing, specifically so that I might find it.

  The rest of that night I can only recall from my Nanny Beat’s account of what followed.

  ‘Don’t feel guilty, Eric.’ I stood tall to say this to the Earl of Derby, the deep male voice emanating from my mouth a shock to one and all. ‘I didn’t take my own life, my life was stolen from me.’

  ‘Damian?’ Lord Cavandish was mortified to recognise his brother’s voice, and he caught Lady Cavandish as she fainted.

  My parents were too stunned for rational thought and nobody dared move as Lord Cavandish pursued his answers.

  ‘You were murdered, dear brother? By whom?’

  ‘Her name is Miss Eleanora Parks.’

  ‘A woman?’ My father was surprised to learn the murderer’s gender.

  ‘A woman with several large brothers,’ Damian replied.

  ‘We have a governess named Mrs Eleanora Parks.’ The earl looked a little panicked as he stated this.

  ‘Well, Miss Parks would have to be known as Mrs,’ Damian explained, ‘to disguise the fact that her son was the bastard of a nobleman.’

  Now Lord Cavandish was turning pale. ‘What are you saying, Damian?’

  ‘I took advantage of Miss Parks once and she in turn took revenge upon me!’

  ‘Oh, dear god.’ My mother crossed herself and retreated to the house, for she couldn’t listen to any more.

  ‘I must believe your confession, Damian.’ Lord Cavandish was appalled. ‘Was there no end to your wretchedness?’

  ‘Fear not, dear brother, because Miss Parks put an end to me,’ Damian retorted in spite. ‘She had me trapped and then tortured until I would recognise the child she carried as my own. She forced me to marry her and then she had me hanged!’

  ‘Oh, my god,’ gasped Lord Cavandish, as he took a step backward. Damian had been found hanging from the rafters of a cheap hotel room.

  ‘Now there is only a handful of lives standing between Miss Parks and her son inheriting the entire Cavandish estate! I know I caused you grief while I was alive, Eric. I hated being second-in-line and I never did much to improve upon my lot. However, you and yours do not deserve to die by that woman’s hand. Your children are already ailing with her poisons…please, go home immediately! Before it is too late for your heirs…’

  Despite my father’s assurances that I was quite likely ill, and certainly delusional, Lord Cavandish and his wife left for home in all haste. My father had been greatly looking forward to having some intelligent male company and my little flight of fancy had brought that to an abrupt end. He should have known better than to encourage my delusions, he raged to himself—was Ashlee possessed?

  Thomas Granville was not a religious man, although he followed the teachings of the Church of England as befitted his social standing. He was a Nationalist, and a keen follower and supporter of the sciences, technologies, business and commerce, all of which, to his mind, were often hindered by the superstitions of the church! He had belonged to a secret brotherhood at one time, and although he appreciated the social connections available to him through such a society, he’d found their initiations too ritualistic for his liking. During the incident that had led him to abandon the society, Thomas was pretty sure he’d been drugged. The memory made him shiver, but he pushed it back into the dark recesses of his memory to consider more pressing matters.

  Perhaps Ashlee was insane?

  Now that was an easier premise to stomach. His daughter needed a psychiatrist not a priest!

  LESSON 2

  INSANITY

  A deep peace and tranquillity lingered over my being as I began to stir from my slumber. I didn’t want to wake, for there was a wise and loving presence in my dreams that I desired to remain with. Consciousness erased the details of the character and with the scene that greeted my awakening my inner tranquillity departed, the message and existence of my celestial friend forgotten.

  My parents were standing over me. My mother appeared tormented, her hands stroking each other nervously. My father wore a frown deeper than any that had ever shadowed his face, in my memory. Nanny Beat was at my side, and although she clearly wanted to speak and ask how I was, she did not dare speak first.

  ‘You have shamed me deeply, daughter,’ my father told me, in a voice calmer than one would expect. Clearly I had caused my father great worry, for there was a large muddy patch in his light-body that encompassed his entire head and there was another over his heart. ‘But I do not blame you, child, as I believe your mind is ailing, and so I have called upon a doctor to examine you.’ Father motioned to a round, elderly man who stood at the foot of my bed. ‘This is Dr Rosen. He specialises in disorders of the young mind.’

  Every part of this man’s light-body was dark, with some spots very black. Around him stood a multitude of dead children that were ghosts in the true sense of the word. I suspected they had died a quick, untimely and traumatising death and so were trapped in the physical world, not knowing they had passed on, or they had some other grave reason for hanging around on earth to haunt this man.

  We named him Black Rose, said a boy, aged about twelve.

  Do not let him near you, warned a little girl, not much older than myself. His true interest in children is unnatural—

  More interested in your private parts than your mind, said another lad, a few years older, who really did seem rather deranged. Know what I mean? He winked.

  I gasped and began to tremble. I did not know what he meant and I didn’t want to know.

  ‘Come now, there’s no need to be afraid,’ said Father, ‘this is for your own good. We just want you cured of whatever this affliction is.’

  That’s what they all say, a frighteningly sane lad added. And once the Black Rose pronounces you round-the-twist, it won’t do no good to tell anyone what he really gets up to, ‘cause you’re MAD!

  He’s got all manner of restraining devices at his disposal, said an older girl, aged in her early teens. And if you resist or make trouble then… Her head suddenly jerked to one side and fell loose to her shoulders, like a necked animal!

  I screamed, and continued to scream as every child in turn repeated the violent motion of having their necks broken.

  ‘Leave her with me,’ said the doctor calmly, whereby I screamed even louder and grabbed for Nanny Beat.

  ‘No! Nanny, don’t leave me, don’t leave me with him. He’s the darkest ever.’

  Nanny knew what this meant, and although she would normally have complied with my father’s direction to leave, her resolve hardened like stone. ‘I beg pardon, lord, but I believe Miss Granville needs someone to reassure her during the doctor’s visit—’

  ‘Dr Rosen requests that we leave, Mrs Winston.’ My father had a cautionary tone to his voice. �
�He comes very highly recommended, I assure you.’

  Aye, for getting rid of problem children, commented one of the younger lads, to the morbid amusement of the others, as their heads returned to normal.

  ‘And why should it be necessary to see the child alone and in distress?’ Nanny looked at the doctor accusingly.

  ‘Because a child will behave and respond differently with familiar people around, people who are probably already giving support to the delusions. And when I am assessing a child patient, any adult present will be tempted to answer on behalf of the child, which can influence their answers. Need I go on?’

  Nanny knew nothing about psychology, and she knew she risked dismissal by protesting further. Still, if they carted me away and locked me up, then she’d lose her position anyway. ‘Beg pardon, lord, but it is my job to see to your daughter’s best interests and I cannot see how distressing her further will aid her condition. Please allow me—’

  ‘Mrs Winston.’ My father’s voice got quieter when he was really angry. ‘I do not wish my child to be mollycoddled any longer. That is why she is now in this state!’

  I had seen my father dismiss servants for much less and to forestall the risk of losing Nanny, I calmed myself. ‘I was just startled,’ I announced, trying to stabilise my breathing, although my heart was pounding in my throat. ‘I shall be fine,’ I assured Nanny. ‘I am sorry to have caused distress, papa.’

  ‘That sounds more like my offspring.’ He was reassured and his frown lifted.

  I watched Nanny and my mother and father leave the room, with a feeling of terror in my heart.

  Find a weapon, urged one of the younger girls.

  The truth is my weapon. I quietly decided this was how I should combat the dark doctor; the truth seemed to hurt everyone else, so it was certainly worth a try.

  ‘Now, Miss Granville…’ The doctor came forward to seat himself on the bed beside me, whereupon I pointed to a chair. Sneering, he complied, as I threatened to retreat to the other side of the large four-poster bed if he did not. ‘Why is a sweet little girl like you so fascinated with dead people? Hmmm.’

  ‘And why are dead children so fascinated with you, doctor?’ My response shook him a little, for his dark spots churned and blackened even further, although I would have thought that impossible.

  ‘I lose patients sometimes, as do all doctors, and my patients are children.’ He used a very calm, patronising tone of voice.

  ‘And exactly how does a mind illness end in a broken neck?’ I frowned, inwardly elated by my frankness, knowing he could hardly repeat my accusations for fear of attracting attention to the number of his patients who died.

  ‘Now you’ve lost me,’ he said, but the look on his face betrayed his curiosity. ‘I think you are a very sick little girl…’

  I took up the challenge. ‘Not half as sick as you, I expect.’ One thing I had learned about dark spots was that they were indicative of the body’s dis-ease; if these blockages were not cleared, the parts of the body enshrouded would start to crumble under the pressure.

  The most concentrated areas of blackness in the doctor’s light-body were over his genitals, his spleen, his heart and his brow. ‘You had best make your peace with your maker, doctor, for you shall be a ghost yourself before too long.’ I felt confident at predicting this, and when the ghostly rabble of children cheered my words, I grinned.

  Dr Rosen wasn’t looking quite so superior now; in fact he appeared to be distinctly rattled. Could he hear the cheers of his victims? Or had I hit upon something else?

  ‘It is true my health has been failing lately,’ he admitted, and looked at me curiously. ‘Can you tell me something about my illnesses?’

  He wasn’t just humouring me. He suspected I was psychically gifted and he was hoping I knew of a cure for his ailments.

  ‘There is only one cure for what you have,’ I stated, and in his expression I saw curiosity snowball into anticipation.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ The doctor urged me to be out with it. ‘If you tell me, I feel sure that I could convince your parents that your little case of possession was just a minor brain malfunction, curable with lots of sweets.’

  Don’t tell him. Let him die, yelled the youngest of the children, a boy of only five. The other victims echoed his sentiment, afraid that I was going to betray them to save my own skin.

  ‘It’s very simple really,’ I said cooperatively. ‘If you want a miracle cure, you must stop your unnatural acts against children.’ The doctor stood in shock as he heard my remedy. ‘Confess your sins to the parents of those you have deceived and beg them to pray for your rotting soul.’

  The doctor was fuming, fit to burst. ‘I can see you are badly in need of my personal observation.’ He made it sound a threat. ‘I shall be advising your parents to admit you to the asylum immediately! A private room, of course.’

  ‘I will name names,’ I in turn, threatened, as the children began reciting their names to me. ‘Julie Fergus, Malcolm Peterson, James St Claire, Rachael Morrow—’

  ‘I see.’ The doctor opened his black bag. ‘Then I think it’s time for your medication.’

  I ran, but he caught me. I resisted swallowing the potion, but Dr Rosen was used to forcing tranquillising substances down the throat of a young child. I sobbed in defeat as the foul-tasting brew burned down my throat and I began to feel bleary.

  ‘We shall have much fun and games, you and I.’ The doctor held my face in his two hands and made me focus on his eyes. ‘You’re very lovely.’ The way he said this made my skin crawl and I cried out as he licked my cheek, but my voice had lost all volume.

  I blamed Damian Cavandish for my predicament. I had known the truth would end in my punishment—it always did.

  Three days saw Lord Cavandish back at our country estate in Suffolk. Naturally, my father was pleased to see his dear friend, until he learned the reason for the lord’s return visit. The earl had brought with him his Great Aunt Charlotte, who had arrived from France at the lord’s manor in Derbyshire on the same day that Lord Cavandish had sped home to investigate my story.

  The Dowager Countess Cavandish had been the most acclaimed psychic in London at one time. She’d been living abroad since her second husband, Lord John Cavandish, Earl of Derby, had departed this world some ten years before.

  The lady explained to my father that Eric’s brother, Damian, notorious for his lies in life, had been spinning yarns since his death—at least she thought he’d been spinning yarns to her in order to cover up for his cowardly death. She had decided to ignore him, but in the last few years or so Damian’s appeals for her to act had become more frequent and desperate. The Dowager Countess had relented and made the journey to England to deliver Damian’s warning regarding Miss Parks, in person.

  ‘So you see, my Lord Suffolk, the Honourable Miss Granville was right about everything! My children were ailing from poison. We found the marriage document my brother spoke of, and Miss Parks, also known as Mrs Cavandish, confessed to Damian’s murder in return for our agreeing to spare her son any punishment.’

  My father didn’t know what to say, but sinking further into denial of my talents was so much easier than having to concede that unexplained phenomena were taking place under his own roof, or thinking about having to deal with my little outbursts for the rest of his life! ‘My daughter is not a psychic!’

  ‘Then how would you explain all this, Lord Suffolk?’ the earl asked, wondering if he’d overlooked some more reasonable explanation.

  ‘Mental illness,’ Father pronounced, very definitely. ‘And I’m having her condition seen to.’

  The Dowager Countess Cavandish went ghostly white, and became mired in thought.

  ‘I’ve had her committed to a very good—’

  ‘Committed!’ The Earl of Derby was horrified. ‘For solving the mystery of my brother’s death, for saving those dearest to me and the entire future of my family line, you’ve had that blessed angel committed!’ My father had n
ever seen his friend so irate. Lord Cavandish was a powerful man in the House of Lords who had similar ideals and visions to my father, so he had no desire to have a falling out with the earl over this matter.

  ‘Do I question what you decide is best for your children?’ Father defended his decision, although parental guilt at his hasty action was beginning to wear him down a little. We may not have had much of an affinity, but I was still his child and Father couldn’t bear the thought that he hadn’t done what was best for both of us.

  ‘Thomas.’ Lord Cavandish spoke in a most informal tone to try and share the revelations he’d had in the past few days. ‘I’ve just finished telling you that I had no idea what was best for my children. I thought they were in the kindest of care. Nevertheless it is clear that I’ve been too wrapped up in my own business agenda to care what was truly best for my family. I should never have left my children in the care of a total stranger. Please, forgive my impertinence, old friend. I desire only that you draw some benefit from my mistake.’

  My father felt a deep sense of alarm. The earl’s words rang true and clearly Lord Cavandish had learned a very painful lesson, which my father had yet to confront—his own selfishness.

  ‘Your daughter is in great peril,’ Lady Cavandish announced, anxiety causing her calm tone to falter slightly. My father showed considerable restraint in not rolling his eyes, when she added: ‘A very dark presence has gained access to your beautiful daughter because of her selfless aid to our kin.’

  Father hated it that he understood perfectly what the Dowager Countess was saying. ‘He’s the darkest ever…’ My father repeated the observation I had made to Nanny Beat about Dr Rosen, and the words stung at his heart like a thousand wasps. ‘Why must all the rubbish that spouts from that child’s mouth make such perfect sense?’ It was infuriating to my father. And it was totally bewildering. ‘That child will be the ruin of me.’ He stood up and resolved to take action and correct his oversight.