by Katie M John
A frail knock fell on his door and made him jump. His aunt’s clipped voice came through the oak. “Jeremiah, are you joining us for supper?”
He cursed silently, “Damn it!” He had completely forgotten his aunt expected him to join her at her weekly supper event. Strange, he thought, she should call on him herself rather than send the staff. He dismissed the thought, he had enough to worry about.
“Yes, Aunt Penelope. Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll be down shortly,” he said, continuing to conduct the conversation through the heavy door. He let out a sigh, hoping the sound of impending boredom couldn’t penetrate the door.
He ran his hand through his hair as means of grooming and threw open the doors of the wardrobe, rifling through his collection of hand-tailored suits, slacks, and shirts. At last, he settled on a petrol blue suit with a crisp white shirt and a thin navy tie. It was smart enough to honour his aunt without being too stuffy. He wondered briefly if he might not get away with abandoning his shoes and heading down to supper in just his socks; he was in his own home, sort of, after all. The thought of his aunt’s horrified face amused him and added to the temptation, but then he remembered how the floors were a bloody nightmare for conducting the chill, damp ground up through the feet and into your bones. He rummaged around, eventually finding his tan suede ankle boots, which were the nearest thing to slippers he owned. After a splash of cologne, he headed downstairs with the charming smile he saved especially for such occasions.
By the time he arrived at the library for the pre-supper drinks, the guests were already downing the last mouthfuls of their champagne. He grabbed a glass from one of the waiters doing the rounds with a silver tray and tipped most of the cold, crisp champagne down his throat in one go. At least his aunt had good taste when it came to such things. He scanned the room, knowing before he even looked there would be absolutely no one in the room who would be in the least bit interesting – unless you had an interest in parish politics, gardening, or classical music, which is why, when he blindly reached out for another glass of champagne from a passing tray carried by one of the staff, he found himself taken pleasantly and completely surprised to come face to face with Fox.
“Hello!” he said, unable to contain his grin. “Wh… What are you doing here? You didn’t say…”
Fox blushed. She’d known when she’d agreed to Lady Asquithe’s phone-call requesting help that she might see Jeremiah; but Lady Asquithe had sounded so desperate and it hardly sounded like the sort of thing Jeremiah would be going to – and then Lady Asquithe had offered her a hundred pounds, double what she normally got paid, for an evening of work so it was hardly something she could turn down. But, now, under the eyes of Jeremiah, she felt a hundred pounds wasn’t worth the feeling of weird humiliation she felt standing in front of him in a maid’s uniform.
“Shouldn’t you be resting your back?” he asked.
“It’s fine; mum took a look at it when I got back; it’s already much better. She put a couple more stitches in, bandaged me up and gave me some aspirin.”
He gave her a look that said he wasn’t convinced. She smiled tightly and headed in the direction of the other guests. Feeling Jeremiah’s eyes roam over her as she left sent an inexplicable thrill of pleasure through her and she couldn’t help but smile.
Jeremiah was completely bewitched by Fox as she made her way around the room. She was purposely avoiding him and she didn’t look at him once, or so he thought. The champagne went to his head fast, making the room pleasantly glittering and turning the sound of the village chit-chat into a gentle babble. He took a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, hoping nobody would attempt to make small chat and ruin the pleasant fantasy running through his head. The information that had come from Uncle Daniel, had piqued his curiosity over Fox Meadowsweet and had given him the desire to take apart her life and examine it closer. He wanted to understand everything about her; it wasn’t every day you happened to run into a girl on the Vatican’s ‘Most Wanted’ list.
His mind wandered back to the events of Martha Paisley. There was no way the Meadowsweet sisters had been involved in her murder, of that he was certain, but it was clear their quaint little New Age shop was not quite as innocent as it first appeared, and neither, it would seem, was Fox.
The gong summoning them to dinner clanged and he purposely fell to the back of the line as the guests made their way through to the dining room. Fox was clearing glasses and still doing her best at pretending he had turned invisible.
“Ignoring me?” he asked, teasingly. He knew a bold confrontation was the best way to needle her into an honest response.
She carried on walking through the room, picking up glasses. “No, I’m just busy. Some of us are working.”
“You seem angry at me. Have I done something wrong?”
She sighed and put the glass abruptly down on the tray. She was angry at him, but not for anything he had done as such; just being here, like this – dressed like that, all… the exact words escaped her and she didn’t want to acknowledge the internal’s suggestion of, ‘Hot as hell!’ Her eyebrows knitted together in irritation.
“It’s not always about you, you know!” she snapped, revealing more of her mood than she had intended. He looked genuinely wounded at her retort and she felt bad. He hadn’t done anything wrong at all; in fact, he had been completely charming and humble all evening. He certainly hadn’t rubbed her nose in the fact she was only there as paid staff. She took a deep breath and smiled by way of apology.
“Sorry, it just feels a little awkward, me being paid to serve you – and my back is killing.”
He laughed generously. “To serve my aunt, you mean? And as for your back,” he shrugged, “I told you, you should have been resting. We over did it going to The Rookeries today – I was thoughtless.”
Fox looked him directly in the eye and unwilling to let the whole servant conversation go quite yet said snappily, “So me serving your aunt – you’re going to get your own dinner are you?”
Jeremiah coughed uncomfortably. “Well, no, not exactly, but if it makes you feel any better, I won’t insist on you calling me ‘Sir’ for the rest of the evening.” His teeth bit down into his lips and he flashed her a disarming smile.
“Good, then I won’t insist I punch you on the nose,” she replied, picking up her tray and sweeping out of the room with the pretense of being highly offended.
*
Downstairs in the kitchen, Will was battling with a battalion of wine glasses at the kitchen sink. This evening, he was on pot duty, having drawn the short straw, although sometimes it was better to be down in the kitchens with the radio playing and not having to worry about being the perfect servant. With the first course served, there was a chance to have a break. Fox went to the fridge and grabbed two cans of cola, flipping the tab of them both and placing one down by the side of Will. He smiled and it was infectious. Fox felt her mood lift.
“Anything exciting happening up there?” he grinned, flashing his straight white teeth.
Fox rolled her eyes. As if anything ever exciting happened at one of Lady Asquithe’s supper parties. “You know, just the usual – one jewel theft and a murder, for which I’m holding Colonel Mustard accountable for both.”
“Quiet night then?”
“Yep.” She took a swig of her cola and asked, “Do you mind giving me a lift home after the shift?”
He looked at her with his eyebrows raised, “Of course I don’t mind. I kind of guessed I’d be dropping you back anyway.”
“Oh,” she replied, feeling she’d just overcomplicated their friendship somehow.
“We’ve got loads of catching up to do. You’ve been really…” he paused, searching for a phrase that wouldn’t sound too accusatory, or jealous, “preoccupied, today.”
Fox felt her nerves bristle. Will had failed on not sounding too jealous and his feelings about her spending time with Jeremiah were confusing; it wasn’t as if he had any claims over her, and they we
re still fairly new into their whole unlikely friendship thing – unless she’d misread all the signals and the “thing” between them wasn’t just a friendship thing. She’d never been very good when it came to understanding boys.
The servants’ bell tinkled just in time to stop her thoughts colliding into a smashup, and although it was a relief to escape the tricky conversation with Will, it meant she had to now go and face Jeremiah.
Fox spent the evening desperately fighting the urge not to throw something over Jeremiah’s lap. Ironically, Jeremiah had a vague hope something just like that might happen and allow him to escape the tedium of the evening. At last, the cheese and port was served, meaning it would be at least another hour before Fox would be called on again. She made her way back down towards the kitchens, pleased at the thought of being able to sit down for a while.
She was surprised to find the kitchen empty and wondered where Will had gone. There was still a mountain of washing up to do so there was no fear that he wouldn’t be returning soon. She took a seat on one of the old pine chairs and rummaged around in her bag, cursing when she realised she’d left her book on the kitchen table back home. Sitting with nothing to do with the sound of the kitchen clock ticking to the point of irritation, she knew there was no way she could stay in the room alone. She looked over at the washing up and fleetingly thought she could make a start on it to help Will, but then selfishness and pain won over and she decided with the Chase family tied up, it might be the perfect opportunity to go and explore the house and walk her backache off.
She eyed up the door to the old servants’ stairs (no longer required as Lady Asquithe liked to show off her two members of staff). Although Fox had been to Coldstone House many times, she’d never really had the opportunity to have a sneak around – in fact, the thought of it had never occurred to her until tonight. Despite the internal offering the unwelcome suggestion this new found curiosity might be the result of stumbling across Jeremiah’s room, Fox refused to make any such connection. She waited another minute or two, waiting to see if Will might return and rescue her from such a stupid idea, but when he didn’t arrive, she took it as a cue from fate that it was all a very good idea.
It wasn’t long before she began to think otherwise. The gloomy, oppressive staircase promised a rather spooky escapade, and the steady flow of adrenalin from doing something “naughty” started to make her a little jittery; a sensation heightened with the sound of a slamming door deep within the house.
“Too late now!” she whispered to herself, daring herself to move on. At the top of the stairs, she took a left down the Persian-rugged gallery. Her foot falls were silent thanks to the plush wool. The house was lit with the minimal light, and she could only guess at what the cost of the electric bill must be, or what types of room lay beyond the closed, heavy oak doors. At last, she found a room with a door open but it didn’t offer much of interest. Just another sitting room, or morning room, or whatever else you called the fourth spare lounge. It was decorated prettily in powder blue and a small desk sat in the bay window overlooking the rose gardens. Instinct told Fox it was a woman’s room. A pretty porcelain vase of Narcissi sat whimsically on the desk, although Fox could hardly imagine the iron Lady Asquithe indulging in such a fanciful act as sitting daintily at the table and penning a few lines of poetry. A heavy waft of perfume travelled under Fox’s nose and she shivered. There was the unmistakable feeling she wasn’t alone in the room and that whoever was with her was irritated by her presence. Before Fox realised exactly what she was doing, she whispered an apology and left.
It was at this point, she knew she should return back to the kitchens. No one had invited her to snoop around the house and it was clear it wasn’t just the privacy of the current Chases she was invading. However, this thought in itself was curious and she wondered just who else was still lurking within the rooms of the house.
She continued down the corridor, the noise of the supper party fading the further she travelled. She was not going to go as far as to start opening doors, or heading up stairs (her parental conditioning was too strong for that), but she reasoned if a room had an open door, it was fair game to steal a look. As she headed towards the light pouring from one of the open doors, it suddenly slammed shut. Fox couldn’t shake the feeling the house was alive and shutting itself away. Whatever secrets Coldstone House held, it wished for them to remain secret.
As if her heart wasn’t beating fast enough, the sight of a small children’s ball rolling down the corridor towards her, sped it up further. The feeling was irrational; she’d been brought up not to fear the dead or the spirits who still clung to the Earthly realm. She knew most of them meant no harm – although, Witches and ghosts were a volatile combination.
She bent down and watched as the ball rolled slowly closer and then stopped in front of her. Once it stopped turning, she saw it was covered in pixies and rabbits; something from an age before. She reached out a hand tentatively, almost in trepidation that the ball might do something else, like disappear or burn her or… Her thoughts were broken by the sound of Jeremiah’s voice behind her,
“Thank goodness; I thought it was me going mad.”
She turned and looked up at him. He was stood looking curiously at the ball. She wondered how long he had been there. The carpet had silenced his footsteps, too.
“This happen a lot?” she asked, still crouching down with the temptation of touching it to ensure it was real.
Jeremiah shrugged. “It’s this house – there’s something here.”
“Somethings,” Fox corrected. She saw how his face flickered in confusion and continued, “There are a lot of different presences here.”
“Are you psychic?” he asked.
The answer should have been simple but she didn’t really know. Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d not shown any real special gifts, but then the prophetic visions had started happening and now it seemed the past wanted to speak to her, too. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this three-way living; past, present, and future.
“Have you seen the ball before?” she asked, deflecting the question.
“Not this one, but a different ball – a red one.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No,” he lied. He didn’t want to talk about the strange episode that had happened when he’d made contact with it. He laughed awkwardly and said, “I was chicken shit!”
It was nice to hear Jeremiah being less cocky. Fox turned her attention back to the ball and let her fingers trace its surface. It was ice-cold and the surprise of it caused her to gasp. “Do you think I should roll it back?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to know who is at the other end of the hallway.”
“Haha! That’s not my thought,” Jeremiah said, laughing nervously.
Fox rolled the ball back down the hallway and waited. The sound of children's laughter danced back towards them, but they were clearly not in the mood to play anymore. Their laughter trailed off and the hallway fell silent.
“Who are they?” Fox asked.
“I was kind of hoping you might be able to answer that.”
Fox stood and faced him. “Sorry,” she shrugged. She looked past him down the corridor. “I’d better get back. They’ve probably finished and want the table clearing.”
“Do you want to come up afterwards to look at the photos we took?”
“Hmm,” she paused, “that almost sounds like a chat up line.” She was surprised by her own flirtatious behaviour. She shuffled. The invite was innocent enough and they’d need to look at the photos together at some point. “I don’t know, I… I’ve arranged a lift back with Will.”
“Oh, sorry, that was why I came to find you; Will had to leave about an hour ago. He got an urgent call. Sorry, I was asked to pass on a message. He said he’d catch up with you tomorrow and that he’d shout you a cab. I told him not to worry, that we’d stick one on the account.”
Fox bri
stled with annoyance. She couldn’t believe Will would bail on her without telling her. Then a hundred different and dreadful reasons as to why he’d have to leave so urgently assaulted her.
“Did he tell you what the emergency was?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “Nope. Just said he had to go home urgently and he’d come back tomorrow to finish off the washing up.”
“Okay then; just for a bit though; it’s late and mum will worry.”
“Head on up when my aunt’s finished with you.”
She smiled as she thought on how he’d made it sound as simple as finding him in a small, regular house; it would probably take her an hour to find his room, if she ever found it at all.
The guests had retired to the library to wait for their taxis, leaving the dining room empty. There wasn’t too much to do, and Fox had the room tidied in under ten minutes. All the time, the internal mocked her new-found efficiency being the result of an impending visit to Jeremiah’s bedroom. She shooed the thoughts away. She didn’t fancy Jeremiah; she wasn’t even sure she even liked him very much, and yet, here she was speeding through her jobs so she could go to him.
She removed her white pinny and stuffed it into her bag, then made her way up the staircase. When she reached the top, she had the debilitating decision of whether to head down the left or the right corridor. Looking down the seemingly endless corridors, there was little clue as to which direction she should head to reach Jeremiah’s room. In the end, she opted for the right hand corridor, mainly because the left one, as she had discovered earlier, was haunted; in her book, that was a good enough reason to avoid it.
