Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts

by A. J. Matthews

  "Then I guess that's where you'll be spending the night," the watchman said and grinned.

  "Oh, yes."

  "Why are you checking the kitchen?"

  "There may be something going on there too," Martin said evenly, his expression neutral.

  "I'm not what you'd call sensitive, sir," the man said, scratching his head. "Never seen a ghost, and guess I never will. But off the record, some of the other guys have talked of some weird stuff going down in this place. Rather you than me on this one."

  "That's what I'm being paid for," Martin replied mildly.

  * * * *

  A knock sounded at the office door and Claudia looked up from her e-mail to see a slender, dark-haired young woman standing there with a file. "You wanted the Rosencrantz file, Claudia?" the girl asked in a New Jersey accent.

  "Yeah, Carla, come on in," Claudia said. She glanced at the clock on her computer monitor. It read 7:35. "It's late. Throw it in the tray, I'll get to it tomorrow—sometime," she added under her breath.

  Carla dropped the file into the in-tray. It landed with a thump that sounded too solid for Claudia's taste. "Is anything new happening around here?" she asked the girl.

  "No, it's pretty quiet."

  "I can cope with that. Have you got time to talk?"

  Carla nodded and rubbed her eyes. She looked weary. "Yeah, I'm done for the day."

  "Good. Close the door; I'd like a chat with you."

  Carla closed the door, and came back to the desk. Claudia waved for her to sit down. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm doing okay." Carla slumped into the chair and folded her arms under her breasts.

  Claudia gave her a wry smile. "Obviously Kyle hasn't tried hitting on you yet?"

  "No!" The girl flushed. "He hardly knows I exist."

  "He's like that." Claudia nodded as she skimmed through the contents of an e-mail. "You wouldn't be interested if he did?"

  Carla shuddered. "No way!"

  "Believe me, you'd best try and keep it that way." Claudia shot her a hard look. "I went down that road, and sure wish I hadn't."

  "I didn't know that," Carla said softly.

  "I'm surprised the office gossip didn't reach you when you started here. But then, I guess it was a while back." She nodded at the open office beyond the glass partition; the outer office was emptying rapidly as the workers headed for home or the nearest bar. "It's old news to those guys out there."

  "Guess so." Carla cocked her head. "How did it go with the Brit ghost-hunter today?"

  "Martin?" Claudia smiled in recollection. "He's a nice guy."

  "Martin?" Carla grinned at her, the tip of her tongue showing between her teeth. "He must be something if it's 'Martin,' already!" She leaned forward. "What's he like?"

  "He's cute. Early thirties, tall, well-built. A butt you can bounce a quarter off. And I just love his accent!"

  Carla giggled. "He sounds cute alright! Bet it must be real hard, working this assignment."

  Claudia pressed a hand to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, you don't know how hard, dear!"

  "Do you really believe there's anything in these stories of ghosts and things?"

  She leaned back in her chair, and looked thoughtfully out the window at the dark sky over the city. "Yeah, I guess I do." She smiled. "I guess there must be something about the paranormal if it brings me into contact with a guy like Martin."

  "It sounds serious!"

  "Oh, it's nothing. Maybe won't ever be anything." Claudia made a shooing motion with her hands. "Now run along! I got to wrap things up here. I'm going out tonight, and I don't want to be late."

  "You got a date with him already?" Carla exclaimed as she got up.

  "No-o! With a girlfriend. Now, scoot!"

  Carla left. Claudia picked up the Rosencrantz file, dropped it with a sigh of disgust, and spun her chair so she could gaze out the window. Work was not on her mind.

  "Although a date with that gorgeous Englishman is definitely on my to-do list," she said quietly.

  * * * *

  The night was fully dark when Claudia showed up at the hotel door. Martin had come downstairs to the foyer to check on his devices and to stretch his legs. He saw her at the door and let her in. She was wearing a faded red and white Indiana University sweatshirt and jeans; her face looked devoid of makeup but it gave her a pleasant freshness. With her copper hair tied up in a pony tail held by a gold-colored scrunchy, Claudia's casual appearance was in total contrast to her business-like daytime guise.

  "You're earlier than I thought you'd be," he said.

  "Yeah." She smiled ruefully. "I didn't go out on the town tonight. My girlfriend's down with gastric flu."

  "That sounds nasty!"

  "Oh, it is!" she said, shaking her head. She looked around the dimly-lit foyer. "So…anything happening here?"

  "Not yet." He shrugged and led the way towards the stairway. "Early days, I think."

  Claudia pointed at the brass cage of the elevator. "I checked the records in the office this afternoon," she said. "That's one of the oldest elevators in the USA, if not the world. Quite the marvel of its age. It still works."

  "Wish I'd known that earlier." Martin smiled. "It would have saved my legs."

  "Sorry about that, I wasn't sure it was working, so I didn't like to use it. I didn't want anyone getting trapped!"

  "It's okay, I understand." He gestured to the elevator. "I'm going back up to the ballroom, so shall we use it now? I like seeing these old machines still in use."

  "Sure."

  He slid the latticework gate back and they stepped in. A small light came on overhead. "I like this," he said, looking around. "It's bigger than the modern type; less claustrophobic. The controls are in good condition," he added, inspecting a lever and a row of buttons. "It's quite surprising, given its age."

  Claudia leaned against the back of the cage and looked around. "I read the first elevators were built this size to accommodate the female fashion of the day. Those wide skirts needed a lot of room. This one was 'sympathetically refurbished' back in the fifties. The Otis Company took out the hydraulics and refitted it for electric. Lucky they didn't rip the whole lot out and replace it with a modern one, I guess."

  "Some people do care about their heritage," he said, pulling the lever. "Thank goodness! Ballroom, madam?"

  She grinned. "If you please, kind sir!"

  The elevator gave the slightest of jolts, and rose smoothly up through the ornate cage-work of the shaft. It was a gentle, even ride. Martin smiled with the sheer pleasure of seeing something so old work so well. The dim outside lights of the stairway flickered through the gaps, casting brief shadows over them as they rose. As they neared the top, the light brightened and the car glided to a stop with a hiss of hydraulics.

  The elevator attendant stepped forward to slide the gate open and saluted them…

  Chapter Three

  They stepped forward into the crowd of people gathered at the ballroom doors, a host of ladies in fine colorful gowns and gentlemen in the sober blue of the Union Army waiting to be announced by the majordomo.

  From within the chamber lively music was playing over the noise of a sizeable assembly. As they approached, those nearest turned and acknowledged them courteously. Two gentlemen in particular, one a general officer with splendid dark whiskers, the other a civilian with florid cheeks, smiled upon them with clear favor.

  Martin was numb with shock and dislocation. This couldn’t be happening…could it?

  As his 'host' turned to smile at the slender woman with auburn hair Martin knew to be his wife, he swore he could see Claudia's spirit looking out of her emerald green eyes, equally shocked if not terrified. Around her neck was a splendid riviére necklace of gold and rubies; the multitude of rich red stones seemed to absorb and throw back the light.

  The civilian, an avuncular grey-haired man in a rich fawn coat with a florid patterned waistcoat, beamed a welcome.

  "Why, Joseph! There you are, m
y boy!" He clapped Martin on the arm, and turned to take the lady's hand and kiss it. "Mrs. Cloverdale! I'm charmed to meet you again, ma'am. You look lovelier every time I see you!"

  "Thank you, Senator," she said with a smile and curtseyed.

  "That uniform suits you, son," the general said gruffly, looking Martin up and down. "I'm mighty glad to see you wearing it."

  Martin glanced down at the blue serge coat of the Union, the twin gold bars of Captain's rank on the shoulder boards. "I'm proud to wear it, sir," he said, stiffening to attention. His voice had a definite Southern drawl. "To do my best for the Union cause."

  "Good man." The general clapped him on the shoulder. "Ma'am." He bowed courteously to Mrs. Cloverdale. "I hope you both have a pleasant evening."

  "Thank you, General," she replied as she took Martin's proffered arm.

  The queue moved steadily forward, the majordomo announcing each party and couple. It came to their turn. "Captain and Mrs. Cloverdale!" the man called, and they entered the ballroom.

  Within, the crowd was hundreds-strong. The presence of so many people and the heat from the gas-lit chandeliers high overhead made the huge room quite warm, in spite of the cold of winter. Snow flurries whirled past the tall windows through the indigo backdrop of night, each flake caught for a moment in the yellow light spilling forth. An orchestra played elegantly on the stage, and waiters moved smoothly through the throng to serve drinks and refreshments.

  Captain and Mrs. Cloverdale circulated, seemingly unaware of the incredulous passengers riding in their minds. Martin's initial panic subsided, to be replaced by strong excitement. He fervently wished he had some means of recording all he saw and heard. The whole experience was quite beyond anything he'd ever encountered.

  As the orchestra struck up a lively reel Martin grinned and swept his wife onto the floor with dozens of other couples. "My, but they're playing all our favorites tonight!" she laughed as he led her in the dance. Her voice was a husky contralto with a Maryland twang, her laugh a pleasant throaty little chuckle.

  "And you're the belle of the ball, Claire!" he replied and grinned.

  They whirled around the floor, lost in the pleasure of the music and the moment, delighting in each other's company. And then the dance ended and the dancers applauded the orchestra. As Joseph and Claire turned to walk off the floor, they came face to face with a very angry man.

  "Traitor!" he hissed through clenched teeth. The first syllable was drawn-out by his strong Southern accent.

  "James!" Joseph stepped in front of Claire as if to protect her. "What are you doing here?"

  "I've come to give you some news, brother. Our father is dead!"

  Martin felt his host reel back in shock.

  The stranger's face flushed a deeper crimson as he looked him up and down with contempt.

  "He died on the field of Fredericksburg last year. The news just reached me here. He was wounded badly in the third assault, but a damned Yankee still shot him down like a dog! Father would be turning in his grave to see his eldest sporting that damned coat!"

  "Steady, son!" The stocky figure of the general interposed, pushing his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers. "Let's cool our heads now, you hear?"

  "You go to hell, Yankee!" The man shook his fist in the general's face. "This is between me and my former brother here. Look at you, you damned treacherous scum!" He reached out and slapped Joseph's uniform with open contempt, then he turned to Claire Cloverdale and his eyes bulged. "And you've placed Mother's necklace around the throat of your fine Yankee whore, you bastard!"

  Joseph/Martin's fist lashed out of its own accord, striking James square on the jaw. He fell back, limbs flailing to crash in a sprawling heap. The crowd gasped and stepped back.

  "Enough!" Joseph stood over him with his fists clenched. His breath was quick, ragged. "I'm mortally sorry for father's death. You know that, in your heart. You're angry, upset. Yet you will pay my wife due respect!"

  "You're no brother of mine!"

  James came up from the floor with murder in his eyes. At that moment two officers took a hand, rushing forward to seize and drag him back before he could reach their comrade. James struggled furiously in their grip.

  The General gestured brusquely. "He's under arrest! Take him away!"

  The two officers twisted their captive's arms behind his back and frog-marched him from the chamber.

  "Hurrah!" James struggled in their grip. "Hurrah for Dixie! Hurrah!"

  A door slammed, and the rebel cry was cut off.

  The Senator bustled up, his face red. "Damnation!" He looked around and bowed. "Begging your pardon for my intemperate language, ladies, but it makes my blood boil to hear that vulgar Secessionist cry here in our city. I'm especially hurt that it should be directed at a fine, upstanding young man like Captain Cloverdale here. A young man who, like so many of a just and righteous mind, has given up his home and birthright to fight for the Union.

  "Hear me, ladies and gentlemen!" He warmed to his theme and exploited the moment like any good politician. "This dreadful war has torn families asunder! Father fights against son, and, yes, brother against brother." He nodded gravely. "Yet the blood of our soldiers, whatever or wherever their birth, stirs to the clarion call of our cause! They hear the call that summons all good men to preserve the Union, founded by our forefathers many years ago on the principles of Liberty and Justice for All…"

  "Joe, take me away from here," Claire whispered as the diatribe got into full swing, the audience hanging on the Senator's words. "That fight, your brother's foul words, have left me quite ill!"

  "Let's go to our room, my darling," Joseph said soothingly. "The Senator, bless him, has no need of us here!"

  He took her arm and led her from the room, unnoticed by the majority of the crowd. The elevator boy was by the door, where he had been avidly watching the proceedings, and he hastened to operate the elevator for them. They rode up two floors, and made their way to their room.

  * * * *

  Inside, private at last, Claire put her arms around her husband and held him tight. "I do worry so, Joe!" she whispered.

  "About what, my dear?" he asked softly, breathing the scent of her hair.

  "About you; about this war. I fear…"

  "That I won't come back?" He smiled gently. "I have to serve, Claire. I must do my duty, to preserve the country I believe in. You know that."

  She sniffled and nodded dolefully.

  He touched her cheek. "Yet I will come back, I swear, from whatever distant field I serve in."

  "Oh, Joe!" She clung to him, her body shuddering with emotion.

  He kissed her, his hands wandering of their own accord to hold and embrace his wife. She sighed deeply and melted against him, a warm, lively human being he felt so damn lucky to have. Then, somehow, the laces of her dress were undone, his fingers untying the cords almost of their own volition. Claire pulled the heavy fabric from her shoulders, letting it fall to one side, and following it with the cumbersome hoops of the crinoline. She stood before him in her most intimate garments, a bloom coloring her cheeks. His eye was drawn to the tight knot of curly hair between her thighs, showing dark and clear against the pale fabric of her crotch-less pantaloons. They had been married only a few weeks, and Joseph marveled at the way she still flushed with pleasure and a becoming shyness as he gazed upon her.

  Her flush grew deeper as he stepped close, slipped one hand around her waist and the other between her legs. Claire gasped as his fingers slid slowly over the melting softness of her pussy lips, feeling the warmth, the wetness of his wife's response to his touch.

  She fumbled with the buttons of his tunic, her usually delicate fingers turning rough with urgency, until she pulled it from him and flung it away. His pants followed the tunic to the floor, and then they set about the combinations, giggling at the awful garment even through their mounting lust.

  Joseph writhed out of the combinations, shedding the cloth like a chrysalis, and stood,
feeling mighty proud at his physique. Claire's face wore the look of wonder and pure glee he now associated with their most intimate moments; the look of a woman not long out of virginity who was discovering all the pleasures of sex. She trembled as she wriggled and pushed her way out of her chemise, pantaloons and stockings, her gaze flickering between his face and his tumescent cock.

  At last she was naked, her face and throat flushed dark in the dim lamplight. The lamp cast planes of light over her breasts and belly and thighs, and deep, mysterious shadows haunted the folds under her full round orbs and between her thighs. Joseph stepped close, embracing her, reaching down to pull his penis up so it lay pressed between the softness of her belly and his harder, more muscular one. Her wonderful breasts pressed against his chest, fat round pillows of delight he loved to touch and squeeze and taste and suckle upon.

  Then Claire's lips were on his, her hands clutching his head to pull him down, her tongue sliding between his lips to twine and dance in his mouth. Her breath was hot on his face and growing steadily more ragged as her passion mounted. Joseph cocked an eye towards the bed to get his bearings, and steadily pushed her back toward it until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the high bed and they toppled onto it, giggling and clasped together.

  He lay upon her then, hands wandering, feeling and savoring every square inch of her wonderful curvaceous body. She was pliant in his arms, flexing and sighing and moaning as he touched her, kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat, then down, down to her full breasts. Her moans reached new heights as he pinched her nipples, hard. It was something he had learned inadvertently the second night they had spent together as man and wife. Where he had thought he had done harm, she had responded with unexpected pleasure.

  Claire responded now, clutching him, holding him against her, as she writhed to position herself directly under him. His cock dragged across her belly, through the wiry hair of her pussy, and dropped between her thighs. Her legs twined themselves around his hips, and he could feel her heels pressing into the taut muscles of his butt.

  "I want you inside me! Now!" She moaned.

  He chuckled. "I believe I can oblige you there, madam!"