Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts

by A. J. Matthews

  She took his hand and wrapped the fingers around his shaft. Together they guided it to the sopping wetness of her quim, and Joseph entered her.

  Much as he wanted to plunge fathoms deep into his wife, he found enough resolve to heighten her pleasure. He entered her a little way and then withdrew, using his hand to slide the head of his cock up and down her soft inner lips. Claire moaned and writhed. He gave a snort of teasing laughter and entered her again, moving in a little further, then out once more.

  "Ohhh! Damn you, Joe!" Claire's face was inflamed by passion and she looked at him with an expression in which pleasure, hunger and reluctant amusement mingled.

  He winked, and entered her again. Cruelty could only be taken so far. He slid deep inside her until his balls smacked lightly against her butt. Claire's legs tightened convulsively around his hips and her arms crushed him against her. She breathed deeply in contentment, and kissed him, long and tenderly.

  "I love you, Joe Cloverdale!"

  "And I love you, Claire."

  He began to ride her then, long, slow, deep and leisurely thrusts, each stroke using the whole of his shaft. Claire's soft moans of contentment gave way to little cries of pleasure, as she nibbled his lips and ears. Joseph could feel her breasts moving against him, her nipples brushing through the hair on his chest, as they rolled and swayed in time to his thrusts.

  His own passion was rising now, and he leaned into Claire with a growing urgency, spurred on by her cries of encouragement. Her juices slicked his cock and coated his groin as he pushed deep into her, her pussy mashing against his loins as she matched his rhythm, her hips bucking hard to meet his. Claire's tight pussy clasped him convulsively, each muscle spasm coming faster and faster, and faster, until she screamed with release.

  Joseph winced as her nails raked across his back, but the pain and his wife's cries served to topple him over the edge. He groaned, long and deep, as he spent inside her, his cum flooding her, mingling with her juices in the ultimate act of their joining.

  All through their love-making, Martin was an astonished and totally embarrassed passenger in Joseph Cloverdale's mind. As Joseph gazed lovingly into his wife's eyes and smiled at her in post-coital bliss, Martin could see an equally astonished and embarrassed Claudia looking at him from Claire's eyes.

  * * * *

  At that moment, from outside the room, there came the cry of Fire!

  Rolling off the bed Joseph hurriedly donned his trousers and stumbled to the door. When he opened it thick grey smoke rolled into the room, making him cough violently.

  "Oh, my Lord!" Claire screamed, clutching the sheets to her naked form.

  Inside Joseph Cloverdale's mind, Martin felt the surge of adrenaline as the man's natural courage leapt to the occasion. As Joseph reeled back into the room and slammed the door, Martin began to feel anxious at the turn events were taking. Making love to Claire/Claudia had quite removed any objectivity he'd held since finding himself in the past. Now it looked like their hosts, and perhaps they themselves, were in mortal danger.

  "Quickly, dear, there's no time to lose!" Joseph called. Swiftly wetting two towels from the washstand jug, he pressed one to his mouth and urged Claire to do the same. "Wrap yourself in the sheet and press this to your face. You must leave, quickly!" He pushed her through the door. "Use the stairs, not that elevator contraption."

  She clasped his arm. "What about you?"

  "I must spread the alarm and see everybody is awakened before it's too late!"

  Clutching the sheet around her, Claire stumbled down the passageway and Joseph began banging violently on all the doors. "Fire!" He made his way swiftly down the passage, yelling the alarm over and over as he hammered on the doors.

  Soon the passageway was filled with night-dressed forms, all bemused and becoming increasingly terrified as the smoke began to give way to flames further along the building. Joseph urged and directed, ordered and soothed where needed. Other army officers had left the ball and begun to help guide the guests to safety.

  One man paused at the head of the flight of stairs leading down. He glanced at the rise heading up, then at Joseph. "Joe! What about those upstairs?"

  Joseph nodded. "I'll go!"

  He headed for the stairs.

  On the next floors he repeated the alarm, his breath harsh, his voice becoming ragged with the smoke and fumes. Pain shot through his lungs with every breath. The final guests headed past him, hurrying downstairs as fast as their feet would carry them, some tripping and tumbling to the foot of the stairs in a flurry of limbs. Cries and screams sounded over the distant roar of flames.

  Joseph followed, bringing up the rear and helping those too weak or scared to help themselves. The smoke billowed and grew thicker. The crackling sound of the hotel burning grew more violent as he went down, and he wondered at this in some small part of his mind. The towel he held was quite dry now with the heat and the smoke, its protection scant; he held onto it as being better than nothing.

  Finally, he reached the last flight leading down to the foyer. The staircase was well ablaze, the passage to safety narrowing by the second as the fire greedily consumed the wood. To his horror he saw the last two people stumble and fall, to drop screaming through the burned-out banisters into the heart of the fire.

  "Joseph!" Claire's voice rang out across the noise. He saw her in the press of people by the doors. "Joseph, my dearest!" she cried again, and would have rushed to him had she not been held back by an officer.

  "Claire.!" Joseph gasped for breath, looking from her to the inferno of the stairs. He had only seconds. Bracing himself he prepared to leap when something seemed to explode under his feet. The whole structure gave way, hurling him down to oblivion…

  * * * *

  Martin woke up in a chair in the office to find Claudia sitting opposite and looking at him with a quizzical expression. "Just what the hell happened there, Mr. Grey?" she demanded.

  He sat up straight. To his surprise he was fully dressed, his lungs clear of smoke or any traces of it, and he was sitting in the office used by the watchmen. They were noticeably absent. Holding up his hands, he stared at them, expecting to see them smoke-blackened. They were clean.

  He looked at her, appalled. "Did you?"

  She nodded vehemently.

  He felt his face grow hot. "Did we?"

  She nodded again, slowly this time, her eyes unreadable.

  "Claudia, I'm sorry!" he said.

  "Martin… Oh!" She sighed and rubbed her face. "Just tell me; is this likely to happen often with you around?"

  Chapter Four

  Claudia leaned on the table and read aloud from the newspaper in front of her.

  "'Joseph Cloverdale, Captain, 104th New York Regiment, late of Wilmington, North Carolina. Died on the 8th February in the course of saving lives during a terrible fire at the Chestnut Mansion Hotel. Buried at Our Lady of Grace Cemetery, New York City, 12th February, 1863. Given a public funeral with full military honors in tribute to his heroism.’"

  “It’s strange, we saw no evidence of such a horrific fire. Don’t you think we would have seen some evidence of it?”

  Claudia skimmed further down the article. “Maybe not. It says here that the hotel was to be restored to its original glory as soon as possible.”

  They were in the public library, checking the newspaper archives. The warm, dry, unemotional atmosphere of the library seemed a million miles removed from the upheaval generated by their experiences of the night. By some instinctive, tacit agreement, neither Martin nor Claudia yet acknowledged what had happened. Neither felt ready to confront it.

  "Any mention of his wife?" Martin asked.

  "She survived the fire unscathed. At the funeral they gave her the flag which draped his coffin. There's a daguerreotype picture of the scene."

  "It would have been a comfort, I suppose, knowing her husband died saving others instead of taking lives in battle."

  Claudia nodded somberly. "Yeah, I guess. Here, it goe
s on to mention the fire itself. 'Suspected to be arson, due to the sudden onset and the speed with which it spread.’ And here: 'Following an incident at the ball given in honor of the 104th Regiment, James Cloverdale, estranged brother of the deceased, was arrested. He later escaped from temporary military custody with the aid of fellow Southern sympathizers.’"

  "Interesting," Martin commented.

  "Isn't it, though? And here: 'Senator Murdoch of Ohio, a sponsor of the deceased Captain, sees the mark of Cain on James Cloverdale in the foul deed which took the life of a gallant officer. He berates the bloody band of Southern agitators present in the shadows of the city and calls upon the mayor and governor to sweep them from the city.’" She grimaced. "Trust a politician to capitalize on a disaster. They never change."

  "I thought he was an oily sort at the time," Martin remarked, then flushed and cleared his throat.

  "Yeah, so did I." Claudia didn't quite meet his eye. "Oh, damn it, Martin!" She sighed and closed the folder then turned to face him squarely. "We can't dance around this until the end of time. Those people in the past; Joseph and Claire Cloverdale. Were we them or not?"

  "I think we were just along for the ride." Martin shrugged. "I wasn't aware of Joseph knowing I was there in his head. Did you sense anything from Claire?"

  "Not a peep. But I could see everything; feel everything; sense her emotions. She sure loved her husband," she added quietly.

  "And he loved her."

  Claudia's lips twitched. "He was good in bed, too!"

  "Er…yes. And so was she."

  They looked at each other.

  The librarian emerged from her office to throw them out just before they totally collapsed from laughing.

  * * * *

  The taxi ride to the Chestnut Mansion passed in companionable style, with Claudia pointing out the landmarks they passed. "Down there is Our Lady of Grace Cemetery," she said. "We could check it out later; see if we can find the gallant Captain's grave."

  "It'd give me an odd feeling, seeing what is, in effect, my grave."

  Martin craned to look down the length of the road as they passed. He caught a glimpse of a wide space between the buildings at the far end of the street, the trees in the cemetery glowing gold.

  "We'll have to follow this through, Martin," Claudia said, squeezing his arm. "Any ideas yet on why we went through all that last night?"

  "I have the feeling it was by way of scene-setting." He frowned. "It's as if someone, or something, wanted us to see the opening of this affair."

  "You're not sure what, or why?"

  "That'll come later, I think."

  "Oh goody! I wonder what caused Joseph Cloverdale to abandon his homeland for the Union cause?"

  "Who can say?" He shrugged. "That Senator had it right. The Civil War divided so many families."

  "We'll need to dig into the Cloverdale family history, see if we can find the whys and wherefores. It shouldn't be too hard. I got the impression he was from a moneyed family. They tend to make an impression on the world. At least we have the name to go on." She leaned forward to peer out the windshield. "We're nearly there."

  The world seemed to flicker, almost as if a movie reel the size of the cosmos had jumped a frame. Around them the quality of the light changed, and then—

  The cabby drew the hansom up to the curb outside the hotel and reined in the horses. General Moore alighted first to hand Claire Cloverdale down from the vehicle. The soldiers and police officers guarding the wrecked structure came to attention and saluted them.

  Within the general's mind, Martin gazed about with somber astonishment at the scene. The wreckage of a severe fire lay all around. The stonework of the hotel's lower frontage was badly scorched, the windows glaring black holes from which trailed the occasional wisp of steam or smoke. Soot and embers covered the sidewalk for hundreds of yards, the stink of burnt debris filling the air enough to make the general's eyes water. Martin felt the deep regret in his mind for the death of a good man and his admiration for the fortitude shown by the young woman in her loss.

  Claire stood on the sidewalk and stared in quiet horror at the burned frontage of the Chestnut Mansion. Her new widow's dress matched the blackened exterior in somber complement. "My stars!" she gasped. "It's a wonder anyone got out alive!"

  "It's thanks to Joseph's bravery they did, my dear," the general said gravely.

  "Is it safe to go in?" she asked softly. "I'd… I'd like to see where Joseph died once more."

  Moore hesitated, then nodded. "I'll enquire, my dear. Excuse me for a moment."

  He spoke quietly to one of the officers at the door, who nodded and led the way inside. The foyer was all but gutted, the sturdy brass of the elevator cradle surviving like a blackened skeleton to the rear. A temporary stair had been erected from ladders to allow access to the upper floors. Policemen, both uniformed and plain-clothed, picked their way through the debris, searching for evidence of arson.

  Claire Cloverdale entered at his word and stood in silent misery as she looked at the spot where her husband had fallen in the burning ruin of the staircase.

  In the general's mind, Martin felt his own consciousness prickling at the thought of 'his' death only the night before.

  "Is it possible to recover anything from our room?" she asked softly. "My necklace was there; after the incident at the ball, we went straight to our room. I didn't give it to the manager for safe-keeping. It… it belonged to Joseph’s mother."

  "I shall see, ma'am. The fire didn't reach that far. It should be safe, the place has been well-guarded."

  A conference with the head of the detectives gained the man's assent. The general eschewed dignity and began to climb the ladders. Reaching the top, he found the other stairs were still serviceable and progress was easier, even though the walls and floors were smoke-blackened and soaking wet from where fire hoses had sprayed and snow had entered through heat-shattered windows.

  As he neared the room occupied by the captain and his lady, a man emerged from it clutching something under his coat. With a sudden flash of anger the general recognized James Cloverdale. "You! Stand where you are, you wretch!" he shouted, drawing and cocking his pistol.

  Startled, James Cloverdale looked up then began to run down the passage, away from the angry officer. General Moore fired, the big Le Mat pistol bucking in his hand. Cloverdale gasped, dropped his burden, and lurched into the well of the servant's stairs. Moore set off in pursuit, roaring for the guards at the top of his powerful voice.

  Cries and exclamations came from below as he reached the stairwell. Bright splashes of blood starred the sooty floor, marking a hit on the fleeing man. The dropped bundle lay at his feet. Casting a quick look down the stairs, Moore fired again at the shadowy figure turning the corner of the flight below but failed to hit. Hoping the bottom of the stairs would be covered, he picked up the roughly-bound cloth bundle and pulled at the string. The gleam of gold and rubies met his gaze.

  "Well, well!" he said softly to himself. "The Cloverdale jewels!"

  He returned to the foyer to find Cloverdale had not been seen. "Double the guards outside!" he ordered the highly-embarrassed police chief. "Send a message to the nearest barracks for more soldiers to reinforce your men. Search the building and the neighborhood. This man must be caught!"

  The police scattered. Grimly, he offered the bundle to Claire, who unwrapped it to stare with astonishment at the jewels. "He came back for these?" she asked wonderingly.

  "I guess he felt they were his family's." The general shook his head and sighed. "With the deaths of his father and brother, he would feel he had to recover something."

  "But they're mine now," she said hoarsely. "They were Joseph's wedding gift to me!"

  "Of course, ma'am. No one doubts that. And no one will take them from you now."

  The scene flickered and changed—

  Martin and Claudia stood in the foyer and stared at each other.

  She groaned. "Jesus! How often is this
going to happen?"

  "Where did you folks come from?" Mike asked, emerging from the office to stare at them. His mouth worked as he chewed his lunch and they could hear the sounds of a football game in progress from his radio in the office. "I didn't hear you come in!"

  "We…came in the back way, Mike," Claudia said, looking at Martin.

  "No you didn't, miss," Mike said with a frown. "That door is locked and I have the only key, remember?"

  "Mike, just leave it, okay?" she said tiredly. "We're here. We won't be long."

  He hesitated, and then nodded. "Okay, whatever. By the way, your boss sent a girl from your office to collect those photos. She left an hour ago."

  "Thanks, Mike. Don't let us keep you from the game," she added pointedly.

  Mike went, grumbling, and Claudia looked at Martin. "Like I said, how often is this going to happen?"

  "I don't know," Martin admitted, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Not often, I hope. It's giving me a headache."

  "A headache?" she said in disbelief. "You should be so lucky! This is making my whole life ache!" She walked with unsteady legs to sit on one of the stairs. "I'm beginning to wonder where Claudia Mackenzie ends and Claire Cloverdale begins!"

  "But now we know James Cloverdale escaped from the officers who arrested him, then returned here to try and recover the jewels." Martin walked over to sit beside her. "It's beginning to center on this Cloverdale necklace. I wonder what it is the… presence here is trying to show us?"

  "Do we really have a choice but to find out?" she asked wryly.

  He shrugged. "I guess not."

  "And what is this presence?"

  "I have no idea." He sighed, and his shoulders sagged.

  "No idea. Huh!" Claudia clenched her fists, then relaxed them, splaying her fingers out as if inspecting her nails. A silence stretched between them, until Claudia finally sighed and slapped his knee. "Okay, buck-up, Sherlock. What next? Where can we go so these ghosts from the past can suck us into them once more?"

  Martin thought for a moment. "Do you fancy attending a military funeral?"