“Dead men?” Whitehall turned his gaze on Jim, who was scowling at Wellington. “Well, this is interesting.”
“Oh, yes, that.” Jim brushed off the incident. “It was part of what happened with my shoulder. Cook’s hands shake, and he was cleaning a shotgun loaded with buckshot. It went off, I caught part of a slug in the shoulder, but the three men behind him caught the brunt of it. Poor sods just keeled over. It was an accident, but you know, things happen.”
He chose the chair opposite Bernard’s and turned it, so that the back was towards the fireplace and he was facing Bernard on his left and Whitehall on his right. It wasn’t ideal.
If Bernard went totally off script and told Whitehall that the gig was up, Whitehall would have the advantage. Still, he’d make damn sure that Bernard went down with the one good shot he would doubtless get off. He hoped his glare communicated that to his opponent accurately.
Bernard shifted in his chair, an uncomfortable look on his face.
Good, Shaw thought. It had.
“Don’t suppose you could’ve begun with that.” Whitehall steepled his fingers. “It seems rather important.”
“Like I said, things happen,” Jim stated. “I just didn’t want you to have the impression that things were going poorly. Overall, they’re not. Pendleton has led us right where we needed to go.”
Whitehall straightened. “You’ve found the mansion?”
“Yes, we have,” Jim confirmed. “In fact, Pendleton is there now with the rest of the men. I imagine they’re well on their way to opening it for you.”
“This is wonderful news indeed!” Whitehall shifted his gaze. “Bernard, why didn’t you say they’d found the mansion? What’s its condition?”
Wellington opened his mouth to answer, but Jim cut him off.
“Bernard didn’t see the place,” he added to his story. “In fact, neither have I. He caught up to us just after the accident. I felt it was important to give you a progress report in person, so we left right then to come here. I sent Pendleton on ahead. He was certain they’d make it to the site before mid-afternoon.”
For a moment, Whitehall looked crestfallen, but then his glare turned to anger. “You’re telling me that you think Pendleton has found the mansion, but you’re not sure. You haven’t actually laid eyes on the place? Isn’t that why I hired you?”
Jim shifted, as he felt the tension in the room rise. “Despite the fact that Carver wasn’t on my original crew, I trust his judgment and believe they’re there.”
“My, what faith you have, Mr. Shaw.” Whitehall stood and called for Thomas, who actively avoided looking at the floor, when he appeared in the doorway. “Admirable, if not a bit foolish. Well, there’s nothing for it. If you think the mansion has been found, we shall have to go see for ourselves, won’t we?”
“Yes sir?” The butler’s face had returned to its expressionless mask.
“Have two more horses saddled, Thomas,” his master ordered. “Mr. Shaw and I are going for a little ride.”
“Wait a moment,” Bernard objected. “If they’ve found the place, shouldn’t I come along?”
“No, Welly, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things until we get back.” Whitehall winked at Bernard. “If the mansion has been found, I’ll need you to help me draw up the payment for Mr. Shaw and his gentlemen.”
Shaw recognized the gesture for the sign that it was. Whitehall knew he had a weapon and that Bernard was at the end of it. He also knew that, if he separated them, Bernard would have a chance to hide evidence and possibly gather a few goons together to clean up after him and his men.
In addition, Jim knew, Whitehall was showing his cards to ensure that he didn’t shoot him the moment they were alone together. No one could say that the trickster wasn’t smart.
“I’d hate to split you two up,” Jim reasoned, not wanting to give them the advantage. “Why doesn’t Bernard come along and see the mansion for himself? If it’s not there, then there’s no reason to waste good paper drawing up payment for an incomplete job.”
“Nonsense, if you have confidence in Pendleton’s abilities, then so shall I.” Whitehall motioned for Jim to step through the doors into the foyer. “Come, Mr. Shaw, let us have a look.”
Jim hesitated. He knew he was being played, but at the same time, he knew that Whitehall couldn’t be sure if Jim was telling the truth or not. He also didn’t know for sure that his secret was out or that most of his men had already fled the area.
For a moment, Shaw considered the fact that Whitehall might kill him the moment they were in the forest together, but if Thomas was to be believed, why hadn’t he done it right here in the study?
Obviously, he wanted to see if Shaw’s claims about the mansion were true, and more importantly, he wanted to get all of his victims together in one place, making it easier to kill them.
“Alright, if you insist.” Jim walked calmly towards the open front door, through which he could see Thomas and another of the wait staff approaching with two of Whitehall’s steeds across the courtyard.
Shaw only hoped that Pendleton had found the mansion and would be in a position to take control of the situation. He also hoped Carver had found the real treasure and hadn’t simply run off with it. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that necklace was the key to getting out of this mess alive.
Chapter XV
It had taken Albert and John less than an hour to cut their way through the overgrowth and open the front doors. Despite a few roots and branches here and there, the interior was dusty but untouched. The furniture was covered in white cloth, and the chandeliers still hung from their perches.
The others marveled at the mansion’s interior, but it was nothing that Carver hadn’t seen before.
He marched to the living area, where the Christmas pine from that fateful night still stood, needleless and bare. The decayed and now colorless gift-wrapping beneath its branches lent the appearance of a scene from a black and white movie to the room, everything now viewed in shades of grey.
“The necklace must still be upstairs in Bower’s room.” Pendleton said out loud.
As he approached the staircase to the second floor, the ghost appeared on the landing above, and the old sailor hesitated before marching upwards, keeping his eyes fixed on the floating creature.
She moved towards the east wing, away from the master quarters, and he followed, until she stopped at the entrance to a room and pointed before wailing softly and disappearing.
Carefully, Carver approached the room. Spirits were not to be trifled with, and although this one had been helpful up to now, there was no certainty that she hadn’t set traps of her own.
The door creaked open and revealed a large bedroom covered in a thick layer of dust. Among the pieces arranged around the space were a canopy bed and vanity, the latter’s mirror long since cracked and its drawers hanging open, as though they had been rifled.
Quickly, he searched the dresser and then the closet, finding nothing but moth-eaten dresses and a hand-mirror. Checking under the bed, he nearly had a heart attack when a raccoon burst from beneath it, chattering and skittering across the once-polished floor.
The animal disappeared around the corner, and Pendleton heard the other two men shout curses at it as it found its way downstairs. He chuckled, even as he could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.
“Let’s hope that little fella didn’t have it,” he muttered. “I’d hate to have to chase him through the forest.”
Kneeling, he looked under the bed, utilizing the light from his hard-hat to see in the darkened corners. Nothing was revealed, though, but shredded bedding and a hole leading inside the bed itself – no doubt the raccoon’s nest.
He sighed, defeated. “Why would the necklace be here?” he whispered to himself. “Bower had it, so it should be in the master bedroom.”
He got up to leave, but once again found his way blocked by the apparition, as she floated silently across the floor and then hovered nex
t to the vanity.
Noting she did not have a reflection, Carver shivered. Still, he got up and dusted his pants off before approaching the vanity yet again. With a shrug, he indicated that he had already searched the drawers and had found nothing.
The spirit pointed towards the mirror itself, and he reexamined the front. Nothing there, so he pulled the vanity away from the wall. Sure enough, there it was – a small velvet pouch taped to the back of the mirror.
“Well I’ll be,” he exclaimed under his breath. “Your last, must’ve been one heck of a Christmas. I suppose the Mrs. gave this to you, or you stole it from her. Either way, thanks for leading me to it.”
He couldn’t gauge her reaction, except to note that, in response to his words, she once again vanished without a sound.
Chapter XVI
After some time traveling in silence, Shaw and Whitehall came to the cave, where the compass had been burnt into the wall by the spirit, but Jim made no mention of this little fact and kept going, as though there were nothing to see. Whitehall didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, and so he said nothing.
The pair continued south until they came to the area where Bernard had been caught in the trap, and Shaw decided now was the time to dismount and track the others on foot.
“We should get off here,” he pointed out. “Your man Wellington kindly discovered for us that this part of the forest is trapped. I imagine the horses would appreciate it, if we let them stay here before venturing on.”
“Traps is it?” Whitehall looked at the rope that still hung where it had been sprung, the severed end swaying in the wind. “Yes, I see. Very well then.”
The two men dismounted and tethered their horses to trees.
Bent low to the ground, Shaw examined the footprints before setting off along Carver’s trail.
Whitehall had had the upper hand until now, Jim mused, but even if he led the trickster straight to Pendleton, he might still win back the advantage, the traps having given him an idea.
Chapter XVII
“Alright you two, you’ve done your part. I suggest you get out of here while you can. If things turn out, I’ll make sure you get paid, just watch out for Whitehall and Bernard. You still want to stay clear of them.” Carver waved at Albert and John, who shared a shrug before making a dash for the front door, relieved to be allowed to leave.
Carver settled into the dusty cushions of a settee in the living room, where he stared at the golden charm in his hand, its diamonds glittering as brightly as the day it was forged for the king of Portugal.
He’d made a mistake bringing it with him that night at the tavern, but there was no way to tell what had really happened. He was drunk, and Abigail Bower was no longer here to tell her side of the story. It didn’t matter now. He had it back, and he would wait here for Whitehall to come.
“He’s coming.”
Carver shot out of his seat, startled by the new voice. Soft and sweet, it carried with it an undertone of sadness.
“Who’s there?” He shouted.
“He’s coming like he did before. He’ll want it.”
Carver spun completely around, but saw no one. The voice continued, as though it were right next to him.
“He wants it. He always has. He wanted it that night, too.”
“Who wanted what?” Carver sought to regain control of himself. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“If he gets it, he’ll win the game. He hates to lose. It’s all a game to him. It always was.”
Standing still, Carver clutched the necklace in his hand and considered her words. “You’re talking about Whitehall, aren’t you? He wants the necklace, my necklace, right?”
“White hall, white king. A false name for a false king. No Whitehall here, only Williamson.”
“Williamson…the Lord that used to own this Manor?” Pendleton wasn’t sure he had understood. “The dead lord, that Williamson?”
“His younger.”
Carver thought a moment, his gaze taking in the remnants of Christmas presents under the twiggy pine that had once been beautiful and green, the kingpin of a festive Christmas Eve.
Stepping into the hall, he discovered in the middle of the floor a chess set that had been abandoned mid-game – the black king nearly in checkmate by the white king, only the black queen standing in its way. The white king, sitting on his board, in the great white hall…
“Bloody hell!” Understanding filled him. “Whitehall is Williamson’s grandson.”
“He will finish the game. He wants to win.”
“What game?”
“He is the white king. I am the black queen. He wants to win the game.”
“He killed you, didn’t he?” Carver held the necklace in the air. “For this?”
“He can’t have it. I hid it. He doesn’t like that. He couldn’t kill me twice, so he hid.”
“Hid?” Pendleton was having a hard time keeping up with her. “You mean he left.”
“Pawns do his work, and he hides behind them, as all kings do.”
“That would be Shaw and myself, I imagine, but we’re on to him,” he stated. “I have the necklace now, and I won’t give it to him. He won’t win.”
“Possibly not. A pawn can capture a king, if it’s clever.”
“Capture him?” Carver wasn’t sure he liked the direction she was taking. “I don’t much care to capture him. He’s a murdering thieving bastard, who deserves to die.”
“Death is not a punishment. The truth must be told, and he must face it.”
Pendleton didn’t respond, but deep in his heart, he knew the spirit was right. Whitehall or Williamson, as he now knew him to be, should see justice one way or the other. If the murdering scoundrel’s life were to extend beyond this day, it should be behind bars or at the end of a noose.
He only hoped that Jim could figure it out. Carver had the treasure, but there wasn’t much to keep Williamson from getting his hands on it, except for two pawns and a ghostly queen.
“Here they are!” Jim shouted before taking off along the path at a brisk pace. “Thought I’d lost the trail for a moment. Come on, this way!” Glancing back, he was pleased to see that he’d given himself just enough breathing room to do the work he had in mind.
Continuing along the trail, with Whitehall shouting for him to slow down, Shaw saw a tripwire and a net trap out of the corner of his eye and stooped, quickly grabbing the rope and deftly pulling the trap loose from the tree.
Breaking through the trees to the clearing beyond, he forced himself not to stop and gawk at the eerily beautiful ruin at its heart, noting only that the front entrance had been cleared. Hopefully, there were no more traps between him and the house.
Dashing up the stairs, he burst into the great hall.
Standing to the side, Pendleton met the younger man’s gaze, apprehension filling his face.
“He’s got you on the run? Where are they?” Carver moved forward and looked past Jim, just in time to see Whitehall trotting along the trail through the trees.
“It’s only Whitehall,” Jim filled the old sailor in. “He made Wellington stay behind, but I suspect he’s setting him up to take the fall, if this goes sideways.”
“Fine by me, what’s the plan?”
“Do you have the treasure?”
Carver handed him the necklace to see.
Jim stared at it for a second before shaking his head. “All this over that.”
“There’s more. Whitehall isn’t who he says he is. He’s…”
“No time!” Jim threw the net on the ground. “Help me set this up.”
“Let me do it.” Carver knelt and gathered the rope into his hands. “Forty years as a sailor, you learn how to tie a knot.”
Jim moved to the front doors and slammed them shut, turning the rusty lock as best he could. “That won’t hold him off long,” he pointed out. “You best be quick with that trap.”
“Aye.” Carver tossed the lead rope up and over one of the
support beams and then passed it through one of the chandelier supports. “There’re only furniture covers to disguise it with.”
Jim grabbed the dirty cover off the dining table and threw it over the net on the ground. “It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
At that moment, there was a fierce banging on the front doors. “Let me in Shaw, I know you’re in there!”
“He’s here. He wants to finish the game.”
Exactly as Pendleton had done before, Jim spun around, his eyes wide as they looked for the spirit.
Carver held up a hand. “She does that.”
“The game.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” Jim asked.
“I think she means this.” Carver stooped and picked up the chess set, placing the game in the middle of the trap and making sure the pieces were as they had been.
“Right.” Jim motioned for Carver to hide. “Let’s hope he falls for that. Come on.”
No sooner had they taken up their positions, than the lock on the door cracked open and Whitehall burst through – the chess set sitting on a sheet on the floor waiting for him, just as he had left it all those years ago.
“Ah, the chess game I never finished. Such a pity.” He stopped at the edge of the sheet, crouched, and examined the edges before standing, a sadistic smile on his face.
“Did you really think I would fall for this, Shaw?” He looked around. “I see now that you’ve come here alone or mostly alone. Dear Thomas must’ve come to warn you. Good help is so hard to find these days. I’ll have to remedy that when I get back.”
“What makes you think you’re going back?” Jim stepped from behind a wall, brandishing his pistol.
Carver remained hidden, grasping the rope to the trap, just in case.
“Oh, dear, you’ve got a pistol!” Whitehall held his hands up in mock surrender. “Is that really how you want to do this? So American.”
The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories Page 6
