The Ghost and Miss Demure

by Melanie Jackson

  She took a photograph anyway.

  Tristam returned with a large Tupperware storage tub. As a casket it lacked dignity, but it was the right size and the sides were opaque so nothing could be seen from the outside.

  “The book looks bad,” he said after they loaded the bones.

  “It is. May as well put it in there with him—but give me my sweater first.”

  “It won’t come clean,” Tristam warned as he pulled it free. He shook it to be sure than none of the smaller bones had tangled in the yarn. “I owe you a new one.”

  “I know it won’t wash up. I just don’t want anything of mine in there with him. I’ll burn it later.”

  He nodded and then snapped shut the lid. Karo appreciated that he didn’t make fun of her for her statement. She would burn the sweater later, along with all her other current clothing. And Tristam’s, too. Even if she could get her clothes clean to the eye, she feared some kind of spiritual contagion would always cling to the garments. This was silly perhaps, but many cultures through time had agreed with her on this. Touching someone’s shroud could cause sickness, death and even hauntings. Fire was the universal purifier.

  “The Campions have gone to lunch and to pick up some more silver polish and floor wax. They will also stop at the nursery and pick up a rose bush I ordered. It is some kind of cane rose that grows twenty feet a year.”

  Karo was sure that they didn’t need more polish or wax. “Why the rose bush? More delay?”

  “No. For the grave. I want something thorny to discourage exploration in that corner of the graveyard.”

  “Oh,” Karo said. The rose was more tasteful than quickthorn but perhaps less effective.

  “Let’s start digging a hole. Then we’ll have lunch. We’ll need our strength.”

  She nodded, though eating seemed beyond her at that moment. “I left the shovel down there,” she admitted, looking back at the bulkhead doors and shivering.

  “It’s okay, they have others. And it won’t be necessary anyway. We’re going to need a pickax to get through those tree roots.”

  It came as no shock to Karo that it began to drizzle the moment that they laid the plastic crate in the hole Tristam had dug. A look at the afternoon sky had warned that rain was imminent. It pretty much guaranteed that she wouldn’t be speaking to her parents that day, though they would be expecting a call. A tall tree in a storm was no place to be, and she wasn’t sure she was in the right frame of mind for it anyway.

  What they dug wasn’t deep as graves went, perhaps only about four feet. But they had been four exhausting feet, and Tristam looked fatigued. Time was running out, so they didn’t change clothes for the ceremony. She hadn’t come here prepared with funeral attire anyway.

  Tristam opened an old Book of Common Prayer, and Karo opened an umbrella which she used to shelter the tome that he had brought from the library. It made some sense to use the prayers of the Church of England, seeing as that had been Hugh’s origin, though she doubted he was faithful to its teachings at any time in his wicked life. She hoped that if the ghost was near that he could smell the roses they had waiting to place on the grave, and that he would appreciate that the sky was shedding the tears that neither she nor Tristam could manage to provide.

  Tristam’s voice was mellow, but Karo caught only part of what he read. Her own mind was caught up in a dirge by Emily Brontë.

  Then did I check the tears of useless passion—

  Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine.

  “ ‘Wash away, O Lord, the sins of all those here commemorated, by Thy Precious Blood, through the prayers of all thy saints,’ ” she heard Tristam say. Karo was glad that she didn’t need to make any response, since she didn’t know the liturgy.

  Tristam closed the book and then his eyes. He began to recite. He didn’t seem to notice that the cemetery was suddenly full of frogs, which looked on in silence. And Karo couldn’t help but shiver as she watched a variety of spiders scramble up the tombs and mausoleums looking for higher ground. Frogs and spiders—these were not the witnesses she would want attending her own funeral.

  “ ‘O Christ our God, who on this all-perfect and saving Feast, art graciously pleased to accept propitiatory prayers for those who are imprisoned in Hades, promising unto us who are held in bondage great hope of release from the vileness that doth hinder us and did hinder them—’ ”

  Karo looked at him in surprise. This seemed to her a somewhat provocative choice of prayers and wondered if he was making it up as he went along.

  “ ‘—send down Thy consolation and establish their souls in the mansions of the Just; and graciously vouchsafe unto them peace and pardon; for not the dead shall praise thee, O Lord, neither shall they who are in Hell make bold to offer unto thee confession. But we who are living will bless thee, and will pray, and offer unto thee propitiatory prayers and sacrifices for their souls.’ ” Tristam opened his eyes. “Do you want to say anything?”

  Feeling irreverent, but also knowing that Hugh would approve, instead of saying a prayer she quoted from “Dirge Without Music” by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

  Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

  It was Tristam’s turn to stare in consternation.

  Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

  I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

  Karo reached over for a handful of earth and threw it on the tub. The sound was every bit as hollow as dirt falling on a coffin. Taking this for a sign that the end was truly nigh, the gauntlet thrown, rain began in earnest, and the wind started to whip them with leaves and sticks as it lashed itself into a frenzy.

  “ ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust—’ ” Tristam shouted above the rising storm. He and Karo worked quickly to fill the hole and to place the rose bush on top and pack earth about its roots. They didn’t bother watering it; the rain would take care of that chore soon enough.

  The trees were in torment, and the green wood moaned piteously. Karo wanted to moan, too. As the last shovelful of dirt was tamped down, a sheet of lightning split the earth from the sky and hail began to fall inside the cemetery walls. If it was Hugh’s final farewell, she supposed, it reeked of disapproval and anger at his banishment from the world.

  “I’m sorry,” Karo whispered at the grave and then ran for the house.

  Chapter Ten

  Where’er we tread, ’tis haunted, holy ground.

  —Lord Byron

  Storm clouds engulfed the estate. The pyrotechnics display that followed the hail could have rivaled the Washington D.C. fireworks at the bicentennial celebration. It seemed an indecent paean of joy for a funeral.

  Karo found it suspicious that the hail stopped the moment they reached shelter, but she didn’t voice her nervous supposition to Tristam. It was probably just paranoia, and it seemed a shame to make both of them worry.

  Reeoowww.

  “Poor kitty. Come sit by the fire,” she suggested, only to be ignored.

  ’Stein was wet and grumpy. He blamed the humans for his discomfort and indicated with many yowls that they should make the thunder and rain go away. At once. And when they didn’t do as he demanded, ’Stein stalked out of the room in a big, orange huff, leaving a wet trail behind him on the newly cleaned floor.

  Karo sighed. She wished that she could oblige the cat. The sudden storm’s uncanny fury was disconcerting, especially coming upon them when it had. All she could do was take hope from ’Stein’s willingness to go off alone. He was annoyed but not frightened. Perhaps that meant their simplistic bromide had worked, and Hugh’s ghost was truly gone from the house.

  Tristam finished lighting the fire in the small hearth of a modest back drawing room and flung himself down on the settee beside her. His dirty shirt had been tossed into the grate when he discovered that it was covered with bits
of fungus.

  “Blast!” He screwed up his face in an expression of pain. “I keep forgetting how bloody uncomfortable this old furniture is. I say we invest in something modern with lots and lots of man-made fibers.”

  “Okay…When?”

  “Tomorrow,” he said promptly. “My battered body can stand no more. I’ll write it off as a business expense.”

  Karo reached for his dirty hand with exaggerated care. There were blisters. “The sofa didn’t do this.”

  “No, but let’s chalk the wound up to defending your honor and let it go at that.”

  “Okay by me. But eventually we’re going to have to talk about some stuff.” It seemed inevitable.

  She touched a finger to one of the deeper scratches on his lower arms and frowned at the wound. “The rose?”

  His eyes danced. “Want to kiss it and make it better?”

  “Not really. You’re covered in ash and mud. So much for showering after the basement.” Mud from the burial, ash from the fireplace they had needed to sweep clean before they had burned the clothes they’d worn in the basement.

  “Oh. Well, then I guess we can talk instead.” He flexed his fingers and moaned in a show of further suffering. “You won’t reconsider the kiss? I’m in pain. Really.”

  “Go wash.” She yawned. “I hope the power doesn’t go out.”

  “I say, this storm came rather pat, didn’t it? Thank heavens there was no ancient oak outside the door or it would doubtlessly have been blasted by lightning—and us with it.”

  “Yes, we might well have been. Even without the oak. I guess we shouldn’t have expected Hugh to go quietly.” If he went at all. It was a continued sobering line of thought. Karo let go of Tristam’s dirty hand.

  “I’m not ready to wash. So, on what topic shall we discourse?” Tristam asked, settling back into the corner of the sofa and laying his arm along the camel back. He found a strand of her wet hair and tugged it.

  “It just doesn’t seem real, does it? None of it.” Karo leaned forward. “People would laugh at us if we ever told them. Frankly, I’m still amazed that you believed me about him. Even after the dream.”

  “Frankly, dear girl, so am I.” His tone was earnest. “I’ve been in the most haunted houses in Europe and never bumped into a single specter. I’m too dull and unimaginative, I guess, to see actual supernatural portents.”

  “So, why did you believe me? It could have been just a dream we shared.”

  “I believed because I had to.”

  “Why?” she persisted, even as he rolled his eyes.

  “Well, I could hardly contemplate spending my time with an insane woman, could I? Believe me, Karo Follett, when I say that a sudden belief in restless spirits is easier to face than the prospect of losing you because I can’t believe in your ghost.”

  Karo had a hard time meeting his gaze. The frank stare and blunt declaration had tied her tongue, even though she really wanted to know precisely what he meant. It all sounded like a romantic declaration, but he might only mean it in a business sense. No matter their attraction, there were no promises she could trust blindly. Hadn’t her past taught her that?

  He continued. “Once I did believe you…Well, obviously I had to go along—even at the loss of wealth and my fifteen minutes of fame that a ghost would have brought. The idea of him following you around, haunting you, watching you…” His words were light but they didn’t hide a ruthless sincerity underneath.

  “So, it was jealousy that moved you.”

  “That was one factor. There were others. In fact, we’ve many things to talk about, my dear…but can’t they wait?” He pulled her close. Their noses were almost touching.

  “Wait? Why?” she breathed.

  “Because the only important question this evening is whether we should partake of the warrior’s recreation. What do you think, Karo Follett? Will you chance your professional scruples one more time? Or do I have to fire you first and then follow the usual courtship rites while you slip into penury?”

  This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? His hand tightened around her hair as he waited for her answer. Karo stretched out her mental feelers, trying in vain to sense if Hugh was watching. Nothing. Maybe he really and truly was gone. She looked into Tristam’s eyes and nodded.

  The hallway was a long dark tunnel that echoed hollowly as they neared the master suite. They didn’t bother with the lights but relied on the violent atmospheric flares outside the casements to show them the way.

  The doors were standing open. Filtered light bleached the world of color and gave the illusion that they were bathing in silver air. Even the garish canopy above her bed was drained of color and made into a soft, bridal veil.

  “Let me,” Tristam said.

  Karo’s wet clothing was stripped away by impatient hands that only slowed when he reached bare flesh. Yet that pleas urable touch again hurried as they shucked the rest of their clothing and rushed for the warmth of the bed.

  Their skin was dark against the pale sheets. Tristam raised up on one elbow to take in the sight of his flesh-and-blood fantasy laid out on the sleek satin, and he groaned at the sight. His torture was almost at an end. He ran a reverent hand over the fullness of her breasts, over her flat stomach as it fell away from her ribs, and then he tangled his fingers in the thicket of dark hair between her legs. Traces of soot marred her delicate curves.

  “Beautiful,” he said, burying his face in her hair and cradling her close as he nibbled her ears. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”

  “Tristam,” she sighed. Heat and arousal was rising off of her in waves. His pheromones were the most powerful of aphrodisiacs, and he smelled like…“Vanilla,” she whispered, turning her face into his throat where she licked at his skin.

  “Coconut,” he muttered, searching for her mouth as he rolled atop her. It was a devouring, erotic kiss that left Karo gasping as he slid those clever lips down her body, exploring his treasure with his tongue.

  He stopped at her breasts. He could see the dark of her nipples and found them irresistible. He worried them with lips and teeth and tongue, flattening them against the roof of his mouth as he suckled. The heat rising up from between her legs was incredible. He had to shift away from her undulating thighs or risk disgracing himself like an inexperienced adolescent. His hands trembled.

  He didn’t make it much farther down her torso before Karo’s arms were twined about him and pulling him back. He wanted to continue exploring but his control was slipping fast. Later, he promised himself. He’d do it all again.

  He didn’t resist when she pressured him onto his back and took a turn at touching and tasting his body. Her soft lips tickling his throat were driving him insane. Fevered hands stroked his chest, and the smooth legs that straddled his hips were urging with rhythmic strokes for him to come inside and lose himself in her heat. A lingering moment of reason reminded him of his vow to behave himself if this blessed moment ever came to pass, but he didn’t feel like behaving. He was all animal. Victorious. Conquering. Male. He wanted in right now.

  It was a hard battle, but the man of reason won the argument. With a moan he rolled back into the position of ascendancy and tried for a little control. His body was a beast that was raging with desire.

  “Karo?” He smoothed the tangled hair back from her forehead and looked at her face. Her lips were parted and a bit swollen, her eyes no more than languid slits. The sight didn’t help his self-control in the slightest. His mind had suffered days of foreplay and his body was starved for her.

  “Yes, now,” she whispered, running her hands down his flank and pulling him close.

  He agreed. It had to be now. He felt impossibly hard, like he was going to explode. His heart would break from his chest and he would spill his seed and spill it until there was no more life in his body. It was the perfect way to die.

  He slid into her wet heat and braced himself against the siren call of her sex. His mouth closed over hers as she cried out
. He was going to die, but he wanted it to be a slow death.

  Karo didn’t cooperate. She writhed under him, twisting, pulling, demanding that he end the tormenting heat that was building between them. Every sliding thrust pushed a culmination that was torture to resist, especially with her hands running over his fevered flesh and her soft words urging him on. He finally captured her wrists and pinned them beside her head. He covered her mouth with his own.

  But, it was too late. Climax rushed through him in a boiling torrent. He heard her small outcry and felt her go taut beneath him, and then his own cries drowned out all other sound, even the thunder that shook the house in one final luminous display.

  The storm had been violent but short-lived. It calmed even as their pulses did. Soon the moon was riding naked in the sky and the stars crept out, one by one, to add their tiny lights to the October sky visible through the window. Karo stirred beneath Tristam and he politely moved over. She turned in toward his body and burrowed into his side with a small shiver. Belatedly he realized the room was actually quite cold and they had forgotten to get under the covers.

  “Half a tick,” he said, reaching for the comforter and pulling it over them.

  Karo’s mumble was unclear.

  “Sleepy?” he asked.

  “No,” she denied—and then spoiled it with a yawn.

  Tristam laughed softly. He hadn’t felt so wonderful since…since ever. He was euphoric. He’d beaten back the supernatural; Karo was his; God was presumably in heaven and all was right with the world. All he needed was a little nap.

  “Should we talk now?” Karo’s voice was slurred.

  “No. It might ruin the mood. Have a rest, my dear. We’ll sort it all out later.”

  “Okay,” she agreed and relaxed into a coma.

  Tristam touched her lightly, enjoying the curve of hip and waist. She was sweet as any dessert he could think of. Most of the heavy perfume of vanilla and arousal had subsided, but it was still with them, clinging to the skin and to the sheets. He tucked the bedding around her and then allowed his eyes to follow their inclination. Thirty seconds later, he joined her in the arms of Morpheus.