Ghost Crypt (The Ghost Files Book 5)

by Chanel Smith

  “I think you’re right,” I agreed.

  “Why Jackson?” Ellen asked. She had an uncanny way of bringing things back into focus.

  “It sounds ridiculous to me to even suggest it, but perhaps he was searching your bloodlines or genetics, so to speak. Of the three of you, Jackson likely has a closer genetic match in his Celtic ancestry. In fact, before the Norman invasion, Hayford was spelled Hegfird in the original Celtic tongue.”

  “It’s as good an explanation as we have at this point. As far as I’m concerned, this has gone well past strange and into another dimension altogether. Do you suppose that the legionnaire did the same thing?” I directed my question toward Ellen. “You said that he was searching for someone or something when you first felt his presence.”

  “That is entirely possible. Perhaps the man through whom he spoke has Roman bloodlines. I agree with Monty, it’s the best explanation we have at this point. So, how do we proceed? Neither Monty or I understand what they are saying. I don’t even know if we can channel through them in such a way that we can forego the language barrier like we did in Belgium.”

  “Perhaps this is where I can be of some help,” Henry suggested. “Maybe if I go with you as a translator, so to speak…?”

  “It might be worth a shot, Babe.”

  “I’m a little hesitant about it. I’m afraid someone might get seriously injured or die with this one.”

  “What alternative do we have?” Henry asked. “We certainly cannot find a solution if we can’t communicate with them. I speak and understand decent Latin and a smattering of Celtic; enough to get by, I think.”

  I could see the wheels in her head turning. It worried me that she was actually afraid. It made me wonder if we hadn’t gotten in way over our heads. And just when we’re about to become wealthy international ghost hunters. At least my sense of humor hadn’t been destroyed completely.

  “I guess we can give it a shot,” she finally agreed.

  “Splendid,” Henry replied. He was a little bit too eager to get mixed up in something that might cost him his life. But I remembered that the British had endured bombings by the German Luftwaffe for nearly four months and actually turned the tide back against the Germans and eventually staged the launching of the Normandy invasion. Brits didn’t scare easily.

  “Where should we pick you up and at what time?” I asked.

  “You can just come by here. Let’s say nine-ish?”

  “Thank you for all of your help,” Ellen said, extending her hand as we all rose to our feet.

  “It is a pleasure,” he said. “It can get a little stuffy in here and rather boring to boot.”

  “Thank you for the tea and biscuits as well,” I said as I shook his hand.

  “Very well, then,” he said, after escorting us to the door behind the receptionist desk. “Nine o’clock sharp. I’ll be ready.”

  Ellen and I had had a pretty full day, so we directed Rochester to deliver us back to the hotel.

  “I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you,” Rochester announced as we were getting out of the car. “It seems that your luggage has not yet arrived as had been promised. Mr. Black is looking into it. In the meantime, I took the liberty to have your clothing from yesterday taken out to be laundered. If you will exchange what you wore today with the service when they come in the morning, we will do the same tomorrow and each day until the problem is remedied.”

  It was the most that I had heard him speak. It was actually a thrill to hear his command of the language in what could only be described as a noble timbre.

  “Thank you,” Ellen replied. “That was very kind of you.”

  “I hope that I wasn’t out of line by taking matters into my own hands.” It sounded a great deal like an apology, something that I had never expected to hear coming from the man. Maybe I had read him all wrong. Perhaps there was a Winnie the Pooh behind the Eeyore. Good ol’ Rochester. Who the hell was Rochester?

  “No. It was quite alright. Thank you,” I replied.

  “When might you require my services in the morning, sir?”

  He actually addressed me. I had read him all wrong. “We’re to pick up Mr. Wandsworth at the British Museum at nine o’clock. So, before that. How long does it take to get from here to there?”

  “Actually, the British Museum is on my way here,” he replied. “I can pick him up first and allow you a little bit more time to sleep in. Every minute counts, you know.” There might have been a small upturn to the corner of his mouth as he attempted something of a joke.

  “Yes, of course, that would be very kind,” Ellen answered. “Once again, thank you for your kindness.”

  “It is my pleasure. Madam. Sir. Until the morrow.” He turned on his heel and strode purposefully around the car and slid back into the driver’s seat. Ellen and I stood and watched him drive away.

  “Extraordinary man, that Rochester,” I said.

  “Indeed,” she replied.

  “Well then, love, how about a hot shower and room service.”

  “Splendid idea.”

  We’d survived another day and our humor was still intact.

  Chapter Seven

  With our luggage touring the world without us, God only knew where, I was, once again, without any of my equipment. We hadn’t seen any indication that we were going to get any pictures, so there wasn’t much point in shelling out the cash to purchase another camera, although, I was tempted to get a disposable one to at least get some photos of our visit to London.

  Luckily, we were traditional travelers who believed in dressing up and being presentable in order to fly, so we were dressed once more in our business attire, sending the clothing that had been made for us with Arthur and Winnie in order to be laundered. The tailored clothes were of a bit finer quality and fit a little bit better, but we were both a little more comfortable in our own attire.

  I’d enjoyed Eggs Benedict each morning in the hotel restaurant and was beginning to wonder if I had found something to replace my old standby where breakfast foods were concerned. Chocolate pancakes weren’t on the menu and one didn’t just run out to Denny’s in London, although I did do a search just to see if one even existed in the city. I was surprised that there were three, one of which wasn’t far from the British Museum. How I had missed it was beyond me. It was well known that I had what could only be called a Denny’s homing beacon hidden somewhere within my brain.

  Rochester arrived at twenty after nine with Henry sitting as tall and straight as he was able in the back seat; a derby hat with a pheasant feather perched atop his balding head. Once more, he was dressed in a custom-tailored suit that probably cost three times what I usually spent on a suit and was sporting the gold pocket watch. I supposed that he had either a cane or an umbrella with a crook in it and I found out later as we were delivered to the Nine Elms Station that he was indeed carrying a cane.

  A phone call to his old chum, Jackson, was sufficient to get Henry past the security stationed at the entrance to the construction site and we were on our way. All that Ellen and I had to do was flash our TFL badges.

  Ellen had formed a plan of attack during the night, although I wasn’t aware that she had gone without sleep, because I was out like a light after our hot shower, even hotter, stress-relieving action in bed and a surprisingly delicious room service meal. As we walked down the tunnel, she explained what we were going to do to Henry.

  “You are the expert,” he replied. I could tell that he was nervous, but he was a true Brit: ‘stiff upper and all, you know.’

  The plan was for Ellen to help Henry and me connect with the spirit or spirits and using him as a translator, try to find out why they were there and what it would take to get them to move on. Ellen and I had done it a number of times before, but adding Henry would be a new wrinkle that, truth be told, was mostly experimental. She left that part out when she was explaining things to Henry, although, I think he would have been game to try it anyway.

  As we neared
the place in the tunnel where we had met our Celtic ghost the day before, I felt the butterflies begin to dance and then I suddenly felt icy cold. I didn’t need my thermometer to measure the change. The paranormal activity was so thick that I felt rushes of wind whipping past me in every direction and Ellen was desperately overwhelmed for a few moments.

  “It all seems to be in chaos today,” she called out. “There seem to be a dozen spirits, maybe more. I don’t know if we should try this.”

  Since when had Ellen been the one to say that? As much as I wanted to run, I knew we had to have some answers and I hated to leave a job undone, especially since our wealthy international ghost hunting careers depended upon it. Even that wasn’t quite enough for me; however, the way Henry stood firm with his hat pressed down so that it wouldn’t be blown off of his head and his cane rigid beside his leg bucked up my own courage.

  “We have to try, Ellen,” I called out.

  “Are you sure you want to try it, Henry? This could be a disaster.”

  “What choice do we have, madam? We need answers and this is the only way that we will get them.”

  “Very well then,” she called out, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Here we go.”

  We formed a small triangle, holding hands, and Ellen talked Henry and me through the process of opening ourselves up to allow access to the spirits. The instructions were a little bit more detailed for Henry’s benefit, but I was surprised to discover that he actually arrived a bit before I did. Our arrival, I must say, felt a good deal like being dumped into the middle of a racetrack with a dozen thoroughbreds bearing down upon us, half from each direction.

  “It’s chaos,” Ellen called out. “We have to find one of them to focus on.”

  “There are all sorts of different cries and words being shouted.”

  “Yes,” Henry replied. “Both Celtic and Latin.”

  “Can you understand them, Henry?” Ellen asked.

  I barely ducked out of the way of a Celt and Roman who were charging at each other with swinging swords and shields. “We’re in the middle of a battle. I don’t think we’re going to be able to get anyone’s attention.”

  “Let’s hold fast a minute,” Henry replied. His voice was calm and in control. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt whenever I’d been transported into the spirit realm.

  “Monty, do you see the powerful Celt? He’s stepped aside and is not in the midst of the battle,” Ellen said.

  “I see him. Do you see him, Henry?”

  “I do indeed. Perhaps we can talk to him.”

  As I approached, the large Celt screamed something at me and I froze in my tracks. “What did he say, Henry?”

  “He thinks that you’re part of Caesar’s army. Stay back a moment. I’ll see if I can convince him otherwise.”

  “Be careful, Henry,” Ellen put in. Henry had already approached and was rattling off something in the Celtic tongue. The Celt visibly relaxed. He responded to Henry in a deep voice that seemed to have a metallic timbre to it. I waited for Henry’s translation.

  “He says that you may approach. He wants to know who we are and why we are standing on the battlefield.”

  I took several paces forward. “Tell him that we need to talk to him. We want to understand. We mean no harm. Anything else, Ellen?”

  “That’s good enough for the moment. I don’t know how much longer I can do this with all of the chaos from the battle,” she said. “Maybe we can try to talk to him when things have calmed down a bit?”

  “You don’t think we can just ask a ghost to shut up and let us talk for a few minutes do you, Ellen?” I replied sarcastically.

  Henry started rattling away in the Celtic tongue. Ellen and I waited for an answer. I could feel her weakening. “Stay with us a little longer, Babe.”

  The Celt responded in his deep, metallic voice again.

  “They are a part of a detachment from the army of Cassivellaunus. They were sent to raid the ships that were taking supplies up the river to Caesar’s army. They ran into the fog of the marshes to hide and some of the legionnaires followed them in. Mostly, they search for their enemies in the fog, but sometimes the fog clears and they are able to fight.”

  “I can’t hold on much longer,” Ellen called out. “Find out if we can meet him again later.”

  I wasn’t sure how one set an appointment with a ghost. It seemed a little out there to me, but Henry dutifully made the request.

  Again the Celt responded. After a moment, Henry passed it along.

  “He never knows when he will wander this way again. Once the fog sets in again, he might lose his way.”

  “I’ve got to bring you guys back,” Ellen said. I could feel that she was weakening even more. “Take Henry’s hand and I’ll pull you out.”

  Henry moved toward me and we gripped each other’s hands. I felt Ellen tug sharply and we were instantly back in the tunnel. It was still chilly and there were still several breezes whipping around from different directions, but we were no longer in the midst of the battle. Putting my arm around Ellen, I helped her back up the tunnel until we were away from it all.

  “That was rather enlightening,” Henry said. “In a number of different ways.”

  “We certainly have a few more answers,” I replied. I looked at Ellen. It had all nearly done her in. “Are you okay, Babe?”

  “I’ll be alright,” she replied. “But I must say that I have never experienced anything quite like that before and we’re still missing a few answers.”

  “Let’s get out of here and somewhere where we can relax, so we can discuss things.”

  “I know just the place, if you fancy a pint or two at this time of the morning; a quiet place to sit and talk. It isn’t far from here at all.”

  “Sounds good, let’s go.” I said, keeping my arm around Ellen’s waist as we walked back to the Nine Elms Station.

  We called Rochester and were surprised to discover that he had not left. Evidently he knew that one didn’t stay long in the company of ghosts. Once we were seated in the Rolls, Rochester looked up into the mirror as usual, awaiting his directions.

  “Do you know the Cavendish Arms, old boy?” Henry asked.

  “But of course, Mr. Wandsworth,” Rochester replied.

  As we left the Nine Elms Station, my mind was wandering and I was looking out the window as we started on our way to the Cavendish Arms. Though we had been in and around the area several times already, it was the first time that I noticed we were driving down a street called Wandsworth Road. I began to wonder if our Mr. Wandsworth was a member of an influential family. I might have asked, but I turned to look at Ellen and decided to leave well enough alone for the time being.

  The Cavendish Arms was pretty much what I expected an English pub to look like. It was quiet at that time of the morning.

  “’Allo, ’enry,” the bartender called out when we came in. I immediately thought of Audrey Hepburn. Just you wait ’enry ’iggins, just you wait… I hadn’t gotten completely serious, though I was certainly beginning to feel that things were rather grave. Maybe I had that old British spirit, a sense of humor in the face of danger.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to you, old boy,” Henry responded.

  “You’re a bit early to be tippin’ pints aren’t you?” he chuckled as he came around the bar with a towel over his shoulder and extended his hand to Henry.

  “Mostly we’re just looking for a quiet place to sit and chat,” he replied.

  “This is the place, then.”

  “Let me introduce a couple of Yanks who are in town for a few days. This is Monty and Ellen Drew.”

  “It’s a pleasure. Hope you’re enjoyin’ London in spite of the company you’re keepin’,” he laughed as he extended his hand to Ellen and me, bowing slightly as he touched her hand. “There’s anything either of you need, just let me know.”

  “A couple of glasses of water will do fine for the moment, if you wouldn’t mind,” Henry said. �
��And that corner booth.”

  “I’ll bring the water right out. ’elp yourselves to the booth.”

  We settled into the booth, thankful for a quiet, peaceful place to sit and unwind. We’d extended an offer to Rochester to join us, but he had declined. It made me wonder what he did with his time whenever he was waiting for us to call on him. While my mind wandered, the bartender came with our water.

  “So, ’ow do you find our fair London town, then?” the bartender asked as he set our water glasses on the table and poured ice water from a pitcher.

  “It’s quite lovely,” Ellen said. She seemed to be recovering from the huge energy drain.

  “We’ve been a bit too busy to get around to all of the sites,” I added. “But what we’ve seen so far, has been quite impressive.”

  “Business rather than pleasure, then?”

  “I’m afraid so, but perhaps we’ll get an opportunity to get out and about before we have to start back.”

  “What part of the States are you from?”

  I realized that it wasn’t that often that he had the opportunity to meet and talk to people from the States. Though we were all a bit antsy to start our discussion, I decided to humor him at least for a few minutes. “We’re from the LA area.” I avoided going into detail, since there are hundreds of small communities and municipalities around the enormous West Coast metroplex that goes by the name of Los Angeles.

  “A bit of a chill for you then, I suppose?”

  “Actually, it hasn’t been too bad.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you alone then. You did ask for a quiet place to talk. With me carrying on, you won’t get that. Just shout out if you need anything else.”