Owen opened the nursery door slowly, intending to take but a brief glimpse of his wife and child in order to ensure that they were safe. However, this brief glimpse soon became a double take and half a minute of silent staring for there, in the corner of the room, was the image of his late father. The old Duke stood behind the rocking chair on which the Duchess and her child were asleep. His hair was grey and his skin was pale but his eyes were alive and his body was closer to the muscle bound frame of his earlier years than the thin wreck it had become during his last days. He looked deep into the eyes of his son. He did not blink. He did not move nor speak. He simply continued to stare at the man who had become Duke following his death. Though the eyes of the spirit were void of any malice or hatred, Owen could not help but feel a tremendous amount of fear. He had been raised to believe in the paranormal and had, three times in the past, taken part in a séance, but he had never before witnessed such a full and convincing apparition.
"Father," he stammered after some time had passed, "is this truly your spirit or is something amiss?" The spirit of the Duke's father did not reply and began to slowly fade away as if it had been disturbed by the voice of his son. Before Owen spoke again, the image of his father had vanished from the room.
"Surely not," he whispered as he moved across the room to inspect his wife and child. "Surely there is some other explanation, surely the dead do not rise from their graves unless they were unjust in life." Though he was in quite a bit of a panic, the Duke was still conscious of his wife's need for rest and so did all he could to examine her without interrupting her slumber. Despite his best efforts, however, the Duchess was quickly awoken by her husband standing before her and hurriedly muttering to himself about the other world.
"Owen? What is the matter? Why have you awoken me?" She was angered by the fact her sleep had been disturbed, but tried to be understanding, for the distress evident on the face of the Duke told her that he had not woken her without good reason.
"My dear," he began "my dear, I believe I have just encountered the spirit of my father." All pity the Duchess felt for her husband immediately evaporated and the full extent of her anger made itself known. She did not share her husband's immense interest or belief in the afterlife and had come from a rather progressive family that held science in higher regard than it did religion.
"I say Owen, can you not control the odd workings of your mind? I have no issue with you believing in a world beyond this, but please do not believe in it when in the nursery."
"But my love, I am almost positive that my father was stood behind you, staring at me with a face void of all emotion." The Duchess rose from her seat, holding her son in her arms; he too was awake but did not shed a single tear.
"Your father left this world just three years ago and I am sure that you are still grieving for him. It is quite normal to believe you have seen departed loved ones but I assure you it is merely your mind playing tricks on you. I promise you, you did not encounter the spirit of your father."
"Yes" agreed the Duke, "yes you are almost certainly right."
"I am certainly right."
The words of the Duchess had a calming effect on the troubled Duke and served to rid his mind of all paranoia and anxiety. He apologised to his wife and laid a wet kiss on her forehead before blowing a kiss to his smiling baby boy and leaving the nursery.
"The Duchess is correct,” he told himself as he returned to the bottom floor of the manor, "it is an absolute impossibility that the spirit of my father is haunting this manor." The Duke descended the staircase and made his way to the living room to prepare himself a glass of whiskey before bed. He drank only on rare occasions and to calm his nerves, this night just so happened to be both and so felt justified in pouring himself a slightly larger glass than usual. The entire land had, by now, been entirely engulfed by the night but the ever-burning candles illuminated the living room. However, everything did not feel as it usually did. There was something not quite right about the lighting, which the Duke could not, at first, pin down.
"Something is amiss," he said to himself as he scanned the room in an attempt to find the cause of his discontent. The initial sweep of the room yielded no results, but a second, more intricate inspection made the Duke's hair stand on end. Since coming into control of the manor, he insisted that only three candles be lit at a time in any given room, Three candles had been lit in the nursery, three candles had been lit in the hallway and three candles had been lit in the living room, when he had last rested in it. However, now five candles were burning away in the study, meaning somebody had taken it upon themselves to light an extra two candles in the short period of time the Duke had been away.
"Harold! Harold!" he called, stricken with fear but trying to convince himself that there was a logical explanation for the mysterious candles. "Harold, come here this instant!"
Harold entered the living room several minutes later with a tea towel in hand and apologised for his tardiness as he had been tending to some work in the kitchen.
"Yes, yes, I do not mind that,” said the Duke, quickly brushing aside the butler's late arrival, "why did you light an extra two candles?"
"Pardon me, sir?"
"There are five candles lighting here and you know full well that I only desire three candles to be burning at a time."
"I understand that, sir" began the confused butler, "but I did not light those candles."
"There is no need to fib, Harold. I merely wish to remind you that I prefer three candles over five."
"Again, my Lord, I am aware of that. However, I did not light any extra candles as I have been quite busy in the kitchen since we last spoke." Owen's heart sank and his face drained of its colour when he heard these words come out of his butler's mouth.
"My lord, is something the matter?"
"No, no" lied the Duke, "I'm quite alright. Return to your work."
Like a good butler, Harold obeyed the Duke's command and vanished from the living room almost as fast as King George had vanished from the throne. Alone in the living room, Owen immediately regretted instructing his butler to leave him. There was now no explanation for the lighting of the extra candles other than a paranormal one and that thought sent shivers down the spine of the Lord of the manor. Frightened and not wanting to spend a second longer in that room, Owen turned to leave but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a black object moving swiftly by the living room door. Whatever it was, it was in the Duke's line of vision for but a second, passing the door as it ventured through the hallway in the direction of his study. Owen was almost rooted to his spot with fear and found it difficult even to breath. He could not begin to understand what was going on or why the paranormal activity in the house had increased so suddenly.
"What am I to do?" he thought to himself, refusing to speak aloud in case the sound of his voice alerted the spirit of his whereabouts. "My home has been invaded by the spirits of the deceased and there is not a thing that I can do about it."
Though the two apparitions he had witnessed had served to instil the fear of God into the Duke, he was also overcome by that feeling of inexplicable curiosity, which we all experience when we find ourselves in terrifying but admittedly rather intriguing circumstances. Just as he had been struck with fear, he was struck by the desire to investigate what he had seen and so he somehow managed to pull himself from his place in the living room and creep slowly into the hallway. The hallway was empty. There was no ectoplasm, nor were any rats or bugs or anything else the Duke had come to believe were signs of a supernatural presence. The study door, which was located at the end of the hallway, was ajar despite the fact the Duke had closed and latched it upon completing his last session of reading. The opening of the study door, rather unsurprisingly, lead the Duke to conclude that the spirit he was in search of was located inside his study, possibly trying to get up to speed on the Bible in order to cheat its way past St. Peter.
Owen tiptoed through the hallway, pausing every few steps to ca
utiously look over his shoulder and make sure no other spirits were endeavouring to sneak up on him. After several pauses and a great deal of hesitation, the Duke finally made it to the study door. He could hear movement inside. The spirit was most definitely in that room and seemed to be in no rush to leave. He pushed the door open ever so slightly - as far as he could without catching the attention of what ever demonic entity lurked inside - and peeked through the gap which he had created for himself. There was that same black shape, hunched over by the bookshelf with ragged grey hair hanging down over its face. It was certainly not the spirit of the former Duke. In fact, this spirit seemed to be that of a rather old woman. She looked nothing like the former Duchess and bore little resemblance to any other woman Owen had known to call the manor home. Indeed, this was a spirit that had no place in the Duke's manor.
While the vision of his father had made the Duke extremely uncomfortable, the thought that the spirit of a woman who had never set foot inside his home was now haunting, it infuriated the young man and refused to allow it to continue, especially with his wife and child within the manor walls. Bold, if only for a moment, the Duke pushed open the study door and entered the room to confront the spirit.
Chapter Two
"Turn, spirit." commanded the Duke, once his feet were firmly inside the study, "Turn and face me."
"Oh my goodness!" cried out the spirit, who was startled by the sound of the Duke's voice. She jumped and turned to face the lord of the manor, who was surprised to see that the woman actually looked quite normal. She may have been a little on the unattractive side, but there was nothing about her to suggest that she was not of this world.
"Why, you must be Duke Fitzpatrick" she exclaimed after taking a minute to examine the Duke, "your wife has told me all about you." She took the Duke's hand in her own and shook it enthusiastically, undeterred by the fact that he did not reply nor grip her hand.
"Who..." began the confused ruler of the house, "who are you?"
"Why, I am Beatrice, the new maid."
"The new maid? I did not hire a new maid."
"Oh no, sir, but your wife did."
"My wife hired you?"
"Oh you are most correct, sir. She hired not only me, but my daughter as well."
The Duke was quite taken aback by the news that not one, but two maids were now in his employ. He could recall having a discussion with his wife about hiring some new staff for the manor but he had no memory of her informing him that she had reached a deal with anyone, let alone this bizarre mother and daughter duo.
"When did you begin working here?" he asked, still confused but not wanting to come off as rude.
"Why, just today, sir. We have been quite busy. It seems your manor has been without a maid for quite a while."
"Yes, our last maid left two months ago to be married to a wealthy land owner. It has been a struggle for us to keep our home in good condition."
"Well it will be a struggle no longer. Don't you worry my Lord, my daughter and I shall clean this manor from top to bottom. Rest assured, we will earn our keep."
Relieved and warming to the idea of having two maids, the Duke shook Beatrice's hand again, more firmly this time and left her to her cleaning. He was now totally satisfied that there was no overload of spooky goings on in his house and that whatever he had experienced in the nursery could be traced back to an earthly source.
"Perhaps I am simply distressed." Owen told himself, speaking aloud again. "I suppose it is in my best interest that I get some rest and sleep away my troubles. Intending to go to bed for the night, the Duke made the journey from the bottom floor of the manor to the top floor and came to a halt outside the nursery. The door was closed, just as he had left it, and his wife and child had surely fallen back to sleep in the rocking chair. He debated as to whether or not it was a good idea to enter the nursery and inspect it before heading to bed, but he ultimately decided against it, as he did not want to disturb the resting Duchess and the future-Duke. No, instead the Duke turned to the door of his chamber and entered the room without a second thought.
The room was, as always, illuminated by the three candles and his bed seemed more welcoming than ever before. Looking forward to the moment he would lay his weary body on his mattress, the Duke began to unbutton his shirt, humming to himself as he did so. With his shirt unfastened and hanging open, exposing his chiselled and semi-shaven torso, the Duke turned to shut the chamber door, which he had neglected to do when he entered the room. However, what he saw he when he turned around filled him with fear for the third time that night. He would have attempted to flee the room in terror had the exit not been blocked by the same vision of the elder Fitzpatrick which had appeared to the Duke in the nursery. He stood in the doorway, centimetres away from his son with his hands hanging lifelessly by his side.
"Father," he gasped, nearly falling to the ground in fright, "it is most definitely you." His father said nothing, but there was no doubt in the Duke's mind that he had been heard. "Tell me, father," he pleaded, "I beg you to tell me why you have returned to this world after so many years on the other side."
After several more moments of silent uncertainty, the spirit of the late Duke finally began to address his son. He spoke softly and in a voice which was not quite human, but still unmistakably his own.
"My son," he began slowly, prompting the Duke to reply, “Yes, father? Yes, father?"
"I have returned for no other reason than to see my grandchild. You have nothing to fear." Owen was, of coursed, pleased to hear that he had nothing of which to be afraid. However, he was still struggling to wrap his mind around everything that was going on and had a head full of questions, which he wished to ask his father while he still had the chance. He was not sure what question to begin with. He finally had the chance to find out what awaited man after death, he could at last learn if the worship of a god had any impact on one's existence, he may discover the truth behind the mysterious disappearance of his childhood horse which suffered a broken leg. Unfortunately for Owen, he spent far too long floating over the various different questions he could ask the spirit of his father and when he finally settled on the first question, he found that his departed father had already departed once again.
"Father" he cried upon seeing the empty space in the doorway, "father, where have you gone?"
He rushed from the chamber and into the hallway, still calling out for his father like a child lost in the middle of the city of London. The cries of the young man where, to his dismay, cried in vein as the spirit of his father did not reappear, nor would it ever again. The old man's return to Earth was brief, but a short visit to his daughter-in-law and grandchild, and now he was gone back to whatever awaited beyond Owen's physical world, not to be seen again for the remainder of the Duke's natural life.
"Father" he called a final time, hoping against hope that he could see his father once again. The fear, which he had been experiencing earlier, had now given way to a longing and an almost childlike dependence. When his calls where once again met with no reply, the Duke had no choice but to accept that he had missed his opportunity to properly converse with his father. Disappointed and on the verge of tears, Owen trudged back to his chamber. In his panic, he had journeyed to the end of the hallway and so had strayed quite far from his chamber. So far in fact, that it was not inconceivable that Harold or one of his new maids could have entered his chamber without him noticing. For this reason, he was not overly surprised when he re-entered the room to find a young woman dusting the cabinet beside his bed. He was, however, a little frustrated for it was his bedtime and far too late for any member of the help to be cleaning his chamber.
"Excuse me," he said with a clear of his throat, causing the woman to turn around though not startling her as he had done her mother.
"Oh, good evening, my lord. I won't be a moment, I am just giving the room a bit of a dust."
"Young woman, I appreciate your dedication to this job, but it is long past the time for you
to be working."
"I do apologise, my lord. Would you like to bring my work to an end?"
"You are here now and I hate to leave a job half-finished. Complete your work, but in future I would appreciate it if you could stay out of my chamber beyond sundown." The maid apologised a second time and returned to her work while the Duke exited his chamber and made his way downstairs in order to prepare himself a second glass of whiskey, which he justified by telling himself that he need to find some way to pass the time while the maid occupied his chamber.
Chapter Three
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Harold had finally gone home for the evening and Beatrice, the eldest maid, was most likely waiting in the kitchen for her daughter to finish her work before leaving the manor for the night. All five candles still burned in the living room, which did not bother the Duke nearly as much as it had earlier on in the evening. He paid little attention to them as he filled his glass to the brim with the fine whiskey he had been given by a friend on his wedding day. Having never been one to drink to excess, Owen had made it last for over two years. But since becoming a father, he found his whiskey supply to be decreasing rather rapidly. He added a touch of water to his glass and gave it a twirl to ensure the liquid would not burn his throat and stomach. Only a short period of time had passed since he left the young maid alone in his chamber and it was highly unlikely that she had finished her cleaning of the room, which had grown incredibly dusty since the former maid had left and the Duchess had taken to sleeping in the nursery. Figuring he had some time to spare, the Duke took a seat by the fireside, though no logs were burning within, and sipped on his whiskey.
The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories Page 80
