Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  “I suppose I do,” Jackson said slowly, still rubbing his chin.

  Christian’s gaze fell back onto her. “I wish I knew her name. She doesn’t remember it, you know.”

  “Indeed, that is odd.”

  “Oh! I’ve just gotten a brilliant idea! Let’s hold a séance for her. Perhaps the psychic will be able to get her name from other spirits.”

  The old man looked as though he didn’t think it was so brilliant, and said as much. “A séance, my lord? Have you gone mad?”

  “Isn’t it fashionable to have one these days?”

  “I gather it must be. Though I would not recommend it.”

  “Why, because of evil spirits?”

  “That’s one reason.”

  “And the other?”

  “Funds, Chris, you should know better. How much does it cost to have a séance? You must be frugal until your father—”

  Christian groaned. He didn’t want to remember that.

  Jackson continued, “Do you really want to risk wasting money only to invite more wicked specters—”

  “She doesn’t have a wicked bone...uh...she is not wicked, and this is the best way I can think of to help. I’ve already searched every book I can get my hands on. I never found her name.”

  “And how long have you known this phantom?”

  “Do not call her that. I can sense the intentions of her heart, and I can say for a surety they are good.”

  “Does she even have a heart?”

  Christian was thrown by that. Her spirit form clearly did not have skin and bones, but he said with conviction, “She has a soul.”

  “Where is she? I’d like to meet her.”

  “She said she was going to retire.”

  “She sleeps?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you trust her? Perhaps we should get an exorcist instead.”

  “Jackson! That would crush her. She’s sweet, trusting and innocent.”

  “And you know this?”

  “I do.”

  “Very well, have your séance.” Jackson’s expression softened to a fatherly kindness. “Now, Son, you know I care for you. So please don’t lose your heart to a girl you can never have,” he mumbled, dipped his head once, and then turned to leave.

  “I won’t.” But deep down, he knew he was lying. It may have been too late for that already. “Goodnight. And thank you for the pie,” he called after the old fellow as he left.

  Christian knew Jackson was right, however. He couldn’t afford to lose himself to this girl. But found he couldn’t resist talking to her when she was around. She fascinated him. And somehow her spirit managed to reach right inside to his and seize his very consciousness with a hug that began from within and worked its way out.

  The next morning he was pleased when she joined him in the garden while he sat reading. As she lowered herself over the stone bench beside him, he said, “I must apologize for upsetting you last night—”

  “It was not your fault.” She glanced sideways at him and then commented, “’Tis a lovely morning, is it not?”

  “It is….” He trailed off as he looked at her spirit figure in the sunlight. The golden rays bathed her in a gleaming caress. “I thought you were pretty in the candlelight, but the morning light shimmers...on you, even more so.” Christian almost said that it shimmers through her, but then he wasn’t sure how to actually explain what he saw. The sight of her was just too unearthly for words.

  “You think I’m pretty?” she responded, sounding bashful. Somehow he knew his words would have tinged her cheeks in pink if she’d been living, and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her blushing, solid form.

  “I think you’re absolutely lovely.”

  “Thank you.” And with that, she looked away, unable to hide the happy curve of her lips. Oh, yes, she would blush so nicely….

  “I’ve thought of another way to discover your name,” he said.

  She twisted back around to face him. “Really?”

  “Yes, a séance.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s all the rage in London right now. It’s simply a small gathering of people with a psychic medium who can speak with the dead.”

  “But you can talk to me.”

  “I’ve never been able to converse with spirits before. But others might know your name. The psychic should know how to attract them and ask if they know you.”

  She shuddered. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. It sounds…frightful.”

  Christian laughed. “Surely you can’t be frightened of other spirits.”

  The ghostly girl frowned and her lips puckered with concentration. “I have a vague memory of this. Ghosts were always seen as evil spirits, and do not move on. They linger because of their tormented soul over whatever horror happened to them, or what they did.” Her expression shifted, and this time she looked distraught. “What if I—?”

  “Nonsense!”

  “Then what if this…?” The corners of her pale mouth angled down, and he understood she might be unfamiliar enough with the term to repeat it, or had simply forgotten it.

  “Psychic,” Christian supplied.

  “Yes, what if this psychic attracts bad spirits?”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, and had to admit that he didn’t want to consider the possibility. He’d never really believed in psychics before, had gone to the on-stage séances and knew those were simply trickery, a sort of magic show. And he’d heard that some considered these in-home séances to be similar. False and foolish folly, but she was proof ghosts did exist, and perhaps she and Jackson were right, that he should be careful about such things. “But how else can we discover your name?”

  “I know not,” she answered after a short pause.

  “I believe most psychics are frauds anyway and I don’t see how that could really cause any harm.”

  “Then how could one help me?”

  With an exhale that blew the hair from his forehead, Christian frowned. “Please, humor me?”

  After another, longer hesitation while she studied his expression, she said softly, “If you wish.”

  Christian didn’t wait for either her or Jackson to further protest this. He sent a missive to a psychic, the cheapest one he could find, with an invitation to arrive that evening. She’d requested he set-up a round table in the sitting room with candles.

  After making a final adjustment to the cloth covering the quaint table surrounded by four chairs, Christian lit the candles, and then opened the door for the psychic when she rang.

  “Hello, my name is Luna,” said the woman with a black, feather-adorned hat on her head, and purple gloves covering her arms from the tip of fingers to her elbows.

  A stage name. Great, this just might be a waste of time and money after all, Christian thought.

  “This way, Luna,” he said, trying to hide the doubt in his tone.

  When he sat at the table with Luna and Jackson, the psychic asked in an airy voice, which again made him wonder if he’d invited an actress to his home, “You did not invite all of your friends to this event?”

  “I wanted something more private.”

  “Very well,” she said, stroking a skinny, gloved finger over the moon-shaped pendant hanging from a chain around her neck, “but the fee is still the same.”

  For her offering of parlor tricks, he was sure. “Yes, yes, let’s begin,” he said, almost shortly.

  Luna ordered them to set their hands on the table.

  His gaze slid to his ghost in the chair next to him. She was very quiet, as was Jackson, and he sensed that neither one of them were very pleased.

  The psychic noticed his look at the seeming empty seat and studied him and the chair curiously. Christian offered a grin, hoping to distract the woman.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Christian wanted to smirk at how the approaching storm added to the spooky atmosphere in the room.

  “We shall begin,” Luna sa
id ominously, fluttering her fingers over the candle in front of her. The movement caused the many bangles around her wrist to tinkle noisily. The black feathers protruding from her hat bobbed.

  Christian smothered a laugh, and tried to hide the sound with a cough.

  He got a dirty look for that, but the woman continued. “Ooooh, spirits of Krestly Castle, please come to us.”

  He thought Jackson laughed that time, and chanced a glance in the old gent’s direction. Christian decided the man was either trembling with old age or mirth, though he wasn’t certain which it was.

  “Oh, my!” the psychic blasted, regaining his interest. “You have many ghosts here!”

  His gaze turned to the sweet spirit next to him. She was busy looking around the room for any of the many ghosts mentioned, then turned to him and shook her head. “I do not see anyone else.” He also noticed she seemed skittish. Especially when she flinched as another lightning strike hit closer to the castle, briefly brightening the darkened room. He then realized that she’d edged closer to him.

  “You’re frightened?” he asked, barely audibly.

  “Aye,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry I made you do this. I think you were right. This was a waste of time,” Christian whispered from the side of his mouth.

  “Who are you talking to?” Luna shouted, and Christian jumped.

  “Pardon me, madam. I was just muttering to myself.”

  “Silence! You will frighten the spirits away! Do you not see them all around us?” She looked around the room, wide-eyed. “Spirits, show yourselves!”

  Another flash of lightening lit up the sky and cast disturbing shadows against Luna and Jackson’s faces.

  “Should I be able to show myself? Is that not something ghosts are able to do?” the apparition asked, even while she shook with fear and scooted even closer to his side.

  “Try it, princess.”

  “You’re doing it again!” screeched Luna—if that was even her real name.

  “I apologize,” he muttered but kept his eyes locked on the girl seated next to him, willing her to be able to show herself to at least Jackson.

  Suddenly the psychic shrieked in terror and shot from her seat, then backed, while trembling, to the doorway. Christian’s eyes widened as the woman pointed at his ghost. “A ghost! A ghost! Get thee hence!” Her accusing finger then jabbed in his direction. “You! You can see her!”

  Once Christian got over his shock, he said, “Yes, would you please help us discover her name?”

  After one more terrified look directly at his ghost, the woman fled, babbling and crossing herself as she went.

  Christian sank against the back of his chair. “Well, that didn’t go as I’d hoped.” He slid fingers into his hair, and itched his scalp.

  “Was she afraid of me?”

  “I would gather that was the problem.”

  “Am I scary?”

  “No, you’re not. But she was,” he said with a smirk, and then laughed.

  She smiled and giggled in return, then looked at Jackson. The smile slipped from her face as her eyes rounded. Christian followed her gaze. It seemed Jackson could see her too, and it appeared he was having difficulty breathing.

  “Jackson! Are you all right?”

  After gulping some air, Jackson said, “I’m quite well, Son. You needn’t worry about my health.” He looked at her and then back at Christian. “She-she is lovely.”

  Christian exhaled in relief. “I told you she was. Jackson, meet Lady Ghost. Lady Ghost, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Jackson.”

  The old man smiled a crooked smile and gave a short bow. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, madam.”

  “You as well, kind sir,” she said softly.

  “It seems you can show yourself, but we still don’t know your name.”

  The three of them sat in silence until Jackson spoke, “Lady Ghost, do tell me about your childhood. Was it pleasant?”

  She pouted and Christian cleared his throat. “I told you before, old man, she does not remember things like that.”

  “Dear me, I beg your pardon. What do you remember?”

  “Just the basic things of life, I suppose. I recall words for speech. I know what things are, such as doors, and gowns, and insects, things such as that. I just do not know who I am, or why I’m here, or how I came to be here. Nor do I recall my past.”

  “Oh, you poor dear.” But the old gentleman’s spirits didn’t stay down for long. After rubbing his chin in thought for a moment, Jackson’s face brightened and he smirked. “Might I tell you stories of Christian’s childhood? He was an energetic lad and got himself into many spots of trouble.”

  Christian was about to fight it, until he saw the look of delighted curiosity brighten her face and remove all signs of the previous pout. He decided to let Jackson have his fun.

  The old man’s fun lasted for quite possibly hours. Christian didn’t have his watch on him to know for certain, but realized he was fidgeting in his seat much like he had in church as a youth. Jackson managed to make him flush far too often with all of the embarrassing childhood tales he told to her. How was his memory so sharp? But Christian decided he could suffer the discomfort just to be able to hear her melodic laugh. He also suspected she was afraid to retire until the storm had passed, and he wouldn’t deny her that either.

  This séance had not given them what he’d first wanted, but he felt some good had come from it. They’d discovered a new thing she could do. There had to be another way to find her name, another medium, perhaps…. A witch, he thought.

  Christian secretly decided to keep this one to himself. He didn’t want to upset her or Jackson with this new idea. He would face that battle when it was too late for them to argue it, even though he wasn’t looking forward to another lecture about his finances from Jackson. He’d sent a letter to his father hoping to get the matter cleared up more swiftly. He wasn’t used to living like this, which, he suspected, could account for his recklessness in the matter. But discovering who she was and who killed her seemed much more important to him, and highly worth the cost.

  Chapter 5

  Toil and Trouble

  “You’ve done what?” Jackson hollered, whilst he paced the entryway.

  “The psychic helped even though she was a fake. I’ve decided to try a witch.”

  “Gad, Chris, are you a complete fool? You’ve gone from dark to darker. How can any good come of this?”

  “I must agree with Jackson. I do not think witches are good.” She’d come to see Christian and had not expected to find them quarreling.

  Before he could reply, a knock at the door echoed through the hall. Christian gave them a stubborn look, turned on his heel toward it, and wrenched it open. He revealed a tiny woman dressed in a finely constructed black dress with ruffles and lace adoring the high-necked bodice and the bell-shaped skirt. A scarlet-colored shawl was draped about her shoulders. She had the covering pinched closed with one hand and a tapestry bag clutched in the other. Her wild mass of red hair swayed in the breeze as her green eyes twinkled. Whilst the hair was very witch-like, she did not look as spooky as the psychic had.

  “Hello, dears, might I introduce myself? I am called Tabitha.”

  Christian choked and got this surely-you-jest look on his face as he motioned for her to enter and follow him.

  As they silently filed into the sitting room, she was utterly startled when the witch turned to face her and then addressed her directly, “I gather you’re the reason why I’m here?”

  “Were you already—?” Christian asked.

  “I did not think I was.”

  “You weren’t, dear, but I can see you anyway.”

  How would she know that unless perhaps she was what she proclaimed? she wondered.

  “Then you’re a real witch?” asked Christian.

  “Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise?”

  She shared a look with Christian.

  “Oh, it d
oesn’t matter. How may I help you with your lovely apparition, Lord Krestly?”

  “We wish to know her name. She cannot remember that or how she came to be here.”

  “Mmm,” the witch hummed as she plunked her bag onto the table, tugged it open, and then began sifting through it. “You need a truth charm, and the seer stones.” She continued to mutter to herself as she practically stuffed her face into her large purse, then shouted, “Ah-hah!” when she lunged upright with eight stones in her hand.

  The smooth rocks had symbols etched into them: a moon, stars, a sun, the flames of a fire, a swirl of some sort, a circle, a tree, and a spider.

  The old woman shuffled to the left until she stood directly in front of her and then began chanting words in Gaelic as she tossed the stones into the air. They popped from her palm, twisted above her head, and then plummeted to the floor with eight little thumps.

  The witch stooped over the stones, babbling as she considered each one. But she appeared to grow distressed as she gathered their meaning. With knobby long fingers that trembled, she collected them back into her hand. When she stood upright again she swayed and paled. The old woman’s gaze slid to her and reflected a mixture of shock and…angst?

  “Please sit, Tabitha, you do not look well,” Christian said kindly as he pushed a chair closer. It appeared she was about to collapse.

  “Thank you, young man, you’re very kind.” Tabitha sat, though she made a desperate glance toward the doorway.

  “What did the stones say?” Christian crouched down in front of her, flashing his dimple.

  Tabitha shook her head, wringing her bony hands. “It seems that you do not need my help.”

  “Oh, but we do. We must know her name. Did the stones tell you that?”

  The witch said nothing as the corners of her mouth twitched lower, and she continued to shake her head causing her unruly locks to bob back and forth across her face.

  “I beg you, Tabitha, please tell us what you’ve learned.”

  The witch suddenly sprang to her feet, knocking Christian backwards, threw her stones into the bag, lifted it from the table and scampered toward the door.