The Assembly

by Janet Woods

  ‘It doesn’t have a fragrance.’

  ‘An oversight.’ Picking up the rose he placed a kiss on it and held it under her nose. A faint musty fragrance filled the room. Still, he needed to be reminded of certain things. ‘I’ve asked you not to visit me in my bedroom, and you woke me up with that song again.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked genuinely contrite before a grin crept over his face. ‘It was actually mine and Elizabeth’s bed-chamber before it became yours.’

  ‘But you were alive then. Now you’re not. Anyway, the bed is mine.’

  ‘You know I don’t sleep, but I like to keep watch over you. You’re sensitive to my presence when you’re asleep, and allow me into your dreams.’

  Gemma blushed as she remembered how vivid some of her dreams had been of late.

  But he hadn’t finished. ‘You didn’t wear your night robe to bed last night and your hair was spread all over the pillow like dark silk–’

  ‘Enough! You’re a philanderer Seb. What would your wife say?’

  ‘Anne wouldn’t say anything; why should she? Ours was a marriage of convenience and she did her duty. Piety makes an uneasy bedfellow, but Anne bore me seven daughters. She didn’t know about this cottage, or its occupant, or the son and daughter Elizabeth bore me. Now . . . there was a nag. If you’d been born then I’d have taken you as my mistress, instead.’

  ‘If I’d agreed.’

  Surprise registered in his dark eyes. ‘You would have, my beloved. Last night you told me you loved me. Am I to understand that you’re affections are transient?’

  ‘I certainly didn’t say that . . . at least . . . not that I remember, and although I love you in a way, there’s no future in it. Even if there were, I don’t want to go back to your era, since I don’t like the way women were treated then. Also, I’m rather fond of modern conveniences, and the 1800s hasn’t got them.’

  ‘Your privy is a modern marvel indeed.’

  It flushed, and he laughed.

  ‘It would be more of a marvel if you hadn’t learned how to flush it, especially in the middle of the night. It’s a waste of water, and not a toy.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Do be quiet, now, Seb. I want to read this letter.’

  ‘If we’d been together in my era would you have married me, my sweet Gemma?’

  ‘I might have.’ She saw no advantage in lying, since he’d been long dead. ‘Yes … I imagine I would have.’

  The lights flickered.

  ‘Stop that else you’ll blow a fuse, like the last time.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to call in that hell-trickery spurter.’

  ‘Electrical expert . . . now, be quiet for a while.’

  ‘I adore you,’ he said.

  ‘Then why are you being such a nuisance? This is from your great-great-great-grandson.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten one or two of the greats,’ he said helpfully. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Carey Carlyle.’

  ‘So, he’d be descended through Elizabeth.’

  ‘I imagine so. He wants to see the cottage, and has asked me to help him with his family tree.’ Picking up the photograph that fell from the letter’s fold Gemma sucked in a breath as she studied it. The dark-eyed face gazing back at her greatly resembled Sebastian. Her heart hit the roof of her mouth. ‘He looks like you.’

  Sebastian muttered gloomily, ‘He’ll probably fall in love with you.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Pulling her cardigan around her shoulders when the air around Sebastian turned to frost, she murmured, ‘Carey says he’s the last of Elizabeth’s line, and he’s unmarried.’

  ‘Let me look at that portrait.’ The photograph was whipped from Gemma’s fingers. Sebastian smiled as he examined it, which made her uneasy.

  ‘I hope you’re going to behave yourself when he arrives, Seb, he sounds nice in his letter.’

  ‘He’s probably a pompous ass!’

  ‘I imagine he inherited that from you as well as his resemblance.’

  ‘He is handsome.’ Sebastian levitated, one leg crossed casually over the other. He did it unconsciously when he was thinking. He’d forgotten the light fixture, and cursed when he got tangled around the crystal pendants. ‘Damned hell-trickery!’ He cursed even more as his substance separated and stuck fast.

  ‘Stop struggling, you know it only makes things worse.’ Amused by his predicament Gemma fetched the vacuum cleaner and sucked him through the tube, careful not to miss any. Giving him five minutes to collect himself, she opened the bag.

  He emerged in a cloud of dust and shrugged himself free. ‘Ugh,’ he said. ‘Am I whole?’

  ‘You look perfect to me.’ She wanted to reach out and hug him. ‘I wish . . . ’

  ‘Wish what?’

  ‘That you were alive . . . that I could touch you.’

  Being in love with a ghost was utterly ridiculous. She’d lived in the cottage since she was small, having inherited it from her Gran. She never learned who her father was, and neither had Gran. Her mother had left her there as a baby, and had gone off to America to seek fame and fortune, so Gran had said, giving a bit of a snort.

  Mother had succeeded. The first time Gemma saw her was on the day she was born, though she couldn’t remember the occasion herself. The most recent time was at Gran’s funeral. Tiffany was a beautiful stranger who didn’t recognize her own daughter, until Gemma introduced herself.

  ‘My goodness, you’ve grown,’ she said, with a gleaming Hollywood smile. ‘You used to be such a mousy little thing.’ And to the man with her, bottle tanned and boyishly ageing, she offered, ‘This is my sister, Joanna.’

  ‘Actually, I’m your daughter, Gemma . . . had you forgotten?’

  A hard look came her way. ‘Don’t be silly, Joanna. Did Gran leave me anything?’

  ‘She left everything to me.’

  ‘But you’ll give me half the loot, won’t you . . . after all, we are . . . related.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  At that moment the door flew open, pushed by a gust of noisy wind. A mirror flew from the wall and smashed at her mother’s feet. She let out a howl. ‘My grandmother said the place was haunted.’

  The woman and her companion left hurriedly. ‘Whooooooo,’ Gemma howled as they headed for a sleek limo parked outside.

  She could have sworn that somebody behind her laughed. Gemma grinned. What fun. Gran would have enjoyed it.

  Not long after that Seb arrived. She was in the kitchen washing up when she glanced up and saw him standing there, looking every bit like the regency hero he was in his blue cutaway jacket, hessians and grey breeches .

  He put a finger over his mouth. ‘Shush. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.’

  She put him straight. ‘I’ve got news for you - you’re not here. I can see the kitchen door through you.’

  ‘Then don’t tell anyone I’m here but I’m not here. They won’t believe you either way. Why aren’t you scared?’

  ‘What, of a silly ghost?’

  ‘I’m not silly . . . and if you knew the effort it took to get back here, you wouldn’t scoff.’ He looked extremely pleased with himself. ‘You must be my daughter with Elizabeth.’

  The thought of having a father was appealing, even one that had departed the world. ‘My mother’s name is Tiffany Crowe, though she changed it to Lark. My name is Gemma. We’re not related.’

  ‘You must be the maid then. ‘Where’s Elizabeth. I’m dying to see her?’

  Gemma attended the meetings of the local historical society, knew the goings-on of the area and was aware of the history of this cottage, where Sebastian Crump had kept his mistress. ‘Accept the fact that you’re dead. You’ve been dead for nearly two-hundred-years. So has Elizabeth Carlyle.’

  Of course, everyone at night-school wanted to know why Gemma was talking to herself all of a sudden, and on the advice of her teacher, Miss Patishu, who was called Sneeze behind her back, she went to see a shrink.’

  ‘I’m lonely and have an imaginary frien
d who’s a ghost,’ she told him, trotting out the fashionable theory. She’d once wanted to be a psychologist because was interested in the whys and wherefores of people; something Gran would have called nosiness. ‘His name is Sebastian Crump.’

  The shrink looked impressed. He did tests and looked more impressed. He asked her some lifestyle questions, like, did she have a boyfriend, and did she have sex?

  His verdict agreed with hers. ‘You have a high IQ. You’re lonely and imagine you have a friend,’ he said of her interesting condition, and he placed his hand on her knee. ‘You’re frustrated, and I suggest you get yourself a man friend.’

  ‘Of course, you could always buy a dog,’ he advised, when she pushed his hand away.

  She decided on practicality. ‘Certainly not, they stink and leave hairs everywhere. My imaginary friend won’t cost me anything to feed and I’ll grow out of it.’ Gemma was happy enough with Sebastian as a companion, since he was teaching her to ride a horse. That was more than a dog could do.

  She’d heard that when you fall in love with living person there won’t be room in your heart for the spirit that haunts you.

  That’s what happened, but Gemma did her best to help Seb on his way.

  Carey Carlyle was something special . . . she could see that when he stepped out of the taxi. He had presence as well as charm . . . he was a heart-stopper.

  ‘Gemma Crowe?’ he said, and his voice like dark blue velvet.

  ‘Watch out for the beam!’ she said, but too late because he didn’t stoop far enough and whacked his head on it anyway. His hand went to his head and came away with blood on it. He nearly fainted. ‘I’m not very good with blood.’

  ‘Sit there. Let me look at that.’ Gemma did her Florence Nightingale impersonation by taking a plaster out of the box and sticking it to his eyebrow. She hoped she wasn’t there when he needed to take it off.

  ‘I’m seeing stars,’ he said, gazing into her eyes. ‘You look like the film star, Tiffany Lark . . . only better.’

  Love was blind, after all, she thought.

  ‘I adore him,’ she whispered to Sebastian when she went to make coffee. ‘Do something to encourage him to stay.’

  A few moments later the air turned frosty and Carey began to shiver. ‘I think I’m burning up,’ he croaked.

  Sebastian whispered evilly against her ear. ‘Diptheria . . . will that do? I’ll take over his body just before he dies.’

  Gemma was furious. Bloody scared as well, she admitted. Time to get tough. She called in the local, real-life witch. The woman wore a dazzling array of chains and symbolic symbols, available at her high-street shop at full price, or at a fifty percent discount when used with her otherworldly practices, because the power was depleted.

  The chain with her star sign on it was soaked in a dish of water under a full moon to power it up.

  The women sat on a cushion. ‘What is your desire?’

  Gemma told her. ‘I want to evoke the spirit of Elizabeth Carlyle.’

  The witch charged one-hundred-dollars, and did some mumbo-jumbo stuff with black candles and spells.

  Elizabeth Carlyle materialized in a cloud of black smoke, and with her lower half missing. They all began to cough, then the ghost of Elizabeth screeched, ‘Where are my legs, you fool?’

  ‘Whoops!’ the real witch said. Looking scared. She made a run for it, smoke billowing from her ratty hair.

  The ghost of Elizabeth laughed and her eyes gave Gemma a jolt. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want you take Sebastian back. He’s intends to kill your multi-great grandson.’

  ‘So this is where he’s hiding. Sebastian!’

  ‘I’m not coming, you shrewish cow,’ he muttered, which was followed by an impressive temper flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder.

  ‘Show off,’ Gemma said, and that was that . . . well, sort of.

  Gemma married Carey and sold the cottage, complete with Sebastian and the top half of Elizabeth Carlyle, who’d decided to stay and help him haunt it.

  *****

  BLIND MAN’S BLUFF - general

  Bill smiled as his finger gently traced over the letters inscribed on the back of the watch.

  ‘To George, with gratitude from your mate Bill.’

  He’d intended to bury the watch with George, but just as he’d been about to slip it over his mate’s hand an idea had occurred to him.

  It had been a startling idea, but the more he’d thought about it the more it had made sense. Besides - didn’t he owe it to George to do what he could for his family?

  So he’d slipped the watch into his pocket and patted George’s hand for the last time. ‘Have a good rest, mate, and don’t worry about Ruby and the kids. I’ll look after them,’ he’d said.

  ***

  ‘Tell me about Bill, Dad,’ Ruby said one day, shooing the youngsters out through the kitchen door. ‘You two were pretty close, weren’t you?’

  ‘Bill was the salt of the earth.’ It still embarrassed Bill to talk about himself as if it were him lying in the cemetery instead of George.

  He tried not to grin. Not that George would mind, in fact he’d have been flattered had he known Bill was pretending to be him – giving his daughter and grandchildren the home George had never been able to provide.

  ‘I was a bad father after the drink got to me,’ George had often said. ‘They took Ruby from me after her mother died and I never saw her again.’

  It hadn’t surprised Bill when George had revealed that he knew the small Australian outback town where Ruby now lived and knew her husband had left her with two grandchildren to raise. George had a knack of knowing things. He called it his gift, and Bill accepted it without question.

  It was the gift that had brought them together. Bill had been gold prospecting in an isolated part of the outback at the time. The sudden rock fall had nearly buried him alive. He’d laid there for two days, slowly dying of thirst, the sun searing the sight from his eyes. He’d thought he was a goner when something touched his cheek.

  ‘Hold on there, mate,’ George had said. ‘I’ll soon get you out of there.’

  Bill had often wondered at his luck. What if George hadn’t happened along - what if he’d taken the gold the fall had revealed and left Bill to die? Later, he asked George what he’d been doing so far from civilization, and how he’d found him.

  George had drawled. ‘I was riding the fences and I felt your distress. It disturbed my spirit.’ George had been matter-of-fact when he’d added. ‘Your soul is brother to mine, mate, and that’s why I found you.’

  Ruby had the same quiet spirit as George, but Bill had been relieved to find she hadn’t inherited his gift. If she had, she would have known straight away that he’d lied to the Salvation Army person he’d spoken to on the phone. They’d found her within 24 hours, and a week later she and the kids were standing on his doorstep.

  Bill had sensed Ruby’s reserve as he’d opened the door to her hesitant knock, felt her eyes staring at him. He’d smiled, wishing he could see her. ‘I’m sorry I was such a bad father, Ruby,’ he’d said. It seemed as if George was standing behind him, putting the words in his mouth. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. Bill left me this property when he died, and when I join him it’s for you and the kids.’

  He felt a disturbance in the air and knew she’d turned to leave. ‘Stay Ruby,’ he’d said, almost pleading. ‘I’m off the grog. I’ve missed you a lot and I know Bill would have wanted you to stay. We were like brothers.’ He stumbled as he took a step forward and her hand came out to support him.

  ***

  Ruby had stayed. Suddenly the house was filled with the sound of her singing, the laughter of the kids, and the smell of baking bread. For the first time in his life Bill knew what it was like to be part of a family, and he had George to thank for that.

  ‘Bill was an orphan and never married, though he was engaged to a lass in England once.’ He told Ruby. ‘His eyes grew moist as he remembere
d his beautiful Dorothy. ‘Bill was a rough, adventurous sort of bloke, and her parents didn’t approve. So he came to Australia and went bush. He was hoping to make his fortune and thought it would change their opinion of him. He was on to a good thing when the accident happened.’

  ‘So why didn’t he go back and marry the girl?’

  Bill was about to blurt out that he knew Dorothy wouldn’t have wanted a blind man for a husband when he remembered he was supposed to be George now. Perspiration popped out all over his body as he realized he’d nearly exposed his lie. ‘She married someone else, so Bill bought this house, took me in and looked after me. He was a real hero. First he saved my life, then he gave me a home.’

  The story was getting more and more elaborate. The questions Ruby asked just complicated things. She complicated things a bit more.

  ‘How did Bill stumble across you? It strikes me as a bit odd that an Englishman would go into the bush alone to prospect, and just happen to stumble across another Englishman doing exactly the same thing.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m English?’

  ‘You can’t hide that accent, Dad.’ Ruby’s voice was warm with laughter.

  Although he liked Ruby’s teasing, Bill knew he’d have to be careful. George had been Australian born. What if Ruby got curious and looked up his birth certificate?

  Then he recalled George telling him his birth had never been registered. He’d been born on an outback station. His parents had moved about a bit and had never got round to it. It had caused a few problems when George had applied for a pension, Bill remembered, but the Salvation Army had sorted it all out for him. They were good at helping people out. So good, in fact, that Bill had intended to leave them the property. Now it would go to Ruby, and he blessed George for bringing her into his life.

  He sent a fond smile in the direction of her voice. ‘You’re not as clever as you think, Rube. Your old dad happens to have been naturalized. I’m as Australian as you are.’

  Bill grinned as Ruby gave a hoot of laughter. The chair creaked when she stood up, then a slapping sound of bare feet against floorboards told Bill she was moving towards the kitchen. Ruby and the kids never wore shoes.