by Ciar Cullen
“That, sir, is called friendship. No payment is required.” Bess took the stack of notes and threw them up in the air. They fluttered down around her, and she made it quite clear that she was not going to pick them up.
“You are quite frustrating at times,” George said with a laugh.
“You sound like my Lil,” Bess replied. “Only you both are twenty times more frustrating than I.”
Phillip folded his newspaper and yelled at them both to be quiet. “Arthur has finally stopped playing the piano, and now I have to listen to this bickering?” he complained. Then, “Elizabeth, listen to George. Money is not an issue for us. It is his way of thanking you, and you must sometimes allow him his odd ways. He is not a normal man. There is no need for your family to suffer.”
“It’s charity,” Bess said, “and charity—”
“Please, might we have some quiet?” Arthur yelled across the room. “We are conducting a serious investigation!” The author sat with Lillian at a table across from Jack with a small standing mirror between them. Arthur held up various small objects that he kept from Jack’s view and asked the boy to identify them.
George watched Lillian, wondering if she remembered that they had sat at that very table with Annaluisa conducting a séance. He had begun to fall in love with her that night, the same night he went to her room to silence her. It had been only two and a half months ago. Now he was to be married in a week, had a son, a rather easy relationship with his brother, and freedom to live as he wished. Of course, their lives could be cut short soon at the hands of Vasil, assuming the Elder’s threat was serious. He sounded quite lackadaisical, to hear Chauncey tell it. But the threat gave George the curious feeling that he was human again, not secure that life would go on forever. Oddly, wondering if today could be his last, wanting to accomplish a few things before the end, gave life a sweeter taste than before.
He felt Phillip staring at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Spit it out now. You’ll say it eventually.”
Phillip laughed. “That’s quite true. I’m simply gratified that you finally understand what I’ve been trying to tell you these last few years.”
“What?”
“That your misery was always a choice.”
George threw a cushion at him, and his brother threw it back, laughing. So right you are, Phillip, he thought. But he didn’t say it. There was no reason for it to go to Phillip’s head.
EPILOGUE
Dear Arthur,
Thank you so much for the telegram reporting your safe arrival. I am devastated at the further deterioration of your wife. Would that I could have known her. I am also greatly saddened that I could not be there to support you at this difficult time. I understand some of the torture you might have felt at the decision facing you with regards to her illness. But, as we have discussed in depth, some matters are to be left in God’s hands.
You will be happy to know that Jack is thriving and is still speaking of having many adventures within your spirit realm. It is sometimes very disconcerting, but he seems not at all bothered by the ghosts who speak with him. George has made me promise to keep Jack’s talents quiet, and again, I entreat you to keep his identity secret. George and I want the boy to have as much normalcy in his life as possible. The Musketeers have taken so well to him. They are a happy if mischievous band of fellows.
We are sorely in need of space, and are buying a house on the same street so that Addie and Thomas Adencourt, my former governess and butler, have a fine place to spend their days. They are newly returned from Chicago. Oh, yes, well, you did see them at the train station that first day! I do not know if they are aware of our “nature,” but I am certain they will turn a blind eye toward it if necessary. I would trust those two with my life.
I am pleased to report that Johnnie Moran has agreed to reside in that house with them, along with his brother. In that way, we will all be close.
Johnnie seems better by the day. He asked me to say hello to you should we correspond. I thought of asking him to accompany us on our visit to collect Bess in the spring. I do hope that her presence is not a burden with your wife’s illness. Do give her my love, and let us know how her medical treatment progresses.
I know this time must feel very dark indeed. I remember it well. Please know that George and I would give anything to be with you now. We were discussing the wedding just this morning, and what a blessing it was that you agreed to give me away. It shall remain one of my most treasured memories, always.
Dear Mr. Doyle, I miss you so much. I even took to rereading your stories during my recuperation. It was happily successful, and George and I have agreed that it is quite for the best that I do not take medicinals of any kind, ever again. Thank you for your advice before you parted. In any case, I do not feel the need for them.
I am anguished by your talk of aiding the troops now engaged in South Africa. I have heard horrors about this “Boer” war, although I suppose all wars are thusly horrible. You are at a fragile point in your recovery, and the battlefield may not be the wisest choice. Please do write when you have time, and let us know of Bess’s progress and when we can visit.
Ever,
Lillian Holmes
Just as she finished writing, George tapped her shoulder and she jumped.
“Johnnie is downstairs, wringing the life out of his cap and talking about a murder on the outskirts of town. I think I saw that Mencken chap outside, no doubt lurking to find a good story.”
“Wasn’t the murder-suicide at the castle enough to get both of them promotions?”
“Johnnie is so dedicated, and Mencken is so ambitious. They make a fine team.”
Lillian smiled. “I feel the need for a good investigation.”
George lit his pipe and grinned. “I think you like sparring with Mencken as well.” He turned and indicated their son. “Jack and I are building a fort in the back. He has made me promise to sleep outside in it with him tonight.”
Lillian laughed. “Wait until Phillip hears.”
“Phillip is helping to build it! Thomas is out there telling us how poorly we’re doing. I think if I leave them alone, they’ll have it done and forget about me. Or maybe I’ll try to charm him.”
Lillian folded her letter to Arthur and cupped her hand on George’s face, taking a moment to admire how her ruby ring gleamed against his pale skin. “You’re a handsome devil, George. But those good looks won’t work on Thomas, trust me. He’ll have you working again before I’m out the door with Johnnie.”
George sighed and pressed a kiss to Lillian’s head. “No one told me about this part of the bargain.”
She laughed and grabbed her messenger bag.
George stood and gave her one last embrace. “Don’t forget your pistol. And bring me back a little snack, love. It doesn’t seem I’ll get out tonight.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ciar Cullen hails from Baltimore. She spent her high school years as a theater geek, attended UMBC and studied archaeology before pursuing an advanced degree at Indiana University. She left Indiana to live in Greece for 8 years, working on the artifacts from a prehistoric cave site. Ciar also sweated out a few summers in Missouri on a First American site. She wound her way to England, where she studied archaeological remains at the British Museum of Natural History for a time. Finally, she inadvertently settled in New Jersey, married, and adopted a number of rescue cats. After several positions in nonfiction publishing, she landed at Princeton University, where she helps run the molecular biology department.
Ciar started writing late in life on a whim, and considers herself a hobbyist. This is her 18th book. Her website is www.ciarcullen.com and she loves to hear from readers. You can also chat with her on social media sites.
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