The Girl and the Ghost

by Ebony McKenna

  Morgan asked, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go upstairs?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘OK. Let’s start on Chemistry.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t fry my brain too much,’ Olivia said. ‘I’m already frazzled knowing there’s a ghost upstairs.’

  ‘You believe me then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Happy warmth spread through Morgan that at least one of her friends believed her. ‘You’re not just making fun of me?’

  ‘Why would I make fun of you? I think you’re terribly brave.’

  For the next hour and a half, they worked through chemistry tasks, and an enormous bowl of potato wedges with melted cheese on top, courtesy of Dave.

  Olivia stretched her back and cricked her neck. ‘I really need to boil some hydrogen and have a cup of phenols.’

  Morgan boggled.

  ‘Make a cup of tea.’

  ‘Ahh, right. In that case, it’s a cup of dihydrogen monoxide. Water has two hydrogen and one oxygen molecules, so that’s the way to say it - and a make a cup of polyphenols.’

  ‘Why are they poly, why not just phenols?’

  ‘Because poly means lots of them.’

  ‘Yeah but the ‘es’ already indicates a plural, so it’s redundant.’

  ‘Ha! I love it!’ She held her hand up to give Olivia a high-five.

  Olivia obliged. ‘Can we do history now, please?’

  ‘Sure!’

  Absorbed in details of fashions from times gone by, and shuddering at the lack of hygiene, another hour vanished.

  Outside, a car horn beeped.

  Olivia looked at her phone, ‘That’s mum. I have dance prac.’

  Morgan stood up and stretched. ‘Thanks for being a great study buddy.’

  ‘Any time.’

  After hugging goodbye, Morgan headed upstairs. There was George, pacing a track in the carpet as he walked back and forth. If he’d had colour in his face, it would be as dark as thunder.

  ‘It’s private,’ he began with a pleading expression.

  ‘You’ve lost me, I’m not sure what –’

  ‘My life. My circumstances. The events leading up to my death. All are private. They should not be shared with anybody.’

  ‘But I’m not going –’

  ‘I was using your device and I saw the beginnings of a dissertation you are planning, which will expose me to ridicule.’

  Morgan boggled for a moment, then realised. ‘My history project? But it’s just for school.’

  He stopped pacing and glared at her. ‘It is private!’

  ‘But we haven’t even found out what happened to you yet. Don’t you want to know? If it was me, I would.’

  George kept his voice to a low mutter. Morgan heard the words ‘careless’, ‘gossip’ and ‘masquerading as education’.

  ‘You’re being far too dramatic.’ Morgan gave up trying to reason with him and slumped onto her bed.

  ‘It is enough to know I was riding and I clearly came to a bad end. I must have been a great distance from home, perhaps not found for some time. Therefore, my parents – grief stricken souls – were not informed until it was too late. That must be why the souls in our family plot are so upset. I should be with them but I am not.

  The authorities must have buried me before my parents were able to claim me. I refuse to believe my life ended as a vagabond!’

  Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.’

  He stared at her, his face an illustration of bafflement. Then he laughed out loud. ‘I do so enjoy what you’ve done with the Queen’s English.’

  That seemed to clear the air a bit. George huffed and sat down on the pink chaise. ‘It could be that you are trying to help. I do sincerely apologise for being angry with you.’

  Talk about confuse a girl. A moment ago, he was fuming. Now he was apologising?

  ‘However,’ he continued, ‘This is a private matter and I would like it to stay that way. Surely you understand my need for privacy? Were you yourself only recently held up to public ridicule for . . . appearing to be ridiculous?’

  Thanks for the reminder. ‘Yes but . . . this is different. I mean, the tabloids are here now. Your gossipy old matrons are long gone.’

  ‘Morgan, please. If it’s true I ended my days in a . . . in such a manner . . . then perhaps I did something terrible. The scandal of my downfall will ruin the family.’

  ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not for me. I feel as if it happened yesterday.’

  Something twisted behind Morgan’s ribs. Whenever her brother Gareth needed attention, there he was in the tabloids, proverbially telling the world about what he ate for breakfast. Things nobody else needed to know, but Gareth felt compelled to share, which then increased public scrutiny on the rest of the family.

  Morgan sat on the chaise beside George. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter what century it is, scandal and gossip are everywhere.’

  ‘A salient observation.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to find out about your passing, in front of my class. I wasn’t thinking about it that much, and . . . you were there, you saw how Mrs Edgars put me on the spot. But I am sorry that I embarrassed you. If I could do it again, I’d do things differently.’

  George wiped his brow, as if he’d managed to perspire from thinking so much. ‘I appreciate the apology. I too am deeply sorry for causing you so much consternation.’

  ‘It’s not your fault the tabs follow me around. My family is . . . well, they’re my family and I’m stuck with them, and I try really hard to stay out of it all. Even if you hadn’t been with me, sometimes I end up in the news just because of my dad or Gareth.’

  ‘You are too forgiving. My presence made things worse for you.’

  Morgan tried to lighten the mood. ‘I should get used to it. I will. One day.’

  Things went a little quiet for a while. It killed Morgan to stay quiet, waiting for him to talk.

  George finally did. ‘Perhaps I am asking too much in forbidding you from completing your research?’

  Sensing the opportunity to keep researching, Morgan chose her words carefully. ‘Thank you, George. I know it’s painful for you. But, deep down, I think you should know what happened.’

  ‘I think you may be right.’

  ‘Really? Oh wow.’

  After a while, George looked up at her, his face a mixture of regret and hope. ‘I do not want to know, but I believe I need to know.’

  The next day after coming home from school, Morgan grabbed a chunk of broken roof tile and walked George to the pond at the bottom of their garden. The fountain sent a horsetail of water into the air. They sat amongst a copse of tea-trees. Morgan grabbed a soft branch-let and pulled her hand down the tiny leaves, releasing their lemon scent.

  ‘I love the smell of these.’ She held a sprig towards George. ‘Have a sniff.’

  Leaning forward, he inhaled. ‘I smell nothing.’

  ‘But it’s so strong and lemony.’

  ‘Even when I was alive, my ability for detecting scent was lacking.’

  Morgan crushed the leaves and inhaled. ‘Can you remember what lemons smelled like?’

  George looked thoughtful, then shook his head.

  ‘Wow, being a ghost sucks if you can’t even smell things.’

  ‘At least I have my hearing and sight,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Morgan reached into her bag and pulled out half a roof tile. ‘I brought this. I’ll put it here on the ground so you can come and sit out here any time you like.’

  ‘Thank you, I think I should like it here.’

  ‘The wi-fi reaches this far. We can research at the same time? Mrs Edgars set me a new assignment. It means I can help you and get my CAT done at the same time.’

  ‘Your cat?’

  ‘Sorry. Common Assessment Task. What you’d call an assignment. Or a project.’

  George made a quiet snort
and looked out to the water. ‘My dear Morgan. You have piqued my curiosity, you may as well sate it.’

  That meant she could keep researching? Morgan took it as a yes and clicked on the ancestry site again. ‘When and where was your father born?’

  George gave her the date and place. ‘If I recall, our family made their fortunes in whaling and investing in railways.’

  ‘Ah, that’s why there were trains from Portland to Melbourne back then?’

  ‘There were several between many major towns.’

  ‘But there weren’t as many people back then, how could it make money?’

  Gazing at the fountain, George said, ‘I never fully understood the process myself. Father had our fortunes tied up in shares and bonds and . . . oh dear, I have recalled an interesting fact. He arranged for a baronet’s daughter to sail to Portland from England. He intended for me to marry her – it would have given the family further status.’

  ‘Was she your sweetheart?’ Was that jealousy speaking?

  George shook his head and plucked individual leaves off the tea-tree sprig. ‘Nothing so sentimental. Purely a business arrangement.’

  Relief poured through her. Wait, he could pull the leaves off? Interesting development.

  George said, ‘How strange that these details should return to me now. He established shares and portfolios and land holdings to make sure we could live like landed gentry. A slice of the homeland in this wild and unforgiving place. Except of course, it must not have eventuated because I ended my days . . .’ he plucked at more leaves and left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘You know what? If you asked me what my dad did, I mean, what he really did, I wouldn’t have a clue. I mean, he runs a recycling company, but I’m not really sure what he actually does all day. Only that he works insane hours. And he always has loads of meetings. Not that the media know any more than that either. They just call him the Prince of Plastics.’

  ‘My grandfather ran a whaling company. But then . . . I believe the whales stopped coming into the bay.’

  Morgan snorted in disgust. ‘Funny that.’ She tapped on her screen to keep researching. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I’m waiting?’ George’s eyes met hers. ‘Let me guess, more bad news?’

  Could it be any other kind? ‘It says here your father died around the same time you did.’ She flicked her fingers to bring up a newspaper article. ‘Says hemlock might have been involved. What’s hemlock?’

  George looked like he couldn’t breathe. Except, of course, he didn’t breathe even at the best of times. ‘Are you sure you have the right Wallace? There are a few of us around. Or were.’

  Desperate to find something good in George’s past, she changed the subject. ‘Let’s try your mother instead. What were her details?’

  George recited them and Morgan put them into the search. She found a birth notice but no death notice. In fact, aside from George’s mother marrying George Fuller Wallace, there were no further mentions of Jane Ann Wallace, nee Sebastian.

  ‘My mother was the epitome of health and fine humour.’ George looked puzzled. ‘There must be more information about her achievements. She was a patron of the local hospital.’

  Filled with morbid fascination, Morgan moved back to searching for news on George’s dad. ‘You’re not going to like this. Says here he was buried in a paupers’ grave like you . . . and . . . his estates frozen by a magistrate.’

  ‘Not possible.’ George moved closer to read from Morgan’s iPad.

  Portland Bay Argus

  * * *

  Magistrates have seized the assets of the late Geo. Fuller Wallace following the death by his own hand of hemlock poisoning.

  The Wallace family empire collapsed into debt some months past and creditors were keen to collect promissory notes.

  His widow and surviving daughters are believed fled to the Americas. A warrant has been issued for the arrest of Geo. S Wallace, the late Geo. F Wallace’s eldest and only son.

  George pulled away and said, ‘I may cast up my accounts.’

  ‘ – ’ Morgan boggled.

  ‘It means to be violently ill.’

  ‘You poor thing.’ If one of her friends were feeling sick, she’d get them a wet flannel for the back of their neck, or a cup of ice chips. But how could she help a ghost with nausea?

  Despite her best intentions, a naughty thought took seed. George’s family made for a cracking story. Loads of money suddenly gone, son and father dead and no sign of the mother or sisters. Mrs Edgars would love it. ‘The police were after you! That’s so exciting!’

  ‘It most certainly is not!’

  Morgan couldn’t stop grinning. ‘What did you do? Join a gang of bushrangers?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort! It’s obviously a terrible error.’

  But it was so fascinating. ‘There’s more in the report.’

  ‘I don’t care to hear it! My fall from grace is complete. An ignominious death . . . a family condemned to humiliation.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Morgan rubbed his arm. Or what she could make of his ethereal limb. ‘We both know newspapers don’t always get it right.’

  Intense colours of browns with green flecks filled George’s eyes. ‘As much as I would hope you to be right, I fear the report is accurate. No, please don’t cry.’ He touched her check with his palm. ‘It’s coming back to me now, as if it were yesterday. It was the shock that must have caused me to forget. I seem to have forgotten so much. Perhaps I wanted to forget it.’

  They had been having some incredibly repetitive discussions lately.

  ‘I had no prior knowledge of my family’s precarious finances. It only became clear to me that morning when Mrs Brown, my mother’s lady’s maid, tried to depart with two silver candlesticks. She had given us years of good service with no complaints. I accused her of being a thief, but she said it was my father who was the thief. That he hadn’t paid a farthing in wages these last two years and she was therefore taking what he owed her. I accused her of lying, but even as I said it . . .’

  ‘Oh you poor thing.’

  ‘I can take anything except your pity.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Shaking his head, George said, ‘I must have known this was coming. I’d had my suspicions. A father ought to take his son under his wing and teach him about life and business. My father kept me out of the study. Now I comprehend. If I’d been a stronger person, I would have challenged him earlier. Years before things turned bad. Perhaps I could have prevented this calamity. Alas, he was so clever at disguising his losses. He’d say a shipment was late or lost at sea, with no recourse. A few months later, the money would flow again. I thought it was the nature of trade. So many ships were lost. The name Loch Ard comes to mind. It must have been a terrible loss.’

  Morgan looked it up, then saw the results. ‘Oh dear, only two survivors.’

  ‘It was a perilous coastline, hence the need for rail transport.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control. I wouldn’t have a clue how to run my father’s business. We could be up to our eyeballs in debt as far as I know.’

  ‘Of course you would not know, you’re a girl.’

  What? A nasty response nearly jumped out of her, but she held it back. For his part, George realised his faux pas.

  ‘I meant to say, you have three elder brothers, is that correct? I assume your father has instilled his work ethic in them and left you to chart your own course.’

  ‘Well, since you put it that way . . .’ Morgan figured he couldn’t help being a chauvinist, considering the century he was born in.

  ‘I am remembering more. On the day it happened, I forced my way into my father’s study. I knocked first, but got no answer. He had to be in there. I used a marble bust of Pliny the Elder to smash the door in. What a strange detail to recall.

  ‘At first, I thought he had fallen asleep. I am sorry to offend your delicate ears . . . but he had taken his own life. He was slumped ove
r his desk. Ink dripping from the quill. He’d begun writing a letter to his solicitor. He should have written to my mother first, or to myself, but as with so many things, he kept us ignorant. The writing was so poorly formed he must have been in the final throes of . . .’ He made a cough into his hand. ‘I began to read the ledgers. Column after column of unserviceable debt. Loans to pay off other loans. Debts to unknown individuals rather than bank drafts. Railway shares worth nothing. Staff unpaid for years. Accounts owing. Not even the clothes on my back were free from the shame of debt.

  ‘A fever of bad humour came over me. I grabbed the only thing I could find of value – his signet ring. It would have been mine in the fullness of time, but my actions amounted to theft nonetheless. I saddled the horse myself. That detail too escaped my notice earlier in the day, the absence of stable staff. Having never before saddled a horse without assistance, I may not have been competent.’

  What an impossible situation. Morgan felt so much pity for him. Yet he’d told her he didn’t want her pity. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if that had happened to me. Can you remember where the rest of your family was?’

  ‘They were attending a musicale, I believe they were travelling by rail to Hamilton. My sister Jane had dreams of becoming an opera singer, but my father wouldn’t have it. He wanted to marry her to a respectable family. Life on the stage is no place for a lady. Naturally, she’d had private lessons and was permitted to perform for family and visiting dignitaries. A lady is permitted to sing, but not for the public and never for money.’

  Morgan could easily become side-tracked on the issue of sexist double standards. Why foster talent if you had to hide it away?

  ‘I was weak,’ George continued. ‘No, do not correct me. I was weak and I fled. I galloped towards the port. My only hope was to sell the ring to a pawnbroker and buy passage for the family to another colony, or even America. If I’d not been such a coward, I would have stayed and tried to make things right. But my only thought was to flee.’