by Jada Turner
“Ghosts can do that?”
“Indeed.”
“Why?”
“By possessing the body of a suitable woman, she could then meet you as a corporeal being. She could caress you, just as the women you bring to your bedroom have. Behold!”
Smythe suddenly lashed out at Shayne. Startled, she put her hands up to defend herself. Ren reached out to pull her away, but he wasn't fast enough.
Smythe's fist went right through her.
He pulled it out as Shayne began to flicker and shake. Ren looked upon her with wide eyes.
“You're a ghost!” Lyle gasped.
Shayne regained her form and lowered her eyes to the floor. Ren was staring at her.
“Please, remain invisible.” she said to him. Her whisper was barely audible. She looked into Lyle's eyes. “Yes, I am. And everything he said is true.”
Lyle stared at Shayne. He looked her up and down, his gaze pausing at her cleavage.
“Even when they're dead, they want me,” he said. His huge mouth split open into a self-satisfied grin. “I'm irresistible!”
Shayne tried to keep her eyes averted from Ren's. She was afraid of what she might find there.
“Please, allow me to stay.” she said. “I don't care if I can't touch you; I just want to be here.”
Lyle seemed to be considering her words. At last, he turned to Smythe.
“Get rid of her.”
“What?” Shayne cried. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me, babe.”
“I just told you that I love you and want to stay near you.”
“Is that what you said? Well, that's real nice but, I'm afraid it can never be. I don't stick my wick into dead things. Sorry, but I need you to get lost. You're cramping my style.”
The exorcist raised his cross to Shayne's eye level. “Nothing personal,” he said.
“This cannot be!” Ren boomed. Lyle and Smythe looked up in shock at the sound of his voice.
“Ren!” Shayne hissed.
“No! I cannot allow it! No one shall treat the woman I love in such a manner! Especially, the likes of a selfish cad and his hired thug.” He burst into being. Shayne gasped.
Ren was no longer the handsome spirit she knew and loved. He had transformed himself into the very incarnation of the living dead. Blood poured copiously from a great, raw wound in his chest. His eyes were cavernous sockets, his mouth twisted in a dreadful sneer. The foundations of the house began to quake beneath the room as he walked toward Charles Lyle.
Lyle whimpered like a child and fell at Ren's feet. A stone shook loose from the ceiling and crashed near his foot. He covered his head in supplication, his eyes averted from the phantom.
Shayne took Ren's lead. She transformed herself from the beautiful form of a woman into that of a hideous banshee. Her skeletal arms raked the air and an ear-splitting shriek split it. She too advanced upon Lyle.
“Get out!” Ren cried. “And never return!”
Lyle scrambled out the door. They heard his gibbering cries as he descended the stairs. The front door slammed behind him, and moments later, the Italian engine purred to life. They heard the tires squeal as it left the drive and receded into the distance. Ren turned his attention to Smythe.
“You!” he growled.
“Ren, no!” Shayne cried. She had once again adopted her original form. “Smythe is on our side!”
As quickly as he had changed, Ren now reverted to his handsome self. He stared in confusion at the exorcist. “But, he was about to send you away?”
“No, Love. Smythe is a friend and a very skilled con man. I called him in to help us.” She turned to face the con man. “By the way, you are a jerk! What were you doing back there? You almost had me on the floor a few times. I mean what was with the smiles and the Pig Latin? I almost blew the whole con!”
Smythe beamed. “Things have gotten real dull since you died, Shayne. I just wanted to spice things up a bit, see how much it would take to make you laugh.”
“I do not understand,” Ren said. “Why all the chicanery?”
“Well, I was going to try and take the blame for the haunting so that Lyle would want to keep me here. I had no idea that he had standards.”
“It seems my way was the more effective one.”
“It would seem that way.” Smythe agreed.
“I guess old habits die hard,” Shayne said. “When I was alive, I worked the con. I lived off of fooling people and using their greed. Smythe was my partner for a while.”
“Until she grew a conscience. One day she decides to up and quit. Says she's tired of hurting people. Next thing I know, she's terminal. Dies in the hospital.” He looked away, sobered by the words. When he spoke again, his voice was raspy with emotion. “Good to see you again, Kid.”
Shayne smiled. “I have something, Smythe. I've been saving it up for you. It's in a Swiss account and it's all yours. I think you should retire from the game.”
“I can't take that.”
“You can and you will. You're my only living relative.”
Smythe grinned. “We'll see, Kid.”
“You're also my good deed.”
“Alright,” he said quietly. “I guess this is goodbye.” He looked at Ren. “Take care of her, White Knight.”
“That is my intention.”
“This place got a phone? I think I'd better call a taxi.”
“In the study,” Ren said.
Smythe exited with a casual salute. Ren looked at Shayne. If she'd had a heart, it would have been in overdrive.
“So,” she said. “Now you know who and what I am. Are you alright with it?”
Ren nodded.
Shayne began to fidget. Her skin was burning.
“Couldn't you say something? I mean, are you ok with this?”
“Well, to be truthful, I must inform you that I already knew of your true nature.”
“What? How?”
“There is an interesting collection of obituaries on the internet. I found yours this afternoon. You said it was for you to know and for me to find out. So, I found out.”
“I worried for nothing.”
“Yes, I am afraid you did.” He bent and lifted her in his arms.
“Is there anything you don't know about me?”
“Only the number of organisms I can give you.”
“You mean orgasms, right?”
“Is that not what I said?”
Shayne smiled. “I stand corrected.”
******
END
Scoundrel's Mistress
Chapter One
Diana sat in the dining room finishing her breakfast of toast with a lashing of butter from Home Farm, one of her husband’s tenants on the Eylebourne Hall estate.
She glanced out of the window across the terrace to the hills in the distance to see what the weather would be like today. It did not bode well. Dark clouds gathered and a couple of rain spots landed on the French windows. Another English summer’s day, she thought as she wrapped a silk shawl around her bare shoulders. She liked the Empire style dress with its low neckline but sometimes the form was unequal to the British weather.
In the gilt-framed mirror on the opposite wall, she caught a reflection of herself. Her long blond hair was tied up in ringlets and it had taken her and her maid Lucy a good half hour to get right and she felt pleased with the result. Not bad, she thought, for a woman of twenty-five as her English rose visage looked back at her.
Sir Reginald slurped through his devilled kidneys. As usual the grease slipped down both sides of his flabby face. Diana glanced over at him. A glance was about all she could bear when he ate; any longer would make her sick. To say he ate like a pig would be unfair to the porcine race. He didn’t look well with the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and his complexion had turned ruddier than yesterday. It didn’t seem to affect his appetite.
She watched as he stopped eating and rubbed hi
s arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just a pain in the arm and I keep getting one in my chest.”
“You should see a doctor.”
“I haven’t got time for damned Quacks.” He waded back into his breakfast. She looked away.
“Good morning Sir, M’lady.”
Diana looked up from her toast to see Jane, her son’s nurse, carrying the one-year-old Michael into the dining room.
“Good morning Jane,” said Diana.
Sir Reginald managed a grunt.
Diana missed having Jane as her Lady’s maid since she promoted her to Nurse. Although unequal in rank, they shared the same sense of humour. Her replacement, Lucy, carried out her duties well, but she didn’t amuse Diana the way Jane had when doing her toilette and caring for her extensive wardrobe.
Jane had dressed the boy in a blue velvet pair of pants with a matching jacket and a lace-edged white collar. He could have been the subject for a Gainsborough painting had Gainsborough still been alive.
Diana tickled the boy’s chin and looked into his dark brown eyes that even at his young age seemed to suggest the owner had something special inside. She couldn’t help thinking of his father’s eyes, and remembering how they had made Michael.
Sir Reginald was too conceited or stupid to realise the boy’s resemblance was not of him. Neither was he aware of her birth control potion that the old gypsy woman supplied to prevent him fathering a child with Diana. He did not know of Richard, the dashing Captain from Wellington’s army for whom Diana abandoned her potion. In fact, Sir Reginald knew very little about what was going on in and around his household. He certainly knew nothing of his wife’s fantasies.
“Good morning Michael,” said Diana. She stroked his cheek.
Sir Reginald grunted. He looked over at the boy and Diana. “I hope you are not filling the boy’s head with nonsense again Diana. Sooner he’s packed off to boarding school the better, I say. Make a man of him.”
“Yes, dear,” said Diana lowering her eyes in pretend submission. Michael would be going to boarding school over her dead body or, the occasional thought had crossed her mind, Sir Reginald’s.
“I’m going to Chatham, some problems with one of my ships. I could be away for a few days,” said Sir Reginald.
“What problems?” said Diana trying to keep her tone polite like she was only making conversation.
“Don’t worry yourself about them. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure you are well enough Reginald?”
“Of course I am. Stop fussing woman.”
Diana wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle his problems. She didn’t have a complete grasp of his business. He kept his secrets too well in his locked study. She had heard rumours that he was still shipping slaves from West Africa to the Caribbean and the slave states in America. She knew if the Royal Navy caught one of his ships and they could prove his involvement, all she had and all that Michael would inherit, would be lost. They would be paupers and Sir Reginald would be thrown in gaol.
Chapter Two
Diana watched her husband from the steps of Eylebourne Hall. He climbed painfully into the pony and trap for the ancient, but reliable. Miller to take him to the Mail Coach for Chatham. Although he was usually morose, there was something about her husband today that worried Diana. It wasn’t the same as when he was off on one of his trips to see his several mistresses. She could tell that Sir Reginald, for all his bluster and arrogance, had worry eating away at him.
She looked up at the sky. The dark clouds had given way to a blue in places. The threatening rain had bypassed them. The scent of jasmine from a climber by the side of the house filtered into her senses. She thought of Richard far away in India among the fragrances of tropical flowers and spices of which she had heard abounded in that part of the world. Would he be ploughing a dusky maiden? She thought that perhaps he would.
Her thoughts drifted back to the romp in the straw and in the room over the Pantiles. She wondered whether it was in the straw or in the room that she conceived Michael. Though she longed to tell Richard that he had a son, she had no way of making contact.
She took another look at the sky to confirm the change in the weather and then asked Jane to get Michael ready. Diana took Michael’s pram and walked down by the river.
“What is that bird Michael?” she said pointing. Of course, the boy was far too young to have any vocabulary. “It’s a swan. And that one; it’s a heron,” she said.
The boy seemed interested as he sat up and looked out across the Kent countryside and river.
Their walk took up most of the morning as they followed the path along the river. She even managed to catch a glimpse of a kingfisher as it darted like a flash of blue lightning above the gentle flow of the water.
They passed under the stone bridge dating from the fourteenth century that took the road to Tunbridge Wells across their land. Sir Reginald had tried to have the road diverted, but a petition had been supported in the courts preventing him from achieving his goal. Diana remembered how he flew into a rage when he discovered the verdict.
Diana and Michael came back along a sunken country lane alive with the smell of wild garlic. She picked a few wild flowers and some garlic.
As she came into sight of Eylebourne Hall and looked out across the landscape designed by a pupil of Capability Brown, she could see three coaches in the drive, and soldiers.
She gripped Michael’s pram and hurried to the scene.
She drew nearer; her worst fears were realised when she could see her visitors more closely. Two Royal Naval officers and a group of red-coated Royal Marines stood in a line on the drive. Squire Craggs, the local magistrate in his grey frock coat that wouldn’t close around his ample middle and a top hat on his head above his mutton chop whiskers and port nose, stood on the house steps.
Between the Squire and the front door stood Mrs Marshall, the housekeeper cook in her white apron and grey dress holding a rolling pin in her plump hand. Next to her Miller held a pitchfork and Jane carried nothing but a worried expression. They all had their arms folded across their chests and looked like they were barring entry.
Diana arrived with her heart pounding.
“What on earth is happening Squire Craggs?”
“Diana my dear. These gentlemen are from the Royal Navy. It seems your husband has been running slaves from West Africa to the Americas against the law. One of his ships was intercepted off the African coast and I’m afraid there is enough evidence to prove Sir Reginald is involved.”
“Where is he?” she said ushering Michael to the side and waving to Jane to come and look after him.
“In Maidstone gaol.”
“What are you doing here?”
A naval officer stepped forward. “Lieutenant Phillips, Royal Navy, M’lady.” He doffed his bicorn hat.
She looked him up and down as he stood before her in his embroidered blue coat with gold epaulettes and white facings over his white breeches, white stockings and buckled black shoes. He stretched a good six feet tall with broad shoulders. His blond hair showed below his powdered wig and his face was not unpleasant. He clearly had breeding and an aristocratic arrogance that came from having wealth.
And she could also tell what most women can tell when a man speaks to them. He found her attractive. She made a mental note of that in case the situation required her to use her femininity to protect her position and that of her son.
“I said what is your business here, sir?” Her eyes flirted with him.
“M’lady, I have the misfortune to be in command of this detachment to find evidence of illegal slave trading. The magistrate has given us permission to search the house, but I am afraid your retainers are blocking the way and I am trying to negotiate without having to resort to force.”
“Is that correct Squire? You have authorised the trespass on my property?”
“Diana, it isn’t trespass. Please, don’t make this unsavoury
affair any more problematic than it is already.”
Diana looked up at Jane, Miller and Mrs Marshall still standing on the steps guarding the door. She felt a warmth of gratitude to her servants. They had stout hearts but weak bodies and would be flicked out of the way like a fly off sugar if the Lieutenant decided to enter by force.
“Please, Miller, Mrs Marshall. Let them enter.”
They stood to the side. Diana saw that Mrs Marshall’s hands shook and Miller’s knees were knocking, but their courage was intact.
“Jane, please take Michael to the nursery. Mrs Marshall, please have someone bring tea to the drawing room.”
Diana entered her house wondering how all this would end. She invited the Squire, Lieutenant Phillips and the second officer who on closer inspection she saw was a Midshipman, from the insignia on his collar and around thirteen years old, to follow her.
The Royal Marines remained outside at attention under the watchful eye of a large sergeant.
She led them into the drawing-room where Sir Reginald’s forebears looked down from ghastly portraits onto the scene unfolding below
“How do you propose to carry out this search Lieutenant?” said Diana. “Do you intend to have those rough soldiers go through my belongings including my personal clothing?” She put the emphasis on ‘personal clothing’ hoping to transmit the thought to his mind of her underwear. To Diana, it was clear that if Sir Reginald was in serious trouble then so was she. She would need to steer the naval officer off course if she could.
“No Diana,” said the Squire. “We are looking for something specific. It will save a lot of time if you were to help us and save you a lot of distress.”
“Then pray tell me Squire why you have brought an army to my door?”
“We need Sir Reginald’s ledgers and his paperwork regarding his shipping business.”
Mrs Marshall came in with a silver tray that held a china teapot and several cups. She placed it on an occasional table and left but not without giving the Lieutenant a hard stare.
