by Amy Cross
“Eve...”
“Everything about you is different,” she continues, clearly warming to her theme. “The way you hold yourself, the way you talk, the way you look at people, the way you sit, even the way the muscles rest on your face. It must be something profound to have changed a person like that. I don't think I've ever seen anything of the like, at least not since old Father Joe claimed to have seen an angel at the church and -”
She stops suddenly, as if she's had an idea.
“Did you see an angel at the Lakeforth?” she asks excitedly.
“Don't be ridiculous!” I mutter.
“Then what did you see? A ghost?”
Flinching, I look over at the door and find myself wondering why Mother is taking so very long in the kitchen.
“You saw a ghost!” Eve continues, clearly greatly enthused by the idea. “You saw some kind of spirit, and you came rushing home because you were scared to stay at the hotel! Well, I can't say I blame you, and I suppose Jobard isn't exactly the type to indulge in such speculation. Still -”
“It's nothing,” I reply, interrupting her. “Please, I'd really rather not talk about it, if that's alright.”
“Of course it's not alright! What did you see?”
I shake my head.
“You're going to tell me eventually, Ellen, so you might as well spit it out now!”
I pause for a moment, and I can't deny that she has a point. Eve always wears me down whenever I have a secret, and this situation is unlikely to be any different.
“I do not believe in ghosts, as a matter of course,” I say finally. “I still don't, not really. But I believe in what I have seen, and I have seen a child at the Lakeforth. A little girl who appears to me, and seemingly only to me. She's most horrid, with rotten flesh and dark eyes, and I can't imagine what she wants. I have seen her several times now, and I know everybody there thinks I am going quite mad. Jobard expects me to return fully rested, and for there to be no more talk of such things, but...”
My voice trails off.
“But you know,” she says cautiously, “that you'll see the girl again, as soon as you return to the hotel?”
“What am I to do?” I ask. “The Lakeforth is my marital home, I am expected to live there and to raise children of my own, yet I cannot even bear to be alone for one minute in any of the rooms. I dread going back, Eve. Truly, I am filled with the most horrendous sense of dread when I think of setting foot once more in that place. What would you do, if you were in my shoes?”
“I believe in ghosts,” she points out. “I always have done. Remember?”
I nod.
“You're right,” she continues. “You do have to go back. But perhaps you can help the ghost, and make it go away.”
“Help it?”
“If it's a lost spirit, it must still be roaming the mortal world because it has some unfinished business. If you help it to complete that business, the spirit will be freed and you'll never see it again. You must simply find out what it wants, and then you must endeavor to satisfy this need. Once you have done that, the spirit will not be seen again. Tell me, do you know anything about this girl?”
“Only that she mentioned her sister,” I reply, grateful to Eve for taking this matter seriously. “A sister named Mary, I believe. I asked Jobard, but he refused to even discuss the matter. Evidently he believes me to be utterly insensible, perhaps even a lunatic.”
“Is her sister alive or dead?”
“I do not know.”
“Clearly she's the key to all of this, Ellen. Somebody at that hotel must know the truth. I'd wager that Jobard knows more than he's letting on. I always thought he was shifty, but I doubt he'll confess all to you now. You'll have to talk to the other people who've been there for a while. Mention this name Mary, mention the little girl and her sister, and perhaps somebody will be able to help you. It's the only way.”
“Perhaps,” I whisper, although I still dread the idea of ever going back to the Lakeforth. At the same time, I know I have no choice.
“Stay a few days,” Eve continues, as Mother returns with the sugar bowl, “and come up with a plan, and then go back to the Lakeforth and execute that plan.”
“What are you two girls nattering on about now?” Mother asks innocently, having clearly not overheard a word of our conversation from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Eve and I say simultaneously, before glancing at one another.
My sister smiles, but I feel a ripple of dread in my chest as I realize that she is right. I should try to have a good time here at home, but it can't last forever. Once the weekend is over, I really will have to go back to the Lakeforth and confront whatever's waiting there. I fear that even if I spend all my time praying on my knees, asking God for mercy, I am doomed to see that face again.
***
“Mrs. Nash?” a voice calls out as I make my way across the busy road. “Mrs. Nash, might I bother you for a word?”
Reaching the road's other side, I turn and see that an elderly gentleman is hurrying after me. I can't even begin to imagine who he is or how he knows my name, but he's waving an envelope at me and he seems quite determined to bother me about something. Honestly, I don't think I've ever been so rudely accosted in all my life. Clearly, despite his respectable appearance, this man is a ruffian.
“I'm dreadfully sorry,” he continues, sounding a little breathless as he reaches me. “I would never ordinarily call after a lady like that in the street, but I've been waiting quite some time to catch you.”
“What do you want?” I ask cautiously. “If it's money -”
“My name is Edward Albraid,” he adds, “and I am an agent for the Desermes family. I don't suppose you're familiar with them at all?”
“I can't say that I am.”
“That's quite alright. My employers were hoping that they might speak to you about a rather delicate matter. I'm afraid it concerns your husband, Mr. Jobard Nash.”
“If you wish to discuss something with my husband,” I reply, “you should take the matter up with him directly. He has a telephone, you know.”
“My employers are not at the stage yet where they wish to speak to him. Instead, they're trying to gain a better understanding of the establishment that he runs. That's why I was sent to speak to you, actually. My employers would very much like to ask you a few discreet questions about the Lakeforth, and in particular about the hotel's current arrangements. If you'd be so kind as to accept a dinner invitation, I -”
“That's out of the question,” I tell him. “I simply cannot go to dinner without my husband, and I'm afraid he's not in town at present. You really shouldn't even suggest such a thing.”
“I'm afraid the situation is quite extreme,” he replies. “Mrs. Nash, the Desermes family has taken an interest in your husband and his hotel for a very specific reason. I'm not at liberty to go into the matter right now, but I hope you'll give my employers the chance to explain in person why they desperately need your help.”
Reaching into his pocket, he takes out an envelope, from which he produces a set of photographs.
“Mr. Albraid,” I say, hoping to extricate myself from the conversation, “I'm not sure why -”
Before I can finish, I spot a familiar face among the images. I step closer, but Mr. Albraid has already shuffled that particular picture under the others, and a moment later he holds up a photograph that depicts the lakeshore near the hotel.
“These photographs were taken a little over a decade ago,” he explains. “By pure chance, some relatives of the Maywhistle family visited a house next to the hotel, and they had a camera with them. The odds are extraordinary, but we're very lucky to have proof that this family existed at all. Have you heard of the Maywhistles, M'am? Does their name mean anything at all to you?”
He flips between different photographs, and I can't help watching in case the familiar face appears again. Sure enough, a moment later, I see the little girl's features.
“Stop!�
� I snap, reaching out and taking the picture from him.
Staring at the photograph, I try to tell myself that there must be some mistake, but the faded image quite clearly shows the same little girl I have encountered on several occasions at the Lakeforth. Turning the photograph over, I see that somebody has handwritten the year 1934, which means the picture is eleven years old.
“Her name was Ruth Maywhistle,” Mr. Albraid explains. “One of two girls, the other being -”
“Mary,” I whisper.
“How do you know? Does Mr. Nash talk about them?”
Thinking back to my first encounter with the girl, back in the basement, I remember how she asked several times about somebody named Mary.
“Where is she?” I ask, trying to affect a tone of calm, detached interest. “I mean, where is this little girl now?”
“Dead, I'm afraid.”
I glance at him.
“We're still piecing together the exact circumstances,” he continues. “Unfortunately, the legal system prevents us from dealing with Mr. Nash directly, at least until we can gather some more information. The police have been of no help whatsoever, and that is why I have taken the extraordinary step of contacting you directly. Mrs. Nash, I know Jobard is your husband, but he has blood on his hands and -”
“No!” I say firmly, shaking my head. “Absolutely not! My husband is a fine man!”
“You don't know the entire -”
“I know my husband!” I tell him, staring at the photograph for a moment longer before handing it back to him. “I shall inform him of your approach, Mr. Albraid, and of the Desermes family and their apparent determination to meddle in his affairs. I cannot imagine how he'll react, but I would strongly advise you to leave the matter alone. My husband is a powerful man with many connections in this country, and he's not above using those connections if he needs to bring pressure to bear on those who would thwart his interests.”
“Are you saying that the names Ruth and Mary Maywhistle mean nothing to you?” he asks.
“Of course they mean nothing to me,” I reply, taking a step back. “I'm sorry I can't help you, but please, let this be the end of your interest.”
With that, I turn and walk away, hurrying along the street and hoping that the gentleman will not come after me. When I reach the next corner, I step out of view and then I lean back against the wall, taking a moment to catch my breath. I can't help thinking about the photograph of the little girl, and there is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that she is the same girl I have seen at the hotel. Perhaps, now that I know her name, I shall be better equipped to rid the hotel of her presence and restore my life to some semblance of normality.
“Maywhistle,” I whisper, feeling a shudder pass through my chest. “Ruth Maywhistle...”
***
“Ellen!” Eve calls out. “Ellen, wait! Before you go, I want you to take this!”
Stopping in the doorway, I turn just as my sister comes clattering down the stairs. She barely manages to stop in time, and then she breathlessly thrusts something into my hands. Looking down, I'm surprised to see a wooden crucifix.
“You should keep this on your person,” she explains. “At all times, when you're in that hotel.”
“Eve...”
“Or do you already have one?”
I open my mouth to tell her that she's being foolish, but somehow I cannot quite get the words out of my mouth. In truth, I am dreading going back to the hotel, and I would very much like to have a little piece of home with me.
“Thank you,” I say finally. “I'm sure it's not necessary, but I shall take it with me regardless.”
“And don't doubt yourself,” she continues earnestly. “Not for one second. If you think you hear something, or that you see something, then you must assume that it's real. Whatever you do, don't let others persuade you that you're wrong. That is the surest path to madness.”
“I shall remember your advice,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “Please try not to worry, Eve. I feel much more prepared for this, now that I have had a few days here in the city. I shall go back to the hotel and ensure that everything runs smoothly.”
She pauses, before leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek.
“God speed,” she tells me, as she takes a step back. “Remember that Jobard Nash is just one man, Ellen. He might like the sound of his own voice, but that doesn't mean he's right about everything. Or about anything at all.”
“I shall write soon,” I reply, before picking up my suitcase and turning to walk away. Right now, on this suburban street, the great Lakeforth hotel feels so very far away. So far, in fact, that it might almost be another world. But I shall wrestle it into submission, and I shall make it part of this world again. And if there are ghosts there, I shall cast them out.
Chapter Twenty
Dear Eve,
Life is much better here now. Since my return a couple of months ago, Jobard has been both more attentive and more caring, and we have spent a great deal of time together. It is my honest opinion that all the disagreeable matters from before have been dealt with, and that everything should be plain sailing from now on.
As for the supposed ghosts, I have seen and heard nothing more, and I feel rather silly. Please, do not tell Mother or Father or anyone else about the things I told you. I see now that I was in the grip of some mania, and I am thankful that I have somehow managed to pull through. The Lakeforth is a beautiful and calm hotel, and I am so lucky to call this place my home. I fully intend to make my life here work.
I have kept the crucifix, however, and it rests close to the bed. Not so close that Jobard might remark upon its presence, but close enough I hope that it might offer some degree of protection. Not that protection is needed, but one can never be too careful, can one? Next time I write, I hope very much to have some good news about our family plans. Although I suppose I should not get too far ahead of myself. One thing at a time, and all that.
Your loving sister,
Ellen
November 30th, 1945
***
I have never seen the Lakeforth so busy.
There must be close to one hundred guests on the patio tonight, all enjoying drinks and music now that dinner is over. The lights of the hotel sparkle against the vast, faraway darkness of the lake and the hills, and everywhere I turn there is plenty of laughter and conversation. In fact, as I take my drink and slip through the crowd, I cannot help but notice that tonight – for the first time since I came to the Lakeforth – the hotel feels genuinely, effortlessly busy.
This is what Jobard was trying to build the whole time.
He succeeded.
And what's more, he's down here tonight to enjoy the experience.
Glancing over my shoulder, it takes a moment before I'm able to spot him. I might have had to coax him from his office, but now my darling husband is mingling with a group of visiting bankers, and he's doing a splendid job of entertaining them with his witty stories. Deep down, I always knew that he would be able to rise to the occasion and emerge from his shell, but it is still heartening to see for myself that he is succeeding. I am so proud of him.
Just inside the doorway, our portrait is hanging on the wall. I remember the fear I felt when that photograph was taken, but I think I actually look rather happy in the picture. I see no fear in my eyes whatsoever.
And as I turn and look around at the rest of the guests, I cannot help reflecting upon the fact that I have been back for around three months now, and I have not seen the little girl once. Perhaps her spirit has finally faded away. In fact, I am sure she is gone. Thank God, that chapter is finally over.
***
“Did you hear that?”
Sitting up suddenly in bed, I stare across the dark bedroom and watch the door. Nothing moves, and there is no sound now to break the silence, although I am certain that some distant noise did wake me. Footsteps, perhaps, outside in the corridor.
Turning, I see that Jobard is fast asleep. For
a moment, I consider stirring him, but I suppose he would only be annoyed. I watch him for a moment longer, before realizing that I absolutely cannot sleep while my heart beats so fast and so hard.
Finally, climbing out of bed, I resolve to go to the kitchenette along the hallway and fetch a glass of water. I shuffle across the room, slipping into my gown along the way, before stopping and looking back to where Eve's crucifix rests near the bed. I hesitate, wondering whether perhaps I can finally dare venture out of the room without any means of defense, but my resolve quickly falters. Stepping back over to the table next to the bed, I take the crucifix and slip it into my pocket before heading to the door.
Once I'm out in the corridor, I pause for a few seconds to listen to the silence. The time must be well after midnight, and the hotel's guests are all safely tucked into their beds. There are almost one hundred people staying at the moment, which makes it difficult to believe that the hotel could be so quiet, but I suppose people do not make much noise when they are sleeping. Barely more than if they were dead.
Although I suppose that's a rather morbid thought.
Heading along the corridor, I quickly reach the kitchenette and pour myself some water. As I drink, I look out the window, watching the patio area where electric lights cast bright pools to ward of the encroaching darkness of the forest. The scene is utterly beautiful and tranquil, enough to calm all my fears, and for several minutes my gaze is drawn to the sight of the lake's surface glittering in the distance. We live in such a beautiful location, for which I am eternally grateful.
A few minutes later, having returned to bed, I set the crucifix back in its spot and settle next to Jobard again. Closing my eyes, I try to think of the lake's calm, beautiful surface, and I find that I am even able to imagine a cool breeze on my face. Sleep does not come, not quite, but I doze peacefully for a short while, thinking of the wonderful natural world all around us. At one point, I hear a very faint scratching sound nearby, but I do not even consider opening my eyes. I am so relaxed at this moment, I honestly feel that nothing could ever upset me.
