by Amy Cross
“Mary Maywhistle isn't dead.”
I open my mouth to reply, although the words catch in my throat.
“That made you take notice, huh?” he continues, with a sickening grin. “I know you wanted her dead, but that little girl was made of stronger stuff. She literally dragged her burned, battered body from the spot in the forest where she was dumped, and she made her way to the road.”
“I...”
Hesitating, I feel certain that this is part of some trick.
“For the past ten years,” he explains, “she's been receiving care at a home in London. She was taken in by my father, who happened to be the one who found her. Mary can barely speak, but she told us enough and we quickly realized where she'd come from. The police might not have been much use, but that doesn't mean we're going to let you get away with what you did. As soon as we've gathered a little more evidence, the Desermes family will ensure that -”
“What evidence?” I spit. “The words of a ghost?”
“You're scared,” he replies, as his smile grows. “I can see it in your eyes, man. You're almost panicked!”
“Rot!”
“So you're not bothered by the fact that Mary is alive?”
“I don't even believe you,” I mutter. “You're a gullible fool, and you think others are gullible too. I don't know your true purpose in coming here, but -”
“Justice!” he shouts, stepping closer. “Justice for Mary Maywhistle, and justice for her dead sister Ruth!”
“There's no such thing as justice,” I tell him. “Justice is whatever rich men, powerful men, wish it to be. And I assure you, there is nobody in this land who cares one jot about two scrappy little girls who died a decade ago.”
“Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel any better. But Mary is alive. She's in London, and one day she'll be well enough to tell us more. One day, Jobard Nash, you will pay for every foul deed that you've committed, and for every deed that you've commissioned from others, and the world will know that you are a monster!”
Hesitating, I cannot help but find his righteous indignation rather amusing. A faint smile crosses my lips, and I rather think this young gentleman is on the verge of losing his temper entirely and striking me. I wait a moment longer, hoping that he will make a move, so that I can have him carted off by the police, but unfortunately he is just about able to hold his resolve. And the more he does so, the more I feel my own weakening.
He's lying.
He has to be.
Mary Maywhistle has been dead these past fifteen years. Of that, I am certain.
“Come on,” he says finally to the others, “we're done here. We'll never make contact with Ruth while this monster is in the building. We'll come back and speak to her once he's rotting in a jail cell somewhere.”
“I hardly think that is going to happen,” I mutter, as the four of them make their way past me and head out of the dining room. “You would require far more evidence that the witterings of a dead young girl, made during a seance.” Turning, I watch as they head across the lobby. “You will leave my business alone!” I call after them. “Do you hear me? I will not tolerate this interference in the running of my hotel!”
They have the temerity to go up the stairs without even turning to acknowledge me, but I am quite certain that they heard every word. My initial instinct is to go after them, but instead I turn and look over at the table next to the window. The fools have left their childish board behind, and I wander over, so that I might inspect the damnable thing a little more clearly.
There are letters on the board, as well as a small wooden block with some form of lens at its center.
“Is this it?” I mutter, finding their efforts to be rather pitiful. “Is this how one attempts to contact a spirit?”
Picking the board up, I examine it for a moment longer, before taking holds of the side and breaking the childish toy against my knee.
“There,” I continue, “let us see how -”
Suddenly feeling something brush against my elbow, I turn and see that there is nobody behind me. My heart is racing, however, and I am quite certain that some force briefly moved against me. Perhaps in their foolishness, the four idiots nevertheless managed to stumble upon something real. If the ghost of Ruth Maywhistle is at the hotel, then perhaps my former wife's rambling claims five years ago were rooted in truth after all. In the circumstances, I might have been a little hasty in having her hauled off to an asylum, and -
No.
No, I am not that weak.
I refuse to let a few cheap parlor tricks rob me of my sense.
I know two things, among many others, to be true. One is that Mary Maywhistle is long dead. And the other is that what I saw tonight was not the ghost of her sister Ruth. At most, I saw a stir of vapors, some concoction or trick. I shall not allow myself to be tricked.
And there is one very easy way to make certain that Mary is, indeed, long dead.
***
“I am sorry,” Silas says quietly, bowing his head in shame. “I have carried out every order you have ever given me, except... I could not bring myself to kill Mary Maywhistle.”
“Yet you had no trouble disposing of Ruth's body?” I ask, struggling to understand how this strong, dependable employee can suddenly appear so weak. I should strike him for his foolishness.
“She was already dead,” he replies. “It was different, dropping her corpse into the lake. But Mary was still just about alive. I did everything else you wanted. I took her out into the forest, I even held a rock in my hand, ready to crush her skull, but I just couldn't do it. I thought if I left her there, she'd die of exposure. I just couldn't murder a child.”
“So you left her to freeze?”
He nods.
“And somehow,” I continue, “that seemed less cruel to you? Even though it would doubtless have taken so much longer for her to perish?”
“I just couldn't do it. I tried. She was sobbing and begging me to end her pain, but I failed.”
Pausing for a moment, I realize that I can no longer deny the truth that has been presented so plainly to me. I might not believe in ghostly young girl, but live ones are another matter.
“And now that Mary Maywhistle has turned up alive in London,” I tell him, “do you have any idea how gravely you have let me down?”
“Am I to be dismissed?”
Staring at him for a moment, I know in my heart that I cannot possibly trust him ever again. At the same time, I am not entirely certain that I would feel comfortable cutting him loose. He is still a useful man, and it would be foolish to dispense with his services entirely.
“I must ready myself for a journey,” I tell him finally. “In the meantime, those four idiots are going to check out of the hotel very soon. There is one thing you can do for me, Silas, that will demonstrate that I might still rely upon your services.”
“I'll do anything,” he replies, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “Well, except...”
“Except kill a child,” I continue, rolling my eyes. “Yes, I understand now that you have this unfortunate limitation. Fortunately Robert Desermes, his brother, and their wives might be childish and immature, but they are most certainly not children. So I doubt you'll have the same problem again.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Have you been to the palace, dear boy?” Sir Edward asks, peering at me once again through his monocle as we sit at dinner the following evening.
“Which palace would that be?” I reply, trying to affect a casual air. “I have walked past Kensington Palace several times, during my trips to London.”
“Kensington?” His monocle falls out, as if he's genuinely shocked, and he takes a moment to put it back in place. “I mean Buckingham Palace, of course. When were you last there?”
“Well, I...”
My voice trails off as I realize that most likely the game is already up. Sir Edward Barringham, like all the rest of London high society, was born with a silver spoon
in his mouth. To him, a visit to Buckingham Palace is nothing, whereas to me such an honor remains out of reach. Perhaps I shall never persuade him, or any of his moneyed friends, to accept me as one of their own. The stench of my meager upbringing will always linger.
“Never mind,” he mutters, taking a sip of wine. “You're doing alright for yourself out here in the provinces. Not everybody is cut out for London.”
“Well, I -”
Before I can finish, I hear the most dreadful noise coming from the lobby, as if somebody is yelling in a most uncouth manner. I turn to Sir Edward and see that he, too, has noticed the commotion.
“You must excuse me a moment,” I say, as I get to my feet. “I'm sure it's nothing. I shall be right back.”
***
“What are they still doing here?” I snap, standing in the lobby and watching as Robert Desermes leads his reprehensible relatives through to the library. “I expected them to be gone by now!”
“I didn't realize they were going to come back like this,” Silas explains. “I'm sorry, I tried to make them leave, but they threatened to call the police and I wasn't sure if that was a good idea. I decided that maybe I should wait until you returned.”
Hearing raised voices in the distance, I'm shocked to see two other guests quickly hurrying out of the library and making for the stairs. It's as if wild, common beasts have been let loose in my fabulous hotel.
“We've had rather a lot of early departures,” Silas continues. “I'm afraid Mr. Desermes and his associates have been upsetting the guests with all their talk of ghosts and spectral figures. The whole thing seems almost contagious. Already, we've had eight further reports of a little girl being spotted in the corridors and rooms upstairs. Sometimes, she's even been seen in two places at once. I don't know much about this sort of thing, but I'm starting to think that people are rather easily influenced.”
“Easily influenced?” I sneer, feeling a rising sense of fury as I realize that these fools seem determined to destroy my hotel. “They're idiots, through and through! There's no other word to describe it!”
A moment later, a man and a woman come rushing down the stairs, carrying suitcases to the reception desk.
“We're checking out!” the man stammers, tossing his key to the woman on the desk's other side. “We can't stay one more night in this wretched place!”
“And why is that?” I ask, stepping toward them.
“My wife saw a ghost in our room!” he explains, almost tripping over his own tongue as he struggles to get the words out. “A horrible little girl!”
“And what did this little girl look like?”
“I didn't see her face,” the woman sobs. “She had a sheet over her head, just like the ghosts you see in storybooks!”
“No doubt,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “And tell me, did you witness this sight shortly after you heard some of the other guests discussing such things?”
“Well, I...” She hesitates, as if she's reluctant to even consider the possibility that she was influenced by such talk. “There was a discussion, yes. I overheard it in the dining room. I didn't feel up to much straight after, so I went to bed for a rest, and that's when I saw that... thing!”
“You saw no ghost,” I continue. “Like most of the other fools here, you simply allowed your imagination to run riot and now you're running away like a frightened child! Well, good riddance!”
“That's no way to speak to my wife!” the man protests.
“I'll speak to her however I wish!” I say firmly. “This is my hotel, and if your wife chooses to play the fool here, I will most certainly let her know what I think! And right now, she is acting like some kind of lunatic!”
“I've never been so insulted in all my life!” he replies. “And neither has my wife!”
“Get out of my hotel!” I snap, grabbing their suitcases and carrying them to the door myself. These fools aren't worthy of staying at the Lakeforth, and I am most certainly not going to tolerate their presence here. Tossing their bags down the steps, I turn and see the man and woman staring at me with shocked expressions. “If you act like idiots,” I continue, “you must expect to be treated like idiots! Please, consider yourselves barred, and do not ever sully my establishment with your petty presence again. And since idiocy loves company, I'm sure all your friends, family and acquaintances back home are fools too, so kindly inform them that they are not welcome either!”
As the morons grumble about my supposed rudeness and head outside, I make my way back through the door and stop as I see that another couple has arrived to check out.
“Is this all the work of those four Desermes idiots?” I mutter darkly.
“I believe so,” Silas replies. “As I said, they've really been upsetting the other guests. They keep trying to contact the dead, and I'm afraid their efforts have rather eroded the hotel's atmosphere. They've divided into distinct groups, each of them attempting to get in touch with Ruth from a different room. I'm sorry, I know you wanted me to get rid of them, but they haven't made it easy.”
“Deal with the other three,” I reply, as I spot Robert Desermes hurrying up the stairs again. “I'll speak to the ringleader myself.”
At that moment, I spot Sir Edward at the door to the dining room, watching the scene with an expression of utter bemusement.
“Nothing to worry about,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “Please, return to the table and enjoy your dessert.”
***
“Ruth, can you hear me? Ruth, I know you're scared, but I'm going to have to ask you to be very brave. Can you do that for me, Ruth? We need -”
Robert turns suddenly, evidently having heard me reach the doorway. As soon as we make eye contract, I see his resolve strengthen, and it's obvious that the mere sight of me is enough to drive pure disgust through his body. I remain calm, of course, but deep down the feeling is entirely mutual.
“She won't come while you're here,” he tells me. “She's terrified of you.”
“I can't imagine why.”
“She's told us about you, you know,” he continues, as I step into the library. “As soon as you left yesterday, we began to have better luck contacting her. She's already talked to us about the things you did. About how you burned her family's home to the ground so you could take their land. About how you had Mary dumped in the basement for a few days. About how you care nothing for the sanctity of human life. About how you couldn't even find it in your heart to give her a decent Christian burial.”
“I find it rather interesting,” I reply, “that this supposed ghost apparently doesn't even know where her own body has been laid to rest.”
“That's one of the things we're going to do for her,” he sneers. “We're going to help her, so she can have a little peace.”
“She's in the lake,” I continue. “Honestly, little Ruth's ghost sounds awfully confused if she can't keep these facts straight in her head.”
“She didn't even realize she was dead,” he tells me. “At first, she insisted she was alive, that she was searching for the ghost of her dead sister. We had to tell her over and over again, we had to make her understand that Mary had escaped, that she's alive and in London as we speak.”
“And where in London might she be?”
“As if I'd tell you that!”
“You're testing my patience, Mr. Desermes. That is not a very wise move.”
“Ruth understands now,” he continues. “She knows that she's dead. The newly departed sometimes struggle with this realization. They can't, or they won't, accept that their lives are over, but Ruth is past that stage now. And she's angry, Mr. Nash. She's furious. She wants us to recover her body and give her a proper funeral, and she wants her sister Mary to visit her grave. Then, maybe, she can find the peace you would so cruelly deny her.”
At this, I can't help laughing. The poor man is so utterly deluded, it's difficult to believe that he doesn't deserve a place in one of the country's growing number of asylums.
“Lau
gh all you want,” he continues, stepping past me and heading out of the room. “It won't change anything. Ruth even told us about the night she was with your wife on the jetty. She told us things that nobody else could possibly know. She reached through to us from the world beyond death, and she helped us to understand what kind of monster we're dealing with.”
“My wife was a weak and feeble woman,” I reply, turning to him.
“But she saw Ruth that night, Mr. Nash. She saw her as clearly as you and I see one another now. Once we obtain some more information from Ruth's ghost, we should have enough to uncover all your dirty little secrets. And then we can ensure that your pathetic little empire comes crashing to the ground.”
I watch as he walks away, and I can't help feeling that this awful man deserves a taste of his own medicine. At the same time, it's clear that he won't be happy until the Lakeforth has been completely ruined, which means I must deal with him as quickly as possible.
With that thought in mind, I set off after him. He's heading toward the library's exit, and then he'll be in the corridor that leads to the lobby. I cannot let him get that far, not with Sir Edward still somewhere nearby, so I hurry up behind him and take the knife from my belt.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I gave the workmen some time off,” Silas explains breathlessly as he drags another of the large bags over to the hole that has been dug at the patio's edge. “They didn't complain too much.”
Clearly struggling a little with all the effort, he hauls the bag past me and throws it down into the still-wet cement that has been laid at the bottom of the hole. I am finally having a proper swimming pool built, one that I feel certain will draw even more guests from far and wide, and work can begin properly tomorrow once the concrete foundation is set properly. Staring down now into the hole, I cannot help but marvel at the four large bags that Silas has tossed down into the cement, and I rather like the idea that the pool will be built directly on top of them.
