by Janni Nell
“We had a few things in common,” said Casper cagily.
“Like?”
“Sorry,” said Casper. “I can’t tell you. That would be giving the kind of help I’m not allowed to give.”
“Are you making this up as you go along?” First he couldn’t help me, then he could. “Let me get this straight. You can help me in some ways but not others?”
“That’s right. The rules governing guardian angels are very specific.”
“Can I see those rules?”
“Not unless you become a guardian angel.”
“I’d have to die to do that, right?”
Casper nodded.
“I think I’ll pass.” But I wasn’t going to let him get off that easily. “Can you tell me, specifically, in what ways you can and can’t help me?”
He thought for a moment. “Obviously I can protect you. I can also assist in providing an opportunity for you to obtain information.”
“Like creating this storm?” I put in.
“Exactly, but I can’t actually give you any information that would help you solve this case.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not allowed.”
“So you say. But why isn’t it allowed?”
He shrugged. “I never asked.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Look,” he said gently, “when I first died, the Powers-That-Be told me I couldn’t enter Heaven. I thought I’d be damned to some kind of ghostly half-life, but I was given a chance to redeem myself. I never questioned the rules. I was just happy to be given a second chance.” He sighed. “I didn’t think it would take this long to redeem myself, but I guess I did some pretty bad things when I was alive. Most warriors are guilty of that. You think differently in the heat of battle.”
I had never seen Casper so pensive. Clearly he regretted what he’d done. If that was any indication of how soon he’d enter Heaven, he might be on his way sooner rather than later. I was surprised at how sad that made me. When Casper was around, life was like that glorious moment in The Wizard of Oz when everything changes from black and white to color. Without Casper my world would revert to black and white.
I wanted to hug him and never let go.
Sir Alastair’s reappearance prevented me from doing anything so stupid.
He announced grandly, “Francois has made a casserole. There will be plenty of food for everyone.”
That chef was a champ. No doubt about it.
But Sir Alastair’s tone told me quite clearly that both he and Francois considered this a shocking inconvenience. I hoped Francois wouldn’t do anything unspeakable to our food.
“Dinner will be served in one hour,” said Sir Alastair. He offered us sherry.
It tasted great and I had to make a concerted effort not to drink too quickly. I couldn’t afford to get drunk before I questioned Lady Justina. And I couldn’t question her until I had ensured she would be joining us for dinner. With that in mind I turned to Sir Alastair.
“I assume your wife has recovered from her earlier illness.”
Sir Alastair seemed surprised. “Why would you make such an assumption?”
“When I went to the bathroom, I saw her outside. She appeared to be returning from a walk in the wood. Naturally I assumed she’d recovered.”
“Ah. More sherry?” He didn’t care whether we wanted more sherry. He was giving himself time to think. I could almost see the cogs of his mind turning. Should he claim I had been mistaken and that Lady Justina had been in bed all afternoon? Or should he admit that she was now well and would be joining us for dinner?
“How did you know the woman you saw was my wife?” he asked. “Have you met her?”
I had no trouble admitting I had met her in the wood. That eliminated one of Sir Alastair’s options. He could no longer claim I had mistaken the identity of the woman I had seen from the bathroom window.
He said smoothly, “Ms. Fairweather, you have correctly assumed that my wife has recovered. She will be joining us for dinner.”
I sipped my sherry and tried not to look smug. Then I asked, as though I was just making conversation, “How did you meet Lady Justina? The rumor in the village is that it was a whirlwind courtship.”
“True enough. I was in Edinburgh on business. There was a little shop—it was closing down. I bought some things…”
“Little shops are always being put out of business by the big chains,” I said. “What kind of shop was it?”
“What kind of shop?”
“Yes. I only ask because my uncle owned a general store and a supermarket opened down the road and… You can guess the rest. Did Lady Justina work in a general store?”
“Oh no,” he said quickly. “She worked in a book shop—educational books.”
Apparently a general store was too down market for Sir Alastair’s patronage. I’d have been insulted on my uncle’s behalf if he’d really owned a general store, but I’d been lying about that. I didn’t like lying but sometimes it was necessary to get the information I needed.
“So, Sir Alastair,” I prompted, “you bought some books and…”
“And I saw the beautiful Justina. I invited her to dinner and miraculously she accepted. We were married three months later.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yes.” He didn’t seem bothered by my veiled hint that the luck was all on his side. “I’m very lucky.”
Then he excused himself, ostensibly to answer the call of nature. He was gone a long time.
He eventually returned at the same time as Phillips, who announced that dinner was served. Sir Alastair offered me his arm as we walked to the dining room. It was like something out of one of those BBC costume dramas.
To my surprise Lady Justina was waiting for us in the dining room.
Sir Alastair introduced her to Casper. Then, turning to me, he said, “I believe you’ve already met Justina.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. Why didn’t she want him to know we had met?
Quickly I said, “It wasn’t exactly a meeting. I was taking a walk in the wood and so was Lady Justina. We said hi, that’s all.”
She seemed relieved.
I extended my hand to her. “I’m pleased to meet you properly.”
“I am pleased to meet you,” she replied in her odd hoarse voice.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I said.
She seemed surprised by my question. Nervously she glanced at Sir Alastair. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
“I am feeling better,” she said. She smiled, too, but her hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.
It didn’t take a genius to see that Sir Alastair had some kind of hold over her. She hardly dared move without glancing at him for approval.
Seeing them side by side emphasized the forty year difference in their ages. Once again I asked myself what would make a beautiful young woman marry such a man. Money was the obvious answer, but Lady Justina exhibited none of the extravagant tastes of a gold-digger.
She was simply dressed in a long black gown and wore no jewelry other than her wedding ring. For a moment I was tempted to believe she had married Sir Alastair for love. Then I remembered how she had looked at him. It was the way a prisoner looks at her jailor.
“Shall we sit down,” said Sir Alastair, taking his place at the head of the long elegant table.
Lady Justina sat at the other end while Casper and I sat opposite one another about halfway down. If the four of us were going to have any meaningful conversation we would have to speak up. This could work in my favor. If I turned to Lady Justina and spoke quietly there was a good chance Sir Alastair wouldn’t be able to hear what I said. Yes!
As Phillips served beef consommé from a tureen, Sir Alastair said, “I believe, Ms. Fairweather, that your stepfather is a senator.”
How had he found that out? I hadn’t taken my stepfather’s name and Mom liked to keep my relationship to both of them a secret. She didn’t
think having a paranormal investigator as a stepchild would help The Senator’s career.
Sir Alastair was smiling. He had scored a bull’s eye and he knew it. He also couldn’t wait to tell me how he had found out.
“I had you investigated,” he said. “As soon as you arrived in Furness. I like to know what’s going on in the village.”
I might have been nervous if I’d had anything to hide but, with the exception of my friendship with Casper, my personal life was so boring it was hardly worth a mention.
Pretending I didn’t care that Sir Alastair had found out about my relationship to The Senator, I said, “Your investigator did a good job. Sadly, my profession is an embarrassment to my stepfather, but I guess you already know that.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed about your profession,” he began.
“I’m not,” I snapped. Bugger. He’d got under my skin but I couldn’t stop now. “It’s The Senator who is embarrassed. I’m very proud of my ability to solve paranormal mysteries.”
“You should be. You have a 99.5% success rate.”
So he’d heard about the one case I’d failed to solve. Damn that White Lady of Willingthorpe.
“I do my best,” I said, as calmly as possible, “but it isn’t always enough.”
He smiled indulgently, as though he was addressing a school kid. “I imagine most professionals wish they could claim a 99.5% success rate. You’re doing very well, Allegra.”
Usually I don’t mind people using my first name—who does these days?—but the way he said it made my skin crawl. My hand itched to smack the smug expression off his face. With an effort I kept it anchored to my soup spoon.
I took a mouthful of consommé. I was tempted to spit it at him but good sense prevailed and I swallowed. The delicious taste put me in a better frame of mind.
While I was eating, I tried to work out the best way to begin a conversation with Lady Justina. Remembering my heavy-handed attempt at gaining information in the wood, I turned to her and apologized.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I said softly, hoping Sir Alastair couldn’t hear us.
“It does not matter.”
“I’d like to explain why—”
“It does not matter.” She was doing her best to end our conversation before it had even begun.
I tried a different tack.
“You have the most beautiful hair. How do you get it so shiny?”
She smiled. What woman doesn’t like a compliment on her appearance? She ran a hand over the thick black tresses. “Thank you.”
Sir Alastair interrupted us. “What are you talking about?”
“I was admiring your wife’s hair,” I replied.
To my surprise he got to his feet, moving around the table to position himself behind her chair. He gathered her hair in his hands and let the stands slide sensuously through his fingers.
“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
He stroked her long neck. Then he bent and planted a kiss on her pale skin. It was obscene. Not because of the eroticism implicit in his every move but because Lady Justina was so clearly uncomfortable. Once again I thought of a jailor and his prisoner.
Casper said, “Sir Alastair, do you fish?”
My wonderful guardian angel had fastened on the one subject designed to fully engage Sir Alastair’s attention. Our host beamed. Forgetting about his wife, he returned to his chair and began an in-depth discussion of rods and bait and…
I took advantage of the opportunity to turn to Lady Justina.
I wanted to ask her immediately what hold Sir Alastair had over her but I knew she’d clam up. I had to go carefully. She wouldn’t let anything slip unless she trusted me.
“You and Sir Alastair seem very happy,” I began. More lies. I told myself it was for the greater good. With luck I might be able to help Lady Justina escape from her husband.
Right now, though, she was staring at me as though I was deranged. I guess it had something to do with my comment about them being happily married.
Ignoring her horrified expression, I asked, “How did the two of you meet?”
“We met in Edinburgh,” she said. “I worked in a shop.”
“What kind of shop?”
“A book shop. Sir Alastair bought some books. He took me out to dinner. We got on well and—and—three months later we got married.”
Her story matched Sir Alastair’s exactly. Almost too exactly.
“You’re very brave,” I said to her.
“Brave?”
“To marry someone you’ve only known for three months.”
“It seemed right,” she said.
“I guess it was if you’re happy.”
“Happy. Yes.” She was the saddest woman I’d ever seen.
“If you need help,” I said, lowering my voice, “I’ll do what I can.”
“Why would I need help?” she asked.
“If you wanted a divorce.”
“A divorce? How would that help?”
“You’d be free of him.”
“I will never be free.”
“If you’re frightened of him, there are things you can do. Laws to protect you.”
“It is not that simple,” she said. “Please do not speak of this again.”
“Why not?”
“It is dangerous.”
I wanted to press her for more information but she abruptly cut off our conversation by joining the discussion on fishing.
Casper glanced at me. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking whether I had gotten what I needed. I gave a little shake of my head. All I had was what I’d had before—a strong suspicion that Lady Justina was living with Sir Alastair against her will.
I wondered whether she was a battered wife. Covertly I studied her exposed skin for bruises. None were visible but even if I was wrong about that, there was something very odd about Lady Justina.
I remembered McEwen’s story about her dancing naked in the wood. I had seen her in the wood myself. She hadn’t been naked but she had been dancing and chanting. Maybe McEwen had been right about her casting spells. Frankly, if she were casting spells to harm Sir Alastair, I’d dance around the wood with her. Naked.
Phillips removed our soup bowls and brought a casserole dish to the table.
“I hope you like coq au vin,” said Sir Alastair.
It was predictably delicious. Francois was a gem.
I was savoring the last few mouthfuls when I noticed Lady Justina had hardly touched her food. Sir Alastair noticed too.
“You’re not eating, my dear.”
“I am sorry I…” She began to cut her food. Her hands were shaking. She put a piece of chicken into her mouth.
“That’s a good girl,” said Sir Alastair apparently unaware that his wife was virtually gagging on the chicken.
It was all I could do not to smash the casserole dish over his head. I told myself that would achieve nothing. It might even ensure a beating for Lady Justina.
Somehow we got through the rest of the meal but it would take more than Francois’s excellent chocolate mousse to remove the bad taste Sir Alastair’s behavior had left in my mouth.
After dinner we returned to the drawing room for more tea. I had hoped Sir Alastair would honor the old-fashioned custom of sending the women to drink tea while the men stayed in the dining room drinking port. I should have known he would avoid leaving me alone with his wife.
Lady Justina sipped her tea in silence. She kept her eyes downcast as though she feared that sharing a glance with me would anger her husband.
He kept up a steady conversation with us, discussing Germany with Casper, who was very naughty and hinted he was related to some big shot German aristocrat, and US politics with me. Sir Alastair assumed, incorrectly, that because of my relationship to The Senator I was interested in such things. I let him think so and made the appropriate noises, but my mind was elsewhere.
Outside, the storm was still raging. As the hands of the cl
ock moved toward eleven, I hoped Sir Alastair would offer us a bed for the night.
Casper seemed to catch my thoughts.
He said to our host, “We’re very grateful for your hospitality, Sir Alastair, but it’s getting late. We should be going. I wonder whether the storm has stopped. Shall we go outside and take a look?”
Sir Alastair was so relieved at the prospect of getting rid of us, he accompanied Casper to the front door, leaving me alone with Lady Justina.
There was no time for subtlety. I asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?” No answer. “Anything I can do to help you?” No answer. “You don’t have to live like this.”
Lady Justina raised her eyes. “Thank you for your concern, but there is nothing…”
“There must be something.”
She shook her head. Tears beaded her lashes. She wiped them away and stared with a kind of wonder at the dampness on her hand.
“Tears,” she murmured. Then, as though suddenly remembering I was in the room, she got to her feet. Turning her back on me she walked to the window. She pulled aside the drapes and stared outside.
I was wasting time. This was a perfect opportunity to talk to her and I was blowing it. Noticing a book lying nearby, I asked, “Who is your favorite author?” You can learn a lot from a person’s reading preference.
“I like so many authors,” she said. It was a predictable answer from someone who had worked in a bookshop, but I sensed she was avoiding the question.
I tried a different angle. There were some magazines on a table—perhaps left to entertain guests while they waited for Sir Alastair. I picked up a copy of Vogue.
“Do you like reading magazines? Is this one of your favorites?”
She ran her finger underneath the bold letters on the cover.
“Magazine,” she said, like a child learning to read.
“Yes,” I said, testing the theory that had just popped into my mind. “It’s a magazine called Hello.”
“Hello,” she repeated. “Yes, I like reading Hello.”
A child with a basic knowledge of the alphabet would know that Vogue started with a V and Hello with an H.
Apparently Lady Justina couldn’t read. Yet she had worked in a bookshop. Hmm. I toyed with the possibility that, as a foreigner, she could read her own language but not English. It still didn’t make sense. How could she work in an English bookshop if she couldn’t read English?
