by Kate Danley
"You mustn't blame yourself, my dear Daphne," said Rhoda, pulling herself out of her haze to issue her words of sloppy comfort. It seemed to be too much exertion. She leaned her head upon the cushioned armrest of her chair as she continued. "Your husband has always been a great friend to our family and I have no doubt that if that fool brother of mine had not gone and gotten some wild hare about traveling down there himself, everything would have been different. But it was his decision. Not yours and not mine. If I blame anyone, I blame him. Foolish man."
It was not much in the way of comfort, Clara thought, but she could see it was most likely as close to kindness as Rhoda got. Trevor reached out to take her hand, but Rhoda swatted him away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I was just…" Trevor stammered.
"Pour me another, Trevor," she replied, her prickly and icy manner back as she held out her empty glass.
They were saved from more awkward conversation with the door opening. Wesley entered and motioned with his arm. "If you are ready, I believe it is time to begin."
14
They walked into the manor's library. Though there were so many differences, Clara could not help but to think of that terrible séance where Hilda Nero was killed in the darkness just a few weeks earlier. A round table had been pulled into the center of the room and draped with a cloth. A lit candelabrum, a tambourine and toy horn, a plate of food, and a glass of wine sat in the middle. “Food for the spiritual realm,” Wesley explained as he made his way to the farthest chair from the door and invited them in. "I shall sit here. Mrs. O'Hare should sit across from me to channel the spirits I call…"
Clara thought it was very clever of Wesley to figure out a way to make it seem quite logical she should be the one to see and speak to the ghosts.
"…Lady Beltza to my right, Trevor to my left, and Lady Grey in the chair between Mrs. O'Hare and Trevor."
They all took their seats quietly. The sense of heavy, spiritual business was shattered as Lady Beltza looked at the filled glass of wine on the table and called out to her butler, "Bring me a drink, would you?"
Wesley smiled indulgently. "Lady Beltza, I am afraid that we will need to join hands and I cannot allow you to break the circle to partake for fear of placing us all in danger."
Rhoda sighed as if Wesley was asking her a ridiculous indulgence. "Hardly seems necessary, if you ask me."
"Still, I must insist." Wesley gave the butler a nod. "If you would close the door behind yourself, but stay near in case we are in need of your services?"
Mr. Hopper bowed and did exactly as he was told.
"Now, if we would all join hands and if you would close your eyes," instructed Wesley.
Clara took Daphne and Rhoda's hands softly in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Daphne looked at her gratefully before lowering her head.
"Spirits, we call you today. Any that are close, we ask you to make yourself known…"
Wesley's voice droned on. Usually, this would be the point in the séance that the table would jolt, or a tambourine would shimmy. But as he promised, there was no trickery tonight.
Instead, Clara sat patiently, knowing that if a ghost were present, it needed no invitation or seeking.
"I do say," muttered Rhoda, "this evening is turning into a waste." She opened her eyes and looked at Wesley. "Get on with it. I have important questions to ask and my tolerance grows short."
Wesley looked at Clara imploringly. She knew he was looking for some sign that she had made a connection or some sign he should take matters into his own hands.
"Patience, Lady Beltza," Wesley cautioned. "The spirit world only reveals itself to those who are sympathetic."
"I feel I have shown a great deal of patience—"
She was interrupted in her tirade as all four windows in the room flew open and a torrential wind caused the candles to sputter dangerously. Rhoda and Daphne screamed.
"They are here!" announced Wesley with a flourish to his voice.
Not breaking the circle, Rhoda stammered into the wind, "Where is the money, Peter? What did you do with the inheritance?"
"Julie?" whispered Daphne. "Julie, are you there?"
At once, the wind stopped, the candles extinguished, and there was only silence.
"Smashing!" exclaimed Trevor, gleefully.
"Have we offended them?" stammered Daphne. "I did not wish to give offense!"
"Stuff and nonsense! You'd think after death the dead would learn some good manners," harrumphed Rhoda.
"Oh no, my dears," informed Wesley. "They have just arrived…"
The double doors to the room were flung open. Standing there in the doorframe was a young woman, perhaps sixteen-years-old, bathed in eerie moonlight. She wore a white dress. Clara could see the framed pictures of Beltza ancestors straight through her.
Wesley saw where Clara stared and he announced with authority, "There! Do you see the figure? There!"
The glow from a single candle came to life and lit the hall.
"Is that it? Is that Peter?" Lady Beltza exclaimed.
But it was not. Mr. Hopper peered into the room with his light. "Lady Beltza? Is all well?"
"Do not take a step closer!" Clara exclaimed as Mr. Hopper almost walked completely through the ghost of the girl.
"What?" he asked, confused. "I am sorry. I was attempting to light the room so that you would not be in the dark."
Lady Beltza began swearing at him. She picked up the tambourine from the table and hurtled it at his head. "Get out! Did you not hear Mrs. O'Hare, you stupid dolt? Leave! You're ruining everything! Take the entire staff and GET OUT!"
Though his face was bright with suppressed emotion, he backed away calmly, as if such outbursts were a trial he was used to enduring.
"Is the ghost still there?" asked Daphne fearfully as Mr. Hopper's candle and footsteps faded completely.
The girl still stood in the doorway, as if unaware of them. Clara nodded in affirmation but did not speak, afraid to frighten off their visitor.
"What now?" asked Rhoda, going back to the table to grip Wesley's hand again, remembering belatedly that she was not supposed to have broken the circle.
"I believe we should go to it," said Wesley, glancing at Clara for some indication. Sure enough, the ghost turned and looked over her shoulder at them, her invitation clear. Clara nodded again and Wesley replied, "Yes! We must follow the ghost and see where it leads."
Rhoda let go and grabbed the glass of wine from the table. "Good. Let's get this over with."
She stumbled out of the room drink in hand.
Wesley shook his head as the rest of the party rose.
"I do say," said Trevor, clapping him on the back, "this was most exciting. I asked for something thrilling and you have most certainly given us that!"
"I pray you, Trevor," said Wesley, "ghosts can be frightened away by talk. We must be silent and listen to hear what they have to say."
Trevor at once clamped his hands over his mouth, stifling a giggle, but otherwise silent. Once again, Clara was impressed with Wesley's cleverness.
Rhoda stood in the middle of the foyer in disgust, one hand on her hip, the other casually holding the wine glass. "There's no one here," she announced.
But there was. The ghost was steps away from her walking towards the front door.
"But there is!" said Wesley, correcting Rhoda. "Clara? Do you sense anything?"
"Yes," said Clara, "There is a young girl with long black hair dressed in a white gown. Are you Julie?" she asked the ghost.
The girl gave a slow nod.
"Yes," said Clara. "She is nodding her head."
Daphne stifled a sob. And Trevor paled.
"Nonsense. How ridiculous! Anyone could have guessed your daughter had black hair, Daphne. You have black hair! This is nothing but trickery. I want to speak with Peter and I demand he make himself known!" said Rhoda, stomping one foot. The sound echoed through the empty manor.
"This spirit needs to
communicate with us. She has something to say before she can find rest. We must learn what it is," Wesley announced. Clara placed her arm through Wesley's to gently steer him. He took the cue. "Now, shall we follow her?"
The front doors flew open and the ghost was now standing in the center of the lawn.
"There!" said Clara, pointing.
Clara and Wesley ran out after her. Daphne hurried to their side and a strangely frightened Trevor followed behind. Rhoda was left alone in the front hall to weigh her options. She downed the remainder of the wine, left the empty glass in a potted fern, and finally took up the rear.
They stumbled their way through the dark. For Clara, she was guided by the gentle glow of the ghost, but for others, it was pitch black.
"Can we not go back for a light?" asked Rhoda impatiently.
"If you hadn't thrown that tambourine at Mr. Hopper's head, perhaps we would have a candle," noted Trevor.
"Shut your flapping gums, Trevor," Rhoda replied.
"We must not stop," said Wesley as Clara's guidance did not let up. "If we pause, we shall lose the connection. Stay close! We shall not lead you astray!"
The ghost led them through the garden pausing to smell and touch phantom flowers only she could see before dashing off excitedly. Clara got the sense that the ghost was reliving her final moments, her final journey to her end. The girl skipped off down a crunchy gravel path through the woods behind the house. Finally, the path ended at a large, still pond with a mill. The songs of frogs filled the air. It was here that the ghost stopped. Clara held fast to Wesley's arm and he motioned for the others to be still.
"What is it?" asked Rhoda. "Did Peter finally show up?"
"Here," said Clara.
"Not here," whispered Daphne. "Please do not say here…"
"I hate this pond," said Trevor shivering.
"Why did you bring us here?" asked Rhoda. "My son hates it. I always said we should have filled it in after the—"
"After the what?" asked Wesley.
"The accident," said Rhoda. "We do not need to speak of it any more. Really, where is Peter? And if not Peter, rouse my husband Alastair. He's another dead person who would know. Either or! Pick one! I did not bring you out here to drag me through the woods in the middle of the night."
Clara's eyes never left the girl. The ghost was walking around the shore of the pond, searching through the shallows like she perhaps had been exploring for tadpoles. Suddenly, the ghost froze.
"She heard something," Clara said.
Daphne gave out a strangled sob.
The ghost stood up and slowly backed away, shaking her head "no" as her face was filled with fear.
"There is something here which terrified her," Clara continued.
"Oh, Julie! What happened?" asked Daphne, searching the night for her daughter, wanting to give her comfort.
"Oh stop it!" commanded Rhoda, her sharp voice cutting through. "Stop this charade! Really. Just bring Peter or Alastair! Tell this ghost to go away and stop hurting this poor woman."
"She is who appeared," Wesley said.
"I say, why is Mrs. O'Hare doing all the talking, Wesley chap? I thought you were the medium," Trevor said, staring at Clara oddly.
"She and I are channels," Wesley explained. "Some spirits feel more comfortable connecting with the more delicate sex and some with me."
"First ghosts! Now a suffragette appears in our midst! What wonders will happen next!" Trevor giggled before letting out a massive belch. He pounded on his chest with his fist. "Better out than in!"
Clara held up her hand, cutting him off. Julie was reliving the moments before her death, reenacting those final minutes for Clara to witness. "Something went terribly wrong."
"Ooh! Something wrong? We have ourselves a mystery!" Trevor drunkenly whispered.
The ghost was picked up and thrown silently deeper into the pond. She stood and was knocked aside again. She tried to stand once more. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. And then she went under, gasping and thrashing. She went beneath the surface and did not come up again.
"What? What went terribly wrong?" asked Daphne desperately.
Clara was not sure how to tell her. She swallowed. "She did not turn her hand against herself, Lady Grey. Your daughter was murdered."
15
"NO!" Daphne began to cry. She fell to her knees, her heart broken in two. Wesley rushed to her side as Trevor scanned the pond, trying to see what Clara had described.
"Please, allow me to help you to your feet…" Wesley murmured.
Daphne clung to him, allowing her to help her stand.
"Is she still here?" Trevor asked. "Is she here?"
"That is all there is tonight," Wesley said to everyone.
"Murder? In our mill pond?" said Rhoda aghast. "I should sue you for slander!"
It felt like Rhoda had struck Clara sharp across the cheek. "I assure you…" she began.
But Rhoda cut her off. "Really, all I wanted was to find out where my dead brother hid the family fortune and you're sitting here destroying Lady Grey. Do you see what you've done to this woman? Telling her that her daughter was killed here? On the property of one of her dearest friends? Have you no shame!"
Daphne sobbed again.
"Really, Daphne, you're a fool to fall for such shenanigans," said Rhoda, looking down her nose at the grief-stricken woman. "I highly doubt these two saw anything other than the opportunity to bilk a grieving mother and drive a wedge between two friends. They have made fools of us all!"
Trevor came over, holding his hand out to Wesley. "I thought it was a smashing show!"
Wesley looked at him and in all earnestness, in the first time in his career, he said, "It was not a show."
"You know what I mean!" said Trevor. "You had me completely believing you!"
Daphne swooned, leaning heavily upon Wesley. He grunted as he caught her weight.
"I am fine!" she insisted, her legs buckling. "I am fine… just leave me here…"
"We are not about to leave a woman in your condition alone," said Wesley. "Come along now. Let us get you into bed where you can rest."
"Yes, we shall see what this all looks like in the harsh light of day," said Rhoda, eyeing Clara suspiciously. "And we would rest a whole lot better if you didn't make me dismiss Mr. Hopper and my entire household staff!" spat Rhoda venomously. "Very convenient that you would arrange things so that we are all alone."
"I arranged nothing," promised Clara. "I only told you what I saw."
"Well, I hope you plan on seeing nothing more than the inside of your room tonight, for if I find any of my silver or jewelry missing, I shall know who to arrest!" she said in a drunken rage.
"I am not guilty of the sins you accuse me!" insisted Clara.
Wesley took the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "Let us return to our rooms. Poor Lady Grey is quite in need of a place to rest." He shifted her in his arms.
"Oh… fine," slurred Rhoda, waving her arms widely to the group. "Follow me back. This has been quite the misadventure. I shall not be making this mistake again."
This time, it was Trevor and Rhoda who took the lead, with Wesley and Daphne following, and Clara behind. But as the house came into view, Clara saw a faint blue light radiating from one of the farthest windows. Julie was not quite done with what she had to say.
16
Clara sat awake in bed long after the rest of the manor house had gone to sleep. The room itself was lovely. The ceilings were tall enough to almost fit her entire home, the bed was soft, the crisp sheets warm. She would have been happy to drift off and forget such a horrible day, but sleep was not to be her welcome companion. Tonight, she knew in her soul it was imperative she remain awake.
As the clock in the hall struck twelve, the temperature of the room dipped dangerously. Clara's teeth began to shiver and she wiped her nose as it ran. She jumped out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. In the corner of the room, a familiar glow began to appear. As the ghost mater
ialized, Clara could see it was a girl.
"Are you Daphne's daughter?" she asked. "Julie?"
With the sound of her name, the girl took a more solid form. She nodded, and then beckoned Clara to follow her. Clara knew she did not have a choice. She silently padded after the young girl hoping that no one would step outside their room and discover her.
Clara realized that the ghost was taking her on the exact same journey that they had made just a few nights before, through the manor into the closed wing. She half expected the ghost to take her up to the attic where they had discovered the key, but the ghost continued on.
The rooms were pitch-dark and her way was illuminated only by the glow of the ghost. Clara hoped that her evening messenger would not suddenly disappear. Clara would find herself quite stranded and lost. Still, Julie wound on, Clara gently opening and closing the doors to each room, praying she would not wake anyone.
Finally, the ghost stopped. Clara walked over to the window to open the drawn shades in the hopes that at least some moonlight might provide some light. It was a young lady's bedroom, seemingly kept in the exact state of abandonment. Items were carelessly strewn. The bed remained unmade. Was this the room that Violet lived in when she and Hilda lived at the manor? Or did it belong to Julie?
"Was this your room?" Clara asked.
The ghost nodded.
"Why did you two stay here?" Clara mused. "A happily married wife and her daughter in a place like this with such an awful family." Clara picked up a book beside the bed and flipped through the pages. "Your mother said you kept insisting you were not frightened. Was there something here that you should have been frightened of?"
The room became even colder. Clara put down the book and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from the sudden chill. "When I said that, it made you angry, didn't it?" she asked. "You were frightened of something, Julie. I hear you. Were you frightened of something… or someone?" The trees outside the window began to sway dangerously, as if a storm was brewing. The book Clara put down upon the table fell to the ground. The sheets upon the bed tore back. "I am here to help you," reminded Clara, ducking as a pillow went flying past her shoulder.
