Someone to Love (18 page)

As soon as he was gone, the room seemed huge and very dark and very empty. If Jace was gone and Mrs. Fenney was in the opposite side of the house and there were no other guests, she was alone. It took some strength on her part to get out of the bed. Her legs were wobbly and weak, but she managed to go to the bathroom, then to turn on every light she could find. She didn’t want to be in the dark.

She ate half a chicken sandwich, drank a bottle of water, took a quick bath, and changed into her new nightgown. Mrs. Fenney didn’t show up with the pot of tea and that made Nigh worry that the woman was as afraid as she was.

It was still early when Nigh got back into bed. She felt as tired as if she’d climbed a mountain. She wanted to go to Jace’s room to see if he’d returned, but she didn’t think she had the strength.

She got into bed, all the lights still on, and images came to her. Talking to a man who’d died over a hundred years ago. “What did he want?” kept going ’round and ’round in her head. Over and over. What
do
they want? By “they” she meant Ann and Danny and Jace. What did Jace want? To say good-bye to the person he’d loved so much? To talk to her—and Nigh was sure it was a “her”—one last time?

It was difficult for her to fall asleep with all the thoughts in her mind and with all the lights on. She saw headlights through the curtains and her heart jumped into her throat. The bright lights moving across the room seemed ghostly, eerie. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

She didn’t know what time it was when she awoke, but the lights were out and the room was dark. Immediately, she was afraid, but a big, strong hand stroked her cheek. “Ssssh,” a voice she’d come to know well said. “Everything is all right. Be still and rest.” She felt the warmth of a strong body near hers, felt strong arms around her. She smiled and went back to sleep.

When she awoke in the morning, the curtains were open and sunlight was streaming into the room. She remembered what had happened yesterday, but it no longer seemed so clear to her, and certainly not terrifying.

She took a shower, washed her hair, dried, dressed, put on makeup, and hurried down the stairs. She felt like she could eat one of Mrs. Fenney’s fry-ups.

Jace was at the breakfast table. He looked clean and he’d shaved, but his eyes looked haggard and worn.

“You look like you’re the one who saw the ghost,” she said brightly, but her joke fell flat because Jace didn’t smile.

“I think you should leave here today,” he said over his teacup. “I think you’ve seen more than enough.”

In spite of what she’d been through, she didn’t want to leave. “We haven’t found Ann’s portrait,” she said. “Danny said it was here.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at Jace in wonder. “Did I just say that? Dead Danny told me where a picture was and I mention it as though I’d just talked to him on the phone.”

Jace reached across the table and picked up a folder. In it was a photograph of a pretty young woman wearing a dark dress with a bustle, à la the 1870s. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her face and piled in shiny loops on the back of her neck. She was a slender woman and looked to be tall. As Jace said, if she were alive today, she could have been a model.

“I am flattered that anyone thinks I look like her,” Nigh said.

“We see her as beautiful today, but I don’t think she was considered beautiful then. She was too tall and too thin. And her face wasn’t demure enough.”

“You mean that Ann looked much too sexy.”

“Yes,” he said, taking the picture from her.

Nigh went to the sideboard and filled a bowl with cereal and added milk. She sat back at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. “Where did you get that picture?”

“Mrs. Fenney had a box full of old photos. After Danny died, the house and contents were sold, but no one bothered with emptying the attic, so a lot of things stayed in the house.”

“What happened to the money from the sale?”

“It all went to pay Danny’s debts.” Jace was pushing his eggs around on his plate. He hadn’t eaten much of Mrs. Fenney’s full English breakfast. “I think Danny knew he was going to die so he gave away a lot of money to charities, then he lived on credit for four years. Last night I talked to some man who is the village historian and he said the money worked out almost perfectly. The sale of the house and furniture exactly paid off what Danny owed.”

“You think he committed suicide, don’t you?” she asked softly.

He looked up at her. “I think that after Ann died, Danny didn’t want to go on living. He knew that her death was his fault. If he hadn’t been drunk and impregnated some village girl, she wouldn’t have killed Ann. How do you live with the knowledge that you’ve killed the person you love most in the world?”

His words were so heartfelt that she reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled back.

“Nigh?” he said.

“Yes?” She sensed that he had something serious to say and she held her breath.

“You’ve been a great help to me in these last days and a great companion, but from now on, I need to work by myself. I checked and there’s train service from here to Margate. You only have to make one transfer. You can be at home, safe in your own house, by this afternoon.”

She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt by his words. Anger won out. “I freaked out in a normal way about having talked to a ghost, so now I’m being thrown out.”

He looked directly into her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it exactly. You aren’t much use to me as a research assistant if I have to call a doctor because you’ve had a fainting spell, and if I have to sit up with you all night. I wanted someone who could actually help me with what I’m doing, but you’re much too cowardly to be of any use. I want you to go back to Margate and I want you to stay away from Priory House. No more snooping in my house. I’ll have the entrance to the tunnel sealed shut. Am I making myself clear?”

“Very,” Nigh said, then she got up and left the dining room. Ten minutes later, she was packed.

Mrs. Fenney was downstairs and ready to drive her to the train station. “I’m so sorry about this,” she said. “Our village ghost hasn’t appeared to anyone in years, so we thought maybe he’d gone to his heavenly reward, but the vicar said you spent some time with him.”

All Nigh could do was nod. She was too angry to do much more.

They drove the four miles to the station in silence and when they got there, Mrs. Fenney handed her the tickets. They were for first class.

“Mr. Montgomery said I was to ask if you needed anything and I was to give you this.” It was an envelope that she knew contained cash.

“I don’t want—” she began, planning to refuse the money. She’d eat when she got home.

Mrs. Fenney took Nigh’s hands in hers. “You shouldn’t be angry at him, dear. He’s been sick with worry about you. He stayed out late last night and I was told that he talked to the doctor about you, and the vicar, and he visited our local historian. When he got back I had to unlock the front door for him and I happen to know that he stayed in your room last night. He looked after you. He must love you very much.”

“No,” Nigh said. “He—” She broke off. She didn’t want to tell this woman her private problems. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything. You have a lovely home and the food was excellent.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed part of your visit,” she said, starting to shout because the train was pulling into the station.

Nigh hefted her bag onto her shoulder and started toward the train. “Take care of him, will you? And keep those blood puddings away.”

Mrs. Fenney smiled. “They never hurt my husband,” she said.

“Ah, but where is he now?” Nigh asked as she climbed onto the platform.

“He’s in Alaska working on an oil rig,” Mrs. Fenney called as the train started to move.

Nigh laughed and waved, then went to find her seat.

N
igh got the greengrocer’s son to give her a ride from the train station to her house. He didn’t shut up for the whole ride.

“I tell you, Nigh, you are the most exciting thing that has ever happened to this village. I know that people think it’s Priory House and all the ghosts those people see, but my money’s on you. First you run off the day after your mother’s funeral, and the next time we see you you’re on the telly reading the news and the next time we see you’re in—Where was it?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Right. I knew it was some place really foreign. You know how some places are more foreign than others? Australia is foreign but not really foreign. You know what I mean? Maybe it’s the language. And the States are foreign, but not really. Although, ol’ Harris at the butcher’s says that the States are the most foreign of all. You know what I mean? But, anyway, I think anybody would agree that Afghanistan is about as foreign as you get. You know? So, anyway, there you are and there you’ve been and everybody’s lost count of all the places you’ve been. So then this rich American shows up and first thing we know, you and he have run off together. ‘But how could they?’ everybody says because you wrote that awful stuff about him in the paper. No offense, Nigh, but if my girlfriend wrote anything like that about me, she wouldn’t be my girlfriend no more. You know what I mean? But maybe Harris is right that Americans are the most foreign because you two run off God only knows where to together just like you was regular lovebirds. Mrs. B. said the two of you spent a whole day together in that haunted bedroom, didn’t even come out for lunch. Then you run off together and the next thing we hear is you made up the whole thing and there’s not gonna be any industry in the village and we could have used some industry here, if you know what I mean. So where’d you and that American go, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

They were at last at her house. Nigh opened the car door, said thanks for the ride, and got out.

“If you get tired of foreigners, you know where I live,” he called to her through the open window.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Nigh said, gave a wave, then hurried into her house and shut the door behind her. She paused only a second to listen to the quiet, then she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It hadn’t even come to a boil when she heard her friend Kelly’s voice. The only thing in the world she wanted at that moment was to be alone to collect her thoughts.

Nigh managed to put a smile on her face as Kelly came into the kitchen. “Kelly, dear, how nice to see you.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” she said, tossing her bag on the kitchen table. “I could wring your neck! Everybody in town has been asking me what you’re up to and I’ve had to say—truthfully, mind you—that I have no idea. When you were in Afghanistan, you sent me a video letter telling me everything. When you were in Saudi, you sent me twelve postcards. You’ve called me from some places that I couldn’t find on the map. But now you return home and what happens? You disappear. And not only do you disappear, you do it with some man nobody knows anything about. Where the
hell
have you
been
?”

The answer to Kelly’s question was so long and complicated that Nigh didn’t know where to begin—or if she even wanted to. She was silent as she filled the teapot, got some digestive biscuits out of the cupboard, and put them on a plate.

While Kelly poured the tea and put in the milk, she kept glancing at her friend. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

“To hell, but certainly not back,” Nigh said.

“So where is he?”

Nigh shrugged. “In a village in Hampshire.”

“You spent the night together? What happened? Did you quarrel and split up?” She put her hand over Nigh’s. “I’m sorry. But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe—”

“Could you think a little higher than below the belt?” Nigh snapped. “First of all, I didn’t run away with him. If you remember, the whole village was going crazy because they thought a Ghost Center was going to be opened and they wanted in on it.”

“But that’s what you wrote, isn’t it?”

“At the time, that’s what I thought he was going to do. It’s what I was told.”

“Who told you that?”

Nigh shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now. That was so long ago I can hardly remember it.”

“It was three days ago,” Kelly said.

“Three days can be a lifetime.”

Kelly drank her tea and ate a biscuit as she looked at her friend. “So tell me everything.”

“No,” Nigh said. “I can’t.” She put up her hand when Kelly started to speak. “It’s not that I won’t tell you, it’s because I don’t know anything to tell you.”

“Are you trying to make me believe that you spent days with this man and didn’t ferret out every secret he had, including the whereabouts of the secret box he had when he was a kid?”

“I don’t know anything more about him now than I did before I met him. Oh, I know where he grew up and the names of some of his cousins. I know lots of unimportant things, but I don’t know what’s driving him. I don’t even know why he bought Priory House.”

“For the ghosts. Mrs. B. has told everyone how he made up the haunted room to look like a Victorian set. Of course everyone says Americans know nothing about history because they have none of their own, or he would know that Lady Grace did
not
live in Victorian times. Somebody should help him get his time periods right.”

“Stop it!” Nigh said, her hands over her ears. “I am sick of hearing gossip! I am sick of people making up stories about something they know nothing about.”

Kelly didn’t say anything and when Nigh looked at her she was serious.

“You’re right,” Kelly said. “I’ve become one of them. I’ve sunk so low that I’ve begun to listen to that harridan, Mrs. Browne. I apologize. If you talk, I will listen, and what you tell me won’t go any further than this room. If you want, I’ll even spread false rumors so people won’t know the truth. Come to think of it, I might enjoy that.”

Nigh took her friend’s hand. “You’re a good friend to me, and I want you to continue to be a good friend.”

“That means you plan to tell me nothing.”

“Right,” Nigh said. “But I want you to give me some information.”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You get me George Clooney’s autograph. And it has to be made out to Kelly. I don’t want just an anonymous signature.”

“Are you crazy? I don’t do celebrity interviews.”

“I saw on TV that George Clooney and his father went to some country like you go to and—”

“Okay, I promise that if I’m in some war-torn country and I happen to bump into Mr. Clooney and Mr. Clooney, I will ask George to sign a piece of shrapnel to Kelly. Satisfied now?”

“Perfectly. So what do you want to know?”

“Everything you know, and can find out, about Clive Sefton.”

Kelly’s face mirrored her disappointment. “That’s it?”

“What I really want to know is what to do to make him reveal secrets to me. I’ll do anything except have sex with him. I’ll even cook for him.”

“I’m sure that will make him talk,” Kelly said in sarcasm.

“You know what I mean,” Nigh said, then laughed.

“What?”

“The greengrocer’s son drove me back from the station.”

“Oh,” Kelly groaned. “That boy can talk, can’t he?”

“The last time I saw him, he was just a kid.”

“You’ve been away a long time.”

“I feel like I’ve been here longer than I’ve been away.” Nigh ran her hand over her face. “Mr. Montgomery is so afraid of something or someone in this town that I can’t get a word out of him. I really need to know what it is.”

“It’s ghosts,” Kelly said. “Anyone in their right mind is afraid of ghosts. If I saw one I’d—”

“Pass out, and a doctor would come and administer a sedative that would keep you flat on your back for most of twenty-four hours.”

“Tell me you’re not saying that from experience.”

“I won’t tell you,” Nigh said. “Now, would you mind going to find out what you can? I’d ask questions myself, but…”

“The sight of you would cause a riot. People are torn between being furious and being glad that Margate isn’t going to become famous for its lady highwayman ghost. What’s funny?”

“It’s just that I’m not sure there ever was a lady highwayman ghost. However, I know for absolute certain that there’re a couple of Victorian ghosts running around loose.”

“Then your American isn’t so uneducated after all.”

“No,” Nigh said, smiling, “he’s not uneducated or dumb, and he doesn’t want to turn Priory House into a place for tourists.” Her head came up. “Kelly? Do the MacFarlands still have that dreadful little dog that pees on people?”

“Yes, but they keep it penned up in their back garden.”

“Would you like to do something really awful for me?”

“Love to.”

“Do Lewis and Ray still have lunch together every day outside the fire station?”

“Haven’t changed in ten years that I know of.” Kelly and Nigh had been best friends since they were three years old and there were many times when they could read each other’s minds. “Wait! Don’t tell me. They were the skunks that told you lies about the American. And you believed them?”

Nigh shrugged in embarrassment.

“Okay. I’ll take care of them. I’m sure the MacFarlands would love to lend me their dog. I assume I get to tell them why. A truck full of Londoners ran over one of Mrs. MacFarland’s flowerbeds, so she’ll be glad to help.”

“Sounds good to me. Now go so I can do some work. I have some things to figure out. Call me the minute you find out anything.”

“I’ll unload the kids onto James tonight and come over with everything. I’ll bring dinner.”

“Perfect,” Nigh said as she ushered her friend out the door.

The house was quiet once again and she planned to spend the rest of the day writing down everything she could remember about Jace Montgomery. He hadn’t told her much, but she might be able to piece together something. It had been on the train that she’d realized that the only reason he would send her away was if he was afraid for her. Since she knew that he wasn’t afraid of the two ghosts who had been in love with each other for over a century, it was something else and Nigh meant to find out what it was.