The Ghost Who Loved Me (19 page)

Father Brannigan returned and confiscated the letters from her. “I trust you discovered what you sought, Lady Westerleigh?’

Elizabeth removed the wooden box and the odd wood carvings from her satchel and set them down on the desk.

“Do you know what these are? Do you recognize the words on the lid of the box?”

He frowned as he squinted down at the writing. “That looks to be engraved in Old Welsh. I could translate it for you if you have time to wait?”

Elizabeth nodded and gestured to the wooden idols. “What do you make of these?”

“They look to be pagan miniatures of the gods and goddesses in Welsh mythology. Are you familiar with them?’ She shook her head. Father Brannigan went on to explain each one and what powers and properties they embodied. “They are all in exceptionally good condition, and very old by the looks of them. Where did you ever find them, Your Grace?”

Elizabeth tucked the relics back into her bag. “I found them hidden within the castle, Father Brannigan. I have every reason to believe Lady Isabelle Carlisle was the white witch Father Creaton feared in his letters. I cannot prove any of it, but this is just one more piece to the puzzle.”

She waited while the man poured over his books to translate the Old Welsh words engraved on the box, watching his face suddenly go pale as he finished, pushing the paper towards her on the desk. She looked down at the words he wrote, her heart clenched in denial.

“Are you certain that is what it says?”

Father Brannigan appeared panicked and pointed to the box. “Get that filthy thing out of my church, my lady! Do not come back here again! I can do nothing more to help you! Leave, please!”

Elizabeth tucked the wooden box inside the satchel, hastily gathering up the papers. She rushed out of the office, passing a wide-eyed nun who jumped out of her way as she ran out the front doors and down the steps of the church.

She was gasping, breathing hard, lights floating before her eyes. She struggled to breathe, overwhelmed with what was written on the lid of the box.

Herein lies thine offering

A portal to the fiery gates

To keep in your eternal grasp, oh my master

For all the days to come

Your favor shineth upon me, oh my master

Your dutiful bride awaits

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth stared out the window dismally as the coach moved towards Westerleigh, lost in the evil meaning of what was etched upon the box. Denial of its obvious implication made her choke, feeling bile rise in the back of her throat to know what was hidden inside the box.

The box, hidden away in the east tower under the floorboards for centuries, contained James’ heart. This newest discovery made it difficult for her to remain calm, feeling lightheaded and sick inside to dwell upon the heinous act done to James that night.

She debated the wisdom in telling him what she learned in Tregaron, worrying her lower lip at his angry reaction of her going there alone.

Isabelle unleashed the fires of hell with little thought of the consequences. Her novice’s dabbling in the dark arts backfired upon her. She fervently believed her master would reward her for her sacrifice. She was sure her offering would give her all that she desired. Her followers no doubt believed the very same, some sacrificing their own children, as noted by Father Creaton in his last letters.

But Satan, if what Father Brannigan believed was true, should never be trusted, as all soon learned.

The demon readily took James. But he took all of the others that were present that night, and all those they loved. She nearly wept to think of the innocent lives lost as one by one, their souls forfeited to Satan.

Isabelle must have known she made a horrible mistake. For her and her husband never left Westerleigh after that horrible night. They hid behind the gates, as if they were trapped inside.

Elizabeth sat up straight in her seat and considered the very obvious answer to why the imposter or Isabelle never left Westerleigh after 1546. They simply couldn’t leave. They were as trapped there as James was now.

It was a part of the curse.

Only James was left to walk the halls for eternity in death while his wife and her lover no doubt writhed in the fiery pits of hell as a form of penance.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly to know what pure evil had been wrought here long ago. How did she ever begin to tell James that there was no hope?

She opened her eyes and released the shuddering breath she was holding, staring out at the endless countryside she passed, her blue eyes filled with fierce anger.

Elizabeth refused to allow this newest discovery to deter her from what needed to be done. Fear wouldn’t remove this curse and set James free. Somehow, there had to be a way to release both him and the castle from Satan’s unrelenting grasp.

~ ~ ~

Elizabeth finished her letter to Daniel Trask and set it out for the post. She included a draft for payment for his travel expenses to Westerleigh. She expressed the dire need for an expert in the field of the occult to accompany him to Wales to research Isabelle’s satanic incantations that James memorized from that night.

She could visualize Daniel’s fumbling reaction to be invited to the castle, imagining him tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his face while reading it and barely suppressed a smile.

“What is so amusing?” James lounged before the fire, eyeing her questioningly.

“I’ve written to someone who might be able to help us. He’s a historian who is staying with my grandmother. He expressed an interest in doing a historical study of Westerleigh. I refused him at the time, knowing Edward wouldn’t want any hint of this to ever be made public. I need his contacts in London in order to figure out how to reverse Isabelle’s spell. It’s the only way.”

“I see nothing amusing about that,” James observed harshly and stood up, floating near her.

“You would if you met the man. He’s fearfully awkward, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth explained and grinned. “Mr. Trask will no doubt leap at the opportunity to come here, and trip every step of the way. I believe he can help us, James.”

“Us? You mean me don’t you, Elizabeth?” James glared at her in disapproval. “It’s too dangerous! Now that we know the truth, I can’t let you do this. Look at what happened to the villager’s families because of their folly? They were all killed! Now we know why the imposter got away with this. I refuse to let you to do this. Look how it turned out for Isabelle and her lover? No, I won’t allow it.”

“It’s my choice to make, James,” Elizabeth replied stubbornly, her eyes glinting in anger. “There is no other way. Somehow that box is the key to all of it. We must figure out how to free you once and for all.”

James stared at her sadly. “It is almost All Hallow’s Eve. I would spend that night I walk among the living with you, Elizabeth. For three centuries I hoarded such hours to seek my freedom. This time I would stay with you, and know you as I’ve longed to.”

Elizabeth felt tears forming. “You’re giving up! I can see it! You cannot give up, James! We will find a way, I promise you that!”

James hovered closer to her, reaching out to caress her cheek, the fine hairs bristling on her neck at his nearness. His silver eyes were filled with anguish as they met hers. “I would rather spend those precious few hours in your arms, my love. I want to remember what it feels like to be alive, if only just this once, with you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “This happens to you every year?”

“At the stroke of midnight on All Hallow’s Eve until just before dawn, I become of the flesh.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before now?” She stared up at him. “Don’t you see? There is something you are meant to find during that time. You would squander it to be with me? But why James?”

James smiled faintly at her look of outrage. “Don’t you know, Elizabeth? Do I have to say the words aloud for you to believe them? I love you. I would squander every minute I walk the earth just to be with you as a man, as I’ve longed to from the moment you arrived.”

Elizabeth was clearly speechless at his admission, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You truly love me?”

“I tried to tell myself it was because you reminded me so much of Lenore, but it’s you, Elizabeth. I love you. Let me stay with you and know those hours have some meaning for once.”

Elizabeth smiled through her tears. “We will eat, drink, and make love until the moment you fade from my side. I love you. If this is all we are to have, than I will cherish it.”

“It is all I could ever want, Elizabeth. If this curse never frees me I will hold such memories more precious than any others when you are gone from here.”

“Daniel may prove to be helpful, James. You must be patient. You’ve waited three centuries for this. You must have faith, just a little while longer.” She smiled up at him, longing to hold him.

“I’ve waited three centuries only for you, Elizabeth.”

Edward crushed the letter into his fist and threw it across his study, cursing loudly. Simon bent to retrieve it to read what had him in such a rage. He read the letter from Dr. Schlossberg.

He forced himself to keep a straight face, his admiration for Elizabeth growing to know how she deftly side-stepped Edward’s attempt to have her declared mentally ill.

“I told you not to count on the man to back you in this, Edward.” Simon sat in the chair across from him and eyed his companion with a shake of his head. “I think we can safely say your wife is far more intelligent than either of us credited her to be.”

“Damned charlatan! I should seek the man’s license for this!” Edward stood and poured himself a stiff draught of brandy, drinking it down in one gulp and pouring another. “This isn’t the end of it! She thinks she’s won! I’ll show her!”

Simon regarded Edward in concern. “Why would you seek to harm the lady, Edward? What has she ever done to you? Your hatred of the woman has little basis.”

Edward smiled coldly, his pale eyes narrowing. “You don’t even know her, Simon. You don’t see the way she looks at me, the way she judges me, and how she mocks me even to my face. She reminds me so much of my father in that, so smug and self-righteous. Once I have my heir of her, I’ll think of something to make Elizabeth’s life as miserable as possible, but for now it appears she’s survived this.”

“Do you still intend for us to go to Westerleigh? Is there nothing else I can say to talk you out of it?” Simon regarded him intently, his hazel eyes filled with unease. “I don’t feel right about this, Edward. There has to be another way.”

Edward glared at his companion in fury. “Your wavering in your commitment to provide for our future is duly noted by me, Simon. What choice do we have now? The estates aren’t selling as we once thought. Every last buyer has backed out. I’ll not let Elizabeth give me some villager’s brat! It must be you! I trust no one else!” He trembled with the force of his anger, his hand shaking as he brought the snifter to his lips. “When my son’s trust is available to us, we won’t need the proceeds from the estates. We have no choice in it now.”

“Did the agent tell you why the buyers all changed their minds?”

Edward’s lips drew back into a sneer. “The man claims they all cited neglect and the cost of renovations. Oh, and this is rich. The location of the properties was deemed undesirable, as if it can possibly be believed! The goddamned location? Maybe they should buy an English estate back in America, eh? Bloody hell! Damned Americans! They expect nothing less than perfection for their sweaty dollars.”

Simon smiled at Edward’s outraged rant. He nearly sighed in relief to know his success in stopping the sales of Edward’s estates was accomplished without any hint of his own involvement by his lover.

He merely copied the dates and times of the showings. He stole some of the agent’s stationary from his case during his last meeting with Edward. He reached out to each client to ask they arrive earlier than initially asked.

He arrived before the agent did to point out the estate’s many flaws to each of the potential buyers. He claimed to be a villager or some concerned bystander. They fell for it every time.

The result was what he expected. When the agent finally arrived to show them the place, the buyers echoed his own words. They were not impressed with any of the properties, even when Edward lowered his initial asking price. Each of the six estates was still on the market, buying him more time.

As much as Simon wished to run away with Edward at that very moment, this wasn’t the answer. The ones who circled Edward and his wife were back, and with a new set of demands. 

Simon couldn’t be blamed if the estates didn’t sell. He helped the matter along quite nicely, trying to outsmart the ones who dogged his every waking step these days. He knew the cause and sighed in disappointment.

The new mark they worked was found to not be as lucrative as once was thought. His partners wanted more, much more, or threatened to destroy Simon’s life. Each day that passed brought him closer to ruin.

“Did you hear one word I’ve said?” Edward tossed back his brandy, his blue eyes filled with resentment. “I think we need to go to Westerleigh much sooner, as much as I despise the winters in Wales. We have no choice in this. You have to get Elizabeth with child or we are done! Do you hear me, Simon? There is no money left! I have nothing but the damned trust!”

“I heard you the first time,” Simon replied tightly, avoiding Edward’s panicked gaze. “It appears we have no choice.”

“I’ll ring for Mr. Phipps to arrange it all. We leave at the end of the month. We travel with no valet and no other servants. I don’t need any of them gossiping of what they might hear or see at Westerleigh.”

“What of the servants there? Do you not worry what they might say?”

Edward rolled his eyes in annoyance. “They are to be dismissed as soon as my wife is with child. I’ll not give one of them a reference to be able to spread any more of their damnable tales. For what they’ve fleeced me for years in wages for doing nothing, they deserve what they get. Nothing!”

Simon said nothing as Edward stalked angrily from the room to inform Mr. Phipps they left for Westerleigh at the end of the month. He albeit groaned in frustration to know he couldn’t dodge the matter of his bedding Lady Elizabeth. As much as he tried to side-step Edward’s plan, he fell right back into it.

He couldn’t avoid Elizabeth once at Westerleigh. He vowed to engage her in friendship if that were even possible. The woman would come to see very quickly that Edward had long since lost his reason. He was prone to these unpredictable rages without warning, getting worse of late due to the unrelenting pressures he now faced.

The delusions were the worst of it. Edward was seeing things that weren’t there, making him paranoid on the street that people followed him and meant him harm. For that, they rarely went out. Simon refused to allow Edward to be shamed in public.

Simon watched all happening for the last year with a breaking heart, knowing nothing to do but try to gently navigate his lover through such a trying time. Edward refused to even acknowledge his illness, oblivious to his own life falling apart.

Simon made no mention of it to Edward during such hysterical bouts, forgiving him whenever he became so agitated he grew increasingly violent. All he could do was hold him until he collapsed sobbing into his arms.

Simon refused to imagine Edward ever being locked away in one of those foul asylums if his family ever learned of his present infirmity. His mother was unaware of what her son suffered from, too involved in her own self-absorbed pursuits. The cousin Edward often spoke of with such contempt earned it in his consistent hovering, waiting to claim the title and estates.

The Viscount Carlisle, William Carlisle, and his despicable wife Lavinia were ravenous to obtain Westerleigh. They had a whole passel of children already and three strapping sons. They continually pressed to be invited to Carlisle Place, if only to take stock and inventory of Edward’s home.

Simon put them off for months, finding their greed revolting. The cousin was well aware of Edward’s leanings in regard to his sexual preferences. William was confident he would become the duke one day very soon. Edward’s father placed a codicil in his will to insure it.

If Edward had no male heir by the age of thirty-five, the title and estates would revert to William, leaving Edward with the lesser title of Viscount and a modest estate and annual income. The fact he had two years left to accomplish it or lose all to William was likely the source of his acute stress. It seemed to accelerate his present condition.

Simon discreetly moved in to Carlisle Place months ago. He began handling much of Edward’s correspondence himself, seeing the disease within Edward’s mind was drastically affecting his ability to read and write, to recall even paying his servants, and to see to his daily grooming.

Tears filled Simon’s eyes that he brushed away unashamedly. He vowed to stay with Edward until the very end. He owed him that, even if his lover began to forget the simplest of things.

He discreetly sought out a physician for answers. He was told the condition would progress until Edward no longer knew who he was or anyone else around him.

They had no name for the disease or its cause. But it was happening much faster than the doctor predicted. Edward was in a steep decline. He was now probably wandering the house questioning what he meant to do when he left the study just moments ago.

Soon his body would deteriorate, he was told. He would lose his ability to walk, to speak, and finally to eat and to breathe. And then, it would be over.

Simon would see to informing Mr. Phipps of their travel plans in a few weeks, seeing no sense in urgency. Edward would forget all in a few hours anyway. Some days he was himself, like today.

But others, he appeared confused, almost child-like, and not grasping what went on around him. Just today he forgot the cook’s name while complimenting the woman on breakfast before Simon rescued him. Mrs. Eggers nearly noted his gross misstep before Simon interrupted the conversation.

To realize Edward would forget him one day too was his penance for ever involving himself in this from the very beginning. He cursed the day he ever took such paltry bribes to entrap the Duke of Westerleigh, never knowing he would one day come to know such deep regret.

~ ~ ~

Daniel Trask and his companion Arthur Percy finally arrived at Westerleigh weeks later. Elizabeth made both men welcome in the west wing, enduring James’ deepening frown when they were placed there near his own quarters.

Elizabeth wanted the men nowhere near her suite during their stay, she informed him in a whisper with a sultry look. He relaxed upon hearing that, mischievously tickling her ear as the two Londoner’s talked to her within the salon, taking tea after their long journey.

Elizabeth refrained from slapping at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips at his antics. When James began fumbling with her skirt hem, deftly trying to slide his hands up her dress, she let out an exasperated noise.

Arthur Percy was said to be the most knowledgeable authority in all matters related to the paranormal and occult. He was a tall, wiry man with hopelessly bulging eyes.

He had such exuberance for the otherworld he studied, she found him somewhat off-putting. His tendency to peer about with all-knowing looks, calling out to the ghost immediately upon his arrival annoyed James to the point she sent him a warning look.

“You expect these two imbeciles to help us?” James shook his head as he observed both men in the informal salon in obvious disgust. “They couldn’t find their way out of a burlap sack with a hole in it, Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth forced herself not to giggle at his scathing comparison, sipping her tea as her visitors talked of their trip. Arthur perked up in his seat in the chair, holding up his hand to silence Daniel suddenly, his eyes narrowing as they slid around the room.

“I’m sensing something in the room. Be silent,” Arthur whispered in hushed tone, his eyes darting around furtively.

“I’m sensing this idiocy has no end,” James remarked dryly, his silver eyes rolling as he stood before the trio. “Tell me you didn’t actually pay these men for their services, Elizabeth? You’ve been fleeced! Shall I show them out?”

Elizabeth eyed James in annoyance as he paced before them. Arthur rose and moved about the room, looking everywhere, his hands up as if feeling around for a presence in the room.

“Could you tell the bloody knave I’m over here?” James made a noise of disgust and threw up his hands in frustration.

“I implore you to come out and reveal yourself, foul unclean ghost! You have no right to be here! Come out at once!”

“Elizabeth, you might better warn the man to watch his insolent tongue or I’ll thrash him soundly!” James glared at Arthur who was moving in circles around the room.

“His name is James, Mr. Percy,” Elizabeth said with an encouraging smile. “You might get better results if you use his given name, I think.”

“You don’t belong here, James! You must leave this house and never return!” Arthur was insisting James leave, moving about the room, his hands making absurd pushing motions.

“If only I bloody well could!” James was regarding the man with a nasty gleam in his silver eyes as he used his energy to throw one of the small throw pillows from the settee at Arthur’s head, grinning when the man let out a feminine squeak and dove under a sideboard. “There, I guess we know who is leaving now, don’t we?”

“That wasn’t very nice of you, James,” Elizabeth remarked coolly before she peered down at Arthur cowering on the floor. “Mr. Percy, I should explain some things to you. James is unable to leave. He is trapped within Westerleigh. He doesn’t know why. That is why I asked you both here in hopes we might all help him move on.”

Daniel was shaking and sputtering at her side looking around fearfully. She patted his hand consolingly.

“He means to kill us all, my lady! Run! Save yourself!” Arthur refused to come out, his bulging eyes filled with fear, his spectacles knocked askew.

“Do come out, Mr. Percy.” Elizabeth eyed James darkly before encouraging the man. “I can promise you James means us all no harm.”