The Ghost Who Loved Me (5 page)

“Sixteen years to be precise, Mrs. Abbot,” Pettigrew remarked tightly. “I haven’t failed to acknowledge the passage of time or that Her Ladyship’s coming here is most strange. But it isn’t our place to question matters. We will make the duchess feel welcome, for however long she is in residence.”

“What of His Lordship? You know the one! The bloke who makes all o’ our lives a livin’ hell!” Tom looked around with a scoff of disgust, addressing the table as a whole. “Do you think he will like her coming? I can already see it all now! It’s all going to start up again! For years we haven’t heard a peep out o’ him! This won’t be good for us!”

“Ye were just a lad the last time His Lordship raged about the place, Tom,” Mrs. Abbot said consolingly. “For all we know he’s gone away for good. God rest his tormented soul.”

A maid jumped up in defense of Tom. “Try moving anything from its place as I do to dust the china cases! I dare you all to do it!” Molly eyed them all in obvious fear and anger as she vented. “You’ll see him put it all right back where it goes! He’s still here! Just because he doesn’t rage the house down as he once did, doesn’t mean he’s not still here!”

“I know you all fear her coming here will bring His Lordship’s wrath down upon us,” Mr. Pettigrew said quietly, his face grim. “But we have nothing to say of it, I’m afraid. Just do your jobs! He can’t blame us for her arrival, now can he?”

Mr. Pettigrew dismissed them all, leaving Mrs. Abbot and Mrs. Gates with him in the kitchens. The three all looked to one another for answers at times like these, being the elder of the group of servants.

“I didn’t wish to create more of a panic,” Mr. Pettigrew began in a low whisper. “His Lordship implies his intent to reduce staff once more. He means it this time. We all saw this coming. How can anyone be expected to keep a full staff of servants when no one comes here?”

“When will we be given our notice?” Mrs. Gates looked immediately downcast, folding her shaking hands in her lap.

“The castle is to be permanently closed when Her Ladyship leaves Westerleigh, whenever that may be,” Mr. Pettigrew lamented with a reluctant sigh. “His Lordship instructs me to see to the closing. He’s hired an able caretaker in London. The man arrives sometime next year. We are to make Mr. Greenly welcome and he’s to be given the former land agent’s cottage. We can only pray Her Ladyship stays on indefinitely or we are all out of jobs.”

“That won’t be likely and ye know it,” Mrs. Gates added tightly, her eyes filled with anger. “The poor woman will run from here screaming to high heaven as they all do! And what of us when that happens, Mr. Pettigrew? What’s to become of us?”

“We all knew this day was coming,” the butler repeated in frustration. “I for one, mean to make the most of my time. I plan to seek employment closer to London, as you all should. There is always a place to be found for properly trained servants. His Lordship will give us all positive references. He’s given me his word.”

“I’ve lived at Westerleigh all o’ me life,” Mrs. Abbot added sadly. “I’m not keen on going to the city nor will the others be, Mr. Pettigrew.”

“Tell them all to start looking for other positions at once, both of you,” Mr. Pettigrew advised, eyeing them both a bit more kindly. “The younger ones will all be happy to go, I think. There is nothing keeping them here, no work for them in the village or the mines, or even another estate close by for that matter.”

“I never thought I would see this day,” the housekeeper said in a sad whisper. “I always thought the castle would go on as it always has.”

“Times have changed, Mrs. Gates,” Mr. Pettigrew said with a sad frown. “Lord Westerleigh cannot keep a residence going that he never uses. All of these grand castles and estates of yesterday will end up the same. Already they have become curiosities to the public, even dreadful inns catering to whoever can pay for the night. The tenants will all have to be told of what is coming, of course. This will not happen overnight, but it will happen. You have families and must prepare them.”

The three all sat silently with their thoughts, not seeing the pale apparition standing in the doorway near the stove.

The steam from the whistling kettle illuminated his outline briefly. The swirling vapor-like image of the man disappeared as quickly as it came.

~ ~ ~

James sat upon the high parapet of Westerleigh, glaring broodingly over the grounds beyond him, looking over the vast green that stretched for as far as the eyes could see.

His silver eyes glowed in helpless rage to learn that the castle was to be closed. He grimaced to hear his weakling of a descendent was caving to financial pressures and doing what was happening all over England according to Pettigrew’s accounting.

The impending doom James felt of someday being alone here, to walk the halls of this castle and have only himself for company, troubled him deeply. The living people that moved about him over the centuries were taken for granted by him. Though a nuisance at times, he found a certain measure of comfort in their presence, if not them appreciative of his.

His expression darkened to think of being trapped here, of never severing his spiritual ties to this place, of finally being at peace. These people would leave here soon, reminding him at once that he was stuck with his own company for an eternity.

The melancholy such thoughts produced made him turn away from the impressive view below, floating down to another level to stand upon a stone walkway that encircled the castle.

James never questioned why he was still here. There were no answers for him, no other presence here to give them. He watched many people leave this place over the centuries, saw the bright light that enveloped them and carried them away when they passed on.

But never had that lovely light ever come for him offering peace and any sort of atonement.

For centuries James raged about the castle, sending furnishings crashing to the floor, throwing things about, sending all the inhabitants into fits of terror, in denial that he should be so cursed.

His memory of that day he died gave him no clues to what he had done to so offend God.

James saw his arrival from London to the castle that late October morning. It was as if it were only yesterday. He saw the young groom in the stables take his horse from him. His six retainers dispersed to the barracks for a game of cards.

James recalled entering the castle, told by his servant Lady Isabelle was in her solar in the east tower room of the keep. He saw himself going up the stone stairs to see her, his hand upon the door pull, pushing it open.

And then—nothing.

James could recall nothing of what happened to him from that moment until nearly a hundred years later he woke as if from a dream. It was then he discovered the strange inhabitants living within his home. He had no idea where he had been or what awakened him.

James raged and screamed at the noble ladies and gentleman within the house but they didn’t hear him. He chased them down, trying to get their attention but to no avail. They looked through him, indeed, walked right through him.

That is when he knew he was dead.

The horror of it made him angry, something that caused the newly-hung crystal chandelier in the great hall to shake violently. He adapted to his unworldly power, learned to harness such angry thoughts to project the energy it created, moving objects and the like until he at last got their attention.

I didn’t really mean to scare them

James laughed softly and shook his head, knowing he lied only to himself in this.

Well, not all of them

James smiled sadly as he thought of how he terrorized the living for centuries with only one goal in mind: to discover why he was still here. He learned nothing in that regard, knowing he succeeded in only alienating the people here and earning their fear of him.

James listened to the servant’s talk today, his eyes narrowed in dismay to know his descendant’s wife was to arrive. He grew angry at the impertinence of her husband thinking it his right to send his unwanted wife here, furious anyone would dare intrude upon his home without his express permission.

Part of being dead was to realize he had very little say in who came and went anymore.

Such arrogance should have died with me
, James thought in disgust, floating downward to land in the circular courtyard below, watching young Tom the footman repair a loose stone on the walkway below the steps.

The cocky lad deserved a sound kick for his callous treatment of the young maids within the castle. He was seeing both Molly and Edie and creating strife within the servant’s ranks. He was surly, despising his life in service.

If James were alive he would throw the young man off his lands. He left him be this one time, knowing they all fully expected him to take the news out on them as was his habit when displeased.

Dare he admit it? He would miss them all when they left here, even Tom. He grew used to hearing their idle talk, of listening to their dreams, of remembering what it was like to be alive and have such hopes. He knew all of their stories and most of their ancestors.

James tried to imagine what this new Duchess of Westerleigh was like compared to all the others he knew before her. He chuckled to think of some of those silly creatures now, many years later. He could think of no one of them that he recalled with any lasting fondness.

Their faces all seemed to merge together over the centuries. Most of the time he avoided the gallery; not wanting to see their portraits, to stare into their vacant expressions and try to remember them as they were in life. None stood out, all becoming a vessel to be used and discarded over the years. 

One of the benefits he enjoyed most was to have the lady of the house to his leisure, if only to smite the usurper for stealing all that was his. The female houseguests were also his for the taking. Those ladies hardly minded after their initial reservations. They would always delay their leaving to enjoy his attentions and return often to engage him again, or rather hope he would come to them.

The fruit often paled once plucked from the vine, however. He simply lost interest in them too quickly. His human consorts never appreciated it, shouting at him and demanding that he return to them.

He would ignore them; watching as they left over the years, one by one, and then a new one would arrive and merit his attention. Too soon, he grew bored with them as well.

He enjoyed many women over the years, them coming and going with the passages of time. He took extreme delight in tormenting some, particularly if they were unlikable to him. Seducing a pretentious young miss was just as rewarding as an overbearing matron.

They were all fair game if they dare come into his domain.

What was said of him was all very true. And, he did enjoy the benefits of being a ghost to the fullest, more than he cared to admit. Just because he was dead didn’t mean that part of him died too.

A desirable lady under his roof was always ripe for the taking. And take them he would, having them gasping and swooning in delight in their beds, and always begging for more.

James sighed in satisfaction to think they all rather enjoyed those lustful, torrid encounters as much as he. The fact he could do such at all was a relief to him, knowing he was no longer of the flesh.

The act of pleasuring a living woman was quite different, but just as satisfying, maybe even more so. The experience was incredibly intense and required all of his concentration.

A touch was delivered with a look, a force of energy that simulated the physical into something far more powerful. It was a heady infusion of their combined energy as he joined his deadened life force to their much warmer one, filling them both with unbelievable pleasure until the very moment of climax.

A hot curling heat would pervade his own essence and he would at once feel alive once more, the fluttering within him from their living body joined with his as intoxicating as life itself.

James saw this as his only consolation, his rightful due to wreak vengeance on the one who took all from him. Using the Carlisle women and their female acquaintances for his pleasure was but one way to achieve some semblance of satisfaction.

But there were consequences to be had from every act of revenge, he was to realize without very much guilt.

A pity that regret wasn’t felt by the dead

The objects of his desire sometimes went quite mad, some shrieking of Satan coming to their beds and bedeviling them. Some took their own lives to repent.

He saw many a lady lose their reason over the years, those weak-minded ones who enjoyed his attentions and regretted all later when he tired of them and no longer came to them.

Others demanded his lustful ministrations, whispering to him naughtily in the night, an invitation he rarely declined. He was unfairly blamed for many a by-blow over the years, chuckling to hear these ladies tell their outraged husbands the resident ghost fathered the child they carried, when in fact it was so often a footman’s or a villager’s get.

James felt little remorse in his callous treatment of the fairer sex, knowing all too well who these ladies really were. He watched their despicable actions when they thought none were looking.

He heard their unkind talk of others, discounting their artful lies. He alone saw their sins firsthand to know they were nothing but vain, foolish creatures. They deserved much of what they got in their lives.