Secret Reflection

2


Day One

The clock chimed for the twelfth time.

‘Kelly.’

‘Go away,’ she murmured.

‘Kelly. It is time to wake.’

Lightning flashed, flaring brightly. Eyes still closed, she groped about until her hand came upon another pillow. She dragged it over her head as the thunder rattled the small square panes of the window. ‘Go away,’ she murmured again as she hugged the pillow tighter.

He chuckled softly.

‘Kelly. You must awaken.’

She groaned as her head slowly emerged from its warm haven, her dark hair all tangled and her pale face almost aglow in the dim light.

‘What time is it?’ Her head dropped back onto the pillow and she sighed.

‘Midnight,’ he whispered.

Her head rose and she peered into the darkness as if totally disoriented. ‘Fr–Frank?’

‘No – not Frank.’

For a few seconds she just lay there, then something must have registered in her mind because she shot upright and clutched the pillow to herself as if it could somehow shield her from danger.

‘Wh– who’s there?’ she asked in a tiny voice as she stretched one arm toward the small lamp on the table beside the bed. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Do not be frightened,’ he said in his most reassuring tone. ‘My name is John.’

Following his voice she glanced into the mirror. The instant she saw him her eyes widened and a frenzied scream burst from her throat. She flung herself off the side of the bed and scrambled across the floor to take refuge beside the cello.

Cursing his own eagerness, he stepped out of her direct view.

Less than a minute later, the door slammed open, rattling everything like another peal of thunder.

‘Kel?’ Tom rushed into the room and switched on the main lights.

Nancy followed a split second later. ‘There,’ she pointed to the niche where the cello sat.

‘Kelly – what happened?’

Stupendous, John thought, now there will be two hysterical women!

Tom helped her to stand. ‘What happened, Kel?’

Still white-faced, Kelly’s eyes scanned the room. ‘I thought … I …’

Lightning flashed, then the whole room began to shake as the accompanying thunder rolled through the manor. Her hands shook as she gripped Tom’s arm. She stared into the mirror for several seconds then began to laugh. ‘God, it’s just a storm! I feel like such an idiot.’

Breaking away from Tom’s supportive hold she sat on the side of the bed and scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘I must have been dreaming. The shadows … the lightning – I thought I heard Fra— someone calling me … but it’s just the storm.’

From his hiding place, John saw the glance that the couple exchanged. He was willing to wager that they thought their ghost had made an entrance already.

Little did they know.

When Nancy sat beside her and took her hand, Kelly gazed up with a wry smile. ‘I’m okay, Nance – really. All that talk about ghosts must have had me dreaming. Go back to bed, guys. I’ll be fine.’

‘You don’t look fine, and since when have you slept in your clothes?’

Kelly peered down at herself and furrowed her brow. ‘I lay down – just for a little while. Must’ve fallen asleep. C’mon,’ she said as she took both friends by the arm and started shepherding them to the door, ‘I’m fine – truly. I’m sorry I frightened you. Go back to bed.’

The concern remained etched on Nancy’s face. ‘Would you like a glass of scotch to help you get back to sleep?’

‘Hell, no! That’s the last thing I need. I got into the habit of having a little too much of that stuff when Frank and I split – even before. Pathetic, really,’ she scowled and looked down. ‘When the plane took off from LAX I vowed I’d leave behind my old life and all the crutches I’d been relying on. I can’t afford to fall at the first hurdle.’

Nancy smiled with understanding. ‘Warm milk, then?’

Kelly shook her head. ‘Nothing – I’ll be fine. I’m so tired I’ll probably be out cold within an instant of my head hitting the pillow. Now go to bed – you’re keeping me from my beauty sleep.’ She gave her friends a gentle shove. ‘Go.’

Ducking back for a hug, Nancy whispered, ‘We’ll talk in the morning when I get back from the village. Sleep as long as you like – I’ll call Richard first thing and get him to delay your tour until the afternoon.’

‘That’d be great, thanks.’

Kelly watched Nancy disappear down the darkened hallway. Light showered momentarily from beyond the landing, before a squeak and a thud told her that she was again alone.

After closing her own door, she made a broad circle around the mirror, feeling quite ridiculous as she gazed cautiously into the glass. Aside from a slight sense of vertigo nothing appeared unusual or out of place.

She let out a relieved sigh. It was bad enough that her whole world had disintegrated with Frank’s infidelity, she didn’t need to add insanity to her list of problems.

‘There’s no such things as ghosts,’ she murmured out loud, as if stating it made it more real.

With a final, apprehensive glance at the mirror, she marched into the dressing room to change into her nightgown.

John regretted his haste. Common sense would have told him not to try and gain her attention in the midst of a violent thunderstorm. Have I learned nothing in 140 years?

Slowly, slowly.

His only excuse, he supposed, was the fact that it had been twenty years since he last had the opportunity to find peace, and all that watching and waiting tended to make him eager.

He remembered a boy – 1921 the year, if he recalled correctly – who remained quite terrified for over a week, leaving John little time to search. And eighteen days was not long to achieve his aim, especially when the house’s occupants kept rearranging things. Coupled with the fact the John could only see into a few rooms now … success had become less and less likely. And there was always the danger that the very thing he sought had been disposed of along with the antique furnishings that Ditchley had sold at auction a few months ago. If that were the case, all was indeed lost.

Regrets. They seemed to fill his existence. And yet there was still hope; that slip of a woman in the room before him was his hope, and again he couldn’t help but feel the tiny spark of anticipation that this time … this time he wouldn’t fail; this time he would find peace in the oblivion of eternity.

A deep sigh shuddered through him.

Come morning he would try again.

The fresh air smelled almost intoxicating. Kelly hung over the casement and gazed out across the landscape. A painting in a gallery couldn’t have been as picturesque. From her second floor vantage, the view stretched out like a patchwork carpet of varying shades of green and yellow – and not a high-rise in sight. Blue, the clearest blue she had ever seen, extended from the edge of the horizon in every direction. The storm, long gone, had swept through and washed the world clean.

Her room sat above and slightly to the left of the circular gravel drive. And where yesterday she’d seen the hedges and rose gardens as edging to paths and walkways, from above she could now make out the pattern they made, like an intricate decoration on the border of a playing card or one of those medieval books inscribed by monks in the dark ages, the hedge formed loops and arcs that intersected like a maze.

She wondered whether there might be a true maze somewhere on the property. A question to put to Lord Stanthorpe later.

Above her, birds chirruped. She leaned further out the window in an attempt to see, but the brightness of morning blinded her momentarily. As her eyes adjusted she spied a mud nest at the very top of the eaves, with a family of tiny birds fluttering in and around the opening. The sight, the simplicity, made her smile.

‘Pray, do not fall.’

The words shivered through her, and for the merest instant she almost lost her balance before she thrust herself back inside, her heart pounding. Expecting to see Tom’s giant frame, Kelly was greeted by an empty room.

After casually checking the closet and bathroom, she opened the hall door and peered out. Nobody. Drawing her brows together, she backed up – almost afraid to look into the mirror. But that too, reflected nothing out of the ordinary.

Still jetlagged, she thought. The flight from Los Angeles had been a long one. Of course, I could finally be going insane.

With a dismissive shake of her head she grabbed her magazine from the desk and headed downstairs for a leisurely breakfast.

‘Ahh, the beauty awakes!’

Kelly found it somewhat disconcerting to find Richard sitting in the well-appointed kitchen, sipping tea. She had hoped to have a little more time to herself to soak up the atmosphere and do some independent exploration.

‘I thought Nancy postponed our tour until after lunch,’ she said after greeting him with a cheery ‘good morning’.

‘She did, but I had little else to do and the pantry here is always well-stocked.’ Rising, he took another china cup from a nearby shelf and placed it in front of the seat beside his. ‘How do you take your tea?’

‘Actually – I don’t.’ Yesterday she’d been too tired to remind Tom of the fact. She turned and gazed about the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose you know where they keep the coffee pot, do you?’

‘Spoken like a true American. And, yes,’ he pointed toward a door at the far end of the stainless steel bench beneath a high window. ‘I think you’ll find everything you need beyond that door.’

Richard was right. Behind the door lay a veritable treasure chest. Along one side of the long room were neatly stacked shelves holding every modern appliance known to man, and some she’d never seen before. On the other sat orderly groups of dry goods, coffees of various flavours – both instant and ground – tea, sugar, spreads and marmalades, cookies, and jars of preserved fruit.

Grabbing the smaller of two coffee pots, she gathered the makings of breakfast. Between her upside-down body clock and only picking at dinner the night before, her ravenous stomach growled loudly. After putting on the coffee, she followed Richard’s direction to a small cabinet that held croissants, rolls and wonderful-looking tarts layered with glazed strawberries. After a short battle of indecision, she took one of each.

‘The croissants are better warm,’ he commented as she went to sneak a bite before sitting. ‘Microwave’s over there.’

Obediently, she warmed the croissant and then lathered it with butter and marmalade. One bite told her she’d died and gone to heaven.

‘Good?’

‘Mmmm.’ She wasn’t sure whether she’d moaned with delight or groaned at the idea of becoming accustomed to such treats. At home she usually settled for coffee, and, if she had time, half a granola bar. Pastries were an absolute luxury.

‘You’ll find I usually know what’s what,’ he said with such a bland air of superiority Kelly had to consciously stop herself from reacting with her usual cynicism. After all, this wasn’t her home turf – that world was inhabited by blatant opportunists who played an ongoing game of power and manipulation, always assertive, never willing to give away the upper hand.

She’d only just met Richard, and although she’d spent many years in the company of one particular English rose, she really didn’t understand the subtle cultural differences that made up the English psyche. That was one of her goals: to capture that personality so typically British, that her planned screenplay would be authentic enough that even an Englishman wouldn’t be able to tell a ‘colonial’ had penned it.

Richard seemed content to let her eat in silence and she took the opportunity to scrutinise him in the sunny morning light. Just as she remembered from the previous evening, his face seemed almost too perfect. At a guess she’d have said maybe mid-twenties – thirty at most. The blue of his eyes appeared almost startling in daylight, and his sun-streaked blond hair had that ‘just tousled’ look that most of her male colleagues in LA studiously attempted to effect. She wondered whether Richard also spent as much time and money on his appearance. He wore casual beige trousers, a checkered blazer of obvious quality and Italian leather shoes.

‘If you’re finished, we’ll go.’

It was a command, so reminiscent of Frank’s manner in the months leading up to the divorce, that she almost faltered. But as she looked at the viscount’s guileless expression, she decided she really must slow down and learn more about the man before making any rash conclusions – after all, he’d gone out of his way to come by and show her over the estate.

‘I’ll show you the house before a picnic lunch then we’ll take a drive around the estate.

‘Do you have a jacket?’ he asked as they proceeded into the main hall.

‘Will I need one?’ she stopped and turned so suddenly he slammed into her and immediately grabbed her around the waist to prevent her falling. His cologne washed over her in a wave of musk and spice.

‘Gosh … sorry!’ She tried to step away even as his fingers tightened about her midriff. ‘I didn’t realise you were so close behind me.’

Slowly dropping his hands he took half a step back, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. ‘Quite alright … quite alright.’ The smile broadened. ‘And to answer your question, you might be wise taking a jumper. Even though it is pleasant out, the wind can be bracing at this time of year.’

‘Jumper?’

‘I believe you Americans call them sweaters?’

‘Oh, okay. Would you mind waiting a minute while I dash up to my room to find something?’

‘Certainly.’

After taking the stairs two at a time, Kelly pulled up short when she found her bedroom door wouldn’t open. She twisted the knob left, then right, but the rotten thing wouldn’t budge. For a moment she wondered why Nancy hadn’t given her a key but when she looked at the antique brass fitting she understood why – there was no lock.

‘What the—?’

She jiggled again, this time using her weight to push against the door. For several long seconds she rattled and pushed to no avail, then suddenly the mechanism gave way and she went hurtling into the room, landing beside the bed on her knees.

‘Ow!’ she winced as the sting pulsed through both kneecaps. Sitting back, she drew up the legs of her jeans and inspected her aching knees. Both were red raw. ‘Crap – they’ll be bruised tomorrow.’

Thrusting her fingers through her unruly hair, she scowled at her reflection in the mirror.

With a pained sigh she dragged herself upright, brushed her sore knees and glanced skyward before going to retrieve her jacket.

As she turned to go, she stopped dead in front of the mirror when she caught sight of the man she’d seen last night.

She snapped her eyes shut, willing the image to disappear before hesitantly looking again. It didn’t work. His tall form stared straight back at her, a bemused expression etching his rugged features. Her heart rate stuttered then soared. She didn’t dare breathe. Or speak.

It seemed like an eternity passed as she stood there mesmerised by his arrogant, unblinking dark stare. He stood inside the frame, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a Victorian rake in tight black trousers and flowing white shirt. And like her, he didn’t move a muscle.

Then without warning the corner of his lips lifted as he said, ‘I bid you a good morning, Madam. I hope you are not too badly injured,’ before vanishing from view.

Seconds ticked by as her pulse made a deafening roar inside her ears.

Am I going mad? Surely I didn’t see what I just saw – hear what I just heard. Surely!

With a tiny shake of her head, she propelled herself cautiously forward, all the while reminding herself that there really was no such thing as ghosts.

It’s a hoax. A projection.

‘It has to be a projection of some kind and if it’s a projection … then …’ certain to keep the mirror at arm’s length, she circled it slowly, studying the glass and frame in an attempt to find the source.

Tilting her head, she jammed her hands on her hips with a frown, then spun around and studied the wall opposite the mirror.

Nancy and Tom have certainly gone to a lot of effort to convince me.

Using her reflection as a guide, she ran her hands over the patterned wallpaper, feeling for anything that could conceal a projector. Nothing evident to the naked eye …

She examined each of the light fittings, the window enclosure, each of the four posts that held up the canopy over the bed and then the headboard.

‘Nothing.’

She turned back to the mirror, relieved when the only image she saw reflected there was her own.

At the bottom of the bed, she trailed her fingertips over the ornately carved wood to assure herself that there were no hidden devices. Years of polishing had left the wood silky and smooth.

After exhausting all other possibilities she could think of, she knew she’d have to take a peek behind the mirror itself. As she took a hesitant step forward, she heard footfalls on the staircase. Richard! She’d forgotten all about him.

‘Kelly? Is there a problem?’

Air whooshed from her lungs, and with a last look at the mirror, she grabbed her jacket and exited the room. She met him on the landing.

‘Sorry – I was so tired last night I didn’t unpack,’ she lied as she held her denim jacket up. ‘Found it eventually, though.’

‘Is that your room?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow as if perplexed.

‘Yes, it is – why do you ask?’ She followed the line of his gaze to the closed door.

‘Hmm, makes sense, I suppose,’ he mused, before grinning at her and starting back down the stairs. ‘That’s where the ghost is reputed to be seen when he makes an appearance.’

He’s definitely in on the joke. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Reputed? I thought you lived in this house at one time.’

‘Only part-time, and I never slept in the master bedroom, despite all the reassurances that the ghost wouldn’t appear until some time this year.’

‘This year?’

Richard took her jacket and draped it about her shoulders. ‘Yes. Apparently, the ghost might be heard at any time, but is only seen every twenty years or so by the inhabitant of the master bedroom.’

‘Why twenty years?’

‘In all honesty, I’m not really sure. Legend has it that it’s something to do with astrology.’ He turned to her and gave her a sheepish grin. ‘But I must make a confession: I haven’t done my ancestors proud. I’ve never been particularly interested in this place, or its history.’

‘Why not? – I would have thought if it was your heritage … that you’d want to know everything. Weren’t you intrigued?’

‘My mother did make valiant attempts to educate me when I was about thirteen. But at that time I was a whole lot more fascinated by the daughter of the new housekeeper who’d come home from boarding school. She was three years older than me and decided to devote herself to teaching me the facts of life. Needless to say, hormones being what they were …’ he left the sentence hanging and Kelly didn’t think it wise to pursue the subject.

‘Well, show me what you do know of the place and perhaps I can get to the bottom of the hoax anyway,’ she said with a wry grin.

‘I’m not sure how that can be achieved but we can certainly have a good stab at it. We’ll start with the eyrie, I think.’

‘The what?’ she asked.

‘Eyrie – that’s what I call it … the few times I came here as a boy, I used to go up on the roof and explore. I imagined myself an eagle, so I called it my eyrie,’ he said as he led the way up a narrow staircase at the back of the house. At a small landing on the third floor, he pushed open a wall panel by pressing against the lower corner. With a click, the wall opened up to reveal another, even narrower set of stairs that were steep and curved. Dust covered every surface, and the closed space smelled damp with mildew.

At the top he unfolded a wall-mounted ladder before climbing up the few steps to snap open a trapdoor. He came back down and motioned her ahead of him.

‘M’lady,’ he said as he sketched a mock bow, ‘if you’d care to climb the steps you’ll get a very different view of the locale.’

With a smile, she edged past him and climbed. Once outside, she realised that there was a walk, not dissimilar to the widow’s walks she’d seen on some coastal houses in the States. Wind immediately grabbed at her hair, whipping it around her face.

‘Wow,’ she said as she turned slowly and took in the landscape before her. Though the view from her room this morning was spectacular, the added height of this vantage gave her a bird’s eye view. ‘I can see why you called it an eyrie … we’re at the highest point in the whole area.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘To a small boy this was like being at the top of the world.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves and tilted his head back, breathing deeply.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever smelled air this fresh,’ she said.

‘Hmm, disgusting, isn’t it?’

Kelly laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, but I do think I’ll notice the difference when I get back to LA.’

As they soaked up the warmth of the sunny morning, she decided to take the opportunity to quiz him further about the ghost. Perhaps he’d say something that would give their game away.

‘Do you know if there are any records regarding appearances in recent years?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I know that traditionally the master of Stanthorpe has always kept a journal. That is until I came along,’ – he flashed a look reminiscent of a naughty little boy – ‘I’m not one for traditions, I must confess. I glanced at one of my predecessor’s journals a few years ago, but it wasn’t what I’d call riveting reading, crop yields and tenancy agreements, that sort of thing. I didn’t bother beyond a few pages. I should think you’ll find the archives in the library somewhere, unless Tom has moved them already.’

‘I’ll ask him. Thanks.’

‘Anything for such a fair damsel,’ he said, sliding her an intimate look as he crossed to the other end of the rooftop walk.

‘You must have been a child when the ghost supposedly made his last appearance. Do you remember anything from that time?’

He leaned against the iron railing and looked down toward the river as if avoiding her gaze. ‘I expect I was away at school then. The family certainly wasn’t in residence at Stanthorpe. Mother preferred the city and Father spent most of his time in Europe on business. Don’t recall any mention of the ghost until much later.’

From his offhand tone she suspected he probably knew more than he was willing to say, but she chose not to press the issue until she’d gotten to know the man, and the manor, a little better.

Richard pointed out the various landmarks, explaining the purpose behind each of the buildings on the estate.

‘A buttery? You mean they have a whole building to make butter?’ she said as she studied the structure closest to the house itself.

He laughed. ‘No. The buttery was the place where liquid provisions were stored. Butter could also be kept there, I suppose, but it usually housed the estate’s liquor stores. It’s used as a garage nowadays.’

Just as she was about to look away she caught a flash of movement. A teenaged girl, at least it appeared to be a girl, darted out of the back door of the manor, crept along in the shadows and disappeared around the far side of the buttery. An instant later, her head bobbed back around the side of the building, did a quick scan of the courtyard before again ducking out of sight.

‘Who was that? Did you see her?’ Kelly pointed to the spot where the girl had just vanished.

Richard narrowed his gaze as if puzzled. ‘I didn’t see anyone. Maybe shadows from the passing clouds … or one of the dogs?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m sure I saw a girl – a teenage girl. About fifteen, I guess. Trying to be stealthy by the looks of it.’

And now she thought about it, it made sense. Perhaps the girl had turned on the ghostly projection in her room earlier. An accomplice who could take suspicion away and provide Richard with a convenient alibi if needed.

After staring off in the direction of the buttery for a long moment, he turned back. ‘Well, I can’t see anyone now. It might have been one of the local girls taking a shortcut through the estate.’

‘I suppose,’ she mused, though her skepticism had been piqued.

‘So, shall we take a tour of the rest of the manor?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she replied, wondering what other surprises might be ahead.

Once they’d made it back to the landing, Richard showed her the servants’ quarters that sat either side of the stairwell.

‘Tiny,’ she commented on the windowless rooms nestled under the roof. ‘Almost like cells.’

‘Yes, they didn’t have a very good time of it in the early days. I expect it was extremely hot in summer and icy cold in winter. But most were grateful for the work.’

He gestured her down the staircase ahead. At the next landing he stopped and tapped on the wall. ‘It was a long time ago so I can’t remember exactly where, but along this wall is the entrance to one of the priest holes. Apparently, there are quite a few of those … and secret passages.’ He faced her with that mischievous grin.

‘You’re joking, right?’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all. The builders could probably tell you where they all are – they’d have floor plans. I will admit, as a boy, I was a little too frightened to go looking for them by myself, and as I said, we didn’t spend a lot of time here.’ He tapped again, and again. The third tap sounded hollow and he turned to her and raised his eyebrows in expectation.

A chill ran down Kelly’s spine.

‘I’d say,’ he began feeling around the edge of the wooden panel, ‘that we shall find a release …’

She heard a loud click and held her breath.

‘… here.’

He straightened triumphantly as the panel swung open.

Behind the panel sat an enclosed crawlspace that reminded Kelly of a coffin. Mortar dust covered the floor from the unfinished brickwork. She released her breath slowly.

‘That’s it? Just a small hole behind the wall?’

‘The idea was simply to provide a hiding place for short periods of time. Any bigger and the room would be noticed during a search. Needless to say, it would have been most uncomfortable.’

‘Where are the others?’ she asked, thinking a spot like this would be the ideal place to hide AV equipment.

‘I believe there are one or two elsewhere, but this is the only one I’ve found.’ He closed the panel and slapped his hands together to disperse any dust. ‘I never found any of the secret passages either, but I’m assured they exist.’

They made their way down to the main staircase with its parade of portraits.

When they reached the mirror, the distorted reflection of the foyer below sent a wave of nausea rushing through her. ‘Whoa,’ she murmured as she closed her eyes to stifle the sensation.

‘What’s wrong?’ Richard asked, gripping her arm with concern.

‘Just a bit of vertigo. The mirror is probably warped.’

When she opened her eyes, she made a point of averting her gaze.

‘I’d say it’s time for morning tea, then.’ He led her down the staircase and back to the kitchen at the rear.

After she’d revived with an iced apple juice, they took a walk out to view the stables, buttery and the wooded field behind the manor.

Returning to her room, she felt somewhat guilty. She’d begged off the drive to inspect Richard’s coach house, claiming fatigue. While she did feel tired, her main purpose for postponing the rest of Richard’s tour was to get back and make a closer examination of her room, do a bit of sleuthing and find the source of the projection. And she intended to follow up on the journals Richard mentioned, if they could be unearthed. After all, the more evidence she could find to refute the presence of a ghost, the better. If, and it was a big if, Tom and Nancy truly believed in the ghost, it was far better to disabuse them of the notion straight away, and she’d need weighty evidence to do that. If, on the other hand, they were in cahoots with Richard in attempting to fool her … well, friends or not, she’d have to catch them out.

She just hoped that Richard was the lone culprit; her conscience would feel a heck of a lot better.

The house seemed eerily quiet when she slipped in through the kitchen and up the servants’ narrow staircase to the second floor. Where all the workmen had gone, she didn’t know. When they’d left the manor not two hours before, the sound of saws and hammers had begun in earnest. Perhaps they were taking a lunch break.

As she passed Nancy and Tom’s room she put her ear to the door but heard no sound, so she continued on to her own.

The door stood open.

Shaking her head as she crossed the threshold, she wondered whether she’d really lost her mind or simply become forgetful with the stress of the divorce. She’d shut the door when she left earlier, she was certain of it. If a housemaid had come to tidy, surely she would have closed the door when she’d finished?

Kelly checked the bathroom in case a housemaid was still in there, but from the looks of things, nobody had been in to clean. Maybe … she glanced at the mirror then quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way she’d buy into the ghost scenario – it was simply too ludicrous to contemplate.

Standing in the centre of the room, she again assessed the possible angle of projection then repeated her scrutiny of the wall and fixtures opposite. She knocked on all the walls in case a priest hole hid there but the all she heard was the dull thud of plaster.

Definitely none in here, she mused as she tapped her chin. There were no electrical devices in the room apart from a lamp and her laptop so it was well nigh impossible that anything could be used as a receiver.

On the windowsill, behind the bed, she found a row of small stones with weird markings on them. Her fingertips tingled as she touched the closest.

These certainly weren’t here before. The girl?

She gathered the stones and examined each carefully. The scratched symbols were shallow and smooth. They were all of a similar size and though they seemed to spark with energy as she handled them, she couldn’t see how they could be responsible for the projection. Still she went out to the hall and deposited them on the bureau that sat on the landing outside her room. She’d ask Nancy about them later.

For the next hour, she frisked the entire room, looking for anything that might be suspect – everything from the single telephone/data outlet to the weird druid’s eggs. She even looked inside the cello. But she found no wires or infra-red. No power points. No speakers. Nothing.

‘That leaves the mirror itself or something behind it,’ she said out loud.

Taking the chair from beside the desk, she tested if it would take her weight before placing it before the mirror and climbing up. Carefully, she ran her fingers over the upper frame, feeling in every scroll and indentation to be certain no concealed devices were hidden under the gold paint. Once she’d satisfied herself that one section was clean, she shifted the chair and went over another. Then she systematically inspected the sides of the frame. Finally, on all fours, she checked the bottom and the skirting board below.

Chewing on her lower lip she straightened and slowly flexed her stiff and still achy knees. With no alternative she knew she’d have to look behind it.

Although heavier than expected, she lifted one side of the mirror and carefully examined every inch of the wall beneath – no mean feat with heavy glass and plywood pressed against your skull. She just prayed the brass chain and hooks that held the whole thing in place were secure. Painstakingly, she felt every link in the hanging chain, and in and around each of the three hooks on the wall, as well as the two attached to the mirror itself.

When she finally slid awkwardly from beneath she was not only dusty, but bewildered. She’d been confident that given time she’d find at least something. The only thing left was the glass itself but after scanning the entire surface, she had to concede defeat.

‘However they’re doing it – it must be really high tech.’

For the next hour she sat at the computer researching the latest in devices for image projection and the only thing she learned was that she’d need a master’s degree in electronics to understand most of the search results. Frustrated, she sent off an email to a friend who had a reputation as a bit of a computer nerd asking his advice, and then placed an order for a sophisticated meter to detect the presence of even the smallest electronic emissions. Nancy would probably have a fit when she presented the bill to her but she’d asked Kelly to do a serious investigation – and, well, serious investigations cost.

John Tarrant watched her work on her strange machine. The glow of the thing illuminated her face with a bluish patina that made the green of her eyes appear ethereal. He had seen such devices in recent times and pondered their purpose. He couldn’t comprehend how she communicated with it, but when it made strange whining noises she muttered curses in the most unladylike manner, or cajoled it as a mother would a recalcitrant child. If, by some miracle of fate he ever escaped his purgatory alive, he vowed to make someone show him one of these machines, along with a myriad of other inventions he’d seen come and go since his incarceration.

Over the years the list had become a long one.

Gaslight had been installed in his London house only a short while before he’d ventured up to claim Stanthorpe as his home, and now lights – so blindingly bright they pained his eyes – filled every room and hall so that one could move about with ease even on the darkest of nights. And then there was the radio machine, where one could hear music or plays, and at times unbearable cacophonies, without an orchestra or players of any kind. The viewing box truly amazed him and he had to admit that it took him a number of years, and the gentle interrogation of one of his potential saviours, to learn that the pictures inside were clever images and not tiny people, trapped like he was behind that small square of glass. The explanation the boy had given defied all logic and no matter how often he thought on it, he couldn’t quite believe it – invisible waves in the air? – utter nonsense, for a certainty. He suspected the boy had been toying with him.

The portable case with the viewing screen and all those buttons that Kelly pushed so rapidly was merely another to add to his long list. He shuddered to think what he might discover if he remained in his cold prison for another 140 years.

Once she finished her tapping and had closed the device, he decided it was time to reveal himself, to throw his soul before her and plead for mercy. He just hoped she wouldn’t react as she had done last evening.

The house was empty – a godsend – at least he did not have to contend with interference from any other quarters this time. It might give him the opportunity to convince her.

After a moment’s hesitation, he eased over to the place where he knew she’d see him when she returned from the dressing room. He wasn’t quite sure if he should pray or not, but since God seemed to have deserted him long ago he decided to simply trust the Fates.

The minute she returned from the bathroom, Kelly knew she was being watched. Every fine hair on her arms stood to attention and she almost turned straight around to seek refuge in the bathroom. But even as that thought raced through her mind, her eyes darted to the mirror.

In broad daylight the image appeared even more commanding. Just as he’d done earlier, he stood with his arms folded, staring at her with an intense expression. Tall, with longish black hair and deep blue eyes, he wore the same clothing and held himself rigid in the same tense stance as if ready to launch himself through the glass and into the room. He seemed to be waiting. Suspended.

Despite all rational thought a tingling stirred low in her belly – a sensation she hadn’t known since the first heady days of rapture with Frank. Ridiculous! How can I be affected by a hoax?

As she edged a small step closer his eyes followed her and she wondered how they could possibly have manufactured the projection to be able to do that. She felt fairly certain there were no cameras anywhere in the room because she had just gone over every inch of it. It must be a trick of some kind, or the result of some well-educated guesswork. Still, she made a mental note not to strip off her clothes – just in case.

Another step closer and he shifted his stance, relaxing it ever so slightly.

Drawing a deep breath, she too relaxed and crossed her arms to mimic him. It was uncanny. He looked so real, so tangible, that she felt as if she could reach through the glass and touch a real live man, and chances were he was exactly that – a hired actor, playing the part of a ghost. And an attractive one.

She tilted her head to the side as she scrutinised him. ‘How the heck have they done it?’

The image tilted his head just as she had done and said in a deep voice that rumbled through the room, ‘They?’

Despite herself, Kelly jumped back with a start. Her heart began to pound. She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

‘Please, I would prefer that you did not shriek again, Madam – I vow I cannot harm you.’ The image dropped his arms and held out his hands as if to show her he concealed nothing. ‘I cannot reach beyond the glass.’

There must be a camera! How else would he know that she was about to cut loose and yell for all she was worth? She swallowed and narrowed her eyes, not at him, but the frame and wall surrounding the mirror.

‘If you tell me what it is you are searching for, perhaps I might be of assistance.’

She scowled at him before resuming her study of the wallpaper. ‘Where is it?’

‘It?’

‘It – the camera.’

‘Cam-er-uh? I regret that this is a word I do not know. Is it a device of some kind? Perhaps you can describe it? I know this place well and have likely seen it.’

Again she scowled. ‘Funny ha-ha! Everyone knows what a camera is.’ She stopped her inspection of the wallpaper to find him leaning to the side in order to view her progress.

‘Alas, I do not.’

‘Alas you do not,’ she muttered under her breath as her eyes locked onto his. ‘Why am I even talking to you?’

His brow furrowed. ‘Why should you not? I know we have not been formally introduced but that is easily remedied: my name is John Tarrant,’ he sketched the slightest of bows before continuing, ‘and you are in my bedroom – a situation which, in my time would be considered quite unacceptable, but from what I have learned of yours I believe it is an everyday state of affairs.’

Kelly pursed her lips and tapped her chin. The camera was obviously something so hi-tech that she needed professional help. There was a guy … last year at the journalist awards … from one of those science magazines … now what was his name? Graham something-or-other … Graham … Zee … Graham Z … she snapped her fingers … Zatz – that was it! She’d give him a call and get some advice. She checked her watch: 12:45 … that’d make it … another couple of hours before he’d be in the office.

Meanwhile, the more information she had, the better, she supposed.

‘Your time. Okay, I’ll play your game. When exactly was “your time”?’

John straightened, looking a little surprised by her question. ‘My mother delivered me into this world on January 31st, in the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and twenty-eight. I was incarcerated at midnight on October 21st, eighteen hundred and sixty-one.’

‘What – so you died in jail and now haunt these hallowed halls?’ She narrowed her eyes as her skepticism surfaced in earnest. ‘C’mon. Who are you really? Are you working for the viscount or Tom and Nancy, or are they all in on it?’ She walked right up to the mirror so she could stare him in the eye. ‘This has been fun but you didn’t honestly expect that I’d swallow this trash, did you? How are you doing it?’

A sad expression crossed his face for a split second before he schooled his features and returned to his former, tense stance. ‘In the first instance, Madam, I must correct your assumption: I am not, nor have I ever been, a ghost. Ghosts are quite boring souls who annoy merely for annoyance’s sake. There have been a few who have walked this place since I became trapped and I would offer none the time of day, though they are often distant relatives of one sort or another. I am quite alive, but I am incarcerated. Nor do I work for anyone – least of all the man who calls himself Lord Stanthorpe.’ His brows dipped into a dramatic scowl.

While a little overbearing, she’d found Richard to be personable and gallant, and couldn’t for the life of her begin to fathom why the ghost would be so disapproving. Perhaps it was merely to create an illusion of distance between Richard and this whole farce?

‘I have learned to have some affection for your Tom and Nancy. However, that is by the by,’ he continued. Lowering his gaze, he whispered, ‘I humbly seek your help in freeing me from this prison.’ He opened out his palms in entreaty and for a long minute, Kelly almost believed him, so genuine was the little-boy-lost expression he wore.

The sound of her mobile phone’s insistent trill broke the spell she had fallen under. She stepped back, her hand rising to her throat as if fending off a threat. Even as she made the gesture, she felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. Hysterically.

Instead, she backed up another pace and again narrowed her eyes.

‘I’m not sure how many people have been conned by this grand performance … but I won’t be one of them.’

She picked up her now silent phone and glanced at the display: a text message from Nancy saying that she and Tom would be delayed in the village. It might be a new (took out the ‘utechnology, but she’d found it very helpful in her line of work.

After closing the message she looked up at the mirror to find her visitor watching her with a fascinated expression. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t know what this is, either.’ She waved the small handset before him.

‘Indeed, I have seen your friends using those on many occasions, although I have only seen them speak into the device.’ He straightened up and looked down his nose as if proud that he could answer her.

Kelly didn’t let herself respond – for an instant she almost forgot that the image she saw wasn’t real. Instead, she scanned her contacts and found Graham Zatz’s number then composed her own text message, hoping that the phone company hadn’t lied when they said she could message across the Atlantic.

When done, she popped her phone back into her pocket and gathered her jacket from the back of the chair.

‘Are you leaving?’ the apparition asked.

‘I was planning to spend some time researching surveillance equipment. I’d suggest you come along, but I can see how impossible that would be,’ she said once she’d donned her jacket and picked up her attaché case. ‘While this has been very amusing … I would prefer that this little charade ends right here.’

Gripping the gilt doorknob she looked meaningfully at the man in the mirror. ‘Don’t be here when I get back.’ The door squeaked as she thrust it wide, blocking him from her sight.

‘Wait!’ John’s voice wrapped about her like a whip.

She stopped. The logical part of her brain wailed as she allowed the door to swing back. His eyes captured hers in a vice-like grip that defied her to turn away.

‘What if I can prove I am who I say I am?’

She tried not to smirk at the absurdity of such a statement. ‘I don’t think that is possible.’

‘I heard Tom say something about you being an investigator – if that is indeed the case, then investigate me. I could tell you all I know and you could look up the histories in the church records.’

Kelly rubbed her forehead tiredly. ‘Anybody can do that … besides, all that would accomplish is to tell me that you have done the research to play your role.’

‘But I know things that are not in the records. And my cousin’s journal … Edward Ditchley … it would tell things that nobody but I could possibly know.’

She sighed. ‘And where would this journal be?’

John hesitated, glancing away as if staring out the window into an unknown horizon. ‘That is the great dilemma – I do not know. It is the very thing that has been plaguing me all these years past. I am certain the answer to my incarceration lies within those pages. Indeed, I know it is, because my cousin wrote everything down – it was almost a sickness in him.’ His eyes darted back to hers, burning with both fire and challenge. ‘Please, could you not look for the journal?’

A vibrating silence filled the space between Kelly and the mirror – between Kelly and the apparition that had undoubtedly been very well rehearsed to play his role. Not once had he dropped the act, either by mistaken word or false movement. Yet she knew that the journal, like the man in the mirror, was surely just a device to make her fall more deeply into the trap.

And there was one gaping hole in his argument.

‘If you have been in this house all these years, why don’t you know where it is? Surely, being a wraith, you can go through every room. If what you said is true, you’d certainly have had enough time to search the place a thousand times.’

‘Alas, the method of my incarceration allows me little movement and as the years pass, even less so. You see, I am trapped within the mirrors—’

‘Well, from what I’ve seen there are plenty of those,’ she scoffed, her fingers tightening on the doorknob as she again prepared to leave.

‘Ah, but I cannot enter all the mirrors – only those that were present at the time I became imprisoned. Each time a new generation takes up residence, they move, sell or sometimes break one.

‘In the beginning, I could move easily from room to room and know all the doings, but now only five of the original mirrors remain. This one, the mirror in the formal dining room, the one on the landing above the main stairs, one in storage in the pantry and my mother’s ivory hand mirror are all that allow me to see.’ His voice dropped to a plaintive whisper. ‘One day, if I cannot find a way out, all the mirrors shall be gone and I will be blinded – forever lost between the real world and the next.’

Against her will she became so enthralled by the quiet desperation in his voice that her fingers slid from the gold knob and she stepped toward him, a tiny thrill racing through her abdomen.

‘Even if you do not believe me – could you not allow a little time to search?’

He held himself completely still as if his whole world hinged upon how she would react. And yet, his eyes conveyed a silent dignity, which reassured her that whatever her answer was, he would accept his fate with grace. It was almost too difficult to meet his gaze.

Against her better judgement the word ‘Yes’ tumbled almost inaudibly from her lips.

In an instant his blue eyes caught fire and a buoyancy seemed to lift his shoulders till he stood tall and regal before her. His chest appeared to widen and his jaw took on a strength that made him resemble some of the more magnificent portraits that paraded down the staircase outside her room.

‘I do not know how, or even if I can ever repay your kindness, Madam, but as God is my witness, I shall find a way.’

Kelly raised her arms as if she were fending off an unexpected blow. ‘Hang on! – I said I’d look. That’s all. I didn’t say I believed you. Like I said to Tom and Nancy last night, the purpose of my investigation will be to disprove your existence and I haven’t changed my mind about that.’

She turned away and wondered whether she was finally having the nervous breakdown her lawyer, Kyra Goldstern, had warned of as they exited the courthouse almost a month ago. To even contemplate helping an apparition in a mirror – worse! – to allow the slight possibility that he was genuine, was quite insane and she knew it.

But.

But something deep within compelled her to know.

It had always been like that. For as long as she could remember she’d driven her family crazy with her persistent questions. And she was never satisfied with evasions. She needed to know exactly why things happened … why people behaved as they did. Later her obsession included the desire to understand what motivated people in power, or world events – whether momentous or insignificant.

That desperate need to know had been the impetus for her taking up journalism. That, and the profound disgust that so many people seemed to want to cheat each other, hurt each other. It had made her almost manic in her desire to find the truth. That same desire drove her to discover Frank’s infidelity.

And now, more than ever, she needed to find the truth.

‘So,’ she said as she again moved to the door, ‘be prepared. I will uncover this little hoax and I promise you, I’m not easily fooled. If Tom or Nancy come looking for me, tell them I’ve gone to London to find a surveillance expert.’

‘I cannot,’ John said.

‘Why not?’

‘They cannot see me – only you can.’

Convenient. ‘And why is that?’

‘I do not know, precisely. Indeed, I have found through the years, that I can only be seen for a short span of time every twenty or so years, and only by the person who sleeps in my bed.’

She darted a glance at the four-poster – his bed? She slept in his bed? That notion was especially disturbing. But she still didn’t see the significance.

‘Again, I ask, why is that?’

He shrugged. ‘I know not the method or rules of the sorcery that put me here – only the actual ritual, which I witnessed as I was incarcerated. The rest I have learned over time.’

‘All right,’ she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, ‘explain what you do know.’ This should be interesting, she murmured under her breath.

He raised a brow. ‘Indeed it is.’

A slow moment ticked past as Kelly tried to measure his face, to know whether he could be believed. Everything inside her screamed that she was a fool to even listen to his stories, that she was setting herself up for disappointment if not to be tricked.

And yet something vulnerable hid in his dark eyes … something needy that made her body clench with want.

She shook her head, astonished at her own wayward feelings. She couldn’t afford to buy into it. She needed his answers to catch him out –and that was all!

Leaning against the bedpost, she looked him in the eye with same intensity she would have used with a media magnate or suspected underworld mobster. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

As he returned her stare, she made a mental note that he didn’t seem to be taken aback by her assertive attitude, which, she suspected, would never have happened in his own time – if indeed, his 1800s origin proved genuine. Instead, he favoured her with a wry half-smile that suddenly altered his countenance in ways that promised mischief. Strike one, she mused.

‘It appears that every twenty years I have eighteen days to seek my redemption. As I have already told you, I was set into this place at midnight on October 21, 1861. My father became Earl upon the death of my grandfather, on May twelve of that year, which, in turn, conferred the title of Lord Stanthorpe upon me, since I am the eldest son.’

‘Whoa! If the title goes from eldest son to eldest son, how can you be Lord Stanthorpe when Ditchley is the inherited surname? Didn’t you say your name was Tarrant?’

‘Please, Madam, allow me to finish my tale.’

‘By all means,’ she replied skeptically and stepped back to sit on the edge of the high bed.

‘Thank you,’ he muttered before he started to pace the width of the mirror. ‘After inheriting, I invited my childhood friend, Elizabeth, to come and lend a hand with refurbishment as I was planning to marry in December—’

‘So you and Elizabeth were engaged,’ Kelly interrupted.

‘Heavens no,’ John stopped pacing and slanted her a look. ‘Elizabeth was my cousin, Edward Ditchley’s wife – yes, Edward Ditchley was my cousin, younger by a year– and heir, since my sire had no other legitimate offspring and Edward was my only other living relation, with the exception of my parents, of course.

‘Elizabeth, Edward and I grew up together.

‘Edward was off taking delivery of a shipment of goods from India and Elizabeth had been staying with my mother at our townhouse in London. Elizabeth joined me here to see to the house. It hadn’t been lived in for some length of time and was in need of much repair and a woman’s touch.’

‘So, your childhood friend arrived to help you redecorate. Then what? – how did you wind up stuck there?’ she asked lightly as if she truly believed what he’d told her so far.

John pinned her with a sharp glare. ‘Madam, you display little patience. Are all women from your country so rude as to preempt a man’s words at every turn?’

Kelly began to laugh – he played the role well. Majestic in his indignance, he stood ramrod straight with arms crossed. She made a secret note to herself to check out local actors then inwardly altered that to London and other major cities instead. Although she didn’t know Richard well, she suspected that if he had contacts in the theatre, they’d most likely hail from London. And if Tom and Nancy were party to this charade, they would be certain to find an actor who was not only professional, but also not easily identified by the nearby residents, otherwise the whole scam would be uncovered with ease.

‘You find my question amusing, Madam?’

‘Will you stop calling me that!’ she broke in. ‘Where I come from a madam is a brothel owner … as I am sure you already know.’

‘Indeed. An interesting thought,’ he murmured as his eyes raked her up and down, almost mockingly. ‘How then, should I address you? Mrs … ?’ one black brow quirked.

‘Not Mrs. I’m not that either, at least not any more. Just call me Kelly.’

‘It is not customary for a gentleman to address a lady by her given name unless she is well known to him.’

She giggled.

‘First you find my questions amusing, and now you make jest of my polite manners. Mada— Kelly, you would wound a gentleman deeply.’

She came to stand before him. ‘What amuses me is that you can keep in character for so long without slipping up.’

His brow creased. ‘I assure you, Kelly, the floor where I exist is not in the least slippery.’

Again she laughed. ‘Okay, if you want to keep pretending, fine by me. Tell me what happened after Elizabeth fixed up the house.’

He glanced down and away, almost like a child avoiding an admission of guilt. His whole body seemed to shrink in on itself and suddenly that air of vulnerability returned.

She took a hesitant step toward the mirror. He looked up and when his eyes met hers, they swam with moisture. ‘I killed her.’

Kelly jumped backward as if stung. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last she’d have expected.

‘What did you say?’

‘Madam – your hearing is quite adequate, I am sure, but I shall humour you and repeat my statement. It is said that confession is good for the soul.’

He heaved a great sigh before he again fixed her with his stern stare.

‘I killed her. I killed my childhood friend, Elizabeth. Loyal, sweet, beautiful Elizabeth. I ended her life and in truth I deserve this prison in which I am bound. And though I cannot claim I am in hell, after one hundred and forty years I would have it done. I seek your help,’ he implored, ‘so that I might break this unholy spell and go to confront my Maker.’

Kelly didn’t know what to say. Compassion rose in her breast, despite her best logic. His face, his expression, appeared so genuinely self-loathing that for a few seconds she found herself almost buying into the whole charade.

Almost.

A knock on the door sent her inner alarms into overdrive and her mind back to reality.

The door swung inward and Nancy’s face peeped around it. ‘There you are!’ She looked about the room as if perplexed. ‘Were you just talking to someone?’

Kelly’s ‘no’ came out as a mere squeak.

Nancy gave her a questioning frown. ‘I could have sworn I heard voices.’

When Kelly remained mute, Nancy gave a dramatic wave of dismissal and entered the room, in full view of the mirror. ‘Well, we were just about to have some afternoon tea. If you feel like joining us, we’ll be in the salon.’

Kelly studied her friend to gauge if she showed any reaction to the man standing in the mirror. As far as Kelly could tell, Nancy had no inkling, but then again, she had a reputation in school for being an accomplished actress – in their final year, her death scene as Juliet had been particularly convincing.

For herself, Kelly pretended that she saw nothing and agreed to be down in a few minutes. ‘Just give me five to freshen up and make some phone calls,’ she said as she pushed the door closed.

When she turned back to the mirror, it displayed nothing but her own reflection and that of the room behind her. Had it all been in my mind? No –it may be an elaborate hoax but I was definitely talking to someone.

She just needed to find out who.

Her first call, to the local library, yielded some helpful information. Apparently, all the local histories had long since been sent to either the National Archives in Surrey or the Bodleian Library at Oxford. At the National Archives access to documents was possible but she needed to make a request two days in advance, which, though a nuisance, might figure in with her quest for finding the actor who played her illusive phantom. Thus, Kelly’s afternoon loomed as full of online research in order make lists of needed documents, as well as addresses of theatrical agents in London. If necessary, she’d try the Oxford library if she came up empty in London.

The second call, to the local vicar’s residence, also promised reward. The housekeeper suggested a visit to nearby Abingdon where the retired curator of the historical museum was renowned for his knowledge of local legends of the estate homes of Oxfordshire. Kelly took down the details deciding that if she had to wait till Wednesday to go to the National Archives, she could spend the next day or two doing some research in the local area. She’d also resolved that she would extend her physical searches to the mirrors the ghost had mentioned in his explanation. While she couldn’t for the life of her see how they were pulling it off, she was sure that one of the mirrors had to contain some clue.

Glancing about the room, she wondered about the pictures as well. Her mind flashed to some of the movies she’d seen where the eyes of portraits were used as peepholes so the villain could spy upon his victims. The idea might be absurd but at this point she was willing to consider anything. Like architectural plans. If Richard could be believed, the house harboured a number of secret passages and only the Lord knew what else. Perhaps the crew in charge of renovating the manor had some helpful information along those lines. She’d have to talk to the foreman in the morning.

As she closed the telephone directory, Kelly gave a little sigh. For the first time since the divorce, she felt in command. The sniff of mystery, admittedly ridiculous in nature but a mystery nonetheless, made her feel alive again. This is what she did best, investigating a story. It was what defined her as a journalist, what drove her to the truth. That inner fire she’d thought had died along with her marriage was rekindled and she knew, deep down, that Tom and Nancy had manufactured the whole scenario for that very purpose. The need to confirm they’d done so already dug at the core within her – a core that refused to be truly quashed. She acknowledged the irony with a wry smile. They’d pay for their attempted trickery, but afterward she’d probably also thank them for forcing her out of her self-indulgent melancholia.

The afternoon sun was just arcing beyond the row of willows when Richard pulled up alongside the coach house. He knew she would be there even if he hadn’t seen the bicycle. She had become too clingy of late and he knew he’d soon have to give Dee her marching orders. A shame really, she was a versatile little thing.

‘What are you doing here, Dee?’ he said in a low voice as he pushed the door closed. She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts, nursing a glass of wine.

‘Drinking wine is against the law for someone your age, Dee.’

She smiled, one of those smug little smiles she wore when she had grand plans for them both. ‘I’ve missed you, Ricky. We’ve barely seen each other in the past few weeks and you promised we’d start making plans once the lease agreement had gone through.’

Turning, he removed his jacket and took his time hanging it on the coat hook by the door. He kicked off his shoes and left them where they fell before turning back.

‘The money hasn’t come through yet, and the bank will be keeping more than expected. It seems a lot of interest accrues when you default on your loan repayments. So … the long and the short of it is … we won’t be able to take that trip for a while yet.’ He neglected to tell her that his bookie, Denny, still hadn’t been paid off and likely wouldn’t be so he’d have to come up with another way to get the money.

He’d done a little research and discovered that Kelly wasn’t just a high-flying journalist, she also came from a very wealthy family and had a trust fund conservatively valued in the millions, which made her a very good catch for a man in need of liquid assets. He’d decided on a whirlwind courtship. No woman he knew had been able to resist his charm, and he was certain he could make her forget that ex-husband of hers if she’d let him. All he had to do was get a little time alone with her.

‘You better not be taking that American away with you instead,’ she warned.

How the hell did Dee know about Kelly?

‘I think you’re jumping to conclusions again, Dee. I barely know the woman.’ He pursed his lips to suppress the snarl that wanted to surface; he hated that Dee always seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘Tom asked me to squire her about and show her the countryside. Maybe help her on her ghost hunt. She just got divorced and Tom and Nancy are worried about her emotional state. I’m supposed to help distract her.’

Dee sidled up to him and ran a blunt fingernail down the front of his trousers. He stirred, instantly hard.

‘Just how distracting do you plan to be?’ she asked, and though she smiled when she said it, he could tell that she wasn’t in the least happy.

He gripped her hand and held it still while he slid the zipper of his pants down. ‘Not as distracting as you can be,’ he murmured as he pushed her fingers inside his briefs.

She smiled again, this time with delight as he filled her hand.

‘You’d better be sure nobody saw you come here. Don’t forget I can still be sent to jail if they find out about us. You have to keep our secret. When you turn eighteen … mmmm.’ Her hands were hot, and though small, gripped him with just the right pressure to make him throb. He groaned deep in his throat as she smoothed along his length and circled him with her other hand sending ripples of pleasure down his spine. ‘You have such clever fingers.’

‘I had a great teacher.’

Yes, he hadn’t forgotten that Dee hadn’t yet turned thirteen when he’d set about seducing her. Or had she seduced him? He didn’t quite remember and nor did he care. She’d dropped into Stanthorpe asking for a part-time job to earn money for a trip her class planned to take in France. He’d offered her work washing his cars and cleaning his riding gear. Of course, when she got soaked hosing down his BMW … well … she had to strip off and take a shower, didn’t she? He hadn’t meant to watch but he’d taken one look at those small breasts and faint thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs and his body reacted predictably. She’d caught him spying on her and flashed him that sexy look that had him hard and hot in an instant.

For the past three years she had been servicing his needs whenever he ventured up to Stanthorpe and in that time he’d taught her all the tricks he knew. She had filled out somewhat but was still a delectable piece of baggage. Eager to learn, she was completely uninhibited and amoral – just as he liked it. He could ask for anything, do anything, and she acquiesced without a single complaint. He still paid her … just to keep her father from wondering.

Right now he wanted to be in her mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed downward until she knelt before him, her eyes large and glistening when she stared up at him. First she licked her lips then as she put out her tongue he closed his eyes to revel in that silken heat. Yes, it was a sad thought that he’d have to give her up … but someone like Dee wouldn’t willingly take second place, and he knew that if he wanted to snare Kelly, Dee would definitely have to go. For now though, he’d enjoy her nubile young body.

As her hot mouth closed around him and the fire began to consume him, he stopped thinking altogether.

The room remained as she had left it – the mirror, thankfully, empty of anything but the usual reflections. Kelly wondered whether the actor was now off duty and thus would leave her in peace.

Again she felt compelled to go over every piece of furniture, every light fixture – every bubble in the wallpaper. After two hours of painstaking searching, she couldn’t find a single thing that resembled a camera or a microphone in either the room, or the dressing room. The bathroom was easier to check because the walls were all tiled and there were few fixtures but she made sure to be thorough. Screwing off the showerhead had proven a mistake as it continually wanted to cross-thread as she tried to reattach it. Her arms were aching by the time she’d finally set it to rights.

She was just changing her damp blouse when the phone rang.

‘Kelly speaking,’ she answered as she flipped the small device open.

‘Hi there, Kelly, Graham Zatz returning your call. What can I do for you?’

‘Oh Graham, thanks so much for getting back to me.’ She sat at the desk, careful to keep her back to the mirror and buttoned her shirt as she spoke. ‘I need to pick your brain for an assignment I’m working on here in England.’

‘Fire away, be glad to help in whatever way I can.’

Kelly detected a slight smile in his voice and couldn’t help responding in kind. ‘I need to know what to be looking for if I think a place is bugged. I have a situation where I know there is surveillance, but I cannot find anything at all. The place has apparently been professionally swept, but I don’t trust it. Can you help?’

‘Sure. Give me your email address and I’ll send you some pics of the latest in spy gadgetry. They can be incredibly small, but equally expensive so if you are being watched, someone is paying big money to do it. Any idea why?’

Kelly had been afraid he’d ask that question. ‘It’s a very long story so I won’t bore you with it now since you’re paying trans-Atlantic phone charges.’

That brought a laugh down the line. ‘Not this bunny. One of the perks to this job is to be able to communicate around the world at no cost.’

‘Still, at this stage I can’t reveal too much. Perhaps after I’ve finished the assignment I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Over dinner?’

She pursed her lips. He was pleasant enough though not in the least her type, but dinner she could do. ‘Sounds nice.’

‘It’s a date then.

‘Check out the images I send, and make sure you pay particular attention to the dimensions. Some are incredibly small. If you still can’t find the items let me know and I’ll get the name of the best expert there in London. Actually, I’ll track him down and include his contact details in the email. Give me a couple of hours to load all the images. I hope you’ve got high speed cable or satellite. The file might be slow in coming otherwise.’

‘It’ll be fine. Thanks, Graham, you’re a life saver.’

‘The problem that serious?’

She chuckled. ‘Not at all – just a figure of speech. I’ll wait for that email and if your information solves the problem, I’ll buy that dinner when I get back to LA.’

‘We can argue about it when you get here. I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Me too.’

As she rung off she chewed her inner lip hoping she hadn’t just led the poor man on. Her divorce had made the headlines back home so he’d know she was now a free agent and she recalled he’d once made a pass at her, a few years ago, just before she met Frank.

Turning to the mirror, she wondered whether she should find some spare sheets and cover the thing so she could sleep without fear of being watched. But then, there was no way of knowing how she was being watched, or from where. She didn’t dare ask Nancy for another room – that would be impossible to explain without revealing that she’d made contact with their ghost.

The four-poster had fancy bed curtains, she’d simply close them on all sides and pray that the camera wasn’t hidden within the headboard somewhere.

The rest of her evening passed without any appearance from the phantom, adding more weight to her suspicion that the poor actor was taking a break from his performance. Graham’s email, when it arrived, was quite large and unfortunately she didn’t have a printer available so she saved the images to disk and promised herself she’d find somewhere in London, on Wednesday morning, to print them up.

Still a little tired from the flight and the change in her body clock, she begged off dinner and took herself to bed for an early night.

So, she thinks to hide behind the curtains, does she? John Tarrant mused. While he couldn’t see her, he could hear the slow even breaths that signalled a deep and sound sleep. He’d watched her earlier, as she conversed with her little handbox, but made certain not to reveal himself. After the revelations he’d bestowed upon her about Elizabeth and his predicament, he felt it prudent to allow her a little time to digest his tale. Already he had placed his cause in jeopardy by behaving rashly. No matter how eager he was to garner her help, he knew that a steady onslaught would be the only way to successfully breach Kelly’s wall of disbelief.

He wanted to laugh whenever she mentioned the possibility that he was an actor – an imposter. Never in all his days would he have lowered himself to such an occupation. From the moment of his birth he had been bound for the life of a titled gentleman, and in time would have inherited the earldom in his sire’s place; master of a number of estates situated in various English counties, had he not succumbed to this dreaded torment.

He remembered seeing the fragility in his mother’s face when she arrived from London and Edward announced John’s fate so callously. Even then Edward’s madness had begun.

At first, Edward lied to her … saying that his death had been an unfortunate accident. But he knew she never really believed the tale that he had fallen into the deepest well on the estate.

As the weeks passed, and the madness set in, Edward couldn’t resist slipping hints – snatches of information – that suggested John had firstly raped then murdered Elizabeth, before taking his own life.

John had railed against the mirrors, again and again, wanting desperately to tell her it wasn’t all true. Yes he had caused Elizabeth’s death, and yes he should remain in hell forever for his sin – but he did not rape her! He’d loved Elizabeth like a sister and would never have touched her in that way. And he did not take his own life. But Edward was the only one who could see him, and his cousin relished the anguish that he caused both mother and son.

After Edward’s demise, his mother remained in her rooms, steeped in her grief that her son was a murderer and worse. Over time she grew paler and more reclusive, refusing all but the most basic necessities of life.

He would have traded anything to make her smile once more.

John’s greatest regret was that his mother had gone to her Maker still believing that he had done all the things Edward implied. If and when he ever escaped this hell, John vowed to seek out his mother’s spirit and set the record to rights.

With a defeated sigh, he again listened for the shallow breaths of the woman who was destined to either save him, or condemn him to another twenty years of waiting.

Kelly’s earlier conversation had awakened in him the yearning to see London once more. How different it must be now if the marvels he had seen, just within this house, were indications of the happenings in the world beyond. The people who had frequented these halls in the hundred and forty years that had since passed not only dressed differently, but they spoke differently. Gentlemen had ceased to be polite with their ladies … and the women – for they could no longer be considered ladies in the true sense of the word – were loosely spoken and far less mindful of their husbands’ wishes. A man like him would doubtless be ill-fitted to survive in the world as it had become. But – just once before his own death, if that were ever to occur – he would dearly love to walk about in this new world and learn what had become of the society he knew and understood.

Journal of Edward James Ditchley,

Stanthorpe House, Oxfordshire, England.

November 16, 1861

My Elizabeth, I again must beg your forgiveness. If you were watching, please believe that I did what I did to avenge you. I have no tender feeling for Anne. She is merely a tool to torment your foul murderer. I wish you had seen his face when I waylaid her upon the stairs. It was obvious he had never so much as touched her as the passion of my kiss left her quite pliable in my arms, despite her initial protests of mourning. She even allowed me to caress her breast before she regained her wits. I assure you, my love, that her body does not hold any attraction but I am determined to have her accept my proposal of marriage. It will make your murderer writhe with anguish. He stole you from me, and I shall return the compliment.