Edith POV
I suppose I must have screamed because my throat is suddenly too sore to talk.
"I apologize for frightening you", he says, "No one else can see me, I didn't know that you would be able to."
"That's the first thing you say?", I spit, "My dead husband who tried to murder me suddenly appears in my bedroom nearly seven months after his death, and all you can say is you're sorry to scare me? Why are you here?"
He flinches at my words. Honestly, he looks terrible, even for the dead. He's white. I have studied my gifts since all this happened; to maintain my sanity I needed to find a way to explain what happened to me, and since then I've become an expert in ghosts and supernatural phenomena.
The murdered ghosts of Thomas's former wives at Crimson Peak were red from the soil, but also from their inability to forgive, and who could blame them of course. My mother was a black ghost, having died of black cholera, but also because she didn't want to be dead, had fought as hard as she could to stay with us, and still didn't accept her death. But Thomas, Thomas was white. He was sanguine with his death, he didn't fight it, and he had forgiven everyone but himself.
The wound on his face still gapes open and leaks ecoplasmic blood, as does the wound on his chest. His face is ravaged. His ghost is thinner than even he was in life. If I'm not careful, I'm going to feel sorry for him.
"I", he stutters, "Wanted to check on you. Make sure you're all right."
"If only you had shown such concern in life", I spit back, "I'm obviously fine. Now get out."
He still wears the finely made white linen shirt he wore the last time I saw him, along with black pants, clearly tailored on Savile Row.
"Of course, I apologize, Edith", he says, with a slight bow. "I just want to...congratulations on your condition. I'm happy you're married and well looked-after."
My hand flies protectively to stomach. "My child is none of your business", I spit.
"Of course not, of course not", he repeats, all well-bred manners, even in this preposterous situation. "I did not mean to alarm or offend you."
"Are you leaving? I know how to cast ghosts out now, with or without your cooperation, but I promise it will hurt without", I hiss.
"Of course I am, I'm sorry, deeply sorry again, Edith, so sorry, I..." My hands hold the covers over my body to the bottom of my chin. He's staring at my hands.
I drop the sheet and stare at whatever he's looking at. Pointedly at my left hand, which clearly bears no wedding ring.
"Seven months...", he repeats, suddenly distracted. Then he gasps loudly. "Oh, Edith..."
I could take anything but that. Anything but pity. I burst into a torrent of angry, bitter tears.
"Oh...oh my, I'm so sorry", he gasps again, "I didn't mean to upset you. Dr. McMichael surely..."
"Is not my husband", I say through gritted teeth, "Not that it's ANY concern of yours. I...FINE! I'll tell you—I haven't been in love with him since I was a girl, and he left for medical school in London, but he's always been my best friend and my savior, and thank God he was there to help me when you weren't..."
He flinches again.
"But I had no wish to marry him. Still...to give my child a needed father, I would have done so. He was still very interested in marrying me...but not if I continued this pregnancy. He thought the baby may...inherit things from you. Personality attributes. It's a new science, but he's becoming interested in genetics...you don't need to know all this, just know I'm doing fine. I have my inheritance, and the child will want for nothing", I tell him.
"Except a father", he says, downcast. That was part of why I fell in love with him so instantly—those tragically sad big blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of pain that needed to come to the surface.
"I just...can't believe he would make marrying you dependent on not having the child...he does love you", he says.
"Yes, but not enough", I say, quietly.
"May I ask why you didn't...I know it's difficult to find someone who can perform that operation safely, but not impossible, not for someone with your connections. Why would you...I know you hate me", he stutters.
"I don't hate you, Thomas", I spit, "I hate Lucille."
He jumps at the mere sound of her name.
"Please, please, don't say her name", he begs, as if the mere mention of her will make her appear.
"I'm angry with you. You tried to kill me, you would have let her kill me, you would have!", I yell.
"I take full responsibility for everything I have done. But on this, I have to set the record straight. I would never have let her kill you", he says.
"She was poisoning me for months and you let it happen!", I hiss.
"Yes", he confirms.
"You hurt me!"
"I did!"
"You tried to kill me!"
"I did!"
"You said you loved me!"
"I do!", he shouts, tears running down his own cheeks. "I didn't try to kill you, Edith, I would have given my life for you without a qualm."
"You did give your life for me", I say, quietly.
"It was my pleasure", he answers, and sits down on the bed. "I...didn't stop her poisoning you, but the entire time I was figuring out a way to get you away. When it came time to get your property and kill you, I stopped her. I'm not saying..."
"You think this makes you a saint?!", I shout, "You think this earns my forgiveness?!"
"Of course not", he answers, more tears dripping down his cheeks. "There is no forgiveness for what I've done, what I was willingly a part of. I am a monster. I know this. But I would never have let her kill you."
"It was so close, Thomas, you let her poison me, beat me, cut me, throw me off a balcony, murder my father..."
His head dips again and he holds his side.
"How can anything hurt you, you're dead!", I say, trying to hurt him myself.
"Emotional pain is...physical pain when you're dead", he says. That was something I didn't know.
"Please answer my question, Edith", he says. "I need to know."
"You have no right to ask anything of me!", I shout.
"You're right, I do not. But...if it is mine...are you going to...will you...destroy it...", he fumbles for words, his mouth open, his eyes wide.
"If I had desired to do that, I would have already. Keeping it cost me a potential husband already", I fume.
He breathes deeply. "I'm glad. Not about McMichael, about... I have no right to be, but I am."
"I wouldn't worry about having no right, Thomas, none of this was right from the start", I whisper.
"Let me help in whatever way I can. We didn't have much money put aside...", he starts.
"Obviously, that was my job", I hiss. "Though how you ran through the fortunes of three other women baffles me."
"You saw that house", he says, surprising me with his honest answer, "It was a money pit. The clay harvester was as bad."
"Anyway, what little I had is yours", he says, "Lu...she died with the ring on...or you could sell that."
"I told you I have enough, no thanks to you", I respond.
"You never told me why you're keeping..."
"You ask too many questions!", I yell.
"Edith, I'll never live again, I'll never touch again, I'll never feel warm again, I'll be in pain for all eternity, I know I deserve all that and more, but please grant me this small request I have no right to make, why, why did you keep my baby?", he asks.
His voice hitches on "my baby", and I tingle between my legs. My stomach flip flops. His baby. Thomas—my husband's—baby is growing inside me. I gasp, and try to force the feeling away, but the memory of his slim body writhing between my thighs, his deep kisses that felt like they were claiming my soul, the way he let me take charge in bed, the way I rode him all night...The intense arousal. The feeling of wanting to be his arms again more than I want to breathe. Damn him.
He instantly notices the change. "What's wrong?", he asks, worried, "Are you ill?"
"No. I...was remembering..."
"Oh Edith", he gasps, and I hear the sound of hope. The sound that I once treasured is now like a loud clang in an otherwise soft melody. I hate hope. It has no place in my life anymore. "I'm so sorry."
"You keep saying that like it's going to change something", I say.
"I'm sorry..."
We look at each other and laugh. That's when my tears start again. I relaxed for a second. "British manners", I kid, wiping away a tear, "You'd say sorry if someone cut your heart out."
"Well, not out...but it's certainly damaged", he says, patting his heart, "Cut to shreds, but...it still belongs to you."
"Oh Thomas", I weep.
"I can't hold you, I can't touch anyone again, but..." He reaches for me, and his hand connects with my back. We look at each other completely shocked.
"I should not have been able to do that. It's never happened before", he says, wide eyed.
Against my own will, I feel myself soften and very slowly collapse into his arms. He holds me close. He's cold, but the connection is there as it always was.
"My darling, my darling, I'm so sorry, I love you so much, my darling", he croons quietly, wetting my hair with his tears. "I'm here now. I'm here now. Let me protect me, as I wanted to do."
We sit there quietly, my head on his shoulder, stroking his back. "You have no idea how that feels", he sighs happily, "You have no idea how that feels, you're so warm. So warm."
Then I take his hand and act quickly before I change my mind, pressing his hand against the mound of my tummy where his child is kicking me hard.
He gasps, and desire shoots through me again. "Oh Edith, thank you! Thank you!"
"If it's any indication of how fat I'm getting, your son is plenty big and strong", I comment, leaning into his hand. He'll be gone soon, just let us have this moment. Just this moment.
"You're so beautiful", he says with a giggle, "So beautiful. You look exactly how I dreamed you would, you're perfect. Do you know it's a boy?"
"I have a feeling."
"I wanted a girl who looks like you", he comments, keeping his hand there.
"We get what we get in life", I say, coolness creeping back into my voice.
"Don't send me away", he begs, "I could help...somehow I could help..."
"What right do you have to be here?", I ask, sobbing again.
"None. But...at least let me pass on the title. It will help you, money and power can protect you. Please...people who know you married me know I'm dead?", I ask.
"I didn't tell anyone anything, I've been a recluse", I say.
"Were you...mourning me?", he asks.
I cup his face, slide my fingers down his long, crooked nose, across his high cheekbones, his thin lips—he slips my finger into his mouth and sucks. I can feel it, and gasp. My husband who could arouse me with one look.
"I was", I admit. "Mourning the man who tried to murder me."
"Never think that", he says, "However much I deserve it." He's holding his side again.
He's no longer white, he's sepia toned now, and I'm noticing it for the first time. He looks better, less...dead, less ravaged. It's almost as if he's healed a bit.
"Tell them I was killed trying to make the clay harvester work and you've been in the throes of grief for months, and cautious about your condition. You needn't marry anyone else, everyone will presume the child is mine. Our son will be the next Baronet Sharpe", he says. "Lucille is in the house."
I notice he doesn't flinch from saying her name this time. Now that he has something to fight for.
"But she could be removed", he says, and there is deep, deep hatred in his voice.
"Let her have the thing. I could never go back inside. Though I don't believe your other wives mean me harm", I state, and he nods.
"I have no other wives, Edith. They were women I married because I didn't know how to say no to my sister...you're my wife, Edith..."
"I'm exactly like the others...disposable to you...", I shout, "Oh God, I don't want to fight."
"You know someone will renovate it or knock it down...it won't stay that way long. The house", I say, trying to change the subject.
"None of you were disposable to me", he whispers. "I honor them. But they've informed me they have no desire to ever see me again, even to apologize, and I respect their choice. I cared for them, I still do, but I have only ever loved you. And I still do. Edith, I don't think we can sweep this under the rug..."
"Thomas..."
"Let me tell you the story. Let me tell you what happened, and how I got to the point of meeting you. I expect no forgiveness. But maybe some small part of you can understand."
