Epilogue
Rebecca sat in Chatsworth's office as he finished reading her report on the incident at the Miner's Arms. "William Moore was one of our best agents," Sir Jonathan said. "It grieves me to think such a man could be turned. He served with distinction for over thirty years."
"I remember hearing of him," Phileas said, standing at the window. "He was spoken of like a god when I was coming up. I had not heard a thing of him in years though. Never occurred to me he was still serving. One would have expected him to be retired by now. As he told it, Moore was getting ready to do just that in the most lucrative way he could."
"And will land in a pauper's grave for it, too," Sir Jonathan said with satisfaction. "I see a bit of sound justice in that."
He turned on Rebecca sternly. "I will accept that Richard's death bed confessions gave you warning of what was coming, but the other witnesses at the inn tell a different story."
Chatsworth stood leaning over his desk, taking a more dominant stance over Rebecca. "The other guests claim to have heard the innkeeper and Passepartout running up the stairs after gunfire woke them, not before. And quite a little gun battle there was according to the investigator I sent. All from Agent Moore's one gun and all aimed in the same direction, away from where you were supposed to be. Your weapons were never fired, By the way, whose idea was it to tell the other guests that Moore was a thief?"
"Really Chatsworth, there is no need for that," Phileas said. "Rebecca wrote her report just as it happened. Moore had us down and would have killed us if it had not been for the innkeeper and Passepartout. They burst in at the last moment and took Moore from behind by surprise. His gun did get emptied into the room, but that was his doing, struggling to free himself. The other guests were woken from a sound sleep by gunfire. You cannot expect people under such a shock to be able to recall things coherently?"
Don't start showing signs of competence now, Phileas demanded silently. The report was a fabrication Rebecca and he had worked long and hard on to keep their otherworldly rescuers out of the matter. Richard supposedly said more than he had. Passepartout and Mr. Potts saved the day instead of staying where they had been told. The landlord had been called up from the ground floor to hold his terrified guests in their rooms while Rebecca retrieved Passepartout from the stables seconds before he had been ready to ride off.
"I decided to tell the others that Moore was a failed thief," Rebecca said truthfully. "I could not very well tell them the truth, could I?"
"And Moore's recollections of Richard surprising him by magically appearing in the room?" Chatsworth said.
"Richard was long dead by then," Rebecca said. "His body had already been wrapped and placed in the basement. The man is trying to feign insanity. You cannot really believe a ghost intervened, do you?"
"Past experiences aside, no I do not." Chatsworth let it go. "And insane or not, William Moore will be tried for treason, and attempted murder against Alan Brighting," Chatsworth vowed. "At point blank range one would have expected Moore to have succeeded in killing him. A charmed life that one has–He claims he leaned away just as Moore shot at him. He took a bullet to the shoulder but should recover completely."
"Very good news," Rebecca said. "He is already up and will meet Brenda Brighting at the station with me this afternoon. If you have nothing more to ask of me, Sir Jonathan, I would like to be going."
"Very well," Sir Jonathan said. "Go on and give Richard's widow my sympathies. I will not be able to attend the funeral. Moore's hearing is at the same time."
Rebecca left the office on Phileas's arm. After they entered the coach, heading to the train station, Phileas stared out the window taking in the view. Rebecca did the same from her place, but her mind was still on the conversation she had just left.
"Not only one but perhaps three ghosts," Rebecca said absently.
"Your pardon?" Phileas said.
"When the door flew open and threw Moore to the floor," Rebecca said. "Was that the girls the innkeeper mentioned in his story? Quite a bit of help we had in this one. Are you going to finally accept the existence of ghosts now and put aside your disbelief? I for one will not be scoffing anymore. Not after two such close encounters with the spirit world."
"Only in the privacy of my own mind, I assure you," he said emphatically. "I will not join the superstitious throngs that blame every unexplained thing on the supernatural."
"As I understand the matter," Rebecca continued, "Richard had an unfinished mission to attend to and blamed himself for putting us in danger. That was the reason he remained earthbound after his passing. When the danger to us had passed, his spirit was released."
"Add to that your gracious last words to him, putting his sorrows to rest," Phileas said.
"The girls, I suppose are truly earthbound," Rebecca said. "They have been playing with doors in that inn for centuries. I think they took a liking to you and decided to help us."
"A chance bit of luck for us, nothing more," Phileas said. "You really cannot think their intervention had been done on purpose, Rebecca." Phileas did not think he would ever live down the day he told Rebecca of the girls playing with his door earlier that night. She had been teasing him about it for days.
"Maybe not cousin, but for now on, I would suggest you not speak so scathingly about our local lore. Now that the Eyam ghosts have taken notice of you, they might not take it kindly."
Phileas gave her a sidelong telling glance. "If the fools that pay attention to spiritual apparitions are to be believed, dear cousin, England is possibly the most haunted place in the world. Right now, there could be a spirit listening in on us. As such, and since these other worldly characters have not chosen to bother me before now, I intend to continue on about my business as if they do not exist. Further, I will expect them to stay out of my way and beyond my notice."
"As you say," Rebecca said. "But I would not make a stay at the Miner's Arms again if I were you. As your young lady friends made their presences known twice that night, I cannot believe they will choose to bow to your wishes."
The End
