12. Finding the Key

The house felt hostile. Thomas knew this was ridiculous. But still. The moment he was inside, he wondered if he would ever leave it again on his own two feet. But dying meant leaving Edith and that wasn't an option if he had any say in the matter.

Apparently, she had written to Ferguson a few weeks ago, a while before she had told him. The truth was that he had no choice but to accept her help. And if all that history weren't still sitting in his neck, he could accept it without feeling sick. People married for money all the time, and this was, after all, what he'd done. Not all people tried to murder their rich spouses, however. That despite his intentions Thomas had fallen completely in love with this woman made his compunction only greater because he had still been prepared to watch her die. Well. Until it had all become real enough to rouse him from his emotional lethargy and he had made enough of a stand to receive Edith's absolution, which was the only one that mattered to him.

If he had chosen Eunice, he and Lucille would still be having sex in her bedroom. Eunice would be dead and he, Thomas, wouldn't have any idea what love could be like, how much strength it could lend. He was a lucky man indeed.

Deirdre entered behind them. 'Show me your kitchen,' she said. They did, and she set to prepare more of her disgusting tea. He had a pretty good idea what it was, and he was sure he didn't need anything of the sort. 'I will need to sleep and you will not disturb me,' Deirdre said. 'Keep watch and be silent. Where can I rest?'

'Guestroom,' Thomas said. 'Follow me please.'

Deirdre pointed at Edith. 'You too, girl. You have to look after the both of us until she shows.'

'But I …'

'Don't you feel it?' Deirdre closed her eyes and opened her arms wide, turning slowly around herself. 'You, she can't touch. You are too strong. Your presence is seeping into the house. It lives and breathes and if you linger, it will live and breathe you. It is always the strongest soul that shapes the soul of a house. Any house. And this one especially. Your soul will inspire a fine change to it.' She drained a hot cup of tea in one gulp. Maybe with age you grew insensitive to heat. Maybe it was just her. 'Now. Up, I suppose.'

'Yes. This way.' Thomas felt increasingly apprehensive as he walked up the stairs. They watched Deirdre clamber onto the guest bed.

'You stay in this room. Do not leave it. Do not talk until I am asleep. Then you can chat all you want. Girl, if you see me, do not fret, but I doubt that you will.'

Edith frowned slightly. 'What do you mean?'

'I will do what your dear man did. I will walk the house while I sleep. When I wake up, I hope I can tell you what it is that can untether her. It is always an emotion. Which one, I shall learn.' She closed her eyes. 'Now be quiet.'

They sat on two chairs next to the bed and waited. Thomas stared into the corridor outside through the open door, wondering if he would see … something. Anything. Lucille. Lucille …

Once his anger had been gone, it had never quite returned. He was prepared to admit that he was afraid of her, of what she could make him do. If she turned his hands against Edith rather than himself, he wouldn't be able to live with himself for a moment longer. But Edith was indeed the strongest soul that had been in this house in his lifetime, possibly even before. She was shielding him now, shielding Deirdre, her closeness ensuring that neither of them would end the way poor Father Christopher had.

Edith looked away from Deirdre to him and Thomas realised he'd been staring at her. Her eyes were asking what was wrong. Nothing was. Nothing at all. Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her softly. When Deirdre woke up, he would confront Lucille and be done. How hard could it be, really?

Ϡ

It didn't take long for Deirdre to awaken again. She blinked a few times and sat up rapidly. 'Ah. What a troubled, troubled child.' She shook herself. 'I almost convinced her to leave. But her ties to the place are too strong. Her ties to you, boy.'

'They go one way. I just want her to leave us alone already.'

Deirdre gave him a searching look. 'You certainly believe that, and maybe you are right. What do you think, what drives her? All spectres have one emotion that fuels them. Anger. Fear. Lust. Hatred. Despair. An appeal to that emotion will pull her out, enable you, boy, to see her, and then it will be up to you. What emotion, do you two think, is the one that will bring her before you?'

'Anger,' said Thomas.

'Lust,' said Edith.

Deirdre shook her head. 'Funny. You are both wrong. It is fear. You, girl, have what she wants, what she thinks is rightfully hers. She fears that she has completely lost her brother to you. You need to fuel that dread.'

'Excuse me. I need to make her jealous?'

Thomas shook his head. 'No. She already is jealous.' He stood and dusted himself off. 'Thank you Deirdre.'

'I will wait in your kitchen.'

'No, you have to leave. It's not safe.'

'I'll escort her out and come right back,' Edith said.

Deirdre laughed. 'You'll do no such thing, child. And there is no threat to me. You will soon have her full attention.'

'Hang on.' Thomas raised his hands. 'You said you almost got her to leave. How?'

'I told her that you have moved on. She watches you, boy, and she will keep watching. Her heart is broken, but not enough. You have to do the rest.' Her eyes narrowed. 'More difficult will be convincing her to leave. But her hold on this world is weak. The tiniest sign from you and she will be swept away, if it is the right sign you give her. What that is you will know in time.'

Thomas watched her go. He shivered. 'Edith, do you trust me?'

'You know I do.'

'We need to go to Lucille's room.' He looked at her, his eyebrows rising in the middle. 'I know that's the last place you want to be, but this has to be there. Please, come with me, my love.'

((There will be two more chapters and an epilogue. I've finished writing but not editing. I believe I can post the next bits one each day, but I promise nothing.))