Chapter Six
What Is The Price Of Peace?
"Well, I gave Claymore some much-needed advice before he left us last night," Olivia said as she crossed the attic to look through the small window at the scene below. "And it didn't involve money. He needs to get his head out of his ledgers."
She turned to look back at Daniel. "I suspect the entity was around when Harriet Mitford arrived yesterday afternoon. My spirits said there was a dark presence hovering beyond the house. But more than that, they could not tell me. Whoever it was, they have covered themselves very cleverly to mask their presence."
She gave a small laugh. "But my followers heartily detest the Mitford woman. Her mind is full of nothing but women's foibles and her own flighty imagination about her welcome here. Her self-centred nature leaves no room for any kind of spiritual possession."
"I'm glad to hear that for Carolyn's sake," Daniel replied as he put aside his work. "What advice did you give Claymore that could be of any value to him?"
"I thought it wise to warn him." Olivia shook her head. "Just that all entities, good or bad, detest jumble and confusion. If he is being followed as I suspect, and something wishes to do him harm he is to sing. Pick a song and sing it constantly. It does not matter what tune. Do not allow the entity to gain a foothold inside his mind."
She waved an airy hand. "It's always worked for me when my spirits become bothersome and allow me no rest." She smiled. "They hate Country and Western."
Daniel nodded. "A fair plan. I will admit the feminine mind has often confused and bamboozled me. I have said I do wish a woman would think more like a man. Simple and straightforward. No flights of fancy or starts of feminine conniving."
"Ah, but that is all a part of our charm…" Olivia chucked, waving one forefinger at him. "But now, I'm afraid I cannot linger beyond this day if I'm to make my next lecture venue in Bangor. I can only warn and hope to instruct."
Daniel rose to his feet. "Your company we shall miss." He walked over to lean down and kiss the little medium's cheek. "All we can do is keep our guard up and hope whoever it is that has ventured our way may be dealt with."
Olivia raised her brows. "And what of this man, Wilkie? Another thorn in your side. Perhaps we could get him possessed by whatever entity has shown up. That would be a very fitting match."
"You may safely leave that nosy spalpeen to me," Daniel replied hardly. "That man will not interfere with me or mine ever again."
"Fairly said." Olivia nodded as she studied his taut expression. "I could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. I'm sure the man will live to regret that he ever ventured to return."
"Speaking of returns," Daniel replied. "Harriet will seek to remain as long as possible, to sponge off my wife's good nature and feelings of family duty. I cannot shift the woman on, given her newly delicate condition, but she needs to be dealt with."
"Oh, please do leave that woman to me," Olivia told him. "You make sure that husband of hers gets a deep need of her return while I tell her a few home truths. It will be my pleasure to take her down a peg or two."
"Remind me never to get on your bad side." Daniel chuckled as he kissed her cheek again.
※※※※※
Paul Wilkie sat morosely on the pier of the Spirit Island camp, dangling his feet above the lap and flow of the water. The summer sun was barely above the distant horizon, and he felt restless. But he felt disinclined to leave, even though he hadn't managed to force his way into either of the cabins without doing actual damage. He didn't want anyone to know he'd been here.
But all the while he remained in this isolated wilderness, he had the distinct impression he was being watched. The fine hairs on the back of his neck had signalled he wasn't alone. But whenever he turned to look, there was no one and nothing to be seen. The uneasy impression lingered.
"Get a grip." He sighed roughly, blaming his distraction on his lack of a good night's sleep.
He ran a hand over his unshaven chin and longed for a cup of black coffee and something hot to eat. He'd gone hungry and thirsty, having spent a fitful night in his car, curled up uncomfortably in the back seat until he could bear it no longer.
"I just know I'm onto something." The years that had passed since he'd last visited this place had done nothing to lessen his deep sense of ill-usage. There was a mystery to be uncovered and solved, he could feel it in his bones. Something was not quite right.
It had taken a couple of years, but he'd finally managed to secure a new position at a small, lesser-known university, but not as a parapsychologist. His new employment frowned on such foolish endeavours.
He'd been employed as a lecturer in medieval architecture and design, his original field of endeavour before he had gone ghost hunting. He was up in Maine on a short sabbatical, trying to prove, on his own time, the existence of a ghostly realm and the place in it of the mysterious Captain Daniel Gregg.
"I know I can prove it," he muttered to the waves. "I just need to get back into that house and find the evidence. I'm sure it's all there. Starting with that confounded painting of the man."
He turned his head to frown at the camp. He'd finally managed to complete a detailed and in-depth study of the mysterious captain. Birth, death and marriage records for Captain Gregg had been neatly filed and were available for all to see. But, to Wilkie's mind, it was all a little too neat and obvious. Some of the paperwork had appeared new. The inks used were not from the correct era that much he knew for certain. He'd seen enough handwritten plans from the Victorian period to know a fake when he saw one.
It was reported the original Captain Gregg had died by inhaling fumes from the gas fire in his Gull Cottage bedroom on the evening of November 13th back in 1869. A verdict of suicide had been brought in the coroner's court based on the testimony of the man's charwoman who swore on the bible that her irascible employer never slept with his windows closed. Therefore, he must have killed himself because he couldn't face the imminent prospect of being forced to give up the sea.
Wilkie had read and re-read every word of the inquest report. He'd combed it for even the smallest of clues. Everything that happened afterwards in and around Gull Cottage seemed to stem from that unfortunate incident. Tales of hauntings and scary things that happened to prospective tenants who often fled in the night and refused to return even to collect their belongings. It was as if the Captain couldn't accept his fate and move on. He was trapped in this world by the injustice brought against him.
"And that's what I intend to prove," Wilkie muttered as he got up and dusted off his trousers. "That the man I met at the house was the actual Captain Gregg and not his descendant as they all claimed. Then I will have the whole story, and no one will be able to deny my research ever again."
The only true mystery is why and how the Muir woman managed to gain a foothold and stay in the house. What infamous connection had she made with the spirit of the house? The thought of some unholy union between the living and the dead made Wilkie's skin crawl with disgust.
"There must be some kind of rational explanation…" He threw one last discontented look at the cabins as he passed them on the way back to his car.
He'd wasted enough time here, searching for answers. But he had to start somewhere. He would go into town and find a hotel room where he could shower and clean up. Grab that cup of coffee he longed for and order breakfast.
Again, the impression he was being observed feathered up and down his spine as he hurried across the bridge to the carpark beyond. He didn't stop to look back. He was on a mission, and he'd already wasted enough time here.
A worried-looking Elroy materialised as his erstwhile quarry disappeared into the trees. The Carolyn's former crewman paced up and down in agitation. Mr Peabody kept pace with him, his eyes fixed on his master's face.
"What to do, what to do…" Elroy moaned. "My captain said to keep an eye on Wilkie while he's here. But now he's not here anymore. Where's he going, do you think? Not to the house. Oh, no, not there."
"Miaow…" the cat replied, totally bored with the doings of such loathsome humans. He looked longingly at his favourite patch of warming sunshine.
"Yes, of course, you're right…" Elroy nodded. "Follow him and keep an eye on him. That's exactly what I will do…"
He faded out as he spoke, leaving the cat to stare after him with resigned eyes. Then he gave a long-suffering sigh as he too vanished into the early morning sunshine.
※※※※※
"What do you mean, you think I should go back home?" Harriet demanded to know in a peevish tone. "To me, Gull Cottage is like being at home. They all love me here."
She frowned at the large white cat sitting silently beside the little medium. The animal was swishing its plumed tail and glaring at her with its blue eyes. She had come to detest the feline's silent disapproval in their short acquaintance. And the other woman had barged in without even knocking.
"You have always failed to see past the end of your nose," Olivia replied patiently, standing with her back against the closed guest bedroom door. "Carolyn has a young family to take care of and her work to be getting on with. She cannot also play nursemaid to you."
"I don't need a nursemaid," Harriet stated, an angry colour coming into her cheeks. "And besides, who gave you the right to lecture me? You are not family."
"In a previous life, Carolyn and I were very close sisters," Olivia replied. "But I did not come here to talk about me. You take liberties where none should be permitted. Carolyn cares for you out of the goodness of her heart and family duty. Do not make her regret that love by overstaying your welcome."
"Sisters, indeed!" Harriet scoffed. "Carolyn is an only child. Everyone knows that." She resorted to her handkerchief that had been tucked in the wristband of her watch. "Besides, her work, as you so nicely put it, is to pen some truly scandalous novels not fit for a lady's eyes. I truly do not know what to make of it all."
She sniffed loftily. "I know she's been coerced into writing them by that overbearing husband of hers. His sea journals, indeed. Emily told me all about them and urged me to do my best to dissuade her from continuing down this dreadful road. I'm here to save her from making a spectacle of the family's good name before it's too late."
"Oh ho, so that's your game, is it?" Olivia's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Ah, but her name is now Gregg, so who do you think you are saving by interfering in business that is not your own?"
"You're twisting my words…" Harriet dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "My church ladies cannot know about any of this. My poor, poor blushes..." She glared down at the cat which yawned up at her, displaying its large white canines.
"That cat does not like me," she complained. "I shall have something to say to my cousin when I go downstairs. That animal is not at all suitable for such small children. And I shall complain about your ill-usage of me and have you thrown out of this house! You are not welcome here!"
From nowhere, a chill wind suddenly sprang up, even though the windows were shut, and the curtains still drawn. The breeze was centred on Harriet, swirling around her as it tugged at her clothing and ruffled her hair.
She gasped as she pulled her dressing gown closer to her, shivering in the sudden cold. "Oh, how strange… It's this house. There's something bad here. There always has been. Oh, my poor, poor Carolyn. I have always tried to warn her. She truly does need to go home to Philadelphia and leave this dreadful place. The Williams and the Muirs would welcome her with open arms. If only I can get her to finally agree to go."
"Carolyn is happy as she is. And do not seek to threaten me," Olivia said quietly. "Or it will be the worse for you. I am not without protection in this world. And as for Bruiser, he's perfect for the children and a very good judge of character. I wouldn't go poking your nose in where it's not wanted. "
"What is this?" Harriet demanded peevishly, huddling deeper into her clothing as the chill intensified. "What sorcery do you work here?"
"No sorcery," Olivia replied evenly, moving away from the door and turning to open it. "Just a warning not to meddle where you have no right."
"Well, I never…" Harriet huffed, looking suddenly afraid. "If it were not for Carolyn, I could not bear to stay here. But she must be made to see reason. Everyone is so worried that she is lost here in this awful wilderness."
The wind gave one final tug at her clothing and hair and then subsided. Harriet looked totally perplexed by the odd happening.
"You have come to share the good news about your child." Olivia looked back at her from the open doorway. "I really do think your husband now stands in need of your company more than your cousin."
"Owen?" Harriet's brows rose. "Oh, but I…"
"Go home, Harriet," Olivia instructed. "He needs you to take care of him."
"He does?" Harriet's restless fingers worried her handkerchief. "How do you know? I mean, he's not alone. We do have servants, you know. I cannot be at his beck and call all the time."
"I have my sources…" The little medium tapped the side of her nose with one forefinger before she left the other woman alone to stew on what she had just been told.
Bruiser hissed quietly as he gave the unwanted house guest a final look of disdain before he followed Olivia from the room with his head and plumed tail held high.
※※※※※
Owen Mitford scowled at the vacant breakfast setting where his wife should be sitting this morning. He grimaced, knowing he missed her. Without Harriet's constant chatter and flighty presence, the huge house seemed empty and somehow threatening. Owen found himself jumping at shadows and starting at the smallest sound.
He hadn't slept all night. He too clearly remembered that chilling conversation he'd had with the man who wasn't there, even though more than two years had passed since he'd been threatened in his own office about his secret plans for his future.
"But who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I demand to know who put you up to this! What have I ever done to you?"
'Nothing directly to me…' the annoying voice had replied in a rebuking tone. 'If you had we would be having a very different conversation…'
The air in the office had chilled instantly, deepening to an arctic cold. Owen had shivered in his thin cotton shirt and had seen the exhalation of his breath become foggy before his startled eyes. "What the—?"
'Go home to the loving arms of your wife and be grateful you are alive. Life is a precious gift to be honoured and cherished. You will not squander it…'
He sighed now, running a weary hand over his eyes. Not being able to sleep properly after that odd encounter, had led him to take refuge in bottles of expensive spirits for several months. It had worked for a while.
But when even their dubious balm hadn't worked on his over-stretched nerves as he'd hoped, he'd finally sought the warm company of his wife's bed and her loving arms. Things had developed from there and Harriet had somehow fallen pregnant.
"Crazy…" Owen shook his head in honest bewilderment.
How that event had happened he wasn't quite sure when he thought back on it. He'd been more than a dozen sheets to the wind that night and morosely lonely since his wife had seen fit to sack his lovely, sweet, young Mandy and replaced her with a much older, hatchet-faced woman with nothing to recommend her beyond her ruthless efficiency. Now Owen actively avoided his wife's wing of the house and the over-priced bottles of drink that led him to venture there.
On the other hand, Harriet had been almost delirious with happiness the moment she found out about the welcome event. She'd insisted on running away to Maine and her cousin Carolyn, to share their news. She paid no heed to his urgent words of need that he'd inadvertently expressed on the morning of her departure.
"Oh, no, you'll be fine without me for a few days," Harriet had cooed, patting his hand before she left. "The servants will look after you. You know I must share my news with Carolyn, and I have been specially charged with saving her from herself. A very special mission from my dear, dear Emily."
"But I need you too," Owen had protested, feeling the whispering shadows in the corners of the bedroom beginning to move closer to him. "You know I can't sleep properly without you in the house." He pulled a discontented face. "You know you are my sunshine."
"Oh, pish tosh, my love…" Harriet had waved an airy hand as she drew on her gloves. "That old chestnut again. It's been two years since your breakdown. The doctors have all pronounced you cured of such odd flights of fancy. You really must pull yourself together. You will soon be a father, after all. You must take your responsibilities seriously."
"I might as well have saved my breath," Owen grouched now, staring at the vacant chair. "Harriet does exactly as she pleases." He sighed long and low.
Now and then he toyed with the idea of running away. It was the ghastly threat of that disembodied voice that kept him here, in this house, tied to a woman he did not love. He felt he'd been badly used and was deeply depressed about how his life had turned out.
Of course, it was all Carolyn Muir's fault. If she had just married him after Robert had died, none of this would have happened. He nursed his deep sense of ill-usage.
He still searched in vain for his missing ledgers. He'd turned his office upside down to no avail. He'd been through every drawer and cupboard in the house but there was still nothing to be found. He could not ask anyone about the books because of the nature of their secrecy.
"Someone's playing tricks on me. I'm sure of it," he muttered.
"Do you wish for something more, Sir?" the hovering manservant asked solicitously, watching him closely.
"No, I don't need anything more," Owen snapped in reply, pushing aside his plate of untouched food. "That will be all. I'll be in my study if anyone needs me. Or if my wife returns."
"Of course, Sir. Very good, Sir…" The servant nodded as he picked up the plate and gathered the cutlery and linen napkin.
He couldn't wait to get below stairs to spread the juicy gossip that their short-tempered master was pining for their mistress. None of the servants liked the couple they worked for, so they made the most of any signs of their ongoing misery.
※※※※※
Claymore got out of bed and pushed his feet into his slippers before he shuffled into his bathroom, absently scratching at an itch on the back of his head. He yawned widely as he picked up his glasses and pushed them up onto the bridge of his nose. He paused to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. He ignored his puffy eyes and unshaven chin as he began to preen.
"Oh, just who is this handsome, upstanding fellow I see here before me?" he questioned his reflection with a smirk. "Why, it's Claymore Gregg, a pillar of the Schooner Bay community. And what a welcome sight he is."
He turned his head from side to side, looking at himself from every angle and liking what he saw. "Such a handsome man…"
He inflated his skinny chest and cleared his throat. "My fellow Schoonerites and Bay people…" he began, practising his acceptance speech for when he would be once more re-elected as president of the town council in a few weeks.
He was leaving nothing to chance and certainly was not going to allow Carolyn Gregg to steal any of his glory or his thunder this year, as she'd once tried to do. She'd cost him precious time and a great deal of money with the good works she'd forced on him, getting the town fixed up.
That close-run election still gave him nightmares and he woke up shouting she couldn't have what was his by right of birth. Claymore's father had been re-elected every year as the town's president until his untimely death. It had been an accepted thing until Carolyn Muir had come to Schooner Bay and stirred up trouble.
"I will not let her…" He wagged an admonishing finger at his reflection. "No, no, I will not let her…" he cooed. "It's all mine…"
Suddenly another, deeply unwelcome reflection appeared behind his in the mirror. "Good morning…" the new arrival said smoothly. "I trust I am not interrupting anything important."
"What? No!" Claymore jumped and his face turned deathly pale. "Eeeuuuww, go away! Get out of my mirror!" He waved his finger at the ghastly reflection before he fled from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
George Turner sighed roughly. He hated being forced to run after humans. They were usually so volatile and often looked back as they ran, thereby cannoning into things and knocking themselves out. Or they passed out and he had to revive them.
He passed through the bathroom door and appeared in the bedroom to find his quarry standing beside his bed with his eyes closed tight and his hands clapped over his ears. And he was singing at the top of his lungs and badly off-key.
"What in the name of Hades are you doing?" Turner demanded to know. "Stop making that confounded racket this instant! I will not have it!"
But Claymore Gregg didn't open his eyes and didn't answer him as he kept on singing. "Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall… Ninety-eight bottles of beer…Take one down, pass it around, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall…"
※※※※※
