She stared at him, unable to speak.
“Abby, did you hear me?” he asked.
She nodded.
His eyes travelled over her face and she watched, captivated, as they grew warm and the hardness in his expression went soft.
His hand came to the side of her face and his thumb slid along her cheekbone.
“I know you’re terrified,” he murmured gently. “But I promise you aren’t going to lose me until one of us is ready to be lost.”
She hated it that he knew her thoughts, no matter how she strived to keep them hidden.
Tears filled her eyes and she sucked in her lips before she whispered, “You can’t make that promise, Cash.”
His mouth touched hers, his eyes open then he said, “I just did.”
He moved away, pulled her properly into the bed, covering her with the sheet.
She watched, mind again blank, as he dressed and came back to her.
He didn’t say a word as he slid the hair off her neck, leaned in and kissed her there.
But instead of leaving, like he normally did, his fingers curled around her neck, his eyes caught hers and held them.
He looked at her, silent, for what seemed like years but was only moments before his fingers gave a gentle squeeze.
He turned out the light and then he was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
The Warriors Assemble
Abby parked on the street across from her house.
She couldn’t park in her drive, there were three white vans parked there.
And she couldn’t park in front of her house, a skip containing a distressing amount of debris was sitting there.
As she got out of her car, a man walked out her front door carrying a toilet. She watched as he went straight to the skip and hefted it over the side.
She winced when she heard the toilet crash into the skip.
“All right?” he called and her eyes went from her toilet, which she hadn’t realised until that moment held sentimental value, to the man.
“All right,” she called back.
Then, before she could witness more, she hightailed it to Mrs. Truman’s.
Mrs. Truman had the door open before Abby’s foot hit the first step on her stoop.
“Bang bang, crash,” Mrs. Truman snapped irately as Abby ascended the steps. “All day yesterday, all day today. Those workmen are loud. My dogs are in a state!” She stepped out of the way for Abby to precede her into the entry, all three dogs moving around Abby’s calves calling for attention. Then Mrs. Truman continued as she slammed the door, “I want a word with Fraser. You give me his phone number the minute you take off your coat.”
Abby considered the emotional turmoil Cash put her through that morning (she was blaming him as it was far easier on her peace of mind then to blame herself or the unthinkable, give in to her current dilemma). Then, once she handed her coat to the older woman, Abby very unkindly pulled her mobile out and gave Mrs. Truman the number.
“Hang on, hang on,” Mrs. Truman chanted, her arm up, hand waving in the air, “let me get my phone.”
She led Abby and the three dogs (who appeared to be happy and excited, not in a “state”) down her hall into the sitting room where Fenella and Cassandra were both seated. Fenella was biting into an enormous scone filled with clotted cream and jam. Cassandra was holding a saucer in one hand and daintily sipping from a delicate china teacup in the other.
Abby greeted them both with a wave and all three dogs jumped up on the sofa beside Fenella and her scone.
Abby, at Mrs. Truman’s orders, was there to have tea with Fenella and Cassandra in order to devise a strategy to defeat a ghost.
Bearing in mind that Abby’s move from being Cash’s pretend girlfriend to his real girlfriend (or possible mistress, depending how you looked at it, and Abby was trying not to look at it at all) was approximately nine hours old, it was likely not good that she was already withholding something from him.
Trust was important in a relationship.
Then again, Cash would probably, first, flip out that she was going to sit down with his cousin, a witch-cum-clairvoyant and Mrs. Truman and decide a plan of action to conquer a ghost.
Then he’d have her committed.
So Abby thought it her best option to enter the part of her life’s journey that included Cash by, essentially, lying to him.
She was, she found, totally okay with that.
“Abigail, I’m ready, give me his number,” Mrs. Truman demanded as Abby seated herself in an armchair next to Cassandra and across from Fenella.
Mrs. Truman was standing with hand on hip, other hand curled around a phone, thumb at the ready.
Perhaps at this juncture calling Cash wasn’t such a good idea.
“Maybe you can call him after we have our chat,” Abby suggested.
“But I’m angry now. I might cool off after I eat a scone. I baked those scones myself and I bake the best scones of anyone I know,” she bragged with not a shred of humility. “If I eat a scone, I might want to take a nap instead of have my word with Fraser.”
Abby came up with a better idea. Not only was it her turn, it would mean Cash’s torture would last a whole lot longer (and he couldn’t hang up).
Therefore she suggested, “We’ll have you to dinner.”
“When?” Mrs. Truman snapped.
“Tomorrow?” Abby asked.
Mrs. Truman immediately dropped the phone into its receiver, accepting Abby’s invitation by announcing, “I don’t eat celery,” she sat down beside Fenella and reached for the teapot, “or peppers. They give me wind.”
Abby heard Cassandra chuckle and Fenella raised her eyebrows, her lips pressing together in an effort not to laugh.
Mrs. Truman poured Abby a cup of tea and splashed a dash of milk in it while going on, “And if you make beef, I won’t eat it unless it’s well done. I’m English. We cook our beef through. That’s the way we’ve always done it, that’s the way we’ll always do it. No one does tradition like the English.”
“I bet the Italians would have something to say about that,” Cassandra put in.
“Pah!” Mrs. Truman retorted.
“And the Spanish,” Fenella added timidly.
“And practically everyone else, but the Americans,” Cassandra finished with a cheerful wink in Abby’s direction and Abby decided instantly she liked her.
Mrs. Truman handed Abby her tea. “Are we here to talk tradition or are we here to talk ghosts?” Once she’d divested herself of Abby’s tea, she turned to Fenella and pointed at her. “You! Start!”
Fenella’s eyes moved to Abby and she began, “Well –” but Mrs. Truman cut her off.
“And don’t be all mealy-mouthed about it. Spit it out!”
As ordered, Fenella rushed on.
Eyes on Abby, she asked, “You didn’t slip when you were in the bathroom, did you?”
Abby blinked in surprise and then looked at Mrs. Truman. “Did you tell her?”
“No. I. Did. Not,” Mrs. Truman stated clearly. “Abigail Butler, how many strangers do I ask in for tea?” Abby didn’t have time to respond, Mrs. Truman went on talking. “I heard her banging on your door and I went out to see what the all racket was about. She told me who she was and I decided to ask her over and pump her for information. She told me about Vivianna Wainwright and how she thought you’d been injured by a ghost. I told her I knew all about it and we were going to figure out a plan to defeat the ghost and she said she wanted to be involved.”
Abby’s surprised eyes went to Fenella. “Are you sure?”
“Well, no,” Fenella replied hesitantly then swallowed, “Vivianna’s scary and she’s mean. She never hurt any of us, not us girls, but she doesn’t like Alistair and she’s always doing stuff to him. And the servants. I don’t want to be on her bad side.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be involved,” Cassandra said gently and Fenella’s eyes moved to her.
“I also don’t want her a
round anymore,” Fenella looked at Abby. “I don’t want her to hurt anyone else and especially not someone like you.”
“Like me?” Abby asked, confused.
“Like you,” Fenella answered.
“What does that mean, like me?” Abby pushed when Fenella’s answer didn’t contain any further information.
“The love of Cash’s life!” Fenella announced way-too-loudly, almost in a screech.
Abby felt her heart stutter to a stop.
Then she whispered, “I’m not the love of Cash’s life.”
“You are,” Fenella returned.
“Honestly, Fenella, I’m not. We’re –” Abby began.
“You are,” Fenella interrupted, “even if it wasn’t obvious to everyone around, she knows. She knows. Vivianna knows exactly who Penmort’s master loves best and dearest. True love. Complete, devoted and unconditional. Only those loves does she kill.”
Abby’s eyes skipped around the room to Mrs. Truman then to Cassandra and back to rest on Fenella.
They all were watching her.
“Fenella, honestly, Cash and I are –”
“In love,” Fenella finished.
“No, we aren’t,” Abby insisted, her voice getting stronger.
“Okay, well, I haven’t known Cash all that long but I do know some stuff. First, I know he never brought a woman to Penmort and he’s had loads. Loads and loads and loads,” Fenella stated.
“We get it, loads, move on,” Mrs. Truman demanded, circling her hand.
“Second, every time he comes, he acts like the minute he enters he wants to leave. He doesn’t like Suzanne and he hates Alistair. The only one he really likes is Mummy. When you were there, it was different. He was different. I’ve never seen him that way with anyone. None of us had. Mummy, Honor and I were in a lather about it for days!” Fenella went on.
“I still don’t –” Abby started to protest, even though everything Fenella was saying was freaking her out, but Fenella talked over her.
“And everyone knows Vivianna’s spell. She not only cast a spell over her immortal soul so she’d forever haunt Penmort, she also cast a spell so she would know, without doubt, the one, true love of its master, for eternity, so she could make every ancestor pay for her spurned love. Only the true loves were put to death. The other ones, well, I reckon she just annoyed them,” Fenella’s eyes went to Cassandra and she informed her as an aside, “She can be annoying too, not just scary.”
Abby felt the need to point out the obvious, “Cash isn’t even Penmort’s master.”
At that, Fenella made a weird, squeaky noise in the back of her throat.
“What?” Cassandra asked, leaning forward.
Fenella’s gaze darted around the room not landing on any of them and finally, eyes on her knees, she said softly, “Everyone knows Cash should own that house. Everyone knows he was the true heir. Everyone knows Anthony Beaumaris loved Myra Fraser. He just didn’t marry her because she was a loon.”
Abby bit her lip in order not to laugh, or yell, at Fenella describing Cash’s mother as “a loon”.
“That doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t own the house,” Mrs. Truman put in and Fenella looked at her.
“That’s true. But he should,” Fenella replied. “The line has never gone from brother-to-brother. It’s always gone from father-to-son. Always.”
“He still doesn’t own Penmort,” Cassandra pressed.
“But he should,” Fenella returned firmly. “And Anthony died while making provisions to the castle’s covenant that would transfer title to his son, even if born out of wedlock.”
Cassandra’s eyebrows went up and she murmured, “That’s interesting.”
“It is,” Fenella murmured back, “especially when you know that Anthony died in a car accident.”
Abby’s breath caught at this news and she stared at Cash’s cousin.
“A car accident?” Abby whispered.
Fenella nodded. “Something was wrong with the brakes.”
“That’s terrible,” Mrs. Truman remarked.
Fenella pulled in a breath. “When I say something was wrong with the brakes, I mean something weird was wrong with the brakes. The police reckoned they’d been tampered with but they could never prove anything.”
“Oh my Lord,” Abby breathed.
“Very interesting,” Cassandra muttered while sitting back.
Mrs. Truman’s gaze snapped to Cassandra. “Why? Outside of the fact that Fraser’s father was likely murdered, of course.”
Cassandra took a sip of tea and put the cup back in her saucer. “It’s interesting because, if that’s so, Cash Fraser is, rightly, Penmort’s master. And Vivianna likely knows that or senses it. Which means Vivianna’s actions last week weren’t simply meant to be a warning or simple malice. It means Abby is genuinely in the line-of-fire.”
“Listen to me people,” Abby cut in with frustration (and maybe a hint of fear). “I’m not Cash’s true love. Okay? Seriously. Not. His. True. Love. Therefore, I don’t fit the profile of the victims.”
Everyone stared at her.
Finally, Mrs. Truman spoke, “He does seem rather fond of you.”
Cassandra’s eyes locked on her. “For a bloke who doesn’t feel strongly for you, he seemed pretty outrageously pissed off on your behalf the other night.”
Fenella added on a mini-shriek, “I think it’s love. Mummy does too!”
Abby threw a hand up and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, muttering a defeated, “Bloody hell.”
Mrs. Truman made a “humph” sound before commanding, “Let’s move on. Cassandra, what have you got?”
Cassandra leaned forward and put her cup and saucer on the table, sat back and stated, “Not much that’s good.”
“Explain,” Mrs. Truman demanded.
Cassandra drew in a breath and looked at Abby. “As a mortal, you can’t fight a ghost. They’ve got paranormal powers, you don’t. Most ghosts just hang out and haunt. Some ghosts, the not-so-good variety, cause havoc. Others, like Vivianna, who was a witch and a pretty good one as far as I can tell, can be pretty powerful.”
“This is not sounding good,” Abby mumbled.
“If you want to defeat a ghost you have four options,” Cassandra continued.
“And those are?” Abby asked.
“The first, you find its mortal remains and burn them,” Cassandra replied.
“I’ve seen that on TV,” Abby told her, and she had. That show with two hot brothers, one sensitive, one wise-cracking, both running around fighting demons, burning bones and shooting spirits with shotguns loaded with salt.
That show was great!
Cassandra nodded. “It’s true.”
“Well, it’s gross to dig up a grave and burn bones but let’s do that,” Abby suggested brightly.
“Can’t,” Mrs. Truman put in.
“Why not?” Abby queried and Mrs. Truman looked at Fenella.
“I’ve done a little research over the years, seeing as I’ve lived with Vivianna for, what feels like, ever,” Fenella told them. “I found out the townspeople didn’t really like her much. They were into all that hocus pocus stuff back then and knew about the burning-the-bones-thing so, after she threw herself off the castle, they gathered together the pieces and burned her remains.”
Abby did a little shiver at the thought of gathering up Vivianna’s “pieces” then she enquired, “Then how can she still be around?”
“Either they didn’t salt it first, doesn’t work if you don’t salt it,” Cassandra explained, “or, if they did, which they likely did, because everyone knows you salt the body before burning it, then Vivianna probably knew she’d have to get around that. So, she left some earthy remains somewhere.”
“Okay then,” Abby said slowly, “we’ll find her remains and burn them.”
“In a week?” Mrs. Truman demanded then finished on a firm, “Impossible.”
Abby stared at Mrs. Truman thinking she was, unfortunately, rig
ht.
“Okay, what’s choice number two?” Abby asked on a sigh.
“Choice number two was what we were doing at your house Saturday night,” Cassandra answered. “A mortal can’t fight a ghost, but a ghost can fight a ghost. We were seeing if there were any of your relatives hanging around who could help out. Normally you can’t leave the place you haunt. And that place has to be either where you died, where you lived or somewhere you spent a lot of time. But I know a spell that can un-tether a ghost. Not for long, but for long enough for your relative either to take down Vivianna, or provide you with protection while you’re at the castle.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work,” Abby remarked.
Cassandra shook her head. “Nope. Fortunately for them and you under normal circumstances, all your relatives have gone on to the next plane. Under these circumstances, it’s rather unfortunate.”
“What’s choice three?” Abby asked.
“Choice three is that you take a potion which would make you able to fight a ghost. It would give you keener senses so you’d see her, even if she wasn’t making herself visible. If done right, the potion would mean you could sense she was coming, giving you a warning. If done really right, the potion would allow you to combat her, physically or at least ethereally,” Cassandra explained.
Abby thought that sounded great. “Let’s do that.”
Cassandra shook her head and Abby’s shoulders fell.
“The potion needs three weeks to ferment. A month to work well. About six months to work well enough to fight back. It isn’t often you need to fight a ghost. I didn’t have any in my larder. I made a batch after Mrs. Truman called and explained what was going on but it won’t be ready in time,” Cassandra told Abby.
“What happens if I take it early?” Abby queried.
“You get sick. Very sick. Stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting, fever, delirium, cold sweats – you name it, you’ll get it. It only lasts a few days, a week at most, but you’ll look like death and not only will you want to die, those around you who don’t know you took the potion, like your boyfriend and, say, doctors, will think you are. Dying that is,” Cassandra said.
“Well, that’s out,” Abby muttered.