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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 25 & 26

September 7, 2020September 6, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Every Monday and Thursday brings two more free chapters of my exciting historical paranormal romance novel, Return to Rhonan (that’s four chapters each week). Set mainly in the Scottish Highlands, the reader will find much to enjoy on this mysterious well researched journey.

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

All Available Chapters!

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 25 & 26

Chapter 25

Douglas wanted to join her, but the damn phobia stopped him. He knew the panic would hit like a cannonball exploding on site. First paralysis, then fixed eyes, the fight for breath, knees buckling. Oh yes, with more to come, sweat pouring from his forehead, stuttering when he tried to speak. He felt and looked like an idiot. She was a psychologist okay, but would she want an affair with a candidate for a locked ward?

Anyone who’s suffered a panic attack will remember that first time it happened. It hits without warning, no prior twinges, fears. The victim could be in a restaurant just about to pick up their knife and fork, or at the checkout, starting up the car, anywhere. Then the game begins, hiding it, avoiding places or things where it might erupt like Vesuvius vomiting lava on unsuspecting villages. Trouble is with this game, there are only two players, the panic attack and the victim. People even think of their panic as a living entity that attacks with claws and teeth, without mercy.

Only Nat understood the depths of his panic, his terror of putting his foot into a lake. It was like asking someone with a fear of heights to walk near the edge of a cliff, or someone with claustrophobia to crawl through collapsing caves. This was the only lake where he felt safe. Nat said it could be because the bulrushes hid the water. Whatever it was, he had this sense of belonging, security, even peace. Nowadays, the thought of walking into a lake could bring on the first stirrings of the panic attack; that’s when he had to move quickly. He couldn’t let her know. He wanted to be in her bed, not on her therapy couch.

Douglas caught his breath as she walked through the bulrushes, looking like a pre-Raphaelite water sprite, the strands of scarlet hair glistening on wet skin. Picking up a towel, he waited for her, draping the towel around her shoulders, rubbing her back and arms. Twisting her round to face him, his fingers swiftly untied the thin strip of silk covering the rounded curves. As Jess gasped, he picked her up and took her to the bank and the blanket.

As Douglas laid her down he said, ‘I wish this was a bed of silk and satins, for that is what you deserve.’

‘You sound like a poet.’

‘At times like this, I wish I was. I struggle for words to describe you, your skin as soft as a rose petal, your hair like liquid rubies, your figure a Grecian Aphrodite. That’s just about as much as I can manage.’

She looked at him, his naked upper body, like a painting of an Italian God; the chiseled features lightly beaded with perspiration, his hair blue-black in the sun. How could she resist him? She quivered as his hands stroked and massaged, her breath quickening as she saw the craving in those electric blue eyes. Responding, she pushed into his body, curves flowing into angles as he stroked her back, his hand sliding down to her buttocks, pulling her towards him. She wriggled nearer, playing with the wet locks of ebony hair curling on his shoulders. Her hands followed the bulge of his arm muscles; iron-hard, while her fingers pulled lightly on the black curls, the broad chest with the light black curls, his nipples hard to her touch. He brushed aside the trailing red locks, to kiss her slender neck, nipping at her ears until she squealed. Finding her mouth, he tasted the honey sweetness, smelling the lavender, her favorite flower.

Her blood thudded in her head, she wanted this, but it was too soon, she’d never had sex with anyone on the first date, he’d think she was fast and loose. Drawing away from him, she whispered, ‘Too soon – let’s take this—‘

His lips covered her protests, his strong hands drawing her into him, she felt the hardness of his pecs against her breasts, the soft brush of his hair. She shuddered as his lips now found her nipple hardening to his touch. Groaning, she gave in, what the hell, he was gorgeous, it was hot, and she wanted him. Her hands went to his back, her nails slightly raking the hard flesh. She heard his gasp, ‘Darling – I want you – so bad.’ She responded arching towards him, She felt his knee between her legs widening them as he lowered himself on her. Lifting himself on his hands, his tongue licked and flicked down from breasts to the navel tickling and teasing, before going lower.

Douglas gazed down at her quivering body, at the moist lips, the hardened nipples. His fingers moved to soft the triangle of curls slipping inside velvet folds, taking her to ecstasy.

She awakened to something tickling the sole of her foot, opening her eyes, she saw him kneeling on the blanket beside a picnic basket.

‘Okay, my little mermaid – food. Let’s eat.’

Sitting up, she smiled, watching him setting out chicken infused with thyme and sage. Her mouth watered at king prawns in a light Marie Rose sauce, fresh lettuce with chopped tomatoes, cucumber, and the scent of coriander. Bring out a small bottle of champagne from the icebox he said, ‘Let’s celebrate.’

‘What?’

‘Us – now I know I’ve captured a siren, a mermaid.’ Grinning, he winked mischievously.

For a moment, Jess caught her breath – mermaid? Wasn’t that what Duncan called Murial? Shrugging, she let it go. She couldn’t keep dwelling on it.

As Jessie bit down on a slice of chicken, she said, ‘Don’t you swim at all?’

‘No, I have a thing about water, I’m okay swimming in the sea, but for some reason, I can’t stand lakes.’

‘Have you ever tried?’

‘Nope, anyway, forget it. Let’s enjoy the meal.’

Jess remained silent. He obviously was not happy talking about it.

Treading back through the bog, her body tingling from his attentions, Jessie didn’t mind the mud-spattered sneakers. His whispers flooded her mind, especially as he murmured they should do it again soon. As she clutched her bag, she remembered the locket. Would it be a good time to tell him? Why not? After all, one of the reasons she was here was to find her ancestors, her origins – one of Prissy’s ambitions, before death took her so cruelly.

She’d often talked about coming to Scotland to search for the ancestors, but they’d never known where to start. All Prissy had were the two scraps of paper, both water stained with most of the writing obliterated. As they passed the Orangery, Jess saw a wooden seat nestling between Syringa bushes still sweet-scented although no longer in bloom. ‘Douglas, d’you mind if we sit for a moment? I have something to show you.’

For some reason, she felt nervous even as he hugged her close when they sat. Taking the fragments of paper from her purse, she said, ‘One of the reasons I came over here was because I wanted to search for my ancestors. We know that my ancestor lived in a shack in America, actually built a lodging house for the lumberjacks. Her name was Morag, but that’s as far back as we can trace. Sadly, all she had were these two scraps of papers. One story is that they were given to her by the ship’s doctor. But, there’s no way we can trace that. There were so many ships, so many lost at sea. It’s a shame really as it was Prissy’s dream. And then there’s this. She handed him the velvet bundle containing the locket. It’s only small, no value, but to us, it’s a family heirloom.’

Douglas examined the two scraps of paper ‘What a shame, the water’s almost dissolved the ink. I can see Mur … could be Murial and yes the ‘R’ could stand for Rhonan. I haven’t heard many names starting with Mur … might be able to track it down.’

Lifting the locket from the velvet pad, he said, ‘This is quite beautiful. Turning it over, he read out the inscription on the back ‘Forever United LDR to MM 1810.’

Jess said, ‘Open it.’ She held her breath. Surely he would recognize himself?’

Douglas felt his body tighten a slow buzz in his head; the portrait was him, and dammit, there was no mistaking the looks. ‘Good God, so these are over two hundred years old.’ He examined the gold, then looked down at the inscription once more. ‘The letters could stand for Lord Duncan to Murial something or other.’

Jess pursed her lips, smiling impishly. She was so excited. ‘Exactly. Look at the two braids of hair, one black the other red. I know they’re dusty and faded, but it does point to—’

‘Is this a trick?’ Douglas’s tones razed her ears like sharpened steel. ‘When did you paint this portrait? Last week? How many of these do you think I’ve been presented with – too many. Ever since I inherited the Manor, I’ve had these bloody people claiming to be the true heir of Rhonan. Every damn fraudster produces one. As for the locket, it’s hardly tarnished to be such an age. Jess, why have you done this? You’re breaking my heart. Don’t tell me this is a fraud? Really what do you take me for?’

Jess felt her heart pumping in her head. ‘Douglas, what are you saying?’

‘You know … why do you need Rhonan? You have an empire, hotels strung across the world. Why Rhonan? You are making out you’re the lost heir, aren’t you? I’ve seen so many of these bloody portraits all claiming to be of Duncan. It makes me sick?’

‘Douglas, what’s wrong – why are you so angry?’

‘Angry? Too right, I’m bloody angry. So many fraudsters creep along with bits of birth certificates, bits of marriage certificates, bits of hair, even old dolls with messages sewn in them. Every trick in the trade – dresses – shoes. Lying through their bloody teeth. How could you do this? I’ve fallen in love with you for Christ’s sake. How could you?’

He stopped, his jaw bunching into a white knot as he gazed at her beautiful face, the skin blanching, her mouth open. Pushing the papers and locket into her hands, he said, ‘Tell me it’s not true. Jess – tell me you’re joking – I can’t take this. I stand to lose everything Jess, the hotel, but most of all, my daughter.’ He punched the wooden seat with his fist making her jump, winced as he hit it again, drawing blood. Jess watched as he jumped up, the blood seeping from his knuckles, watched him walk away, her heart juddering, breaking. Leaping up, she threw the papers and locket in her bag, the tears stinging her eyes, spilling, burning her cheeks. He’d ripped her heart out – the bastard.

Chapter 26

Scrabbling in her bag for her sunglasses, Jess slipped them on. She kept her head down, hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone. She needed to get to her room fast, to shut the door on everything and everyone.

She felt someone grab her arm. She stiffened; surely, he hadn’t come back? She felt a rush of rage and then a surge of disappointment as she heard Dinah’s voice. ‘For God’s sake Jess what’s up?’

As her cousin hugged her, Jess said, ‘I can’t talk. I just can’t….’

‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs.’

She didn’t want Dinah with her, couldn’t face anyone seeing her like this. ‘I’m okay; I just need to be alone right now.’

‘Do you think I’d leave you like this? Come on.’

Once inside the Mermaid Suite, Dinah went to the drinks’ cabinet. Pouring a good measure of brandy, she handed it, Jess. ‘Come on, get that down you. What on earth has happened?’

Sipping the brandy, Jess felt it sting her throat, warm her stomach.

‘Come on, Jess, what’s happened?’

‘It’s a mess, Dinah, a mess.’

There were no secrets between them, Jess let out the events of the afternoon, the laughter, kisses, the swim, the love that ended in horror.

Dinah crossed her arms, angrily, ‘How the hell could he do that. As if you’re bloody well interested in his hotel, God you could buy this place with the petty cash.’

‘It was the way he said it. So cold, accusing me of being a fraud, telling me he loved me and then walking away.’

‘Some love that is – kicking you in the teeth.’

‘It’s over before it’s even begun. I just feel rotten. I’ve never done that before Di’, met a guy and then slept with him on the first date. Now I feel awful.’

‘Maybe he’s got a hang-up about this hotel. Maybe he’s in debt or something.’

‘He’s got hang-ups, alright. I knew something was wrong when we first got there. Some phobia about water, I think.’ Jess bit her lip, putting the brandy glass back down on the table. ‘Di we had a great time. We were so close, so soon, and then he went and tore me to shreds’.

‘Sadist – can’t trust some of these guys. Maybe when you’ve both cooled down, you could talk?’

‘No. I’m not a bloody masochist. I never want to see that bastard again. If I did, I’d hit him.’

Dinah raised her eyebrows; when Jess got mad, she got physical. She remembered when Jess slapped a guy in public. But then Nigel was such a bastard. Not only did he have affairs with Jess’s so-called friends, but he’d also taken her money. Pete was the only one who wanted her for herself. Shame, they split up.

‘I just want to leave Dinah. I can’t stay here, not after this.’

Dinah felt pebbles slither in her stomach. ‘Leave? ‘Visions of George surfaced his body hard against her, his tongue in her mouth. ‘Are you sure?’

Jess caught the quiver in Dinah’s voice. Immediately she realized – George. It would be hard on Dinah if they left. She seemed to be getting close to the guy.

‘It’s George, isn’t it?’

Dinah bit her lip.

Jess said quickly, ‘I can’t stay here, Di. You can, if you like, I’ll just move to somewhere close. ‘

‘I really like him Jess, well more than like. But I’ll come with you. George and I can still get together.”

‘Look, you stay here, really. I’ll book a suite at the Merton Hotel. But then…’

‘What?’

‘I’ve just remembered Daisy’s coming in a few days. I don’t know if the Merton accepts dogs. Oh, God, what a mess.’

‘You don’t have to see the guy Jess. I mean, he’s caught up most of the time. Look, why don’t you have a nap, freshen up, and come with me to George’s class this evening? It will brighten you up.’ She frowned, George was waiting for her to go boating on the lake. But she couldn’t leave Jess like this. He would just have to wait. But, he was an easy-going guy, he’d understand.

‘No, thanks, Di, I couldn’t face it. I’ll just hang around here for a while – get some rest. ‘

‘Honey, are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m just going to shower and then lie on the bed for a while.’

As Dinah left, she said, ‘I just hope I don’t meet the guy – I’ll have a few choice words to say to him.’

The shower blended with her tears as powerful jets expunged the fetid aromas of the lake. It promised to be the perfect love affair, but now it gurgled away at her feet. Putting on the toweling robe, the softness comforted as she walked to the windows, pulling the curtains together to block out the late afternoon sun. As she walked to the bed, Jess did not see the ghostly figure walk behind her.

Jess felt her chest heave as Douglas’s face captured her mind, the gleam in his eyes, the soft laugh as he pulled her to him. Weeping, she buried her head in the pillow, unaware of the figure standing at the foot of her bed, unaware of crying herself to sleep.

Donning a silken robe from a warm linen nightrail, Murial went to the escritoire. Just time to write a few notes to Brianna before retiring. Although she did not have good news to impart, at least she could share her misgivings with her sister. Although not related, they were closer in spirit than blood sisters. Growing up together, they shared many a childhood secret, many a girlish dream. The quill raced across the page, she loved the smell of fresh parchment, the slight acidic odor of the ink. Musing, she wrote of Duncan’s plans to attend a meeting of the Lords to plan a defence of the tenant farmers. As her quill sped across the page, she did not hear the door opening or soft feet padding across the deep pile of the carpet until hands grasped her from behind. Gasping Murial turned her head to see the gloating features of Max.

No part of this book may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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books, fiction, historical romance, supernatural;

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 23 & 24

September 3, 2020August 30, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

All Available Chapters!

Return to Rhonan: Chapters 23 & 24

Chapter 23

Once beyond the withdrawing room Murial imperiously dismissed the maid. Watching the girl lift her skirts, bustling away, she whispered to Duncan, ‘You damn rakehell.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

‘You know. How dare you. You dog.’

Frowning, he looked down at Murial, his black eyebrows knitting together. ‘You are surely suffering from the vapours, my love.’

‘Bollocks, I am not your love. You are a bastard. Treated me like a harlot, a trollop.’

Duncan realized she was in earnest. Tightening his lips he said, ‘We will get to the bottom of this – what’s happened?’

Punching his chest, she said, ‘Aunt has told me everything. You shit.’

He stiffened; Murial could out swear him when angry.

Pushing the door open , he kicked it closed. Dumping her on the bed, he stood over her, his arms crossed. ‘By God, this is not like you. I can only think you’re out of your wits.’

She struggled up, her bosom swelling with rage. ‘Out of my wits. Who’s the buxom blonde? I hear you are quite obsessed with her.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘The vision with big blue eyes at the drum. The one with whom you have a rendezvous in London.’

‘The vision? Hah – she was with Max. He asked me to stand guard whilst he relieved himself. What was I supposed to do? Refuse? She said she was thirsty so I fetched her drink and sweetmeats.’

‘And the fight?’

‘Fight?’

‘You know what I am referring to my Lord – the fight over the – the vision.’ Growling she yanked his hair.

‘Ouch .’

‘Don’t try and pretend – you fought over her.’

‘Oh that? Nothing to do with the chit. A mere scuffle. A miscreant cheated, marked the cards. He had the effrontery to deny it until I held up the evidence. He did not offer his apologies just up and left the room. He was a waste of time, so I decided to let him go. He is lucky no-one else called him out.’

Realizing he was innocent of any flirtatious advances towards the buxom beauty, she frowned, ‘Oh God Duncan, I think Aunt Flavia knows about us.’

‘Mama has said nothing to me, not even a hint.’ Pulling her into his arms, he said huskily, ‘Now my little vixen, ‘I have something for you.’

Murial’s eyes widened, as he handed her a small jewel box covered in eggshell blue velvet. Gasping with delight, she took out a solid gold locket on a chain.

‘Open it, there’s a surprise….’

Murial cried out in delight as she gazed at the miniature portrait of Duncan.

Holding her tightly, he murmured, ‘Wear me close to your heart, my little mermaid – read what’s on the back.”

Murial turned it over “Forever United LDR to MM, 1810.”

Hugging her passionately, he said, ‘Now let’s add the braids for posterity. When we’re old and grey, we can look back on how we used to be.’

She shivered feeling a draught of cold air sweep over her. The threat of the Clearances came to mind that feeling of foreboding. ‘God willing we live that long.’ Dismissing her foolish fears, she pulled at a ringlet handing him a few red-gold strands.

Taking them from her, he said, ‘You’ll never be old to me Murial. Searching through his jacket, he pulled out a tiny pair of scissors decorated with mother of pearl, ‘We need a little more than a few strands. Come cut a lock of mine, and I’ll cut yours.’ Grinning, Murial cut a lock of his just behind his ear and handed him the scissors. Gently he cut a sizeable curl from her hair. Weaving the strands of hair together, she placed them under the delicate glass of the locket. ‘There now, Duncan, I will treasure it. It will never leave me. It will be a family heirloom – our family.’ Again, a rush of despair swept over her. ‘Duncan, if I should die, would you marry another – would you give this locket to her?’

Duncan caught her feelings – dark – morbid. ‘Darling I could not live if anything happened to you – I’d jump in the ruddy lake−.’

‘Don’t say that – don’t−’

‘Tis true –what is life without you? You are my life. Soon you will be my wife. ’

Again, the air seemed to close in on her, sucking away her breath as she held him close in her arms, stroking the black curls falling on his shoulder.

He sat up. ‘Come, let me put it on. I have already told Mama that it is for your birthday, so you can wear it freely.’

The smile left Murial’s face, her eyes becoming a denser shade of green as she said, ‘We must be careful like I said, I think she knows. I fear Uncle’s wrath. If he should find out….’

Duncan stroked the back of her slender neck, “There is nothing father can do. He is too dependent upon me. As you know, when I took over the estates, he was deeply in debt. It will take me years to reach solvency.’

‘I fear his anger. Sometimes I have this awful feeling – like some dark-winged presence hovers over us waiting to pounce.’

***

Downstairs, the Countess paced the room. So, Tom, the groom, had not been lying. Silly child. Silly beautiful girl. The Earl would never countenance this misalliance. For sure, she was not of their blood, but society would not accept such a marriage. It was akin to incest. The Quality demanded a flawless liaison untainted by the slightest suspicion of nefarious suggestions. As their ward, Murial was accepted in polite society, her past as the love child of the Earl’s sister-in-law obliterated. They made it known that she was a distant relation, the orphaned child of a Monsignor. He owned a chateau on a small estate whose dispute over cards, ended in a fatal duel.

She sighed; she loved this headstrong girl, with all her heart, would do everything she could to ensure her happiness, but this was too much. The good name of the Earl could not be besmirched, could not be the subject of gossip or suspicion in the gaming rooms. Besides, it would also mar Meg’s chances of a suitable match.

Chapter 24

Jess stood under a jet of tepid water, massaging shampoo through hair, hanging in scarlet tendrils to her waist. She’d woken up half-dressed to the sun streaming on her face. What in God’s name was happening? Again, she’d experienced that lethal tiredness only to wake hours later from a dream that felt more like a trance state. It had to be; in the dream, she was fully lucid. Was it a haunting? Was Murial possessing her, or was it maybe a Past Life? But why was she experiencing them? What was the purpose? Had he been flirting at the drum? The Countess was a right bitch.

Toweling her hair in the bedroom, Jess made up her mind not to tell Douglas about this latest dream. After all, he didn’t really believe in it, so it wouldn’t be fair to push it. Wrapping herself up in a soft robe with a towel on her head, Jess went to the writing desk. The inner vision she had first had of the young woman writing at the desk was now clearer. After seeing the portrait, she could identify her. It was Murial. She shivered, her skin crawling. The room looked so innocent, so fresh, in the morning light, but was it haunted? Would Murial manifest? God, she would die of fear. Maybe she should ask for another room? But she had only spent one night in it. He would think she was unbalanced and it would put him off.

Her stomach clenched as she pictured the lean angles of his face, startling blue eyes framed in black lashes, those broad shoulders, and large soft hands. She felt again those hands stroking her back, his tongue in her mouth. God he was a fast mover. Was she ready for that passion? Alternatively, would he think her too easy? All she knew was her body was on fire for him. It almost frightened her. Douglas could seduce with just one flash of those incredible eyes.

***

Jessie was glad of the sloppy sun hat, the wide brim shading her face, the cool tank top, and mini denim shorts ideal for the weather. Underneath, she wore a scarlet bikini. The emerald one was too sexy. Douglas was raunchy enough without turning him on with a skimpy string top and thong.

He strode along by her side, dressed in an unbuttoned pale blue shirt and jeans with a slick leather belt. She felt herself responding to the black bristles on his chest and toned torso. He had automatically held her hand while carrying a picnic basket with towels slung around his neck.

Passing the glass-framed building on their left, he said, ‘The Orangery was built in around eighteen hundred. They were all the rage then. They actually grew pineapples and oranges there along with some exotic flowers.’

‘Hmm. It’s huge.’

They had plenty of money, squandered it really. Now watch your head, we’ll cut through these trees. That’ll bring us out on the Ha-Ha.

‘The Ha-Ha? Never heard of that before.’

‘In the large estates, they kept sheep or cattle that fed on the grounds, so they put them in fields some distance from the Manor, the ditch was to keep them from wandering on to the lawns and gardens of the house. Sometimes it was used as a deer leap as well.’

‘I shall have to remember that – makes for a great conversation piece.’

‘Uh uh, watch your step now.’

He helped her climb down into the ditch, catching her in strong arms, holding her close as he nuzzled her neck and nipped her ear. Laughing, she struggled but gave into a deep kiss. She felt her stomach ripple in response, as his tongue met hers. Laughing, he almost carried her up the ditch. She froze as she reached the top. ‘They’re not cows. They’re bison.’

‘Yep. Don’t worry, we’ll skirt along here; it will bring us out onto the path.’

She clutched his hand out of fear. Could one of those great beasts make a run at them, topple down the ditch after them? ‘No, I can’t. I just can’t go near them.’

‘It’s okay; we’re going through this electrified gate; it will take us to the bog.’

So this was his idea of a romantic afternoon?

Seeing her startled look, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I know the path.’

She laughed, ‘In my dream, I was really getting sucked into the mud.’

‘Follow behind, it’s not very wide, but it’s dry.

Walking behind him, she looked down to see her sneakers covered in mud. So much for a dry path. Douglas trudged on ahead, oblivious of her slipping and slithering behind him.

She frowned as she called out, ‘so you call this dry?’

He shouted back, ‘You’ll get used to Scotland. It’s wet land, but beautiful. Ah, here we are – the lake.’

As Jess caught up with him, she felt reality slipping away. ‘I’ve been here in my dreams for so many years.’ she said, ‘I can hardly believe it. The grassy bank, the minute sandy beach, the bulrushes, reeds, everything is the same. All I need now is for Duncan and Murial to appear.’ As she gazed, reality merged with dream. She felt cold, lost.

Catching her mood, Douglas caught her to him, ‘It must be quite a shock to dream of something and then find it’s real. Come on, have something to drink.’ Laying out the blanket on the bank, he opened the picnic box handing her a cold bottle.

Jess took it gratefully, holding the icy glass to her forehead. He seemed much more relaxed when talking about the two dream lovers.

‘Truth is Jess, I’ve got a thing about water – lakes. Okay, to look at, but not to go in.’

Realizing he felt awkward, that perhaps he had a phobia of water, she said nothing but began peeling off her top and pulling off the denim shorts. Douglas whistled as he gazed at the slender figure with the full breasts held up by a band of scarlet silk, it was evident she’d had a bikini line strip. God, he felt his arousal immediately, aware it would make its presence known in seconds. He was thankful he had the towel in his lap. Christ, if he didn’t have the damn phobia, he‘d be running into the cold water right now.

Jess, aware of his reaction, smiled inwardly. Turning sideways to him, she nonchalantly walked to the bulrushes.

Douglas watched her pick her way through them, parting the tall reeds to dip her toe in the water. He heard her shout, ‘God, it’s freezing.’

Jess waded further until the freezing water reached her thighs. Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward her arms stroking through the water. She felt the sun on her back warming her, the water feeling quite temperate. It was glorious. The only thing missing was him by her side. She’d even had the wicked idea they could have played out here, touching, grabbing, kissing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers playing with the dark hairs bristling on his chest. What was wrong with him? He definitely feared the water. Was it a phobia? Had he nearly drowned before? Had someone near to him drowned? Alternatively, was there a boating accident? Swimming to the center of the lake, she floated on her back, watching a hummingbird fly overhead. Its green feathers sparkled, the long blue beak iridescent in the sun.

Her thoughts returned to Douglas, it must be a phobia. But it couldn’t be. He said he loved coming to the lake, spent his time chilling out here. Anything to do with lakes should be an anathema to him; even a picture or talking about one would arouse symptoms of panic. It was strange. If it was a phobia, then it was a nasty one, a primeval fear, a fear that could lead to psychotic states. Would he talk to her about it?

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 21 & 22

August 31, 2020August 30, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 21 & 22

Chapter 21

Jess spoke hesitantly, ‘It’s good of you to check the room, but honestly, I feel a bit stupid now. It was, after all, only a dream. I panicked at the thought of an exorcism being carried out – shades of the Exorcist. I’m scared stiff of seeing any ghosts.’ The room looked innocent, the lights enhancing the blue silk-covered walls, the gilt on the chairs glinting.

Douglas smiled. ‘You had every right to be frightened – especially with Lucy talking about the exorcism, it would scare anyone.’

‘Come in – sorry I haven’t unpacked properly yet.’

She gasped as Douglas caught hold of her arm, swinging her round to him. He bent, brushing her lips, his hands stroking her back, pulling her closer. Her mouth opened to the soft tip of his tongue, her body quivering as she felt the hardness of him, the thigh muscles tensing against her.

Hearing her soft groan, his arms tightened around her, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her mouth, as he swiftly unzipped the back of her dress. She pulled back, lightly slapping his shoulder. ‘Hey, this is a bit fast.’

He loosed her immediately unrepentant and stood back, running his fingers through her tangled curls. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you. God, you’re beautiful.’

Jess grinned, ‘I thought you’d come to search the room. So, if you’d zip me up, I’ll get you a drink, what would you like?’

Before doing so, Douglas could not resist stroking the curve of her spine, only to feel her shudder in response. ‘Oh, God, don’t do that. I’m trying to resist you.’

Douglas laughed, ‘So I’ve found your weak spot. I’ll know what to do next time.’

Going to the drinks’ cabinet, she said, ‘Brandy?’

‘Yeah, thank you, just a snifter.’ He walked through to the sitting room, his eyes glancing over to the escritoire. She’d obviously been working on it, as the lid was down with her laptop resting on top. Beside it were some papers and a jeweled Parker pen. Although the priest had been quite insistent that it was haunted, it looked innocent enough, especially with the addition of a computer. How could an inanimate object have any powers or influence? He didn’t believe in that nonsense anyway. Jess interrupted his thoughts as she handed him the brandy. To his disappointment, she sat in one of the chairs to the side of him.

‘It’s good of you to be so concerned, Douglas. It’s just I’ve always had this horror of physically seeing a ghost. The dream I could cope with, but not the idea of an exorcism.’

‘So tell me more about the dream.’

‘I don’t know about that, you seem so touchy on the subject of Murial and Duncan.’

‘I promise I won’t be. It’s just there are a few things I haven’t explained – personal things. But go on, tell me.’

She sipped at the brandy. ‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Of course. I’ve got all night.’

Jess grinned, ‘You wish.’

Douglas sipped the brandy and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, you get what you wish for.’

‘Ouch, what a cliché.’ She decided to recount the route to the small lake that she often took in her dreams. ‘The dreams always start in fragments, then it becomes clearer. I‘m walking through trees, there’s a ditch and some kind of open ground. I pass some long-haired and very shaggy cows with huge horns, which terrify me, and then I’m struggling through muddy hassocks….’

Douglas felt the skin on his arms crawl. She hadn’t been at the Manor long enough to scout the grounds. She’d described the way to the lake, the trees by the Orangery, the ditch in the Ha-Ha, the field, and the boggy ground.

His heart quickened, as she said, ‘The bank rises some distance from the lake, there are stones and a circle of small rocks nearby. Sometimes they would shelter in the hut. Duncan built it with stones and mud from the bog – you could say the hut was their love nest.’ She stopped a flush rising up her throat. ‘Err … it’s sexy.’

Douglas grinned, ‘Now I am interested.’ Even as he joked, his throat felt dry. She was describing his hideaway precisely.

‘The lake is surrounded by bulrushes and then clumps of reeds, so it’s quite difficult to wade or swim there I should think, although the couple in my dream loved it. They always raced to the Willow tree on the other side, but first, they had to wade through the bulrushes. It’s always so vivid. I can see it in my mind now, as I talk. The willow tree is huge, hundreds of years old, well, at least in my dream. It’s surrounded with silver birch with clumps of rhododendrons, the ancient copper beech trees leading into the forest.’

He said quickly, ‘You know, not only have you described somewhere where I go for a bit of privacy and time out, it’s a place that’s difficult to reach, so it’s quite deserted. Now with you dreaming about the names and that particular spot, it could have been the perfect place for Murial and Duncan – seeing as they were lovers.’

‘Not lovers exactly, although very near it. But, you did tell me about Duncan before I had the nap, so I could have just included it.’

‘Hmm – one thing that puzzles me. If you’re a psychic artist, why the fear of ghosts?’

Jessie bit her lip. ‘It’s alright thinking about it or drawing it, just so long as I don’t see it in the flesh.’

‘Yeah, I guess that goes for a lot of people. So the psychic art? Have you always had visions of ghosts?’

‘Yes, from a child. I also have premonitions of the future. I used to frighten the family quite a lot as I would draw someone – always with a small angel floating beside them. I would tell my aunt or uncle that the angel was taking this person to heaven. Trouble was, they would find out that person had really died and recently.’

‘So, it’s like a gift or something. I don’t want to be rude, Jess, but I’m a skeptic – yet, open-minded about it all. Have you ever seen anything physically?’

‘No – thank God, and neither do I want to.’

‘But why do the art if you have this fear surely it would be better not to have anything to do with it?

‘It’s not that easy. The visions will come wherever I am or whatever I am doing. They are spontaneous. Generally, it’s through dreams, or inner visions, which I draw or paint. One day I remember clearly, I was on the beach and drew some gravestones in the sand. My aunt asked who they were for, and I said for they were for her and my uncle. As I was often right, they asked how long in the future. They told me I said, “Oh, years yet –when I’m ten.” I was about six or seven at the time.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Much to their relief that did not come true.’

Douglas laughed with her. ‘Scary. Your aunt and uncle seem nice people.’ Really he was wondering why she never mentioned her parents.

‘Ah yes, well, my step-mother was my aunt, my mother’s sister. Her name was Prissy; she brought me up along with my uncle, who was my aunt’s brother, Uncle Tim. Err ….’ She paused, taking a tight breath. ‘My mother died when I was two months old. My father died in a hunting accident when I was three. My aunt moved around. She had homes in Canada and America. After she died, I moved back to America. I was born there, went to Harvard, made lots of friends, so it seemed the right thing to do. I set up a practice with Dinah in Bedford-Stuyvesant.’

‘You’ve had it tough.’

Looking at the sudden pallor in her cheeks, the stillness of her body, Douglas went across to her. Kneeling by her side, he took her small hands in his as he said, ‘How about you and I go exploring tomorrow. I’ll show you the lake and bring your bikini and towel; they say it’s going to be a scorcher.’

‘That would be wonderful. Thank you. But look, I’m beat; I really do have to go to bed.’

‘Sure, I don’t have any pajamas, but I’m wearing boxer shorts.”

She giggled. ‘I need to sleep. Time you left.’

He grinned. ‘That’s the furthest thing from my mind. But, look just one thing.” He rose to his feet, lifting her with him. Clasping her in his arms, he felt the soft roundness of her breasts, the curved angle of her hip against him. He warily held her buttocks, pulling her in closer as he nuzzled her neck. ‘Just an appetizer.’ Finding her lips, he pushed his tongue through, flicking the inside of her cheek. God she tasted so sweet. He felt her shudder, her body tense. Maybe, there was just the chance that he would be carrying her to the bed. However, her hands gently pushed him away.

‘No – let’s take this slowly, okay?’

He growled sexily as he smiled, ‘No, it’s not okay, but I can wait.’ He left reluctantly. She was enchanting, intriguing. He tried to lay his suspicions to rest. She was a millionaire, no way did she show any hint of wanting to take over Rhonan. She was an idealist committed to her vocation and also deeply passionate about her art.

Locking the door behind him, Jess wandered over to the dressing table, taking out a small silk bundle. Carefully peeling away the silk, she looked at the blue velvet box aged with yellow and brown spots. Lifting the lid, she gazed down at the locket, old gold embellished with the same intricate design as the one Murial wore in the portrait. Could it be the one? Was this a key to that lost ancestor?

Opening the locket, she looked at the miniature painting of a young aristocrat, his face fit for any Grecian sculpture, the full lower lip, that faintly menacing look. It could be mistaken for Douglas in Regency dress. From another purse, she took out two fragments of paper tattered and flocked with age, some of the writing was obliterated. The first a narrow strip held the letters Mur…. born October 1792… R – The second, female … Mor … at sea 1811… definitely part of a birth certificate, of course, her ancestor Morag. That much she did know. It was carefully treasured, handed down from generation to generation.

Nothing was known of Morag’s history before the shack in America. But, she had to find out, after all, that was really the purpose of her visit to Scotland to find her ancestors. She wanted to feel whole, to be part of something. With the death of both her parents, she could never rid herself of feeling so isolated, leading a liminal existence on the edge of society.

Awful tiredness crept into in her eyes, spreading to the muscles of her body. What was it? She’d slept heavily in the afternoon. Maybe she was going down with summer flu or something. Leaning forward, she examined her eyes in the mirror, unaware of a still figure on the balcony watching her through the window. Silently, the wraith pressed her face to the glass as she clutched the small bundle to her breast.

Fighting almost overwhelming tiredness, Jessie tried to undress. Stepping out of her dress, she collapsed across the duvet, slipping into kaleidoscopic pieces of dreams, images rising, flying across the screen of her mind. She did not see the figure pass through the window into the room and stop for a few seconds watching her. Silently, the woman floated onto the bed, settling down by Jessie, stretching out a skeletal hand to stroke her bright hair.

Chapter 22

The Countess Flavia languidly pushed a stray ringlet from her cheek as she lay on the chaise longue of embroidered blue silk. A King Charles Spaniel snuggling among the muslin folds of her dress. Yawning, she said, ‘Murial, you look a wreck as usual, and you smell like a rank reed. Why oh why do you insist on bathing in that filthy lake of yours.’

Murial stiffened. That was the first time she’d complained about the lake. Was she suspicious? Had someone spied on them? But how could they? Duncan had a special shortcut through the bog. Her aunt could not possibly follow; neither would she instruct a servant to spy on them. The news would spread like wildfire. ‘Aunt Flavia, it’s healthy – I love it.’

‘The stuff of childhood. Hmm, well go bathe and dress becomingly; the Earl of Whitney will soon be here with his Mama to pay you his attentions. I am sure he is going to offer for you. ’

‘Oh, Aunt, he’s as limp as a lettuce leaf and equally as boring.’

‘His fortune is not boring, and it is high time you were wed. What is wrong with you? He is heir to vast estates.’

‘He is ugly – shorter than me with tiny eyes and no chin.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake girl, good looks won’t bring you a mansion, maids, dresses, and a fine carriage in your drive. You can have your lovers after you marry – just be very discreet. That is the way of it. Now bring the face screen over here. That fire is too fierce today, my makeup is dripping.’

Murial looked at the thick paste of lead and beeswax masking the lovely face of the Countess. Most women in the district used it, as they suffered from bad skin due to the pox, measles, or just too rich a diet. It looked quite horrific when the paste started to melt.

‘Really, Aunt, I have other aspirations than marriage. I am caught up in helping the tenants.’

‘Tis not our affair.’

‘Aunt, I cannot possibly think of marriage with all the suffering going on. I need time to help – and besides, I would choose my own husband. I want to marry for love – not wealth. And, I certainly do not wish for lovers after I marry. What a shallow life. No love, only lust.’

‘Don’t be such a romantic you have been reading those silly romance novels again. Murial, your marriage will ensure your future – look, you are a penniless girl. But, because of your beauty, you have some serious suitors vying to offer for you. Their offers would include a sizeable sum settled on this estate. It would help your uncle and me enormously. Now enough. Pray, bring me the face screen.’

‘For your information, Aunt, I am reading some political essays by the admirable Edward Ellice.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, girl – stop arguing and fetch me the screen.’

Tutting, Murial carried the small oval screen on a carved mahogany stand to the Countess, who yawned again, delicately stretching out her hands in front of her? “We have those ghastly ladies coming tomorrow to do some stitching.”

‘Aunt, it is good of you to arrange it. It will help the tenants so much. We must try to ease their suffering.’

‘I know you have great regard for them Murial, but I don’t want you going near the cottars. God knows what diseases you could pick up. Besides, you could bring it back to the Manor, and then where would we be?’

Murial rejoined with some asperity. ‘Some of those peasants, as you call them, are descendants of the Scottish Chieftains. Look at poor Robbie McGregor; he can trace his ancestry back to Domnall Breac, King of Dairaida.

‘Oh,, really Murial, not another tirade. That is history; you cannot dwell on the past.’

The Countess’s eyes held a faint menace as she said, ‘Have you heard the news? Duncan met a ravishing girl the other evening, at the drum. I hear he is quite besotted. Stood up for every dance with her, even fetched her some ratife and sweetmeats.’

Murial felt her heart leap. ‘Really, I have not heard of it. Who is she?’

‘The daughter of Lord and Lady De Beauville. They are renting a Mansion near the sea renovated in the Palladian style, no less.’

‘Honestly, all this money flowing like water and our tenants starve. Aunt, can’t you persuade Papa to waive the rents? He’s now talking of evicting them. How can he? Please speak to him.’

‘Oh la, you and your good works. The situation will right itself, you see. Now, as I was saying, Duncan paid such attention to this vision – nearly came to blows with another young blood who sought her attentions. I fear he is smitten. She is of good family, so there could be a match.’

‘What does she look like?’

The Countess narrowed her eyes. ‘La, she has the largest cornflower blue eyes and golden hair. She is an Aphrodite, they say – a vision. Tis high time Duncan married. She will visit with her Grandmamma in London, who quite dotes on her. I am of a mind to send Duncan to oversee our house in Grosvenor Square at the same time. It would be an ideal way for them to meet. You shall see her soon enough. I have invited her here for the stitching with her Mama.’

Murial sat down quite abruptly, her stomach quite tense. Surely, he would not betray her? Hot tears threatened to fall as the Countess said silkily, ‘Why Murial, what is the matter? You look quite affrighted. Pray, what irks you?’

Pulling out her kerchief, she held it to her cheek, ‘Just dizzy, that’s all. I’ll have to go and lie down.’

‘I will ring for Bicks to bring the brandy.’ As the Countess rang for the abigail, the door slammed open, and Duncan strode in, his frockcoat unbuttoned and riding crop at his waist.

Instantly aware of Murial’s pallor, he almost ran to her. ‘Murial darling, what is it?’

The Countess noting his anxiety, the way his arms crept around the girl, said quietly, ‘Tis the vapors – I have rung for brandy. Here give her some vinaigrette.’

Taking the sponge from the maid, Duncan held it under Murial’s nose. Squeezing her eyes at the strong smell of hart’s horn, Murial glared at him. ‘I need to go to my room. I would be grateful for your assistance.’

Duncan swept her off her feet, hefting her up on his chest he strode from the room calling to the abigail, ‘Becky come with me, attend your Mistress.’

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 19 & 20

August 27, 2020August 24, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

Mark your diary, because every Monday and Thursday, I will post two chapters of my exciting historical paranormal romance novel, Return to Rhonan (that’s four chapters each week). Set mainly in the Scottish Highlands, the reader will find much to enjoy on this mysterious well researched journey.

Don’t worry if you miss any chapters, since you will find links to other posted chapters here:

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 19 & 20

Chapter 19

Nat watched Douglas talking with Jessie, saw the interest in his eyes, the way he lightly gripped her shoulder. Maybe his brother was ready to get involved. It was about time. He had been too long on his own, too long yearning and fighting for little Marnie. The court battle for half-custody of the child was still raging. As he suspected, his ex-wife, now aware of his inheritance, was fighting for half share of the money and estate. It looked like she could possibly win. It just didn’t seem possible. After all, she was the one that left Douglas for another man, tore his heart and life apart, taking his little daughter as well.

Seeing his brother’s interest in Jessie, Nat thought it was time to get to know this beauty, time to nurture a budding relationship. ‘Ah, so you’re the artist who’s renting a studio with us?’

‘Psychologist really and I try at art – psychic art that is.’

Dinah interrupted, ‘Come on, Jessie. You’re well known – sold many paintings in America and Europe.’

Jess grimaced. ‘I think they sold mainly because they were portraits of dead relatives. I just hope I get it right.’

Nat raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother’s an artist – you two should have a lot in common.’

Douglas smiled, ‘A thwarted artist. That’s why I taught it; oh and history, mainly fifteenth to the twenty-first century.’

Changing the subject, Jessie said, ‘I must say this place is beautiful. I was so amazed when I first saw it. I mean, I know it’s in the brochure, but in real life, it is incredible. I’ve shared it on Facebook and tweeted it already.’

Dinah now resting back on George’s shoulder, said, ‘So have I.’

Looking at Nathan, Lucy said, ‘I’m sure I can get my group to tweet it as well. The lake is particularly gorgeous with the lily pads, reeds, and bulrushes, and then there’re the moorhens, swans; the ducks are cute. I’ve even seen a hummingbird – absolutely beautiful.’

Jess turned to Douglas. ‘Talking of the lake that reminds me, I saw the girl again. You know the one I told you about earlier? Well, she was standing right by the Mausoleum. I could just see her through the trees. It was a beautiful shot with the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows onto her hair. Here, I’ll get it for you.’

Reaching into her bag, she took out the small digital camera and switching it on gave it to Douglas. ‘There are two, so just stroke across.’

Studying the shot, he scrolled across to see the other, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t see anything. It’s a great picture of the lake and the mausoleum, but there’s – no girl.’

Jessie frowned. ‘That’s peculiar. I’m sure I saw – absolutely sure. I even dreamt of her today. She is so like the woman in my dreams. In fact, I’ve been dreaming of this couple for years. They’re lovers actually, in the nineteenth century. The girl always looks like me and now come to think of it, the guy has your coloring and looks.’

Dinah laughed, ‘So Murial and Duncan could be you and Douglas in a Past Life.’ Then he’s handsome, this dream lover.’

‘He’s not my lover. Wish he was.’ The words slipped out before she had time to retract them.

‘Murial? Duncan? You know their names?’

Remembering his tense reaction earlier to the name of Duncan, Jessie decided to play it down. Her therapist’s intuition told her it was taboo territory, and she would not be pulled in. ‘I didn’t think it was important – it’s trivial really, just a dream.’

Unaware of Jessie’s deliberate evasion of the subject, Dinah interrupted, ‘Yes, but one that’s been haunting you for years.’ Looking at Douglas, she said, ‘That’s one of the reasons we’re here to find these lovers.’

Nathan sensing the rising tension, said, ‘yeah well, it’s a well-known rumor, even a legend about them, Duncan drowning himself in the lake and Murial disappearing.’

Dinah squeaked, ‘Murial – why that’s−‘

Nudging Dinah with her foot, Jessie said, ‘I don’t really know too much about the names or places.’

Douglas tensed, looking at Jessie, ‘So, you’ve dreamt of Murial?’

‘It’s all a bit vague really – I can scarcely visualize Murial now.’

Sensing Jessie was hedging, Dinah kept quiet. Something was going on here, an undercurrent.

Trying to smile, Douglas said, ‘funny you should know the names though.’

Jess gave a short laugh. ‘I really don’t remember too much about it. You know what dreams are – I usually only recall fragments.’

Douglas felt his heart slump. Jessie was referring to actual names, dreams. What else was to come? Would she claim some entitlement to the estate? He needed to find out more. ‘So what were the fragments?’

Dinah frowned. He seemed a really nice guy, so friendly but something was wrong, his voice was lower, tighter. Of course, Jess remembered the dream; she’d told her everything over dinner in explicit detail. She was obviously trying to tone down the importance of the lovers of Murial, especially. She was trying to hide something. Why? Jess nudged her under the table, stopped her saying anything further. Why hadn’t she said anything? She decided to change the subject of the lovers. ‘You know Murial is quite a common name in New York. So many of the Scots moved there in the early eighteen hundreds. The Landlords forced thousands of them to emigrate.’

Nat just prayed these two gorgeous girls were not frauds leading up to a claim on the estate. It was too much of a coincidence that they knew both names. But to be polite, he said, ‘We know about that. There’s a museum about an hour’s ride from here. It gives the history in detail along with early lithographs, videos, newspaper articles, and letters. It’s harrowing, something you never forget. The landlords were vicious, so I understand – forced the tenants to the Coast, in the early years many were forced to emigrate

To her surprise, she heard Douglas speak quietly to Jessie, ‘Have you been to the portrait gallery?’

Jessie shook her head, puzzled. ‘No, haven’t had time, really.’

‘Oh, it’s just that there are portraits of Murial and Duncan in there.’

Jess felt her stomach sizzle. Douglas really had a thing about these two long-dead people. Was there some ghastly secret he was trying to hide?

Hurriedly, feeling awkwardness, Dinah said, ‘Jessie is a medium you know. She could have picked up their spirits. Maybe they’ll make an appearance.’ She laughed awkwardly.

‘No I’m not Dinah, I’m a psychic artist. I only draw the spirits. They can’t come through me.’

Hearing the irritation in Jessie’s voice, Douglas breathed deeply from the diaphragm. He had to get a hold of himself. He really was getting paranoid about people claiming to be the long lost heir of Duncan and Murial. He had so much to lose, not only the estate and the hotel but Marnie, his baby. Her little face loomed before his eyes, those plump rosy cheeks, large dark eyes, and hair curling to her shoulders.

He became aware of the bewilderment in Jessie’s eyes. What was wrong with him? Here was a lovely young woman, breathing innocence, absolutely gorgeous, and he was going on about Murial and Duncan. He had to stop it, stop the obsessive thoughts. She had no need of money, was a multi-millionaire for God’s sake. Besides, he was deeply attracted to her, wanted to get to know her, wanted his hands on her. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. ‘So you’ve never read of them then?’

Jessie felt a ripple of irritation, in clipped tones she said, ‘I’ve told you about Duncan, and as Dinah said, Murial is a familiar name in America among the Scots. It’s only a dream, though.’

He saw the green eyes flash, a fiery female – went with the hair. So, she wasn’t the vulnerable woman he’d thought. He could sense she was annoyed, and he didn’t blame her. But, he couldn’t explain his irrational behavior; go into the will and the fraudulent claims – not here, not yet. It would look as if he suspected them. He would surely lose her before they’d even started. ‘I’m sorry it’s just that what you’ve said has shaken me. We were not sure that Murial and Duncan were even lovers.’

Nat murmured, ‘Yeah, me too. You see Jess, Murial was purported to be Duncan’s mistress or wife – but no-one really knows. Then you come all the way from America and confirm they were in love if not lovers sexually. Well, at least you’ve dreamt about it. It’s uncanny. Her suite is still here with the original name – the one you are staying in. Well, we presume it to be hers.’

Feeling somewhat mollified with their explanation, she still felt her body shiver. In the dream, he called Murial, his little mermaid. ‘You mean I’m staying in the same rooms?’

‘Yeah. As I said, it had that name painted on it when we moved in, so we kept it. Father O’Reilly swears blind they are Murial’s old rooms.’

Lucy interrupted, ‘I’ve heard she’s supposed to haunt the Manor. Father O’Reilly carried out the exorcism to try and banish her, didn’t he?’

Nat felt his body grow cold, ‘Oh God, he’d told Lucy about the haunting mainly because they’d arrived a couple of days before the exorcism. He saw Douglas’s lips tighten. Jessie was terrified of ghosts; what the hell would happen now? Jess frowned, her hand going to her neck. ‘Haunted? You mean she actually haunts the Manor, and I’m staying in her suite? Not bloody likely.’ She glared at Douglas.

Chapter 20

Douglas felt sand churn in his stomach. She looked ready to walk out. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his suspicions under wraps, and why the hell couldn’t Nat keep his bloody mouth shut? He had to think fast, his most valuable guest could be checking out on her first night. ‘According to Father O’Reilly, it’s all clear.’ He knew he was lying through his teeth, knew that the priest warned of a darker power than Murial. To the priest, she was a sweet young woman, who protected people from the darker power. He felt his jaw bunch into a knot as he waited for Jessie’s response.

‘You mean to say you carried out an exorcism, and you didn’t even warn me? Who do you think you are?’

Nat bit his lip, she was a force to contend with when roused, the pale skin of her cheeks now aflame, her eyes like emeralds glittering.

Douglas interrupted, ‘Look, we can move you. Move you right now. We have another suite. It does not have all the amenities, but we can move you.’

Dinah cut in. ‘Those are gorgeous rooms, Jess.’

Nat interrupted ‘The best we have−’

Dinah shot him a glance as if to say ‘shut up’ and continued speaking. ‘It’s all set up for you and Daisy. If the place has been exorcised, then it should be fine. Look, I’ll stay with you tonight. Just let’s try it out. You’ll soon know. You’ll sense it anyway.’

Douglas’s hope of bedding Jessie slipped away. Gritting his teeth, he waited for her reply.

Jessie took a deep breath, holding him mesmerized as he watched the swell of her full breasts. ‘Oh, alright – just for tonight.’

Douglas cut in. ‘Look, I’ll come back with you, I can scour every corner.’

Nat intrigued with the situation still sought answers. Had Jess maybe dreamt of their Murial? Lightening his voice, he said half laughingly, ‘Hey, why don’t we all go and see this famous portrait of Murial? See if it’s like the woman you photographed today.’

Douglas caught his breath, why did Nat have to drag that up again. What was up with the guy? Yet, he referred to the woman by the lake and not Murial. Looking at Jess, he could see she did not resent the underlying allusion to Murial; in fact, her eyes brightened. ‘Now that would be interesting.’

Dinah laughed in assent, ‘Yes, that would confirm there is some kind of spirit life. We spiritualists are always looking for proof. ’

Nat rose to his feet, ‘Come on, bring your drinks with you. There’s a ‘snug’ as they call it on the same floor. It was the name given to a women’s bar, as they were not allowed in a pub. We’ve turned it into a nice little bar, quite cosy.’

The oblong gallery was tastefully decorated with deep burgundy offsetting the gilt-framed canvasses. Lightly holding Jess’s elbow, Douglas led her to a large rectangular painting in a gilt frame. Mounted on the wall beneath it, was a brass plaque with the words, The Right Honourable Earl of Rhonan. ‘Duncan, our erstwhile ancestor. As you know, already it’s rumored he killed himself when Murial disappeared.’

Jessie looked up at the image, her heart beating a tattoo. ‘It was the same portrait as the miniature in the locket, obviously painted by the same artist. The dark locks tousled on the forehead, the eyes that pierced the full bottom lip. God, he was handsome, as handsome as the guy standing beside her right now. Douglas and Duncan could be one and the same person.

Dinah interrupted her thoughts, ‘Now that’s uncanny, you can see the genes running through the generations, you’re his spitting image, Douglas.’

Jessie caught Dinah’s slight nod, the silent message in her eyes. She, too, realized the close resemblance to the portrait in the locket. Later they would have a lot to talk about.

Nat laughed, ‘Nothing like me, I inherited my mother’s genes.’

Lucy smiled, thinking he was quite a dish, also a looker but in a different way to Douglas, his face more rugged, the hair a rich chestnut brown and hazel eyes to die for.

Douglas moved towards an oval-shaped canvas on the far wall, his grip tightening on Jessie’s shoulder. He felt her slight tremble as she looked up at the portrait, ‘Oh my God.’

Dinah whispered, ‘Jessie, it might as well be you. Spooky,’

Lucy murmured, ‘Same green eyes, red hair.’

Silently Jessie moved forward, her eyes fixed on the gold locket. It had the intertwining spiral of the ancient Celts the same pattern as the one as she had in the dresser drawer upstairs.

Dinah seeing her look at the locket, kept quiet. Jessie obviously wanted to keep it a secret.

Douglas asked, ‘So is she anything like your mysterious lady of the lake?’

Jessie bit her lip, ‘Yes – exact. She’s also the exact image of the woman in my dream. So, it seems I’ve inherited the Scottish looks’. She was glad Dinah had taken her lead and not mentioned the locket. Something was wrong. Douglas seemed to be in some kind of conflict over Murial – but why?

She felt his fingers stroke the back of her neck, felt her immediate responses as ripples of desire streaked through her body. God, what a dilemma. He angered her, yet she’d wanted him from the moment they’d met in the foyer, wanted his hands on her, her skin flushing hotly at the mere thought of those lips on hers.

Douglas took Jess’s hand, ’Let me show you the younger son Maximilian, next in line to the earldom – he was a rake – member of the Hell Fire Club.’ He stopped before the portrait of a young man with a somewhat cynical expression in the blue eyes. In contrast to Duncan’s dark locks and full bottom lip, his hair was a light brown with blond streaks, the lips whiplash thin. Jess’s heart quickened. He was the man in the dream hiding behind the trees watching the lovers. But, after the peculiar conversation in the bar, she was not going to mention it. Studying the fashionable frockcoat, the striped vest, and pantaloons, Jess said, ‘He looks like he’s got a mean streak. There’s no softness about him is there?’

Douglas shook his head, ‘Quite a nasty specimen, gambling, dueling. According to my solicitor, he was a member of the Hell Fire Club – Satanism. But come and see the sister, Margaret.’

Jess looked up into the soft blue eyes of a young woman with blonde ringlets, posing in a low cut dress of blue satin with lace trims. ‘’She’s lovely – so different from Murial. She looks gentle, whereas Murial has a kind of wild energy about her.’

He then showed her the rather imposing portrait of Duncan’s father, the former Earl in full regimental dress and the Countess, with beautiful milk-white skin and dark ringlets, a dainty King Charles spaniel nestling in the dark satins of her skirt.

Scowling at the Earl, Douglas said, ‘He was a bastard – showed no mercy to his tenants, so I hear.’ He decided to withhold the rest of the Earl’s history; it was too morbid and would spoil the lightness of the mood. Taking her hand in his, he said, ‘Anyway, changing the subject, let me search your room for you. It will set my mind at rest as well as yours. I promise I won’t make a move on you.’

Jess dimpled and laughed, half wishing he would.

Dinah put her arm around Jess’s shoulders. ‘I’ll stay with you tonight. ‘

Feeling Douglas’s hand squeeze hers, Jess dimpled. ‘I think I’ll be okay now, Di.’ You get a good night’s sleep.’

‘Are you sure, honey? I really don’t mind.’

She felt his eyes on her. ‘Quite sure.’

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 17 & 18

August 24, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 17 & 18

Chapter 17

Jess lifted the duvet and bottom sheet to examine the mattress, her hand sinking into the plump softness. Ah yes, deep memory foam, as were the pillows. She’d sleep okay here. Once undressed, she pulled on a robe. On a whim she went to the balcony to take another look at the lake. Stepping onto the balcony, she saw the woman was back, looking directly at her. Frowning, Jess took out a digital camera from her handbag and moving out of view, took a photo of her. She was intrigued; the woman could have been her twin.

She felt that familiar heaviness of her eyes pulling her into sleep, that tug of her body that forebodes of something more than a dream. Her mind went back to those two short weeks with Peter. They found Rhonan and a beautiful hotel. The countryside in Scotland held many ancient castles, the ruins crumbling into the rich green earth. But, there was no sign of anyone called Murial.

Earlier, she’d had that sense of déjà-vu when the cab drove up to the Manor, but it was fleeting. Rubbing her eyes, she felt she was entering Murial’s body again. As always, it was a strange sensation. She wondered if Murial had any idea what was happening. Did she, too, feel the same weird feelings as Jess’s spirit slipped into her body, her mind? Really, it was time she and Dinah investigated whether this was a Past Life experience. She still felt that guilt of being a voyeur, but she was helpless to stop the dream happening. She was also anxious about Murial. The woman ran such risks. She certainly had guts, having a love affair with a distant cousin-in-law.

It was a wonder the servants had no apprehension of Duncan slipping into Murial’s room at night. But, the Manor was a warren of secret passages, doors, and hideaways. So necessary also, as pillage and assassination were always a danger in those perilous times. Fighting to keep her eyes open, her body jerked as the phone rang. Picking it up, Jess stifled a yawn. ‘ Hello, Di … God, I’m so tired; it’s that dreadful feeling again. You know as if Murial’s taking over … No, I’ll be fine, I’m used to it now … just need to sleep for a while. See you later. Okay? Yes, the dining room … dinner? Wake me up if I’m late.’ Sighing, she dragged herself onto the bed. Within seconds of closing her eyes, a kaleidoscope of images flickered, pulling her into the dream.

Hidden by the bulrushes, the lovers lay entangled on a bank overlooking the lake, Murial played with a lock of Duncan’s hair.

Pulling her to him, he said, ‘When we are married—‘

‘Let’s not talk of that – it’s frightening. I just wish I was not illegitimate then I would have nothing to fear—‘

‘It is something we will face together. Your mother had a tragic life and I—’

‘Can you imagine dying alone from cholera?’ Tears threatened as her voice quivered. ‘Married at barely fifteen? She was so young. How could they force her to marry a man of over seventy? God knows what he did to her in bed.’

‘Aye, no wonder she took a lover.’

‘And they killed him. That duel was rigged, Duncan. How could a young man of two and twenty years be out fenced by a man who could barely walk? No, the duel was rigged; the bastards killed him, then locked her away, pregnant and alone. As for that lecherous old swine, I’m glad he’s dead. He took a child to his bed Duncan, a child. At least, she knew some love.’ Tears bubbled and dropped from her eyes as she buried her head in her hands and wept. “It was only a few years ago that women were slaves to the sexual desires of men, betrothed at birth, bedded at twelve.’

Duncan’s mind went back to that day he’d first seen Murial. He’d bounded down the main staircase, the dogs at his heels when old Patrick McGregor and his father arrived with a toddler. Her hair was a halo of fiery curls, emerald eyes framed with black lashes. The green chiffon dress and hairband gave her a look of a tiny mermaid almost too ethereal for this world. He remembered laughing as she held out plump little arms to the dogs standing nearly a head taller than her. His father called out ‘Duncan; this is Murial, she has come to live with us. Come greet your little cousin.’

Duncan rushed forward as she put a chubby finger in her mouth, staring up at him. He’d never wanted a sister, they were too prissy, always whining and playing with dolls. But, this little creature unafraid of the animals towering over her, just stared up at him, her arm reaching up to curl around the dog’s neck as it licked her cheek. He knew then that he would care for her with his life. She too bonded immediately. As the years passed, she emulated him in every way, insisting that the fairies change her into a boy. It was only later as she reached her sixteenth birthday Duncan was glad she hadn’t. For over a year, he fought his feelings, his longings. It seemed almost incestuous, but he could not fight his love. Murial was a part of him, part of his very soul.

‘It still hurts me Duncan and always will. You have always known the love of your family, your mother, father, brothers, and sister. I have no one. I often long to know my mother – to meet her if only for a few seconds – to hold her hand – to feel her hold me in her arms, feel her soft skin. I often imagine that her favorite scent was lavender like mine. Just think, I could pick a sprig of lavender and immediately be with her in my mind, in my senses. But that can never be. And then my father – killed in a duel. Often I dream of him, dream that we are walking together through a meadow of wildflowers. He is so tall and strong, and I come only to his waist. Then I dream he grabs me and tosses me in the air – so much love, so much laughter, and then I wake up. I am alone, Duncan. Sometimes I feel so isolated.’

Chapter 18

Jessie groaned as she struggled to wake, rising on her elbows to watch a shaft of light spear shadows. The dreams left her feeling weaker. She forced herself to swing her legs over the bed. Struggling into a silk wrap, she trudged over to the shower. Unlike so many other people, Jessie loved the water at just medium warm, scalding hot water took away the silken joy of water on her skin. Reaching for the sponge and foaming gel, she fought to escape the nightmare of the Clearances. Murial was so brave, so feisty, but still, in those days, women were subjugated to men. The threat of being thrown out onto the streets was never far from their minds, a danger more lethal than iron shackles.

Yet Murial was right; she was not the type to sip morning coffee or chocolate and join in frivolous gossip. Through the dreams, she came through as a rebel, a signal of the suffragette movement to come.

Toweling her hair, Jessie wondered how the girl controlled her rage against a society that sequestered her in a soft prison of the home. She was fortunate she had Duncan and not some pompous ass talking through his balls. As the image of Duncan rose in her mind, Jess gasped, of course, that’s where he looked familiar, he was the image of Douglas. She realized then that there was some kind of synchronicity or divine order taking place. Before meeting Douglas, she had consistently dreamt of his ancestor. Was there such a thing as Fate – Destiny?

***

The dining room carried through the Regency decor with gleaming rosewood dining chairs on saber legs and complemented with maroon and gold striped upholstery. Exquisite linen tablecloths looked inviting with sparkling crystal glasses and heavy silver cutlery.

Dinah, already seated in a secluded corner table, waved. ‘Hey, you look washed out.’

Jess slumped into her chair. ‘I feel it. The nap has made me feel worse, not better.’

Dinah frowned. ‘I’ve got you some wine, while we’re waiting – Shiraz. That should buck you up. Hey, guess what? I met George and Lucy in the bar. They were so pleased to know we’ve arrived. I said we’d meet up later –if that’s alright with you.’

‘Yes, that’s fine, but I am meeting Douglas. He asked me to join him at the bar.’

‘He’s one gorgeous hunk.’

‘Yeah, well, let’s hope he doesn’t think so too.’

‘That’s the trouble with good-looking guys; they think you’ll rip off your thong if they just glance your way.’

‘Hmm, you can usually tell though in the first two sentences.’

Dinah grinned. ‘Well, I got it wrong once. There was this great looking guy. He seemed so pleasant – polite. All I did was go to the loo, and he was waiting outside. The next thing I know, he’s slamming me against the wall and tearing off my top with one hand, his fingers on my crotch with the other. He was crazy, he kept saying, ‘Baby, baby, I know you want this.’ She stopped. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jess, didn’t think.’

Jessie sipped her wine, the image of that bastard Smethurst rising in her mind. ‘It’s okay, Dinah. I’m over it. So what did you do?’

‘Kneed him.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Well, George seems okay. He behaved himself at the pub, and he didn’t follow me to the loo.’

‘He certainly couldn’t take his eyes off you. Changing the subject, though, I’ve had that dream again. You know the one about the lake. Only this time ─’ Jess stopped as the waiter, a slim young man looking more Italian than Scottish, approached with the menus. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ As she cast her eyes down the menu, she felt her appetite diminish. She still had that sense of heaviness. Maybe a good night’s sleep would shake it off.

After ordering, Dinah leaned forward, her voice low. ‘So go on, tell me about the dream.’ She was keen to hear it, as psychologists knew the importance of dreams, however surreal they may be.

‘It’s changed Di; it’s almost as if I am living Murial’s life now, more so than ever. I seem to merge with her; I can read her thoughts and Duncan’s.’

‘Shades of Past Lives? As you know, the person going back to a Past life can often be telepathic as well. So tell me what happened?’

Jess shaking out her napkin began recounting the dream, starting with the feeling of heaviness in her eyelids, the waves of exhaustion sweeping over her. Taking a bite from the duck in cherry and port sauce, she said, ‘they’re caught up in the Scottish Clearances. As I know their names, it might be easier to trace it all back. Then, of course, there were the love trysts as they called them, and this guy spying on them. Murial saw him and told Duncan, but she was so afraid they might duel, and Duncan could be lethally hurt.’

Dinah chewed on a delicious portion of Lobster Thermidor ‘Hmm – this really does sound like a Past Life. ‘We really should try taking you back. This time it could happen. The dreams certainly are as vivid as you say. Murial and Duncan’s are so strong, they might even manifest.’

Jessie shivered. ‘Oh, no. That’s the one thing I don’t want to happen. I don’t mind getting a message or even drawing them but nothing else. I’d die of fright.’

‘Perhaps we ought to have a séance. We could ask George and Lucy. I’m sure they’d be up for it.’

‘I’d like to, but I need to get organized first. Daisy’s coming in a few days, and I need to get the studio sorted out.’

‘Trouble is if you leave it, the power fades.’

‘I know it’s just that heaviness, the exhaustion. I can still feel it. It’s quite frightening actually.’

‘Maybe you were taken over. After all, you are a medium.’

‘Psychic artist Dinah. That’s a load of difference from a medium. I mean, I might go into a light trance but not anywhere as deep as a medium does.’

‘Maybe you did this time. Maybe that’s why you have this feeling of exhaustion. For all, you know your powers might be evolving. Have a think about it.’

‘Okay, but don’t say anything to George or Lucy. At the moment, I don’t want to be held to anything.’

Seeing Jessie finish her coffee, Dinah said, ‘Let’s go and find them shall we?’

On their way to the bar, they passed through one of the small lounges, decorated with gold silk walls. The center point was a carving of a pine tree soaring ceiling-high, encircled with an ottoman. The gilt painted leaves of the palm-tree complimented the six-foot-high sculpture of the Hindu god Ganesha in a far corner, typical Regency period.

Jess turned to the sound of Douglas’s voice, ‘Jessie, hey, over here.’

The bar was in direct contrast to the Regency decor of the dining room and rest area. The low oak ceiling beams and tables with oak carved chairs and country rose chintz upholstery gave more of a Victorian feel to the room.

Douglas rose to greet her, his eyes taking in the slenderness of her body, the swell of her breasts in the low cut black dress that clung to sinuous curves. A three-stringed choker of pearls, with a central ruby, her only ornament, gave luster to the pale beauty of her skin.

George pulled out a chair calling to Dinah, ‘Hi precious girl.’ Dinah flushed, tweaking one of the dark ringlets, her body swaying seductively in a short skirt of blue chiffon with a cream silk bustier. Sitting down, he put a huge arm over the back of her chair and stroked her neck, whispering, ‘such a beautiful neck.’

Blushing, she moved a little closer to him.

Douglas smiled at the group. ’So what can I get you all.’

Jess asked for Shiraz, Dinah a Chardonnay, Lucy stayed with her soft orange while George settled for a pint of Guinness.

As Douglas went to the bar, Jessie saw a good looking guy with chestnut brown hair, dressed in country casuals, approach Lucy. As she smiled back, he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘Sorry I missed the class, but one of the Vietnamese pigs in the domestic farm decided to have colic.’

Jess laughed, ‘A Pot-bellied pig. They’re beautiful. I have a friend who sculpts them, has two of her own, one black and one spotted.’

Nat grinned, ‘They have such friendly natures, make excellent pets. I’ve been told they are more intelligent than dogs. By the way, I’m Nat, Douglas’s brother.’

Jess took his hand, feeling the calluses on his fingers. ‘Pleased to meet you – Jessie – Jessie McGregor. I’ve done some paintings of them. Potbellied pigs are ideal for pop-art with their floppy ears and rolls of fat. I love the way they sway when they walk.’

‘Yea, I have to watch they don’t get too fat though, they’re greedy little buggers.’

‘My Golden Retriever is one of the greediest dogs I know. She lives for the next bite.’

Douglas returned to the table, carrying a tray laden with drinks. ‘Ah Nat, got you a beer.’ Seeing Nat sitting on the other side of Jessie, he said, ‘I see you two have introduced yourselves?’ He frowned as Nat held Jessie’s hand to his lips before releasing it. What the hell was he playing at? He was already flirting with Lucy, so why this?

Taking his seat next to her, he put his arm lightly around her shoulders possessively. As the others talked, he murmured to Jessie. ‘You look beautiful. I hope you had a good nap.’

‘Not really, I had such vivid dreams.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, it’s always of this guy−. ‘

What? Missing your partner already?’

Realizing he was fishing to find out if she was single, Jessie decided to tease him. ‘Err – no, I don’t know him. Funny how you can dream of complete strangers.’

‘Really – tell me.’

Jessie grinned. ‘Oh no – it was much too intimate.’

Douglas watched as the tip of her very pink tongue flitted over her moist lip. He felt a tingle dance down to his groin. God she was sexy.

Catching the gleam in his eye, Jessie laughed. ‘If you want to know – I don’t have a partner.’

‘Err –Glad to hear it. Maybe I could show you around sometime. There are lots to see here.’

‘I’d like that.’ Her expression became serious as she said, ‘Actually we’ve only just split up. We’d been together for nearly four years, but things weren’t working out.’

‘Oh, I see – so you’re okay?’

‘Yes – it was just upsetting, you know. Peter’s a freelance journalist. He’s often called away to Europe, hot spots in Africa and the Middle East. We didn’t get to spend much time together.’

‘Dangerous places to be.’

‘Yes, I know. I never knew where he would be next. I spent most of our relationship worrying about him. Still do really. We’re good friends.’

‘That’s quite difficult to achieve – I mean to end something amicably.’

‘I’ve always remained friends with boyfriends or partners.’

He raised his eyebrows. How many relationships had she had?

She continued. ‘Saying that I’ve only had three boyfriends, and I’m now twenty-nine and single again.’

‘I must say I’m happy to hear that.’

His arm tightened around her shoulders.

Realizing the passion in that grip, she said hurriedly, ‘I just want to relax now – have fun – sort myself out. How about you?’

Douglas’s smile faded, ‘How could he tell her? It was too soon. Maybe she wouldn’t want to get involved when she knew.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 15 & 16

August 20, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 15 & 16

Chapter 15

PRESENT DAY
RHONAN MANOR HOTEL

The hotel brochure did not give credence to the vast expanse of the Manor, or the beauty of the classical architecture of the Palladio. Jessie gazed with delight at the soaring colonnades, the semi-circular arches overhanging large Venetian style windows. The building would be more in keeping with the palazzos of Venice than the wild highland landscape.

‘God, Dinah, it’s beautiful. Glad we made a choice.’

Dinah’s heart leaped a little as she grinned. ‘It’ll be good to see George again.’

‘Look, that must be the lake George was talking about and the island. Plenty of people out boating.’

‘Yeah, the boats seem pretty easy to handle. We’ll have to take one out. Look, there’s the Mausoleum. I can just see it through the silver birch trees – creepy.’

Jessie’s eyes widened as she looked at the gothic tomb. The small arched windows with darkened leaded lights typified the funereal look. She glimpsed the bushes, moving to reveal the slender figure of a woman in a scarlet skirt hugging a tightly wrapped bundle to her breast. As the girl turned to her, Jess gave a startled gasp. She might as well have been looking at a mirror image of herself. However, there would be many women with the same bone structure and red hair in Scotland.

As the cab arrived at the white marble steps of the Manor, two bellhops dressed in green liveried uniforms rushed to take their cases. The hotel gardens were certainly popular with couples strolling arm in arm, mothers rushing after toddlers, fathers playing cricket with miniature bats and wickets. An elderly woman greeted them as she sat on a wrought-iron bench, enjoying the sun. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine as Jessie and Dinah followed the bellhops. Jessie was fascinated with the colonnade of Grecian Statues that led to a huge stone portico. Entering a vast hall quiet except for a few quests exiting the lifts or crossing to the entrance doors, Jess and Dinah stared at exquisite marble statues reminiscent of the Roman age, at marble columns supporting the vaulted ceiling. The cupola of leaded light glass shimmered in a rainbow of colors reflected on the white marble interior. The walls decorated with trompe l’oeil gave the illusion of niches replete with sculpted busts of long-dead ancestors and a sweeping panorama of Elysian Fields. Suits of armor stood in alcoves, while stag and lion heads gazed through sightless brown orbs.

Behind a large mahogany reception desk, Aileen Byrne, in a sea-green uniform, sat flicking through papers, her generous figure overflowing the regency tapestry chair. She looked up at her fellow receptionist, a slim girl with ash blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. ‘So, Margaret, the Americans are here. One of them will be having the Mermaid Suite and a studio. Seems she’s a keen painter.’

‘A month – quite a lengthy stay.’

‘Maybe she’s been ill or perhaps needs time to do the painting.’

‘Hmm … they’re coming through the door now.’

‘Then I’ll be ringing for his Lordship. He wanted to know the second Dr. Jessica Marshall, and her friend arrived. Special greeting for long-stay guests.’ Pushing the bell button on the desk, Aileen jumped up lightly to her feet, her red-lipped mouth opening in shock. ‘Look at the one with red hair now? Tis, the woman in the portrait. Could be herself coming in now.’

‘ She’s a ghost – to be sure she’s─’

‘Och now, hush, she’ll be hearing ye.’

Jessie and Dinah followed the bellhops to the desk. After tipping them, they watched them scatter away, laughing as they pocketed the generous tips.

Turning to the desk, Jessie met the crystal blue eyes of the black-haired Aileen.

‘We have bookings, Dr. Jessica McGregor and Dr. Dinah Shibley.’

The older woman leaned forward, twisting her mouth into a smile ‘Ah Doctor McGregor, tis a braw Scottish name ye have there. ‘She took a deep breath into the ample bosom and said, ‘Ye must be tired after your flight, all the way from America.’

Jessie laughed, ‘Ah no, we’ve just come from London. We met some friends while we were there. They recommended this hotel.’

‘Ah, I see, now who would that be?’

Jessie smiled inwardly, realizing she had the same curiosity as her Scottish relations in America.’.

‘Err … Lucy and George Ames.’

‘Really? The teachers?’

Dinah nudged Jessie. ‘So he’s here. Great.’

Margaret looked over to Dinah, ‘If you’d like to come over here, I can help ye.’

Maeve continued talking to Jess. ‘Well, they’ll be teaching this afternoon, and they take evening courses too. Tis braw friends you have, and teaching fine hobbies. I love to read, as well. Nothing like a good book to curl up with. But then, it’s a Kindle I’ll be using now. So much better than a paperback, easier to handle. And, they’re much cheaper than paperbacks.’ Jessie nodded as she tweaked an eyebrow at Dinah. It seemed Aileen and Margaret were settling down for a long chat.

Jess brought out her passport. ‘Umm … would you like this?’

‘Ah, yes, we’ll look after this for you. Now we have the Mermaid Suite and the Fairy Dale for ye both. The Master himself wanted you to have them. They’re the most luxurious and comfortable seeing as you’ll be staying with us for so long.’

‘Now, Margaret and I will be looking after both of you during your stay.’

As she spoke, she took the red leather-bound Register from the blond-haired girl, and placing it before Jessie, offered her a gilt ballpoint pen.

Douglas entered the reception area as Jessie bent to sign the register. His stomach tightened when he caught sight of long copper hair, a sunburst of color in the light, the image of the portrait in the gallery. So, this was the woman who’d inherited an empire. Why should she choose this backwater? It wasn’t as if it was a five-star hotel. He’d managed four stars without the Michelin Star Chef. As Jessie bent to write her name and address, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. She found herself looking up at a man with the face of a Da Vinci angel, a masterpiece of high cheekbones, and angled jaw complimenting a full bottom lip. But, it was his eyes that held her eyes, the color of a summer sea. He smiled, sweeping back a stray lock from a mane of black hair reaching to his shoulders, reminding her of a Regency rake. She was not sure of the cool, calculating gleam in his eyes, as they rested on her cleavage. Her eyes narrowed, he reminded her of someone, but whom?

Chapter 16

His heart leapt, as he looked down into eyes the color of emeralds in sunlight. After two years in Scotland, his voice now held the whisper of a Scottish burr, rising and falling over his English accent. His eyes turned to Dinah, ‘Ladies, welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey. Let me introduce myself – Douglas Mavebury. He clicked his fingers at another two bellhops bidding them take the cases up to the rooms. ‘And now, let me escort you to your suites.’

As he left to usher Jess and Dinah into the lift, Aileen turned to Margaret. ‘Did ye see his face when he saw the one with the red hair? White it was … white.’

‘Hmm … tis the portrait.’

***

Using diplomatic guile, Douglas made sure he deposited Dinah to her suite before escorting Jess to hers. Upon entering the room, she felt a sense of déjà vu, followed by a wave of unnatural tiredness washing through her. The four-poster bed looked inviting with the heavy brocade drapes of blue silk. The room was certainly elegant, boasting a Georgian mahogany dressing table complete with swing mirror and the blue and white striped satin dressing chair. Catching sight of an antique escritoire and chair, she said, ‘My aunt used to have a writing desk just like this. I can use it for my laptop.’

Yet, as Jessie stroked the smooth mahogany top, an image flashed through her mind of another century. An image arose in her mind of a young woman dipping a quill pen into a crystal inkwell, her face contorted with grief.

The vision fragmented as Douglas said, ‘That’s strange, I told the workmen to put that escritoire into storage in the barn.’ He lifted the lid staring at a leatherette writing pad now free of maggots and slime. This was a mystery as only half an hour ago, he’d checked the room over to make sure everything was in order. The writing desk certainly wasn’t there then.

Shaking off that feeling of dread, Jessie peered across the bedroom to the archway leading to a small sitting room furnished with the same Regency furniture in blue and white satin. The grey marble coffee table held a 32-inch wall television above a low-lying marble table. ‘I’m impressed – love it.’ Smiling at Douglas, she opened the balcony windows stepping onto the gilt wrought-iron balcony overlooking the lake. ‘It’s so beautiful here. I’ll just have to take a boat over to the island. The mausoleum is quite gothic. I’d love to explore it.’ She noticed the red-haired woman, and babe had disappeared.

Douglas cleared his throat, ‘I’m sorry, but for safety reasons, one of the staff will row you over. The mausoleum is my ancestor’s, Lord Duncan – story is he drowned himself in the lake.’

Jessie’s heart leaped, ‘Oh my God, did you say Duncan? Lord Duncan?’

His eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Yes. You’ve heard of him?’

Jess saw his jaw tighten; the full lips pull back. Trained to read body language, she realized this was a touchy subject. Just saying the name caused him to tense up. Puzzled, she decided not to pursue the matter; there was plenty of time for her to start asking questions. She felt the excitement tighten her chest. Was there a chance it was the same, Duncan?

Quickly she said, ‘Drowned himself in the lake?’ That’s awful. You know, I saw a young woman over there when I was in the cab coming here – long red hair like mine going into the copse … maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks. She could have been my double. But then there are lots of red-haired women in Scotland.’

Douglas realized he’d over-reacted to her question. There were only six weeks now for the codicil to run. Both he and Nat were on full alert as fraudsters frantically contacted the solicitor’s office with false claims. Thank God, Pevensey was on the ball. He saved them a lot of time and heartache. Douglas fought to compose himself. He was becoming paranoiac. After all, she was an American and a multi-millionaire; there was little chance she was at all interested. Added to that, she was gorgeous, her green eyes wide and innocent. He smiled as he said, ‘People are warned to stay away from the island. I’ll have to warn the staff to keep a look out – it’s quite dangerous –tidal water –fed by Loch Achray nearby. But if you really want to have a look at the Mausoleum, I’ll certainly get one of the staff to row you over, maybe this afternoon?’

An icy breeze almost stabbed her skin, followed by a peculiar pull on her body. Her muscles grew heavy with fatigue, her legs leaden. ‘I guess I’ll have to take a rain check –I’m just so tired. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s the plane flight.’

‘Would you like me to send you up some lunch?’

‘Err … no thanks. I ate on the plane. I guess I’m too exhausted to do anything but sleep right now.’

‘Then I’ll let you rest … how about a drink in the bar this evening? Say at nine o’clock?’ Glancing over to the bed and then at the luscious curves and languorous eyes, Douglas felt the urge to join her. His fear now forgotten, he shook his head bemused, this woman bewitched him.

‘Great … by the way, my dog Daisy should be arriving in a few days. We had trouble with her vaccination, she was quite unwell after it.’

‘Oh, I hope she’s okay now.’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Anyway, I was told she could stay in my suite.’

‘Of course. I‘ll have a basket brought up for her. You said she was a golden retriever, so I’ll make sure she has a larger basket and feeding bowls.’

‘That’s good of you. She’s a hundred and two pounds, but not fat. Loves her food, though. I’ve really missed her. But I just couldn’t bring her over while we were traveling so much.’

‘I know what you mean, I have a hound – Victor, we’re like Siamese twins as, wherever I go, he’s there.’

Jess laughed. ‘I know Daisy is the same. What breed is he?’

‘A Hungarian Viszla; they’re very much like the Weimaraners, but all the Vizslas are ginger. The breeders use the name ‘sedge’ – sounds better.’

‘Hah … beautiful dogs.’

Seeing the wilt of her shoulders, he said, ‘Look, I’ll let you get some sleep … later then.’ As he closed the door, he shook his head, still feeling that slight shock of recognition. She really was the double of Murial, the woman in the portrait gallery.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 13 & 14

August 17, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 13 & 14

Chapter 13

Father O’Reilly narrowed his rheumy eyes at Douglas then took a quick swig from the whiskey bottle. ‘No, but ye’ll need to be purified man. To be sure you’re no saint –blaspheming the sacred rites.’

Shedding his shabby black jacket, the priest unclipped the battered leather suitcase taking out a black tunic, white surplice, and alb enriched with gold and purple stripes. Placing a cloth over the small table, he picked up two sturdy candlesticks, into which he put candles previously blessed on the church altar. As he donned the white alb, the rich gold and purple stripes contrasting with his black tunic, he conceded. ‘It’s only a mild form of exorcism. To be sure, ghosts infest the place. Think of what has happened here over the centuries –famine – suicides.’

‘With respect Father –superstition.’

The priest kissed the maniple, embroidered with ancient Christian symbols of the fish, and the Great Shepherd. ‘Your disbelief may hinder the exorcism. Keep your blasphemous comments to yourself. If you want to open this hotel, you’d best be pleasing the villagers.’ As he crossed the maniple over his chest, he muttered, ‘There’s no way they’ll set foot in the place until it’s cleansed.’

Douglas sighed – impurity – demons – ghostly attacks, what next?

Father O’Reilly placed the exorcised sacraments on the low mahogany table before holding up a large silver crucifix. ‘We must venerate the cross. Keep your eyes on this crucifix at all times. Do not be distracted. Now let us pray. Through the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, we defeat Satan. Demons and devils cannot hurt us. We fear not the bite of the serpent.’

Picking up a Rosary of amber beads, he kissed it, placing it with the crucifix. As he turned, Douglas felt quite shocked, as the priest seemed to change in stature and deportment, becoming a dignified clergyman. His hunched back straightened, his chin lifted, his rheumy eyes glittered like pale sapphires.

He nodded to them, holding up his hand, palm forward as if bestowing a blessing. ‘So now, Douglas – Nathan stand as I bless these sacred sacraments.’

Feeling rather foolish, Douglas stood crossing his hands in front of him while Nathan duly closed his eyes, lifting his hands in prayer.

Gone were the jarring gravel tones, as the Father boomed out the sacred blessings and purifications rites in a rich, mellifluous voice. He took out a small bottle of oil. Holding it up, he directed his gaze to Douglas. ‘The evil spirits hate this one. We use this in the very beginning; each room we go in, we throw a few drops of oil across the threshold.

I shall say the rites first in Latin and then in English. You will repeat the English after me. The evil spirits hate this one. Holding both hands over the bottle, he said, ‘Exorcizo te, creatura olei” (“I exorcise, creature oil”). “Omis virtus adversarii, om.’

Feeling rather foolish, Douglas stumbled over the words. ‘I don’t speak Latin. I can’t remember it.’

‘Then repeat the English words, man.’

Picking up another bottle, the priest held it up. ‘Holy Water. This drives out demons and defends us against attacks. It cleanses the rooms of their evil impurity. Then we have the salt, which adds to the power. Beatus lux lucis of Deus fulsi continuo super illa sacramentum purgatio totus pro lemma. Exorczose Diabolus quod everto.’

Turning to them, he repeated it in English. ‘May the blessed light of God shine forth upon these sacraments cleansing all before them. May they exorcise devils and demons.’

He paused as he said to Nathan, ‘You’ll best be off now. I don’t want to leave you here on your own. There’s no telling what will happen.’

Douglas raised his eyebrows, grinning sarcastically at Nathan.

The priest caught the glance muttering, ‘This is no laughing matter, be it ghosts or demons, ye could come back to find your brother spirited, or worse still lying there with his throat cut.’

Nathan’s face blanched. ‘Well, it’s the Mariner’s Arms for me then.’

Douglas watched him go, anger simmering, what a waste of time, he now had to spend the next few hours chasing non-existent ghosts.

The priest turned to him, his eyes glinting, face solemn. ‘We should begin with the attics. Nathan tells me a couple of the workmen left, refusing to return.’

Resigned to the task, Douglas nodded. ‘As you wish.’

The attics covered a vast area, divided up into three parts with doors through to each partition. The air seemed colder, with a sense of dampness. That shouldn’t be, as they had laid damp proofing throughout. Douglas hid his irritation as Father O’Reilly began to pray from the 54^th Psalm, his voice quivering,

‘O God, by your name, save us. By your strength, defend our cause.

O God, hear my prayer. Listen to the words of my mouth…

Turn back the evil upon my foes; in your faithfulness, destroy

them…’

As he followed the priest’s crooked form, shuffling through the hanging sheets of plastic, stumbling over tools and bags of cement, Douglas ignored the shadows dense and dark against the walls.

Father O’Reilly stopped, holding up his hand, listening to sounds of scratching and scuttling. ‘Hail Mary Mother of Grace…begone oh ye foul spirits…get thee hence…’

Douglas smiled his lip lifting in a slight sneer as the priest declared the first two attics clear of infestation – the only infestation to his mind was rats.

The door to the last attic was so tiny they had to duck almost double to get through. The room was small, a mere twelve feet by fifteen feet. Straightening up, the priest said, ‘D’you hear that?’

Douglas groaned inwardly – rats again – for God ’s sake, that’s all it was – rats. Irritated, his eyes lit upon what looked like a regency writing desk with matching chair, both wrapped in plastic. Frowning, he walked over, unaware of a mist rising from the floor, sneaking around his heels. He must have missed this when they cleared the attics, but how was that possible? It looked to be a fine piece of antique furniture.

As he began unwrapping the desk, the priest shouted, making him jump back.

‘Look at the wall, man – would ye look at that now.’

Douglas raised his head to see a slime the color of mucous dripping down the wood, the smell of rotting eggs brought bile to his throat.

O’Reilly ripping off the plastic, lifted the lid of the desk, his small eyes widened in horror. He leaped back, shouting, ‘In the name of the Christ in all his purity, I abjure thee, get thee hence. Leave this place and harm us no more.’

Douglas muttered, ‘For God’s sake, they’re only maggots.

O’Reilly whispered, ‘Tis, the sign of infestation – the devil. Some of the hauntings is to do with this desk. We must take it out of here, bring it into the light. Come, there is more to do.’

‘Yes, Father, I’ll see to it tomorrow.’

So far, the second and first floors proved to be clear of any more ghostly signs. Yet, the priest insisted on carrying out a purification act and blessing of each room. Douglas sighed, just a couple of more rooms, and they were done. He found the whole thing frustrating and banal. They were living in the twenty-first century for God’s sake, and here he was participating in medieval rites.

As they opened the door to the Mermaid Suite, Douglas said, ‘Well Father two more rooms to─’ A fierce wind cut off his words, punching him from the room, sleet stinging his face. The priest fought back, struggling into the room, croaking, ‘O Lord deliver us from every tempest, from every lightning.’

Douglas, his body, straining against what seemed to be a force nine gale, pushed his way to the balcony windows battling to shut them. To his confusion, the night was calm outside the room, the trees unmoving, the moon scudding across a cloudless sky.

The priest’s voice grated out the words, ‘Sancti Spiritus, audi nos – audi nos. ‘Our Father deliver us from evil, let Christ’s angels hover over us…let the archangels…’ The room quieted as if something was listening. Father O’Reilly whispered, ‘Can you… smell that?

‘What?’

‘Seaweed …

Douglas stopped abruptly as he saw the priest glance into the corner of the room the candlelight diffused with swirling dust motes sparkling in the moonlight, circling, forming a shape. He strained his ears to catch something – singing – surely not. He caught the words, “Bye, Baby….”

Lifting the candlestick high, the little priest advanced towards it, whispering, ‘Spiritus Sancti… exaudi nos… exaudi nos… Go back, go back. Begone.’

Despite himself, Douglas found the skin on his arms crawling, the back of his neck becoming rigid, as he watched O’Reilly lay the consecrated host on the floor before it.

Slowly stepping back, he gestured for Douglas to leave the room as he incanted, Vos vostum ut redo hic. Vos es defaeco Deus. Gentius quod hi icentia is locus tarsus quod plenu of venia. May angelus rector vos ut lux lucis. You are purified in the eyes of God. Begone – leave this place clean and full of grace. May the angels guide you to the light.’

As the priest slammed the door behind him, the figure sighed, floating back to the bed. But it was not the magnificent four-poster bed newly installed. Instead, it was a smaller older one, with roses carved around the aged posts. Weeping, the transparent form nursed the tiny baby, ‘Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting….’ O’Reilly stopped by the door his eyes wild. He beckoned to Douglas to join him. “Can ye not hear it? Tis Murial – to be sure it is her – that song … a lullaby.’

Douglas felt his stomach clench. No, it couldn’t be right, couldn’t. ‘It must be the wind, Father. It was blowing a gale in there.’

“Well, whether ye believe your own ears or not ye cannot be putting anyone in there. Tis not safe.’

‘I thought you said Murial was not a threat.’

‘She isn’t, to be sure she’s only a poor sweet girl lost in limbo. But she’s a portal ye mind, a portal for darker forces.’

Chapter 14

Douglas’s heart thudded. That was abnormal – paranormal – if that’s what they called it. Striding through corridors, Father O’Reilly’s words rose above the wind groaning against mullioned windows, whistling through holes in aged doors. ‘Every unclean spirit…I abjure thee, depart from this house of God’s servants….’

As they walked down the corridor towards the grand central staircase, the flickering candles cast pools of light on stairs and banister. Douglas saw the mist gathering in pools, swirling up across the landing, climbing up the wainscoting.

When the priest shook oil on the mist, Douglas, as instructed, sprinkled holy water. To his consternation, he saw a black cat forming as the mist hissed, clearing a path before them. ‘Father, can you see it? – the cat?’

The priest shook his head, ‘Ignore it – just ignore it. Follow me, keep close.’

Douglas felt the wrath ripple through the priest’s body, his language changing from somber incantation to anger with a tinge of fear. The rising mist was becoming denser, the utter silence ominous, as they descended the staircase. Candle flames spluttered when a disembodied face with skin the color of a skull, loomed from an ancient painting. Douglas’s face was ashen as he tried to ignore the black cat slinking before them.

He jumped as Father O’Reilly roared, ‘Spiritus Sanctus – get ye hence – get ye hence.’ A deep thud from the wainscoting mocked him, followed by another and another.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘Anger.’ O’Reilly splashed a few drops of oil followed by holy water on the stairs, the thuds quickened, the oak panels of the staircase bulging outwards.

Then silence, a terrible waiting silence.

The candles flickered and died. Douglas could taste the sulfurous mist like rancid meat. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. Come on.’ He ran almost falling over the fleshy body of the cat. So, it wasn’t a ghost, but where in the hell did it come from?

The priest caught his arm; he could hear the arthritic fingers cracking in the silence. ‘Wait – listen. It’s waning, the strength is waning. We’ve beaten them for the time being.’

Douglas’s brain raced. It could not have happened; it was against everything he believed in. His heart leapt into his throat as the cat yowled, baring fangs drooling, unsheathing its claws, before disappearing into a mist before him.

Speechless, he watched the priest cross the vast hall back to the living area, Disrobing he held gnarled hands over the flames, his shock of white hair wild about his head. He rubbed the pockmarked nose and purple-veined cheeks, ‘I’ll be telling ye again, ye’ll have to board that room up.’

‘The Mermaid Suite? That’s impossible. An American woman has booked it for three months, paid thousands for it.

‘Ye have no choice.’

‘I’m running a business here, Father. I’ve only allowed this damn exorcism to get staff from the local district. For God’s sake, what more can I do? And by the way, what was that? That cat?’

‘Ah, it comes and goes – but it aims to protect – but coming back to the subject ye have to close the Mermaid Suite.’

‘I can’t Father, and that’s final – it would ruin us before we start. Surely there’s something else we can do?’

The priest looked at him, ‘I’ve already told you.’ The priest’s yellowed eyes bloodshot with fatigue gazed at him, ‘As long as you do not trust the word of God then they will haunt you man – I’ve done my best, but I’m not strong enough to clear them all. Aye, there are ghosts here, but there is also a darker evil. Get a trained exorcist and close the bloody Suite.’

Hearing the front doors burst open, Douglas stood to his feet, relieved to find it was only Nathan.

‘Hi there, so how did it go, see any ghosties or wee legged beasties?’

Douglas scowled. “Next time you do it.’

‘Looks like you two need a drink, what’ll it be?’

Father O’Reilly’s eyes lit up. ‘Hah, now you’re talking – the usual.’

Grinning, Nathan went to the drinks cabinet bringing out tumblers and whiskey. Filling a glass, he handed it to the priest ‘So Father?’

‘I might have given ye some time, but it will start up again. This is beyond a parish priest. You’ll have to contact the Bishop, or I will. You need a trained exorcist, One trained by the Jesuits would be best.’

Nathan frowned, ‘Didn’t George say the American woman was a medium? Maybe she could help.’

‘Yeah, the one who’s afraid of ghosts. We daren’t let her know anything is going on. She’d cancel in a minute.’

‘So did you see or hear anything?’

Douglas sitting down, shrugged, looking into the flames of the fire. ‘Maggots, seaweed, and a bloody black cat. It must have been a feral one that got in. Now I’m back here thinking it over, I’m not sure. When you look at it rationally, the candles, shadows, the rituals, even the host agitated the imagination, exacerbated the whole thing. There’s a lot of building work still going on up there, the maggots are explainable, maybe the builders left some food up there, then the warmth, the flies. It’s possible.’

O’Reilly almost choked on his whiskey, ‘You fool, you’ll rue the day if you dismiss what went on here tonight. What about the smell, the mist, eh? What about the Mermaid Suite and the cat?’

‘The cat was real, I felt it.’

‘Ghosts can take on flesh. Ye have no idea, man, no idea. What about the seaweed, the storm?’

‘ Father with respect it is a damp night, but it’s also warm, just the right conditions for mist. Maggots do stink, doesn’t mean it has to be a ghost. As for the Mermaid Suite, a freak wind, candlelight creating shadows. It’s an old building full of damp and mildew. What with that and the renovations – paint – turpentine, concrete, it’s bound to create strange smells.’

‘Well, ye seemed shocked enough at the time.’

‘Wouldn’t anyone? What with the incantations, talk of devils and spirits, evil and death? I admit I got carried away.’

Nathan knelt beside the priest, putting his hand on the frail shoulder. ‘Father, we’re grateful for what you’ve done tonight. I, for one, believe you. Too many people have seen things here. Douglas’s just being bull-headed as usual.’

O’Reilly nodded as Nathan refilled his glass. ‘Tis alright talking about it here in the light, but ye should have seen his face in that room. It was Murial – and he knows it.”

‘So Father, what’s this about Murial?’

‘I’m not sure, but tis well known that she and Lord Duncan were in love. Now no one knows what happened to her, but the young Lord committed suicide in the lake a year later.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps it is Duncan who’s doing the haunting?”

‘No, according to the myths he stays by the lake. But, maybe the soul of Murial has returned. Maybe something is keeping her prisoner here.’

‘Douglas rose to refill the glasses. ‘Interesting Father but you must admit it’s all folk tales and supposition. Anyway, I’ve got to take Victor for a walk. The poor dog’s been shut in the office all evening.’

***

That night Douglas paid no heed to the priest’s warning. He was not going to give in to their superstitious nonsense. He’d just spend the night in the Mermaid Suite. Yet, however much he would not openly admit it to himself, something was definitely wrong. That’s why he had Victor sleeping on the bed. As he lay between crisp starched sheets, the moon threw shafts of light shifting upon the satin brocade walls, adding luster to the gold motifs. The wind moaned softly outside the windows, open to the warmth of the night.

Stroking the dog’s head, he thought, it was just a silly episode, just a gust of wind and the imaginings of an old priest in his cups. He had to get some sleep. He had a full day ahead of him tomorrow with more interviews, instructions to builders, and oh yes, he must rescue the writing desk and chair from the attic.

As the moon sunk towards dawn, Victor raised his head, whimpering. His master slept ignorant of a transparent figure sitting beside him on the bed, humming the lullaby.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 11 & 12

August 13, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 11 & 12

Chapter 11

1810. Rhonan
Letter from Muriall to Lady Brianna.

August 1810
The Lady Brianna of Rhonan
Rhonan Estate
Cornwall, England

Thank you for your most welcome letter. I read and reread it. I am so pleased that little Felicia is happy with her new doll. It took Aunt Flavia weeks, stitching and embroidering the tiny clothes. Then she spent so much time searching for a suitable tea set for her. The small porcelain cups are quite exquisite. Uncle grinned when he watched Peters pack Edward’s drum and drum sticks. The little hussar uniform was delightful. He must look very handsome in it.

Nevertheless, as you say, dear Brianna, the money for the toys should have gone to the tenants. Do not feel guilty; there is nothing you could do. However, the money you sent will provide clothes for the impoverished cotters’ children. I want to say toys, but we need every penny we can get for food. However, I have a thought here; I could raid the attics for some. I know we put so many of our toys up there over the years.

I am sorry my letter upset you, as I know you have such a tender heart. Our visit to the cotters was tragic. It breaks my heart when I think of when we were children. I remember the number of times we would steal away to the cottages to listen to old Patrick’s stories about the fairies and the mermen. You were on his knee and me and Robbie at his feet. It used to be so cozy with the turf fire glowing. It never went out, did it, summer or winter?

Alice is putting on a little weight now, as is Robbi. We stood together and cried. I am terrified, Brianna, terrified of what is going to happen here.

We have to find more help. The hierarchy stopped the road works, saying the practice is useless and of no importance. The only ways left are those to the farms that are track, really. I am appalled and ashamed at the poverty and misery in which our poor friends exist. Honestly, at times like this, I wish I were a man. I could do so much more – bully the landlords into helping the cotters, not evict them.

I hate this inequality – women have very little power. As such, our efforts are insignificant. We cannot even suggest anything at the meetings. Oh no, it is up to the men, sitting on their arses pontificating instead of doing anything. Dorothea and Aileen are now doing their utmost to persuade their papas to help the tenants. However, with little success. Like us, they are ferreting food out at night, inveigling trusted servants to guard them. So between the three of us, we are looking after about thirty families. Yet sadly, it is not enough; our beloved friends are suffering. On other estates, some are dying. Duncan and our darling Guy, are both working like slaves to help. However, that bloody Max, is a bastard, selfish – corrupt. I wish I could horsewhip him. Only the other night, he dared to enter my bedchamber without permission. I do declare I felt threatened, and with good reason, I found out. Nevertheless, I evaded his insulting intentions and with a whack across his head with my hairbrush, sent him packing. I dare not tell Duncan, blood would be shed.

More landlords have received death threats. Although I love Duncan, I am fed up with him following me around. He insists he is guarding me. For God’s sake, I match him in swordplay, temper, and shot. Why do men treat us as if we are porcelain dolls? Honestly, Brianna, women are stereotyped as witless, fragile, fainting at every hint of excitement. It is only the stupid corsets that bring that about. At least you and I are one accord on this. Meg does not help either, moaning at me as usual for wearing breeches and frockcoat. Well, why not? Other women are standing out for what they believe. Tis just tradition has subjugated women. In earlier times, we were equal. Men were devoted to the Goddess, to the Great Mother. However, with the advent of Christianity and that misogynist Paul, it changed.

One day we will wear trousers, have a say in politics, and have the right to own land. I mean that twit Lord McCarthy has married an heiress with a fortune of fifty thousand pounds. She also has an estate with a manor house, but it is his to do with as he pleases, As soon as she married, she lost her right to everything. Ridiculous – insane. What is wrong with these women? If I say anything, they back away and shudder in horror at my boldness. They twitter on about ‘women must know their place.’ We do not even have the right to write or publish a book under our names. Meg was affrighted at my speech, as usual, well bollocks to that.

I have read of German authors who freely curse and yet write so adroitly, women who are free to be natural. They do not have to the insane rules of polite society, a society that enslaves women treating us as though we are little more than animals. Uncle respects his horse more than he does, Aunt Flavia. Alas, though, the man is so frail and can scarcely walk without his cane. He now suffers a hacking cough and has gout to add to his discomfort. Only last week, he took to his bed for over four days. Aunt Flavia was affrighted and called for the physician. He protested heartily at being bled but gave in with ill grace.

Duncan has no time for him now in his complete indifference to the suffering of our poor tenants. It breaks my heart, Brianna. As I said above, our dear friends are suffering. Alice and Robbie and their young family will be forced to move to the Coast without food or shelter until they build a home. But of course, Duncan, myself, and other willing volunteers will help them. I wish we could help them all.

Oh dear, I hear Aunt Flavia calling me. I have to go; John is waiting for the letter. I shall write to you again, poste haste. There is more to say.

I am your devoted Muriall.

Chapter 12

PRESENT DAY
RHONAN MANOR

‘Exorcism? For God’s sake. Don’t be so damn stupid.’

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you want people to work here, then we’ve got to go through with it.’

Douglas’s nails dug into the palms of his hands as he paced the marble hall. They needed more staff desperately, but this was superstitious nonsense. It would only aggravate the situation further. A draft swept through the cavernous space lifting the edge of an ancient tapestry of medieval knights.

‘You’re insulting Father O’Reilly here. I’ve pleaded with him to help us, and then all you can do is mouth off at him. People in the district refuse to work here; they’re too damn scared. We should be opening in six weeks. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong now. Listen to sense.’ Nathan stuffed his hands in the corduroy trousers, creased and stained with what looked suspiciously like cow dung, the elbows of his tweed jacket threadbare.

Douglas’s dress taste now ran to the Italian look of the designer jacket complimented with a silk tee shirt contrasting with Nathan’s country farmer style. ‘Don’t tell me how to do my job. You stick to the domestic farming and the grounds. I’ll see you at the hotel.’

‘We’re partners here, so I do have a say in the matter. We’ve only got a few more weeks before we open – we’ve got to get more staff from the local people – we can’t afford Edinburgh rates. Come on, Douglas; this makes sense.’

‘Sense? Do you call this sense? It will lower the prestige of the hotel.’ Douglas paused, looking up at the head of a stuffed stag; the eyes seemed to glisten as if watching him. ‘I don’t remember discussing or agreeing to any of this with you.’

‘Stop playing the big brother with me. I don’t think I have to inform you of every decision I make. Father is doing us a favor. Seeing as we’re part of the church.’

‘You might be. Four weeks and suddenly, you’re converted. Last month it was Buddhism.”

‘At least I’m not a bloody atheist.’

‘Agnostic. Nathan. I don’t have any religious inclinations. Just listen to yourself, man, an exorcism? We’re not in the middle ages. Next, you’ll be telling me it’s incense, bells, and candles.’

‘So, how the hell d’you think you’ll get staff from the villages then?’

‘You’re showing the world we have a bloody ghost. The American woman and her cousin friend are arriving after we open.’

‘I thought she was Canadian?’

‘No, she has homes in Canada and America – New York. But what’s that got to do with it?’

‘You told me yourself. George said she’s a psychic who’s terrified of seeing a ghost if that’s not weird enough. If she catches any hint of this, she’ll cancel. She’s booked the Mermaid Suite for God’s sake for a month, her dog’s arriving soon, and she’s also rented a studio. She’s a multi-millionaire, and we’re talking about thousands of pounds here.

‘There’s no way she could find out; you’re getting hysterical – calm down.’

‘Hysterical? I’m not a bloody girl. It’s you; you’re damn well obsessed with ghosts. Just because you’ve heard gossip−.’

‘For fuck’s sake−‘ Nathan stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry, Father, I got carried away.’

The priest shook his head, the white hair forming a crown around his natural tonsure. Showing grey stubs of teeth, he said, ‘Tis the devil you’re inviting in here with your quarreling.’ Taking a small flask from his pocket, he noisily swigged down the contents. Smacking his lips, he said, ‘I’m after having a hot toddy, for the arthritis. Tis like an ice house in here, to be sure, an ice house.’

Nathan opened his arms, pleading, ‘Father, what would you suggest?’

The priest rubbed his pockmarked nose, ‘Tis not up to me to come between brothers. But, I warn ye, it might take more than an exorcism to shift these ghosties. Don’t be insulting them now, or they’ll be after your soul.’

Douglas glared at Nathan. ‘No – it’s not going to happen. That’s final – no exorcism.’

Nathan sprang from his seat. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t experienced it. Look me in the eye and tell me that you haven’t heard or seen anything.’

‘No, I haven’t.’ thundered Douglas. ‘We’ve been living in the bloody caravan for the past year and a half.’

The priest took a pipe out from his cloak, fumbling around for the packet of tobacco. Carefully filling his pipe, he turned to Douglas, speaking quietly. ‘There’s something here. Been quiet for some time now, but it’s returned. Can you not smell it? The smell of the seaweed? Tis Muriall – so it is.’

Douglas stopped short, sniffing the air. His heart leaped just a little, as he smelt ozone. Then he laughed. ‘We’re near the sea Father; it’s just the wind blowing this way.’

The priest lifted his pipe in resignation before putting it in his mouth. Sucking away, he smiled, a smile like a vine creeping around Douglas’s heart, squeezing. Maybe he’d heard the odd sigh, the odd word, seen the wisp of a silk skirt disappearing through a door, but it could be just the draughts. Their funds did not run to complete double-glazing; many a room still had the leaded light windows, the creaking stair.

His mind flitted back to a night only a week ago. He’d been sitting right here; his chair was drawn up to the marble fireplace, a whiskey in hand when he’d felt tapering fingers flit across his cheek. He’d started up, felt the hairs on his neck rise. His eyes trained into the shadows of the vast expanse, shadows deep, and dense wavering in the firelight. It was then he smelt the ozone, imagined seeping black seaweed slithering across the floor from the door.

He remembered rising from his chair, heart hammering, chest tightening, on hearing the sigh, long and drawn out. His heart leaped into his throat as his eyes fled to the massive doors, shuddering as one slowly opened. Tomkins couldn’t have shut it properly. But, then, he thought he would yell out as he saw a scarlet skirt disappear into the darkness of the night. The flickering light caught the marble statues of Zeus and Hermes, playing upon muscles that seemed to move. He shook his head, looking at ancient tapestries of medieval battle scenes, the fringes lifting in a draught. That was it; the skirt was just the tapestry moving in the antique black flecked mirror. That’s what he told himself – only light flickering, reflections, draughts, and creaking doors. But, he did not return to the cozy chair. Neither did he stop to take the whiskey with him, as he strode urgently from that fearful space.

Nathan’s voice brought him back. ‘Come on, Douglas; an exorcism won’t hurt. At least, it will satisfy people. The Father’s greatly respected throughout the district.’

The priest coughed, tapping his pipe out over the hearth. ‘I think maybe I should be going. It will do no good to keep arguing like this. Twill only makes the haunting worse.’

Nathan sprung forward, ‘No Father, we need to do this. We have to hammer it out. Please stay.’ Turning to Douglas, he said, “You know we’ve lost time and money with builders leaving. Even the village kids wouldn’t enter the grounds, not even for a dare. And, that’s saying something. You know what kids are like; little demons will break in anywhere, especially old decrepit houses.’

Douglas frowning conceded. “Yeah. Strange. But, rumors build up into legends, all over a bit of nonsense. If this is what you want, so be it, but keep it short.’

Calmer now, Nathan sat down again in the button-backed leather chair, ‘You can’t tell Father to keep it short. You know what the solicitor said, generations of Rhonans have fled the damn place – the last one stayed a week – we’re not allowed to sell it – no-one will rent it.’

Douglas glowered, punching one fist into the palm of his other hand. He knew he should meet Nathan some of the way. They’d spent the last eighteen months renovating the manor. The castle would have to wait. With the gardens, a small animal farm, and some exotic animals to add interest to the park, it took over two million pounds. A terraced row of newly built luxury cottages along with semi-detached and detached houses providing accommodation for the upper management positions took another million. However, the fully fitted chrome kitchens, the wood floors, and minimalist design with lower than average rents did not tempt the local people to apply for the vacant positions.

On top of that, they converted the stables into luxury one bed and studio apartments for holiday self-catering. ‘Damn stupid nonsense. Get it over with if that’s what you want. Don’t expect me to believe in all this hocus pocus.’

The priest glowered at Douglas. ‘This is blasphemous. You are insulting the Holy Roman Catholic Rites. Have ye no idea of what you’re dealing with man?’

Douglas looked at Nathan’s face, drained of his usual high color. He realized this was not really about the ghost; it was the future of the hotel. His voice grated, like gravel over tin, ‘Well, as long as you don’t think I’m taking part?’

Father O’Reilly”s stepped away from the fireplace, interrupting, ‘Ye have to – you’re the oldest Rhonan blood – to be sure they’ll obey you, but not your young brother. Now I shall be explaining all the blessed objects we will be using in the Holy Ritual. Then you will be cleansed before we start.’ Douglas jerked his lip into a grimace. ‘Surely you don’t think I need an exorcism?’

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 9 & 10

August 10, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 9 & 10

Chapter 9

Duncan’s heart was heavy. He felt like giving up the inheritance; of departing for the Jamaican Plantations bequeathed to him by his late grandfather. At least he and Muriall could marry without condemnation from the Ton. But he knew he had to stay, had to do something. Kelping was a dangerous trade, cutting the seaweed under the rocks, in waist-high water. Because of the distance from their crofts, the fathers and sons sheltered in tarpaulin tents on the beach. Or, they slept in wet clothes out in the open, suffering all manner of ills and often death. However, he could ensure they had enough to eat and adequate shelter inland. Duncan hurried past the stables to the small group waiting at the Orangery. Except for the glow of lanterns, it was almost pitch black. He nodded to the second footman and groom already seated while the kennel man sat in the back with Muriall and his sister, Meg. As they set off into the night, shadows darkened around the old stables.

Muriall shook her head; she had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning, she schemed how she could procure more victuals for the peasants. The Duke had forbidden them to raid the larders for food, but stealthily with the aid of the servants, they managed to pile the cart high with fresh food, clothes, and bedding.

The small cavalcade moved forward with Duncan’s youngest brother Guy, riding behind, while half a dozen deerhounds ran ahead. After traveling a mile or so, the thatch of the huts loomed dark against the night sky. Wordlessly, they split up into pairs, each going to different shelters. Muriall was glad of her breeches, as she walked through the mud towards the dwelling.

Only a small peat fire lit the gloomy interior. Muriall’s friends of childhood, Robert and Alice, rose to their feet. At the same time, six children, their skeletal bodies covered with rags, crouched around the peat fire. Hastily, Muriall took off the linen cover, showing them the basket of fresh food. Kneeling, she spread a red and white check cloth on the floor, laying out slices of mutton, ham and freshly churned butter.

After wiping their small hands, Muriall gave them white rolls, which they pushed into their mouths, their eyes, and cheeks bulging as they chewed.

Pulling clothes from the sack, warm flannel shirts for the little boys and dresses for the girls, she said, “The ladies of the district are sewing as fast as they can.”

Turning to Robert, her childhood playmate, she handed him a pair of warm cloth trousers with a shabby coat. To Alice, she gave a cotton chemise and a wool dress. Muriall tried to cheer her, saying the blue would suit her eyes and hair – hair once so beautiful, falling in sun-kissed waves down her back, now a dirty blonde and dull.

It was then she felt small arms creep around her neck, a soft kiss on her cheek. Turning her head, Muriall looked into the sea-green eyes of little Bonny, only four years old grinning as she chewed on some ham. Slipping on a flannel chemise over the child’s mud-caked body, followed by a pink flannel dress, she tried not to wince as she felt the child’s bones.

Little Patrick, who would soon be six, squealed, ‘Trousers Mammy, and would you believe it, socks for me feet.’

Speaking in low tones, Alice asked if they had any news. Were they to be evicted or were they to be allowed to stay on their tiny farm. It was a hard patch of land, but on it, they managed to grow corn, raise chickens, and sustain a cow. Lowering her eyes, Muriall shook her head. ‘We are still arguing Alice, but it is not good news. It seems the Duke is intent on clearing the land, all the land for the sheep. The Duke of Glennard opposes his view and intends to keep his tenant farmers, but here on Rhonan, I am afraid it is dire news.’

Alice gave a little cry holding her fists to her head while Robert drew her close into his arms as if to shield her from the coming disaster.

Alice wailed, ‘This cottage has been in my family for over two hundred years, it is all I know, Muriall – all I know. We can barely scratch a living, but it is ours even though the rent is high.’

Muriall clung to them both, as Alice put her head on her husband’s chest and sobbed. This small cottage had been a place of childhood joy, They’d chased each other through the heather; lain sprawled on the baked earth floor listening to stories from Alice’s father.

Alice, in a strangled voice, said, ‘Where – where will we go?’ So many have starved there, others drowned in the wild waves cutting the kelp. The bairns are so little but cut the kelp they must. Oh dear God save us.’

Muriall whispered. ‘It is the coast – Duncan fought hard, but he lost Alice – he lost. However, don’t despair; it is not far from us. We will make sure you have food, and we will help you build a cottage. I promise you, Alice, we will not forsake you.’

Robert lifted his head, looking at the children, as he said, ‘They have not broken us, and they think they have broken the clans, destroyed our Chieftains, but the spirit is still there. Tis a different world we had Muriall before Culloden, a world of sharing, compassion, and love. The land belonged equally to all the clan from the eldest to the youngest. The Chieftain, too, shared all. These terrible deeds would not have happened in the days of the clan. It was a hard life, but the clans lived for thousands of years. We ate together we starved together, each a brother, a sister. A different world Muriall – lost in the hardened hearts of these greedy landlords.

Muriall wiped her eyes and lifted her head, ’But another world will come to be Robbie, a world that will not forget what happened to the brave Highlanders. They will mourn Robbie – somehow in my heart, I know that. And those that write of these days will weep for us even though we are in our graves.

Chapter 10

Present Day
Thornton Castle, Sussex, England.

Dinah gazed up at the Thornton castle, looming overhead. No wonder Jessie and Pete had been so excited about it when they last visited England. The castle invited the macabre, with grey stone walls soaring through darkening clouds, the moon racing over turrets jutting black against the twilight sky. It was a medium’s dream, which would suit Jess. Its history went right through to the dark ages, with a record of suicide leaps, bartered brides, walled up monks, and the imprisonment of traitors in the cellars.

Tickets for the legendary Ghost Tours sold out each weekend. Luckily, Jessie had already ordered them before leaving America. Climbing the stone steps leading to massive double oak doors, Dinah slipped, her arms flailing only to feel strong arms catch her, holding her tight. She looked up into slate grey eyes and even white teeth, the freckles over the bridge of his nose complimenting the shock of sandy hair. As he lifted her quite effortlessly to her feet, she found him to be inches taller than her own five feet ten inches, which was gratifying.

‘Hey there, you okay?’

She found the accent intriguing, a soft burr so different from the sharper London accent. ‘Uh, yes, thank you. Just, my ankle twisted, I think. ’

Dinah’s stomach sank as a young woman ran up to them. Slender with pale blond hair, she resembled a pre-Raphaelite nymph coming just up to the guy’s shoulder. Blast, he was attached. ‘George, everything all right?’

‘Yeah, just helping this young lady here.’ Turning to Dinah, he said, ‘Can you stand?’

Very much aware of his hand on her waist, she said, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

The young woman exclaimed, ‘Oh, you’ve cut your leg, let me have a look.’ Delving into the depths of a bag the size of a haversack, she took out a packet of tissues. Dabbing at the wound, she said, ‘Seems okay, just a surface scratch wound, but I’ll put some TCP on.’ Looking up, she grinned, ‘I’m a teacher, so I always carry first aid equipment with me. By the way, I’m Lucy Ames, and this gallant rescuer is my brother, George.’

Dinah grinned inwardly, so the gorgeous hunk was unattached. However, she winced as Lucy applied the TCP, only to feel George’s hand tighten around her waist, his hand massaging her shoulder. To her surprise, she found it more than pleasant. ‘Err I’m Dinah Shibley – I‘m over here with my friend Jess. We’re American.

‘Lucy smiled. ‘What part of America are you from?’

‘Hum – New York.’ She’d been asked that question a thousand times since they hit England three weeks ago.

Looking up at her brother, Lucy said, ‘I think you can unhand the lady now George.’

George found himself flushing, ’Huh, oh yes. Sorry, just making sure you were okay.’

‘Yes, thank you – must’ve slipped somehow.’

George looked down at the killer stiletto heels and decided not to comment. Great ankles, like a racehorse. He turned to the sound of a female voice calling out,

‘Hey, Dinah – goodness you okay?’

Dinah gave a wry grin. ‘No don’t say it – ‘

Jessie sided, ‘I told you to wear flats. But, never mind as long as you’re alright.’

‘Huh, let me introduce George and his sister Lucy Ames. Err look; I think the guide is coming. ’

The guide to Thornton Castle, a tall, slender woman with golden hair in braids to her waist, emulated the medieval style of dress complete with a wimple, veil, and a long trailing dress of deep purple with tapering sleeves.

Waving an elegant hand, she guided them down the stone steps. ‘This is home to the present Baron of Thornton. It was renovated in the fifteenth century from a ruin dating back to nine hundred and something. Now, if you’ll follow me.’

She swept past gargoyles sprouting from the massive arc over the high oak doors. In the flickering torchlight, the grotesque stone statues appeared to leer with empty socket eyes glinting as the moon bounced off cracks and fissures, their hanging tongues glistening with the mist.

On entering a cavernous hall, the guide smiled. ‘Now ladies and gentlemen, I don’t want any of you wandering off. There are numerous corridors, cellars, secret passages, and I would hate you to be lost in the dark. As you see, only candles light the castle. We do have electricity, of course, but the candlelight gives you an appreciation of the atmosphere of medieval living. You do have your torches should you lose your way.’ A couple of people automatically switched on their pencil torches supplied at the beginning of the tour. ‘This will give you an idea of how people lived for centuries in this magnificent castle.

Holding up a lamp, she continued. ‘Now you see before you the stuffed heads of various animals hunted by the barons throughout the ages. Here, we have a giant stag, over there you will see a tiger and a lion. The Barons loved to travel far and wide – guests of the Indian Princes, Sultans, and the Prussian Court. However, let me show you this. She waved towards a glass cabinet in which stood a cadaver in Elizabethan dress. The guide said in hushed tones. ‘I would warn you that this particular figure is known to haunt the castle so stick together, don’t go wandering off on your own.’

Resuming her lecture, she shone her torch into another corner. A few of the group gasped as the grey leathery body of a stuffed crocodile appeared, the eyes ancient with the coldness of death. ‘The barons were often fearless and this, as you see, is over fifteen foot long. Besides the animals, the castle has a coterie of ghosts, which we may encounter tonight, so stay close.’

As they made their way through the baronial hall, Dinah whispered to Lucy, ‘Jessie’s a psychic artist. Besides her job, she paints the spirits.’

Lucy shivered visibly. ‘So has she picked up anything yet?’

Dinah shook her head. ‘She’ll let us know if she does.’

They made their way up the main staircase through numerous dark and draughty rooms. The guide talked of various sightings of the inevitable lady in white, the knight clanking his chains, the moaning of the monk walled up, the bedroom of the bartered bride. The latter threw herself from the window, plunging fifty feet to her death.

On the second floor, before they reached the dreaded battlements, the four of them explored one of the small tower rooms. Dinah, by now, hobbled on her stilettos. Seeing her wince and rick her ankle, Jess said, ‘Take them off Dinah, you’ll feel better.’

As Dinah kicked off her shoes, Jessie raised her hand, uttering a low warning, ‘Ssh.’

Dinah stiffened. ‘What is it?’

Jessie whispered. ‘Can’t you smell it, decayed roses and something else – feces?’

George gasped behind. ‘God, it’s foul.’

Lucy grasping hold of George’s arm, whispered, ‘I can’t smell anything.’

Jess stood very still. ‘In the corner – look, the shadows – is that the corpse – the one in

the cabinet?’

Dinah’s heart now thudded. ‘You’re frightening me, Jess.’

‘It can’t harm you. If you want to leave – go quietly or if you stay blow out your candles now.’

George looked down at Dinah, who blew out the candles. The darkness seemed heavy, the odor stronger, cloying, cloaking them in fear, the only relief being a spear of light from one of the arrow slits in the stone wall. The shadow now became hazy as spirals of soft light rose from the floor, forming a figure. Lucy shrieked, running from the room. George jumped, then stood stock still mesmerized, while Dinah caught her breath. A circle of light wafted over the top of the figure – a face, old, almost scowling.

Jessie felt a tingle of terror creep up her spine. It was so different from drawing spirit figures in a brightly lit church. She stepped back, her legs trembling. As she did so, George turned and grasping Dinah’s arm ran from the small round room. The figure suddenly glided forward. Jessie’s breath froze in her throat. She tried not to scream as she sprinted from the menace, then stumbled. Regaining her balance, she ran, not even waiting to slam the door behind her.

They sat gasping on the stairs as George gave a strangled laugh. ‘Come on; I’ve had enough; let’s find a drink.’

***

George sat back luxuriating in the mellowed light of an old Tudor pub, the oak beams above them blackened with centuries of tobacco and open fires. George lifted his pint of beer in salute. ‘Here’s to whatever that apparition was.’

Leaning close to him, Dinah clinked glasses. ‘So you think it was an apparition then?’

George looked appreciatively at the violet shade of her cleavage. The pub light accentuated the bronze highlights in her dark hair rolling in fat ringlets over her shoulders and down her breasts. ‘Well, I’ll leave that to the expert. But, I was terrified, I can tell you.’

Jess frowned. ‘I wouldn’t call myself an expert. I draw spirit figures, but I have never seen one. I’d die of fright if I did.’

Lucy sipped at her Spritzer. ‘So, where are you staying?’

‘Oh, it’s a cute little town along the coast from here, Brighton.’

George laughed. ‘Little? You should visit Bognor Regis, that’s where we come from.’

Jess laughed. ‘I’ve heard of that, King George – when he knew he had to go there to convalesce again, swore.’

‘His last words were ‘Bugger Bognor.’ They won’t let us forget it.’

Lucy said, “We’d ask you to stay, but we’re off to Scotland in three weeks.’

Dinah put her drink down. ‘Scotland? Whereabouts?’

George answered for Lucy, ’The North-West, Lucy and I have a friend up there – just opening a hotel with his brother. He taught at the same school as us but then inherited this manor house and ruined castle along with a few million.’

Lucy said, ‘We’re teaching over there for the summer season – English Literature and Poetry. I’m the Eng Lit’, George is the poetry.’

George fixed his eyes on Dinah. ‘“Why don’t you come over? The Highlands are magnificent – towering mountains, lochs, ruined castles, ancient monasteries, convents– a wealth of history. You’d love it. Meanwhile, let us show you around here. There are some historical spots around here.’ Pausing, he gazed directly at Dinah, ‘We can get to know each other better.’

Dinah flushed, feeling her stomach ripple. He was one gorgeous hunk.

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 7 & 8

August 6, 2020August 23, 2020by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment

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Return to Rhonan: Chapters 7 & 8

Chapter 7

Sitting in a scented bath of lavender and rosemary, Muriall leaned forward for the maid to soap her back. ‘Huh, it is a formal evening, so I am forced to dress accordingly. Lord Duncan is firmly on the side of the tenants. On some of the estates, thousands are to be evicted from their homes that have been in their families for over five hundred years. Let us hope they can talk the Duke round.’

‘Begging your pardon, my Lady, but my family….’ Her words faded away in a soft sob.

Muriall turned to her. ‘What is it, Becky?’’

The maid lifted eyes filled with tears, ‘My family on the McGaven estate, are to be cast out onto the roads. I know not what to do, my Lady – my heart is breaking when I think of the bairns. How can it be? How can they drive them into the sleet and rain, without food or water?’

‘We will fight them, Becky, fear not, that is why the committee meets this night. Sadly, only the Duke is openly prepared to fight the cause. As for the others, tis another excuse for a banquet and liquor. But fear, not the Duke is powerful, far more so than those other two dilettantes ’

She stood as the abigail covered her in warm toweling, before helping her out of the tub. Drying herself, she watched the maid layout the undergarments, a soft linen chemise, followed by the shift, and a petticoat. Sighing, she said, ‘Today’s fashion does allow us to be free of corsets, but men still call for breasts to be served upon a plate. All they need is a knife and fork. Cattle, that’s what we are, cattle.’

The maid could not resist a shaky smile as she passed Muriall the chemise followed by the shift.

‘And I shall have to endure that rakehell Maximillian, lecherous swine. I shall wear my whip to the table, and if he so much as….’ The maid slipped the offending petticoat over Muriall’s head, who then turned for Becky to do up the laces. ‘Why in heaven’s name should I wear all this useless apparel? A linen shirt and leather breeches would do me well enough. Just think of the thousands now starving, many roaming the roads. Just one of these garments would feed a family for a week. I feel so ashamed – so ashamed.’

‘My Lady, you do everything you can to help the tenants.’

‘Not enough by far. Let us hope Duncan is successful in persuading them to take action. I wish I could attend, but as usual, I was forbidden to step foot into the room, not on my Lord Duncan’s say so, but the Duke’s. I sicken at the way men subdue the female sex. We are just as intelligent as men. We do not have their knowledge, but that is because they deny us proper tutelage. In contrast, they receive education in mathematics, science, history, biology – oh so many areas of knowledge. We have to be little social creatures, who can paint, play the pianoforte, sing and speak French – oh yes and embroider.

‘Do you know the other day Aunt Flavia caught me reading a book on science? She went into paroxysms, saying that I would injure my head if I were to read such intellectual tomes, that the female brain is too fragile, that I should take a fever. Can you imagine it? Oh, God, it is so ridiculous. It is she who hurts my head, not the damn book. I am strictly forbidden to cast any opinions on the evictions of the tenant farmers. However, I am going to fight alongside Lord Duncan; together, we may make an indent in this disgusting business. Tis treacherous times Becky – treacherous times.’

Muriall took hold of the young woman’s hands, ‘I shall see that your family are taken care of Becky. I wish I could help everybody, but I realize I must contain my zeal to the few. But we can save some of them’.

‘Thank you, my Lady, at least I shall sleep tonight now knowing you will protect them.’

‘I hope that with the help of the Earl and some of his associates, we will be able to do more. Tonight will be a testing point.’ Picking up a triangular piece of steel, she said, ‘And as for this contrivance, it is medieval torture. How women wear it between their breasts, I don’t know.’

‘It does uplift and separates the bosoms milady.’

‘Never – never. I’m sure if I fell, it would cut them off. I will never wear it – never – I don’t care what Aunt Flavia says.’‘

‘Och, my Lady, it couldna do that. Now for your dress.’

Smoothing down the white muslin embroidered with white silk roses, Muriall frowned, ‘Why does it all have to be white or pink? It is so insipid. Give me crimson anytime.’

‘But that color is for the older women milady, not for a wean like yerself.’

‘Wean? I’m nineteen, not nine Becky.’

Smiling together now, Muriall posed in front of the long mirror stand; the white dress did become her pale porcelain skin. The sheer lace sleeves showed off the sloping shoulders. The design of the dress with the material caught up underneath the bosom accentuated the plump swell of her full breasts.

Muriall loved the way Becky brushed her hair, with long firm strokes until it shone like burnished copper. ‘What do you think about the center parting – tis the new fashion.’ ‘

‘With your curls ma’am, ye do not need curling tongs. It would be such a shame to singe these locks.’

‘Well, I don’t like the center parting. I shall wear it so that the curls fall naturally.’

As Becky lifted the jar of face cream, Muriall grimaced. ‘I refuse to put that disgusting stuff on my skin, white lead, and beeswax? I would look like a painted doll, especially with the kohl and beetroot stains on my cheeks.’

‘Och, I agree with ye. Nevertheless, maybe just a light dusting of powder would give your skin a velvety texture milady?

‘Now Becky to serious matters. The cart will be ready after the meeting tonight so that you will accompany us. First, we visit our tenants, the Duke has raised the rents once again, and the poor people starve. Then we must scour the roads for the tenants evicted on the Baron Fodenberry’s estate last night. And you must look for your family. I hear more are to be forced out but pray God; it is not tonight. Hopefully, we can delay or even stop the evictions on our estate. So it is at ten o’clock at the Orangery.’

The maid closed the door gently behind her, bustling away down the stone corridor passing Lord Maximillian just returning from the stables. A slight smile flickered across his handsome face. So, she would be alone. Perfect.

Not even bothering to knock, he turned the brass handle pushing the door open. Closing it firmly behind him, he turned the key. His eyes dwelt on the waist-length hair incandescent in the candlelight. Muriall turned around sharply, her hairbrush in her hand.

‘What? How dare you enter a lady’s chamber without permission. Get out now.’

Smirking, he put a finger to his lips as if to hush her. As she went to rise, he caught a handful of her hair raising it to his nose, sniffed ‘Ah lavender and rosemary. Tis as beautiful as you milady.’

Smacking his hand sharply with the hairbrush, she stood wincing as he pulled more sharply on her hair. ‘I am so enamored after seeing your dalliance with my wimp of a brother yesterday.’

Between clenched teeth, she hissed, ‘Get out now before I hurt you.’

‘Not before I have tasted your sweetness.’ He laughed softly, ‘I feel sure you can share your favors. It would not do for me to report your amorous cavorting to the Earl now – would it?’ Letting go of her hair, he cupped her face with both hands, pulling her to him. Seething, she brought the brush up, whipping him sharply across the head.

Surprised, he stepped back, ruefully rubbing his injured skin through the thick blonde waves. ‘Now you are certainly are a wild cat – time to be tamed methinks.’

Snarling, she advanced, raising the brush high.

Holding up his hand in defense, he said, ‘Tis obvious you are not in the mood – but there will be other times. For now, I will keep my silence—‘

‘You pig – odious rake.’ As she lunged for him, he slipped through the door, shutting it softly. Panting, she stood listening to his retreating footsteps. Shuddering, she walked back to the bed. Opening the bedside drawer, she took out a dagger, uncovering it from its leather case. In the future, it would be to hand. No way would she tell Duncan. It would end in a duel, and she did not intend losing him to that vile viper.

Chapter 8

RHONAN MANOR 1810
North West Scotland.

Duncan grimaced, as he paced the empty dining room. It was a heart-rending business – starving tenants were driven from their homes. His father must see reason. The poor devils suffered enough already living half-starved in squalid one-roomed huts. At the same time, at the Manor, the Rhonans ate their way through an evening meal of several courses lasting hours.

His fingers scraped at hair as black as his mood, his scarlet vest blending with the burgundy silk decorating the walls. He glanced up at deceased ancestors in military uniform and waist pinching crinolines gazing down with haughty expressions from ornate frames. The Earl squandered money on yet more renovations to the Manor, fine dining, balls, carriages, horses, gambling, while only a mile away, children’s bodies shrunk in starvation.

He glanced at the table laid ready for the Clearance Committee Meeting, scowling at the sheets of parchment, quills, and crystal inkstand. It was action they needed, not correspondence. An empty belly paid no heed to time.

Hearing voices and laughter, he straightened his spine, ready for the fray. After a sumptuous meal, the committee members would look forward to a hearty buffet, wine, and spirits, huffing on cigars while discussing ways of depriving the famished tenants of their farms. Duncan clenched his teeth by God; he would use every means possible to fight for the rights of the people. He had to curb his temper, or else all would be lost.

As the Committee members assembled in the room, the butler formally announced Duncan’s younger brother Lord Maximillian, who minced in, pulling languid fingers through pomaded dark blonde hair. Duncan’s jaw tightened; the selfish bastard didn’t know the meaning of the word compassion. All he cared about were horses, cards, and his sordid Hell Fire Club.

The Duke of Rhonan followed him, his skin as sallow as his spirit. Contempt filled his voice as he said, ‘Let’s get this bloody business over with. I’ve had enough of these filthy peasants and their whining. Greedy buggers.’

With a scraping of chairs across the Aubusson carpet, the gentlemen seated themselves. Algernon Perkins, the lawyer, and Factor for the Earl, diligently sorted out papers from his briefcase. Smirking at the quills on the inkstand, he brought out a velvet case from his waistcoat pocket, proudly uncovering a pen with a steel nib on a decorative ceramic holder. Proud of the new invention, he held it up for the members to see. That alone would feed four people for a month.

Duncan felt a rush of shame as he looked at the decanters of fine spirits. They gathered to vote on taking the starving tenants’ very livelihood while drinking out of sterling silver and antique cut glass.

The Duke hunched over the table, his dress as always exquisite, with a blue silken tailcoat and yellow silk vest, the cream silk cravat high on his throat, decorated with a diamond stickpin, the size of a hazelnut. Fixing a pince-nez on his thin aquiline nose, he said, ‘Come come, Perkins, let us not mince words, we must clear the land and evict the tenants – nothing less.

The Reverend Michael O’Sullivan interrupted, ‘I have tried telling them it is the grace of God that they give up their land. They must needs suffer and bow to His Will; the Earl’s word is the law under man and God.’

Duncan growled, ‘God’s law – you speak blasphemy priest. How much will you receive from their misery? Will you preach it is God’s law as you drive them onto the roads with nothing? Hey?

The Duke’s eyes glittered, ‘Don’t be so dramatic. We are creating industry – are we not? Bringing in Cheviot sheep is our only way to produce a profit. We need more money for our houses, our carriages, our gold and silver plate. We have the given right to quality living – our society must not be impoverished.’

‘We? You mean you and your fat friends – what about the starving men and women and children shivering without fuel, children crying out in hunger? What right do they have now? They owned their crofts for hundreds of years,’

Duncan narrowed his eyes, looking at each member who avoided his gaze, either looking down into full wine glasses or puffing on the Cuban cigars. His voice filed steel. ‘Dramatic? Have you seen inside a tenant’s hut? For God’s sake, we destroyed these proud Highlanders, these warrior Chiefs. We took away their clan system and broke the power of the Chieftains, and still, you are not satisfied.

He looked at the diamond pin in the Duke’s cravat. ‘Your pin alone is worth thousands. How can you even think of casting out whole families onto the roads with nothing? Don’t forget we have another death threat – the second in as many days.

‘Then I shall call on the police and military. Shoot the bastards.’

‘Ah, so now you’re not only starving them but shooting them as well. Where’s your soul?’

Perkins fingered his delicate ceramic pen resting in the solid silver inkstand and sniffed. ‘Come – come. We must think of ways of improving our standard of living – the wool economy will bring in ample profits from the estate – we have to go with change.’

‘How can you even utter those words? They are starving, and you talk about profits. I think, up until now, we fared very well, castles, manor houses, fine balls, carriages, and our blasted silver plate and gold plate on the table. Even starving, they would share their last crumb with you, you miserable swine.’

Father O’Sullivan interrupted, ‘God is showing us the way; it is his Divine Will. Our farmers’ souls will prosper as they prayerfully give up the land to their Lord and Master the Earl. And of course, they can emigrate.’

‘Divine Will? God does not interfere in the affairs of man.’ Duncan thundered, ‘He gave us free will and what we’ve done with it? Murdered our tenants – leaving them to die while you fill your bellies and drink fine wines? Mothers and bairns starve.’

The priest pursed his lips, plucking at his notes, ‘My Lord, there’s no need to get personal. The tenants must submit to God’s Divine Plan – otherwise, they will bring His Wrath down on their heads.‘

‘Don’t rant about the wrath of God.’ Duncan slammed his fist on the table. ‘Don’t spout the Old Testament. Tis man’s selfishness, man’s greed that we discuss this night. Stop squawking and speak up for humanity’.

Duncan raised his hand, his tones smooth and clear, ‘We can do both, we can share the land. It is just a matter of lower profits. However, in the end, all will prosper. Not only can we have a wool industry, but we can also benefit the tenants by turning them into sheep farmers. We can all live very comfortably, indeed.’

Turning to the Viscount, he said, ‘What say you Mendane?’

The Viscount slumped back in his chair, slurped on some wine. ‘Load of bollocks your Grace, bollocks – your father, the Duke has my ear and my vote. Blasted tenants – nothing but misery – misery I say.’ Stretching for the decanter, he poured more wine.

Duncan bit his lip; he wanted to punch the drunkard. ‘Misery? These poor wretches are the people that put food in your belly, wine down your gullet, and bloody silk on your back. Why only the other month I hear you took a shilling off each of your tenants to pay for a Grecian sculpture for your balustrade. Those that couldn’t pay wait in fear of eviction.’

In answer, the Viscount raised a languid hand, the lace crisp on his wrist. ‘Whatever Rhonan – whatever.’

Turning to the Marquis, Duncan’s lips thinned, the drunken sop lay, sprawled over his chair, his mouth open, snoring.

Smirking, the Duke leaned forward. ‘It seems we outnumber you. Turning to his son, he said, ‘I am sure you will appreciate that I must follow the needs of the day. It is not within my power to shelter those who cannot contribute to the wool industry. Still, I can at least ensure they have work in the kelping industry. To this end, as I discussed with my son here, I will provide kilns and all tools and utensils necessary to turn the seaweed into kelp. It is indeed in our interest to develop kelping, especially as we have the advantage of lower taxes. To that end, my tenants will repair to the coast to build their huts and to enjoy industrious work.’

‘You will regret your evil deeds.’ Duncan grimaced at his father. There had to be something he could do to save the tenants.

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