Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Olivia and Antoinette entered the house after their walk with Daphne, they were immediately struck by the warmth, and by the soft, luminous quality of the light. The brittle, unhappy energy had evaporated, and in its place was a feeling of harmony and joy. ‘She’s gone,’ said Antoinette with satisfaction. ‘By God, she’s gone. Good old Pixie. I knew she’d do it.’
Olivia’s relief was immeasurable. She had doubted there even was an earthbound spirit, but the difference in the feeling of the house was so great now that she couldn’t deny it. Her heart lifted. They wouldn’t have to leave. They could stay and make their lives here in this truly special place. With a renewed sense of optimism, Olivia knew she could restore the house and gardens to their former beauty, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
As the two women settled in the drawing room, where a vivacious fire gave out both heat and a real sense of hospitality, Elsa wandered in with a tatty cardboard box. ‘Can you feel the difference?’ she declared, putting the box down on the coffee table and running her eyes over the room in wonder, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘The house feels happy!’ she declared. She had never known St Sidwell Manor to feel like this. It no longer felt so big and hostile, but homely, as if a veil had been lifted and the sunlight allowed in. ‘The past has been laid to rest,’ she stated solemnly, and her vision misted; Mrs Delaware would be so pleased.
Ulysses, who had been waiting in the library for Pixie to come back, heard the voices in the drawing room and went to see what was going on. He was crossing the hall when Tabitha and Pixie came in through the front door.
‘Any luck?’ he asked Pixie hopefully.
‘Cordelia’s gone,’ she told him, taking off her coat and boots. ‘She and Felix. They’ve gone home together.’
Ulysses smiled. ‘Great!’ he exclaimed, relieved. ‘Now we can go home too.’
Pixie rolled her eyes. Ulysses had been away for only one night; Pixie had been away for two weeks! He had no idea what she’d been through. However, although she was emotionally drained and exhausted, she was deeply satisfied. She had acomplished what she had set out to do, to help a lost soul find her way into the light. It was a privilege to witness an earthbound spirit’s release; in this case she had witnessed two. ‘Let’s go and tell your mother,’ she said to Tabitha.
They found Olivia and Antoinette in the drawing room with Elsa. When they saw Pixie, their faces lit up. Antoinette clapped. ‘Well done, Pixie, my dear. You did it.’
Pixie was thrilled that they felt the change in the house. Sometimes people didn’t. ‘The souls are settled,’ she confirmed and sank into the sofa with a sigh.
‘Well done, you,’ Antoinette gushed. ‘No more crying in the night. Wonderful. I knew you’d succeed. There’s no one like you, Pixie.’
‘It was a challenge,’ Pixie replied. ‘But sometimes challenges are the most gratifying.’
‘You look like you need a stiff drink,’ Antoinette added, raising her eyebrows and glancing at the drinks cabinet.
‘It’s too early for that.’ Pixie laughed. ‘I’m fine, really. Success is reward enough.’
Olivia smiled sheepishly at Pixie. ‘Thank you,’ she said with emphasis, and the unspoken addendum to that was I’m sorry I ever doubted you .
‘It’s a pleasure. I’m just pleased that everyone is happy, both the living and the dead.’
Antoinette turned to Elsa, who was hovering by the coffee table. ‘What’s in that box?’ she asked.
‘A photo album,’ Elsa replied, brushing dust off the top with a tissue. ‘Mrs Delaware kept it safe in the library on the very top of one of the bookcases. I knew I’d find it eventually.’
They gathered round and Antoinette lifted out a red leather-bound album, which was closed with a brass clasp. Embossed into the cover was a bouquet of roses and the name Cordelia Pengower . Antoinette unclasped it and opened the first page. There, in black and white, was a photograph of Cordelia herself. For Pixie it was like looking into the face of an old friend, but to the others it was a case of putting a face to a name they had heard so much about. She was sitting on a velvet chair, looking over the back of it with her arms crossed. She wore a dark-coloured dress buttoned up to the neck with long slim sleeves that reached her wrists. At her throat was a pearl brooch. Her fair hair was curled and pinned upon her head. Her beauty was remarkable. She had a steady, gentle gaze that stared gravely out of the photograph. Her skin was flawless and about her was an air of serenity and calm. ‘She was very beautiful,’ said Antoinette.
‘But her eyes are sad,’ Olivia added.
Tabitha thought of the statue at the fountain. She hadn’t seen Cordelia’s face when she had appeared as a spirit, because of the veil that covered it. But now she knew that she was right. The statue was of Cordelia Pengower, gazing sorrowfully up to Heaven. Searching for Felix, perhaps. She couldn’t wait to show it to Pixie.
Antoinette turned the page. The next photograph was of Ivan Pengower. ‘What a horror!’ Antoinette gasped.
‘Ivan Pengower looks mean,’ said Tabitha.
‘He was mean,’ said Pixie. ‘He was pompous and selfish man.’
‘But what wonderful photographs!’ Antoinette studied them closely. ‘It’s fascinating to put faces to the story, isn’t it?’
Ivan’s photograph revealed a severe-looking man with a big, sweeping moustache and heavy black eyebrows. His eyes were small and black in a hard, humourless face, his neck short and thick. Antoinette turned the page to find an oval photograph of two young boys. Blond-haired Felix was seated in a chair. Robert, who was darker like his father, was standing beside it. The two of them stared out with round eyes and wary expressions, as if they had been told not to move and were trying very hard to be obedient.
‘This one is Felix,’ said Pixie, tapping her finger on the picture.
‘He looks adorable,’ Olivia mused. ‘How sad that his life came to such a tragic end.’
‘But he’s happy now,’ Tabitha added cheerfully. She’d seen him herself, fading into the light. It should have been extraordinary, but there had been something strangely familiar about it, as if on some level, she had witnessed that sort of thing happening before.
At last, they reached the photograph that Pixie had been waiting for. The group photograph, taken outside the house with family and servants, the day before Cavill had left and two days before Felix had vanished. She examined it in detail. She recognised herself at once, as Hermione Swift, seated beside Cordelia, in front of Rose. Had that really happened, she wondered? Was that truly her? Were the eyes that stared out of that beautiful face, Pixie’s? It seemed so farfetched now that she was sitting in the drawing room in the present day.
Eager to see more, she reached out and turned the page. As it fell, revealing a large black-and-white photograph of two people on their wedding day, something in Pixie’s heart snagged. She took a sharp breath. Cavill and Hermione, October 1896.
1896 !
Pixie stared at it in amazement.
‘Who’s that?’ Tabitha asked. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’
But Pixie wasn’t looking at Hermione.
For a moment she couldn’t speak. The sight was extraordinary. 1896 was the year after Felix had died. A year after Cavill should have died. She coughed to release the tightening in her throat.
‘That’s Hermione Swift, the children’s governess, and Cordelia’s brother-in-law, Cavill,’ she answered vaguely, feeling strangely lightheaded.
He didn’t go to South America, after all.
He came home. To her.
Pixie needed space to think. She mumbled something about being back in a moment and left the room in haste. She made her way straight to the library. With her heart thumping in her chest, she went to the bookcase. It didn’t take long. She knew where to find it. Just as she had hoped, the sketchbook that Cavill had given her was precisely where she had left it back in 1895, hidden behind the encyclopaedias. No one had moved it. In all the years that had followed, no one had moved it.
With a trembling hand she took it out and opened it. There were Cavill’s words: To my beloved Hermione . She ran her fingers over the ink, feeling his energy reaching her across the years, bringing him back to her in a wave of memory and sorrow. Then her eyes dropped to the corner of the page. Exactly as she had written them were her initials, PT . She blinked at them in wonder. She had been there. She had really been there.
She pressed the book to her breast and took a deep breath. For a moment she felt dizzy. Cavill. She closed her eyes, her heart aching with longing, and pictured him. He had come back, and he had married Hermione. She put a hand to her forehead. It was a mind boggle. Had Pixie changed the future for them? Had she stopped him going? Had the Butterfly Effect of her actions changed their destinies and enabled them to marry and have a future?
She couldn’t help but feel envious of Hermione Swift living the life she couldn’t live.
Pixie opened her eyes to see Tabitha standing shyly at the door. ‘Daddy and Zach are in the drawing room and Antoinette is trying to tell them what happened,’ she said. ‘I think you’d better come. She’s getting it all wrong.’
Reluctantly, Pixie put the book down on the table and followed Tabitha into the hall. She decided that now was a good time to tell Bruce where he came from. ‘Your father might not believe in spirits, Tabitha, but he’s interested in history,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and enlighten him on his own.’
Tabitha looked up at her and frowned. ‘You’ve found out how he’s related to Mrs Delaware, haven’t you?’
Pixie laughed. ‘You’re very intuitive, you know, Tabitha,’ she said as they crossed the hall.
Tabitha beamed. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘How do I get good at it?’
‘By acknowledging that it’s there. By being alert. By focusing on the present moment and not cluttering it with thoughts. Spend time in nature and look and listen and feel. Don’t think.’ She put a hand on the child’s shoulder. ‘And if you’re interested, read books and learn from them. Follow your instinct and you’ll be guided to which books are best.’
‘Is that it?’
Pixie shrugged. ‘That’s it.’
‘Will I be like you?’ Tabitha asked hopefully.
‘You never know,’ Pixie replied, but sh e knew – there was no one like her.
Pixie perched on the club fender with a cup of coffee. Elsa and the family sat around on the sofas and chairs, watching her expectantly. Even Bruce had a genuinely attentive look on his face. ‘I’ve discovered something that might interest you,’ she began.
‘More revelations,’ exclaimed Antoinette happily, rubbing her hands together. ‘Let’s hear them.’
‘All right,’ said Pixie. ‘As I already told you, Cordelia Pengower was having an affair with the foreman at the mine, called Pascoe Bray. He was a kind and compassionate man who cared very deeply about the way the miners were treated. He fought with Ivan Pengower often, because they had very different views about how the mine should be run. In fact, there was an accident up there in eighteen ninety-four and a young man was killed. Pascoe Bray was a hero that day, saving lives, but he couldn’t save that boy. The boy’s mother blamed Ivan for her son’s death and Cordelia believed she put a curse on the family.’
‘I don’t believe in curses,’ said Bruce.
‘Good, Bruce,’ Pixie replied, holding him with her cool blue gaze. ‘Then they have no power. Curses only have power if they are believed, like superstitions and predictions. If you believe the number thirteen to be unlucky, it will be. Your thoughts manifest, so take care what you focus your attention on. The thing is, Cordelia believed the curse. It went something like this: “I curse Ivan Pengower and his bloodline, that they and their house may be dogged by unhappiness. That tragedy will follow them like a shadow and not release them, so they know what it is to suffer loss.” I think I’ve got that right. Well, Ivan and his bloodline certainly suffered loss. Felix fell down a priest hole and died. Cordelia was pregnant with Pascoe’s child. Ivan knew it wasn’t his and didn’t allow her to keep it. He gave the baby to Pascoe to bring up. And, as a consequence, Cordelia hanged herself.’
‘Good Lord!’ Antoinette exclaimed. ‘She hanged herself? How terrible!’
Olivia gasped. ‘That’s horrible. Poor woman. I suppose she couldn’t find a way out. She’d lost so much.’
‘Gruesome,’ said Zach. ‘Do you think she hanged herself here? In this house?’
‘She did,’ Pixie answered. ‘Which is why the energy was so negative. It filled the entire building.’
‘Go on,’ said Bruce. He wasn’t interested in hearing about energy, and he certainly wasn’t going to believe that Cordelia Pengower hanged herself simply because Pixie told him so. But he was curious to hear what she had to say about him . ‘I think I know where this is leading,’ he added.
Pixie smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. She took a sip and then resumed. ‘I suspect Mrs Delaware knew about the curse. The whole family must have. It would have been something they discussed, certainly after Cordelia hanged herself. Mrs Delaware miscarried three children. I think she believed in the curse and therefore gave it power. So, in order to lift it, I suspect she tracked down the descendant of Cordelia and Pascoe’s child.’ Pixie turned to Bruce and grinned. ‘You.’
‘Me?’ Bruce asked.
‘I suspect, if you dig into your ancestry, you will find a Bray. Pascoe and Cordelia’s child was a son.’
Olivia looked at her husband. ‘That’s interesting, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard to find out. People find out about their ancestors all the time. We just need to do a little digging.’
Bruce arched his eyebrows. ‘It makes sense,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion, Pixie, as I don’t buy into that timesliding stuff. But you might be onto something. We’ll let you know.’
Elsa coughed and everyone turned to look at her. She’d been sitting quietly on a chair, taking it all in. Now she had something of her own to share. ‘As we’re talking about ancestors, I have something that might interest you, too,’ she said. ‘I’m descended from the gypsies Pixie talked about,’ she declared. ‘My grandmother was a little girl when Felix Pengower disappeared. Her father was one of the men who were taken in for questioning. Of course, there was no evidence that any of them had taken the child. My grandmother remembered Mrs Pengower. She came with gifts, things she no longer wanted. They were grateful to her for that. My family came back the following summer, and every summer after that, to help with the harvest and fruit picking. Years later, when Robert Pengower was master of St Sidwell Manor, my grandmother was given a position in the house. She said Mr Pengower was sad and full of regret. He was lonely, too, and spoke often of his mother. But there were a few things he did that made a great impression on my grandmother and her people. He made sure that the mine was safe. He spent a lot of money doing it. He improved the miners’ living conditions and gave them more pay. People thought very highly of him in St Sidwell. Eventually, he closed the mine in nineteen twenty-nine, and gave my people the land, so they had somewhere to camp that was legal. They’re a small community now, but every summer they return for harvest time, and some of them work in the local shops and on the beach, when it’s full of tourists. We have Robert Pengower to thank for that.’
Pixie was moved. She thought once again of the Butterfly Effect and wondered whether, if Cordelia hadn’t died, her son might never have made those changes and more people might have been killed in those unstable tunnels. It was heartening to think of the travellers having a safe place to camp. Robert had clearly changed his opinion of them. Cordelia had been a positive influence on him, after all, and, maybe, just maybe, Pixie had been too.
‘That’s a nice end to the story,’ said Antoinette.
‘It certainly is,’ Bruce agreed, getting up from the sofa. ‘So, is your job done?’ he asked Pixie.
‘It is,’ she replied.
‘We should be going,’ said Ulysses.
‘Not before I show Pixie the statue,’ said Tabitha, jumping off her chair. ‘Come on!’
Pixie smile apologetically at Bruce. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t say no to your daughter. We’ll be out of your hair very soon.’
‘Please,’ said Bruce. ‘Take all the time you want.’ He ran his eyes over the room, sighed with satisfaction and put his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done, but the house does feel very nice suddenly. Perhaps the heating has come on at last. If it continues like this, I’ll have to turn it down.’
It was early afternoon and a grey mist was settling over the garden when Pixie, Olivia and Antoinette followed Tabitha down the path towards the statue. The temperature had dropped and it was bitterly cold. Tabitha hoped it might snow. Thick cloud had drifted in to make a flat white sky. Darkness was sure to come early. They made their way along the path. Antoinette and Olivia walked behind Tabitha and Pixie, going over the extraordinary events of the morning, and Elsa telling them that she was descended from the gypsies. ‘You’ll be able to find someone to replace her now,’ said Antoinette.
‘I know, but I don’t want to,’ Olivia replied. ‘I’m very fond of her. Perhaps she’ll stay on for a while longer if I find a couple to do the hard work for her.’
‘That’s a good idea. It would be a shame if she were to leave just when the house has been put right. She deserves to enjoy it after so many years tolerating it. She deserves a medal for having put up with all that negativity.’
‘She must have loved Emily Delaware very much.’
‘And it was a family tradition for the women in Elsa’s family to work here. I don’t suppose Elsa ever contemplated working anywhere else.’
‘I will beg her not to retire,’ Olivia added decisively.
Antoinette laughed. ‘I don’t think you’ll have to. I don’t imagine she wants to be anywhere else but here. It’s her home too, and now it feels so nice.’
Tabitha heard the fountain a short while before she saw it, the merry trickling of water. Excitedly, she ran to see what had happened. To her surprise, the round basin at the base of the statue was full and water was raining down cheerfully in graceful arcs. ‘There was no water here when I first saw it. It’s magic!’ she exclaimed.
‘I think you’re right,’ said Pixie, amused that these sorts of miracles still surprised her.
‘Who turned it on?’ Olivia asked. ‘I didn’t even think it worked.’
‘Bruce?’ Antoinette suggested, but they all knew he hadn’t. It had started on its own.
‘It’s magic,’ Tabitha repeated. ‘I feel it.’ She was going to feel a lot of things now that Pixie had told her she was intuitive. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’
Tabitha gazed upon the stone figure of Cordelia Pengower, her hands reaching up to Heaven, her beautiful face gently tilted, her long hair softly waved. She didn’t look sad any more. In fact, as Tabitha examined her more closely, she was sure she could see a barely perceptible curve upon her lips.
Pixie was sad to leave St Sidwell Manor. It was as if she was leaving Cavill there, and Hermione Swift, and all those characters she had grown to love. She had to remind herself that they were long departed and that nothing good would come of dwelling in the past. She was here to live and learn and grow, and that meant committing fully to the present moment.
Tabitha was sorry to see Pixie go. She hugged her fiercely. ‘Can I text you?’ she asked.
‘You can text me whenever you like,’ Pixie replied, embracing her back. ‘I’d love to hear from you.’
‘I’ll tell you whenever I see a spirit, although I probably won’t see any here now because they’ve all gone.’
Pixie laughed and looked down at her with affection. ‘There are no earthbound spirits, you’re right about that, Tabitha, but you’re surrounded by spirits all the time. You don’t realise how busy it is. Spirits come and visit because they love you; some are here because they’re protecting you and guiding you, and some are here because they’re fond of the place. You’re never alone – you only think you are because you can’t see them.’
Tabitha’s eyes lit up. ‘So, I might still see a spirit?’
‘You’ll very likely see them and that’s nice. Only, you might not want to tell your friends about them. Most people aren’t as keen to see them as you are.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ Tabitha whispered. ‘It’ll be our secret.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Pixie.
Olivia thanked her and then stood on the step as Ulysses climbed into the driver’s seat of his funny old Morris Minor and started the engine. The family waved them off with Elsa and Tom, and Pixie stuck her hand out of the window and waved back. Even though it was getting dark, the house did not look forbidding as it had when they’d first arrived. The lights glowed golden in the windows, like vivacious eyes beckoning visitors with a warm, benevolent gaze.
Pixie lifted the sketchbook of birds out of her bag and opened it.
‘What’s that?’ Ulysses asked, glancing across at it.
‘A book from the library,’ she replied.
‘You stole it?’
‘I did.’
‘You stole a book?’
‘I did.’
‘Pixie, are you out of your mind?’ Ulysses was appalled.
‘They won’t notice! Who’s interested in a sketchbook of birds? It’s been there, untouched, for over a hundred years.’
‘It’s the principle. It’s unprofessional. You’re despicable.’
She laughed. ‘I know, but you love me anyway.’
He laughed with her. ‘Why are you interested in the book?’
‘Because it’s Cavill’s sketchbook and he gave it to me.’
‘That’s just weird. You’re in love with a dead man.’
‘I am. That’s the price I have to pay for being a timeslider.’
‘You need to find someone like Cavill in real time.’
‘I’ll never find anyone like Cavill, ever,’ she told him seriously.
‘Rubbish. The reason you loved him was probably because you knew you could never have him. Impossible love is irresistible.’
‘I just loved him, Ulysses,’ she replied resolutely, stroking the book, for that was the only tangible thing that connected her to him.
‘You’ll fall in love again, Pix. I know you. It won’t be long before you lose your heart to another Pablo, or Pedro, or Pancho.’
She looked at him askance and frowned. ‘Does he have to be Spanish?’
‘You seem to have a penchant for Latin men.’
‘Cavill could not have been more English.’ She sighed wistfully and closed the book. ‘But you’re right. He’s in the past.’
‘He’s in the ground.’
‘He’s in spirit,’ Pixie corrected.
‘Then he might pay you a visit.’
Pixie turned her eyes to the window. It was now dark, and her reflection gazed disconcertedly back at her. ‘He loved Hermione Swift, Ulysses, and I was never really her.’
‘Does it matter? We live our dreams for ourselves, don’t we?’
‘Maybe it doesn’t matter,’ she conceded. ‘I’ve lived an experience that was very real to me. I’ll carry it in my heart for as long as I live. That’s what’s important – what I’ve learnt from it.’
‘So, what have you learnt from it?’
She smiled bashfully, aware that she was going to sound silly, but knowing Ulysses would never judge her harshly. ‘That I’m lovable,’ she replied, folding her arms and turning her face to the window again. She thought of her dead, alcoholic father and her mother who’d killed him. Then she thought of Cavill and that hard place in the core of her heart softened.
‘You see, Ulysses, I really needed to know that.’