Chapter 11
11
As September prepared to nudge August to the side, Olivia acknowledged that Merriford Manor, despite its size, was beginning to feel more like home. Sir Hugo and his wife had done their best to accommodate her whims, and Benji was fast becoming the little brother she’d never had. There were places about the house and grounds that were now dear to her; climbing the grandfather oaks by the lake reminded her that she could conquer anything, and she was particularly fond of the library, appreciating that knowledge was power. How could you not feel the rush of excitement stepping into a room that could take you on a thousand adventures, stir up all manner of emotions, from sadness to joy, and give explanations on the working of everything, from the human body to the creation of a rainbow?
But now that she knew Seth couldn’t float through the wall to watch her, it was the tower, despite the resident phantom, or maybe in some way that she hadn’t fully appreciated, because of him, that she felt safest and she felt empowered. It was ridiculous really; a building couldn’t care for you, and yet every time she stepped inside, she felt connected to something greater, something beyond its hexagonal walls.
After realising that Benji had been overlooked by his brothers for much of the summer, Olivia arranged for the pair of them to have a midnight feast in the boathouse. His exclusion wasn’t out of spite, but it was easy for an older lad, like Ernest, to pop by and make up the four needed for so many of their sports. They didn’t want a child for their tennis doubles, and they certainly didn’t want a girl.
Benji warned her that Clarence often had late-night parties out there but, as he was in London with Sir Hugo for the week, they knew it would be theirs that night. They both enjoyed the furtive stealing of food items over the course of the day, and ensuring they had a working lantern, a warm blanket and the necessary crockery. She tucked them all behind one of the long-abandoned wooden canoes inside the building and had been quite surprised to find a pair of lady’s undergarments wedged between the boat and the wall. They probably belonged to some young woman Clarence had entertained, and she hoped their removal had been connected to swimming and not any other activity. They were covered in cobwebs so she decided to dispose of them, as they’d clearly been long forgotten. The abandoned item was foremost in her mind later that night, however, when she told spooky stories by the flickering light. The boathouse, she whispered, was haunted by the ghost of a woman who had murdered her parents and then come to the lake, taken off all her clothes, and thrown herself in the water. A petrified Benji lapped up every word, as well as every crumb of their contraband cake, and she wondered if her tale had been rather too graphic for an anxious boy of nine, who still couldn’t bring himself to cycle past the shrieking pits.
The two younger boys were set to return to school later that week when Howard sought her out. His conscience was clearly bothering him – that and the fact she’d subsequently called him Sprinkles several times in front of other people.
‘Look here, I wanted to clear the air before I leave. I’ve not been the kindest to you since you came into our lives, but I admire you, really I do. You’re the pluckiest girl I know and I’d like us to be friends.’ He stuck out his hand in a gesture of reconciliation.
‘Apology accepted,’ she said, shaking it, and hoping this really was the end of his sulky behaviour.
‘Benji absolutely worships you, even though I know he’s sore that you get to remain here whilst we’re all shipped off to school. Perhaps the truth is my brothers and I are slightly jealous of that.’
‘Perhaps I’m slightly jealous that you get the very best education,’ she countered.
Howard grinned. ‘If you’d been born a boy, you’d have really been something,’ he said, and then realised the implications of his words. ‘Not that you aren’t something, but you know what I mean. We all think the same; even Clarence said you’ve given Mother a lift. She hates the start of term, when her boys all leave home, and now she has you to keep her company.’
It felt good that the Fairchild boys had accepted her. She knew they’d all viewed her as somewhat of an oddity at the start of the summer, running around wearing old curtains as cloaks and haring down hills shouting, ‘Charge!’, but she would miss them and looked forward to their return in December. The first Christmas without her parents would be a difficult anniversary, but she knew that the Fairchilds wholeheartedly embraced the season, and the energy of their household and lavish scale of their celebrations would be a distraction.
The boys finally departed, after Howard had made her swear she would never, ever, call him Sprinkles again, and she looked forward to being part of the harvest celebrations in the village over the coming days. The relentless August rains, however, meant it would be a poor one that year, but Olivia wouldn’t allow the temperamental British climate to dampen her spirits, even when – during a particularly violent thunderstorm – an enormous crack of thunder woke her up in the middle of the night.
‘Bloody hell!’ The shout from behind the wall was almost as much of a shock as the bellowing rumble that had disturbed her sleep, although she was strangely pleased that the voice had returned, as she’d not heard from him for a while.
‘Thunder can’t hurt you,’ she teased. Especially as you don’t technically exist, she thought to herself.
‘Oh, it’s the tragic princess.’ He sounded irritable. ‘I’d hoped to be rid of you.’
So, he’d been listening out for her as much as she’d been listening out for him, and he’d remembered her fanciful tale.
There was a bright flash of lightning that illuminated the room and barely a beat before another thunderous roar. The storm was almost directly overhead. Powerful lashes of rain were beating against the windowpanes, like handfuls of gravel being thrown at the glass. She pulled the counterpane further up her body, even though it wasn’t especially cold. It wasn’t that she felt in imminent danger from the elements but instead was reminded that Mother Nature was a force to be reckoned with.
‘I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ve been haunting Merriford Manor for centuries – roaming the grounds, looking for the duplicitous blackguard who betrayed me.’
She slipped back into her role as Cordelia, thinking that ‘blackguard’ was a good word – one she’d picked up from her father’s collection of sensationalist penny dreadfuls, and she hoped it made her sound more historical.
‘Hate to break it to you, Princess Whatever-It-Was, but your young man is long dead, and I strongly suggest that if you wish to be reunited with him, you ascend. Isn’t there a bright light you can follow? A heav’nly host calling you? Walk to the light,’ he urged.
At that moment, her whole room lit up with another dramatic white flash. The accompanying rumble was barely a second behind.
‘Maybe not that light,’ he said, proving that they were experiencing the same storm.
‘You’re funny,’ she said. ‘Annoying but funny.’
His comments reminded her, however, that for him to be haunting the tower, he had also met his death there, and something was preventing him from moving on. It might be prudent to discover what it was.
‘Do you have anything in your life that is unresolved?’ she asked. ‘Some loss that you haven’t properly come to terms with?’
His tone changed in an instant and it was obvious that he was no longer amused.
‘You tossed yourself off the tower purely ’cause some lord decided he didn’t want you. Some of us confront the unpleasant things that life throws at us and don’t take the easy way out,’ he said, bitterness lacing his voice. ‘We plough on, even though our hearts are heavy, because others rely on us.’
She was upset by his presumption but could hardly defend herself as she’d led him to believe that she was a ghostly jilted bride. A part of her wanted to say she did understand, and to share the brutal circumstances of her parents’ deaths, especially as he then said something that struck a chord with her.
‘I don’t think grief is properly understood by those who haven’t witnessed, or been affected by, a truly harrowing death. Dying’s a part of life, granted, but people expect you to be over it after a given amount of time. I’ve tried, but it’s still there, like a piece of nettle root, festering under the surface and waiting to poke its head through the soil and cause problems again, just when I thought I’d dug it all out.’ His sigh floated through the wall. ‘Meanwhile, my poor, traumatised mind conjures you up, because I’m not sure that I believe in ghosts – proof, if I needed it, that I haven’t recovered from the horrors of it all.’
The horrors of what? she wondered, as they both lapsed into silence.
The rain continued to lash against the windowpanes and there was a further rumble of thunder.
‘If this dreadful weather continues, I’ll be shut up in this tower for the whole of tomorrow and will have to amuse myself with jigsaw puzzles and books,’ she grumbled.
‘Ghosts can’t do jigsaws,’ he pointed out. ‘You can’t lift up the pieces.’
‘I can imagine I’m doing one,’ she countered, cross that she’d momentarily forgotten that she was supposed to be a spirit. ‘In fact, my imagination is my salvation. I often escape into a world of my own making, where good triumphs over evil and I can achieve all the things I aspire to.’
‘What’s the point of such nonsense? You have to face your problems eventually.’ Which was pretty much what Tanner had said to her the day Benji had first introduced them.
‘I create joy in my daydreams because I’ve experienced sorrow in my life.’ As she said those words, she realised how true they were. Her fantasies had never been more important, carried more weight, than after she’d been orphaned.
Deciding to give a little of herself away, she told him part of the truth.
‘I lost both my parents when I was young. They were drowned at sea and it hit me very hard.’
‘Ah, but you were a princess. You led a sheltered life, cushioned by money and cosseted by all around you. You never had to toil for a living, work all the hours God sends for someone else, knowing your place in life and never aspiring to things you couldn’t have.’
He was teasing her, but perhaps she had been a princess, in a way. As an only child, she’d been her parents’ sole focus. Whilst the Davenports had not possessed the immense wealth of the Fairchilds, she had wanted for nothing. And by being taken in by Sir Hugo, this privileged existence had continued.
‘That’s nonsense and unbearably defeatist. Why can’t you aspire? Why can’t the boot boy become the butler? It happens. You can make opportunities for yourself, have dreams. Aladdin started off as a thief and ended up a king. Dick Whittington was a poor orphan who became the mayor of London.’
‘They’re fiction. And, no offence, but it don’t sound to me like you started at the bottom of the heap.’
‘That doesn’t make my grief any less raw.’
‘No,’ he conceded through the wall.
‘To lose any parent is heartbreaking. To lose them both, and without warning, was utterly devastating. And yet, I was able to cope with my sadness by embracing the truths they had taught me: life is short and you must always live it to the fullest.’ She wriggled about in the bed to get more comfortable. ‘How would they feel if I gave up and spent the remainder of my days feeling miserable and using it as an excuse for doing nothing? Why should I hide myself from the sunshine? She will still heat the soil and bring light to a dark world, whether I stay locked up inside or allow myself to bathe in her warm rays. The daisies on the lawn will still follow her journey from east to west, and open their glad faces when she shines. It didn’t take me long to realise that if I could rally… if I could make something of myself… if I could be outside and smile at the flowers…’ Her voice cracked. She might not be explaining this very well, but her emotions were true.
There was a silence.
‘Can’t say I recall any kings of England drowning,’ he said, before his tone became more earnest. ‘But your words are sage, indeed, for one so young. Well, young when you died. I’m guessing you’re hundreds of years old by now.’
Olivia was regretting her fanciful tale because in that moment, she wanted to be honest with her new friend, so she compromised.
‘Maybe I’m not technically a princess. I have what my mother always described as a melodramatic imagination, but don’t you see?’ She shuffled up onto her elbows, keen to get the importance of her point over. ‘I found a way to cope, and it was by escaping into my dreams.’
‘And then your lover dropped you like a hot potato, and you hurled yourself from a tower in your despair?’
Ah, she’d forgotten about that.
‘A stupid, impulsive decision that I bitterly regret,’ she said, embracing her pretence to be Cordelia. ‘It was foolish to step from the tower. Think of the travels I could have undertaken and the experiences I could have had. I would so have liked to write books about it all. His betrayal cut me deeply, but I should not have let it overwhelm me. I am but a broken vase – and vases can easily be mended and still hold beautiful flowers.’
He laughed out loud. ‘You’re one crazy, mixed-up little thing, but I rather like chatting to you. It doesn’t matter who or what you are: the ghost of a princess or otherwise. I don’t need to know the details of your life, any more than I wish to share mine, so let’s make a pact? We can provide each other with a bit of night-time cheer without prying into each other’s lives. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ she agreed.
Not talking about her heartache, and embracing the frivolous role of Cordelia, rather suited her. She felt the same as him. Did it ultimately matter where the voice came from, when it was proving such an excellent distraction? Even if she’d fabricated him, he was serving a purpose and helping with her healing, much like the imaginary friend of her childhood. Sophie had bridged a gap between the security of home and the harsh realities of starting school, and when the young Olivia had grown in confidence, Sophie had faded away.
Seth, she now realised, was here to help her navigate her unimaginable grief and ease the turmoil of being uprooted from everything she knew. She had wrongly believed herself on top of everything, that her cheery spirit and vivid imagination would help her weather the storm, but perhaps her head knew better. This disembodied voice was her very own creation, manufactured to help her step into this new phase of her life.
He was here to help and then he, too, would simply disappear.