Even a Ghost Deserves a Chance
Miss Cynthia Couch was not afraid of ghosts. She was of the opinion that something so ethereal would have a difficult time hurting one, besides she believed that spirits were more deserving of pity rather than fear. After all they were doomed to haunt some specified place for all eternity rather than enjoy rest in the afterlife. Her own sister made a habit of conversing with ghosts. Cynthia’s ability was somewhat different.
Cynthia was a seer. She had visions of the future. The only problem was that her visions were hard to interpret most of the time and often landed her in such pickles that she was labelled a hoyden by the arbiters of polite society. It could have been worse. If wind had got up about her and Kathy’s forays into the occult, invitations to all the modish soirées and balls would stop coming. Their mother would never have forgiven the girls in that event – it was a mother’s duty to get rid of daughters as quickly as possible in the marriage mart, no matter how dearly she loved them.
The biggest do of the Season was to be the Cannon’s ball. Everyone who was anyone was invited to Cannon House in Grosvenor Square. Cynthia’s mother had the invitation displayed prominently upon the mantle for all their guests to see. The reason that this ball outshone all the rest in importance was because Cannon House had been closed for over five and twenty years. Lord and Lady Cannon had lived in seclusion in the country since their marriage, and this was to be the come out ball for their only daughter.
Servants had been hired, Holland covers removed; plasterers and painters had been busy for months and new furnishings and draperies had been ordered from the best warehouses in all of London. And rumours had begun to filter out.
Rumours that Cannon House was haunted.
The present Lord Cannon had been the younger son. His older brother had died only months after his ascendancy to the title. Suspiciously. In the library of the very house in Grosvenor Square that was now being refurbished.
But according to the rumours there was more than one ghost – and most of them were female. The only conclusion to be drawn was that Lord Derf Cannon had been a consummate rake.
Cynthia and Kathy were completely fascinated by the idea that Cannon House was haunted and for this reason looked forward to this ball with greater anticipation than any ball they had heretofore attended.
"What I would give to meet those ghosts!" said Kathy.
"I hear the late lord was a handsome devil," sighed Cynthia. "Not only that, he was a Corinthian and a bit of a gamester."
"And a rake," said Kathy with a sniff.
"As to that," said Cynthia, "people always like to paint a man of his stamp as a rake. Pure jealously because he was a nonpareil and all the ladies were swooning over him."
"His brother inherited his title and married his fiancée and has hidden himself and his bride in the country ever since."
"They say his brother’s death devastated him," scoffed Cynthia. "If we can speak with those ghosts we may find out the truth behind his death! Will you be my go between? We can leave the ball on some pretext and sneak into the library when no one is looking."
And so that was their plan.
A week before the ball, Cynthia was sitting over a breakfast of bacon and toast when suddenly she felt a tingling feeling crawl up her back. The room became encased in a thick fog. It was always thus when she had her visions. In the centre, the mist began to glow and the fuzzy image of a well-stocked library came into view. Her sister was sitting upon a chair and she was idly searching titles in the shelves when suddenly another figure entered the vision. It was a handsome gentleman with a profusion of dark golden curls styled in a Brutus. He was wearing ball dress in the palest of blue. He approached Kathy with his hand held out. And then, as quickly as it had come, it all disappeared into nothingness and Cynthia found herself staring at the ormolu clock on the mantle piece, a steady throbbing between her eyes.
What did it all mean? That the gentleman was destined for her sister she did not doubt but where . . . and when? She had never before seen the library in her vision, but both she and her sister were in ball gowns. Could it be the library at Cannon House? And who was the gentleman? Town was still a bit thin of company as the Season had not yet started in earnest, but she would have remembered that face and physique. She was certain she had never set eyes on the man before.
And someone as handsome as he was wasted on her sister, she reflected with a sigh.
In the ensuing days before the ball, Cynthia had the same vision twice more. Each time the gentleman advanced further into the room, closer to Kathy. This only confirmed her belief that he was her sister’s intended. Three times lucky, as the saying goes.
Cynthia decided to go to *****, a village inhabited by spiritualists. She wanted to attend a séance or have a reading to make sure that she had interpreted her vision correctly, for she was afraid that her feelings were becoming a trifle too entangled. It was true that she’d only had the vision three times, but every time she closed her eyes she could see the gentleman’s face as plain as if he were standing before her. Cynthia was afraid that she was in for heartbreak of the severest nature.
Cynthia stepped out of her barouche and looked around at the busy town. The noise, colour, and smell were almost overwhelming. She longed to explore the market’s vendors and wares, but pressing business led her on a straight path. Her heart was troubled and she needed answers.
She saw a small shop with dark, hand-painted letters on the dirty window: "Madame Jen’s Fortune Telling and Pickle Emporium, proprietor Jen Bennetgirl. Accepts all currency and small edible animals on trade." Cynthia was intrigued and pushed open the door.
A small woman with large bespectacled eyes and layers of shawls sat at a round table. She read from a book entitled "Pretty Musings V: After the AIIM Is Over", and she munched on a dill pickle spear. When she heard the bell over the door tinkle, she hopped up.
"Oh, dear! Welcome and salutations! Can I get you a cup of tea? Some coffee, perhaps? Pickle?"
"No, thanks. I came here because…"
"You have seen a man," said the medium, offering a chair for Cynthia.
"Wow! You’re good!" exclaimed Cynthia, sitting down.
"What would you like to know about this man?" asked the medium, peering into a crystal ball.
Cynthia recounted what she had seen in her vision. She asked when and where her sister was to meet the gentleman in blue.
Jen cleared her throat. Her eyes shifted from side to side. "I, uh, cannot see in the crystal ball… the future is very foggy…"
Cynthia dug in her reticule. "Here is a piece of silver."
"Ah! Would you look at that, it’s clearer now. Your sister will meet this man at an assembly."
"A ball?" asked Cynthia.
"Sure, a ball. And he drives a fancy gig. The horses are pretty and matched. He holds his hand out to a lady…"
"Just as he did in my vision!" cried Cynthia.
"Yes, and the couple drives away to explore an old ruined castle."
"That must be the Cannon’s house, which has been abandoned this five-and-twenty years! Will the couple be quite safe driving away?"
Madame Jen took a bite of her pickle wedge and chewed thoughtfully. "I do not know, there may be an accident…"
Cynthia produced another coin. Madame Jen continued her fortune-telling.
"No, that must be a broken-down carriage on the wayside. The gentleman in blue and his lady explore the ruins in safety and live happily ever after and have a dozen children."
Cynthia smiled. "Thank you, Madame Jen! You have been most helpful.
Although Cynthia was pleased to finally have a clearer understanding of her vision, she was disappointed that she had been right – the handsome gentleman in blue was destined for her sister. She had to find some way to keep his image from appearing before her whenever she closed her eyes. Sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll upon her.
Luckily the evening for the Cannon ball was upon them. This gave a new direction to Cynthia’s thoughts. A ball was a ball, but what really attracted her was the prospect of stealing away to explore the library with Kathy and meet the ghosts.
Cannon House was a grand residence, and no expense had been spared at readying it for the ball. They arrived to find it lit up from roof to cellar. A dozen footmen lined the stairs at the entrance. Cynthia was glad that she had decided on the crème satin with a gauze overdress in the palest pink. Kathy looked lovely in pale blue sarsenet with white rosebuds in her hair. As they made their way through the crowds, heads turned.
‘I wonder if this is the ball where Kathy meets her future husband,’ she thought to herself, and scanned the ballroom. There were many finely dressed and handsome young gentlemen to be seen, but none that could compare to the one from her vision.
"This is the greatest squeeze," said Kathy. "I think we shall not be missed when we explore the library."
They danced the first two sets and then slipped away into the corridor.
"Libraries are always on the first floor," said Cynthia helpfully. "So it cannot to too difficult a place to find."
"No need to worry, sister," said Kathy. "I am following their auras." She unerringly led Cynthia down the corridor, made two left turns, and then stopped in front of a pair of imposing mahogany doors. She turned a huge smile on her sister. "At last!"
What would appear to most as a dusty old library that had not been
entered in decades, appeared almost bright and cheery to Kathy and
Cynthia. Although the air in the room was stale the girls could feel
life, or perhaps a better word was "presence" throughout the room.
"This is the room I saw in my vision," said Cynthia, but so softly her
sister could not hear. They both did hear, however, giggling from
behind the doorway.
"Did you say something?" asked Kathy.
"No, and neither did you. That was laughing, from over there"
Kathy turned toward the source of the sound and could make out, but just
barely the essence of a spirit.
"Hello," she began, "My name is..."
"Not important, I'm sure," said a female voice. "And look at those
gowns! I'm so glad I'm dead for I would not be caught alive in either
of those."
"How rude!" exclaimed Cynthia, "I'll have you know that these are the
latest fashion. Our mother went to great expense to make sure we were
turned out well. Besides I'm sure you've managed to stay up to date
on the other side."
"Cynthia, now you are being rude," reprimanded Kathy. "Please excuse my
sister, she's not used to speaking to those from beyond. How can we
help you?"
"Did you hear that, 'licia? She wants to help us?"
"Ouch!" exclaimed Cynthia, "someone pinched me!"
"That was Sofie," said a new voice, also female.
"Owwww!" cried the first ghostly voice.
"Sofie likes to keep us in line. She won't tolerate bad manners." A
new form shimmered behind them. "I'm Alyson. You've just met Rita." Two
more forms appeared beside her. "This is Alicia and Sarah. It's been a
long time since anyone living has spoken to us. How can we help you?"
"Can you tell us how Lord Derf Cannon died?" asked Cynthia.
"Of course you had to ask that!" said Alicia scornfully.
"What about us?" asked Sarah. "Are we not important? We died too you know!"
"And were left to haunt this place," said Sofie, "which wasn’t too much fun because the family closed the house for five and twenty years!"
"With not so much as a by your leave!" said Rita.
"We’ve been so bored," said Alyson. "Only ghosts for company and these dusty old tomes!"
"It’s been fun since the workmen arrived," said Alicia. "Moving their tools and taking down wallpaper in the night!"
"And teasing the maids!" agreed Sarah.
"I heard tell that you were all ladies of easy virtue who had associations with the late Lord Cannon," said Cynthia in an attempt to put them in their place.
"Ridiculous slander!" said Alyson. "We are all virtuous women – well, most of us!"
"How did you come to die and haunt this place?" asked Cynthia realising she would never get her questions answered if she didn’t ask the one they really wanted to hear.
"His bride to be, the present Lady Cannon, invited us to her engagement tea. We all came from the country in the same post chaise to save on expenses. We wanted to fritter our money away on clothes instead," said Sofie.
"Unbeknownst to us," said Alicia, "The driver was foxed. He took the wrong road and, in a sudden fog, drove us over the white cliffs of Dover."
"We never realised we had perished," said Alyson, "for the carriage continued on to London as if nothing had happened and we were put down upon the doorstep."
"I did get suspicious when we were able to walk through the door without opening it," said Sarah, "But all we could think of was how thirsty we were and the tea that awaited us in the library."
"We should really have questioned the serving of tea in the library," said Alyson," but we all rushed in and began to drink it. That was when we discovered that we weren’t corporeal."
"The tea poured right through us!" said Rita.
"What I would still give for a good cup of tea," said Sofie with a sigh.
"After the initial shock," said Alicia, "we decided that haunting a house might be a lark."
"Trouble is," said Sarah, "we can’t leave this library. I’ve read every single book at least a dozen times."
"But why are you still here?" asked Kathy. "Why can you not rest as you ought instead of haunting this place for eternity?’
"I think it must all come down to the fact that we never got to have that tea that we looked forward to for so long!" said Rita.
"And possibly," said Alicia, "because no sooner had we arrived but we witnessed Lord Derf Cannon’s murder!"
"His murder!" cried Cynthia! "I knew it! His brother did it so that he could get the title and the girl, right?"
"As if!" said Alyson.
"Then it was his fiancée?" cried Kathy gleefully.
"Not on your life," said Sarah. "Those two were pure as the driven snow."
"But . . . but . . . they got married and closed up the house soon after the murder," said Cynthia. "How do you explain that?"
"Lord Derf Cannon did not die immediately. His brother found him in a pool of blood and his last words were, ‘I promised to care for her all her life – you must marry her in my place, I beg you,’" said Sofie.
Sarah had a handkerchief held to her eyes. "If I could only cry, tears would be streaming down my face! Of course they both had to honour his dying wish. Such a romantic tale."
"But who killed him?" cried Cynthia.
"We really don’t like to talk about it," said Alicia. "You will have to ask him yourself."
And with that, all the ghosts suddenly dematerialised.
"Rats!" said Cynthia. "They were fun ladies, but no help at all. We’ll have to search for clues." She began to look through the books upon the shelf.
"I’m tired," said Kathy. "Holding that many ghosts material for so long so that you could converse with them has worn me right out. I think I need some of that tea they were talking about, or better yet, a glass of ratafia." She sat upon a chair and fanned herself.
Suddenly, Cynthia felt a strange tingling run up her spine. She turned her head slowly, and there, in elegant blue, his golden curls haloed with candlelight, stood the gentleman from her vision. He had his hand held out towards Kathy.
"Is there anything I can do for your present relief?" he asked. "A glass of wine perhaps?"
"Wine would be lovely," said Kathy, barely looking at him.
Cynthia’s mouth dropped open and her heart started thumping. This wasn’t another vision – this was happening before her eyes.
The gentleman glanced over at Cynthia. "You will find a decanter of wine and a glass upon that side table," he said in a voice that did something to Cynthia’s insides, turning them to jelly. "I must apologise but I am unable . . ." His voice trailed off as she moved into the light, and he simply stared at her, an expression of unalloyed admiration upon his face.
Cynthia felt a sensation she had never before experienced in the presence of this ghost. She had not been able to stop thinking of him of late and here he was standing before her offering himself to her with his expressive eyes. But he was dead. It did not make sense to feel the way she was feeling.
"Are you Lord Derf Cannon?" she asked him, to break the silence, forgetting about the wine. Kathy poured herself a glass.
"Yes," replied the gentleman.
"And you were . . . murdered?"
"Right here in this very room."
"By whom? And for what reason?"
"It was a crime of passion."
Cynthia was enthralled. "Will you tell us about it?"
"If you wish to know."
"Yes please."
"Very well. Before I became engaged to my fiancée, she was in love with another. But the young man had nothing but his charms to recommend him and she was persuaded by her family to reject his proposals. After he learned of our engagement, he called upon me very late one night after the household was abed. I answered the door myself. It was apparent that he had been drinking, but I admitted him anyway. We talked for several minutes and before I knew it, he had drawn his pistol. It was over in a flash and he was out of the house before my brother made it to my side. I begged him to take care of Anne and then it was all over. I have been confined to this library every since."
Cynthia was speechless. At length she asked, "But why? Why must you stay here? What are you waiting for?"
"I have been waiting for my one true love to appear. Obviously it was not Anne. She was in love with another, and thankfully never learnt of his misdeed. Our engagement was one of convenience, that is all."
"And who was this great love of Lady Cannon's that acted so rashly on that fateful night?" asked Cynthia with interest.
"Captain Frederick Wentworth."
Cindy furrowed her brow as she considered that Fred had murdered Derf.
"And how are you to find your true love confined to this library? Could it be one of the ladies we spoke to earlier?"
Lord Derf chuckled, "No, definitely not."
"You know . . . ." he said, moving a step towards her. "You feel it."
"But in my visions you were reaching out to my sister."
"Yes, because it is she who has made this meeting possible. She who can speak to and interact with the dead. She who can make you understand."
Cynthia turned to her sister. "Understand what?"
"It was about five months ago," said Kathy. "You became ill with an ague and never recovered."
"No, I was given quinine and before long I felt fine."
"You felt fine because you were no longer ill. Because you had passed beyond the boundaries of this life. You were meant to be with Lord Derf, and now you can be."
"You mean, I . . . I'm . . . dead?"
Lord Derf spoke, "Sometimes ghosts do not realized they have passed. Sometimes they remain ignorant for years, roaming the world in restless confusion, seeing only what they want to see."
"Be at peace, Cynthia," said Kathy, "now that you have found your love."
Lord Derf reached out his hand to Kathy who took it and with great exertion of her special talent, she was able to grasp it. She took Cynthia's hand and placed it within Lord Derf's. To Cynthia, his hand felt surprisingly warm and corporeal. Suddenly, there was a great effusion of light and as Cynthia and Derf walked towards it and their eternity together, Cynthia turned back to her sister and smiled.
Kathy smiled back and with a tear spilling lightly down one cheek, whispered, "Happy Birthday Cynthia."
wish cindy a happy birthday
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