As I settled into the engaging story, a noise sounded from across the room. A low rattling growl called my attention to the doorway. I glanced up from my book, finding what I expected standing in the doorway. A dark-haired woman stood there, her disheveled hair escaping in every direction from her swept-up style. Dirt smudged her red dress. Her dark eyes bored into me, a sneer on her lips.
“Hello, Annie,” I greeted her. “Are you planning to stay this time?”
The preceding Duchess of Blackmoore narrowed her eyes at me. Her gray, sunken cheeks puffed at me as she elicited a hiss in my direction. I set my book aside and swung my legs over the side of the window seat. The movement spooked my specter, and she hastened away from my view. I sighed, regaining my perch next to the window. I would not give chase, I had tried that on a prior occasion and it had ended in disaster.
On my second encounter with Annie, almost two months after my arrival, Annie had appeared to me in the hallway leading to my bedroom. She pawed at my bedroom door as I approached it when returning from dinner. When my proximity to her became too close for her comfort, she dashed down the hall. I followed. She led me in a winding chase through the castle, ending up in another turret, the very tower from which she had thrown herself. As I entered the room, my eyes fixed on her figure, I realized the error I’d made. What I beheld in front of me was no more than a mirror image. Annie stood behind me, slamming the door shut with a growl and locking me in the tower.
I raced toward the door as it swung shut. Annie’s eyes glowed red as she sneered at me from beyond the threshold. I pushed against the door with all my strength, but it did not budge. I pounded against the door, calling for help from Annie first, then anyone who may hear me. No one came.
I spent a cold night on the stone floor before a maid found me early the following morning after a search had commenced when I failed to turn up for breakfast. Despite insisting my well-being had not been compromised by the incident, I was put to bed with a hot toddy. An unfamiliar sensation for me since, even when ill, one was not permitted to remain in one’s bed at the orphanage.
Mid-morning, Robert visited me, concerned over the episode. “Foolish of me,” I fibbed. “The door swung shut behind me and I had failed to check the lock.” I did not see a reason to provide the whole story. The living did not often understand the machinations of the dead. They sometimes operated in a curious way. In many cases, they were the antithesis of themselves when alive. The entire escapade was only a bit of mischief, an attempt to frighten me or exert some dominance. Robert studied me a moment as he weighed my words. “I am really quite fine.” I pushed myself up to sit straighter.
“What were you doing in that tower at night?” he questioned.
I pondered my response before giving it. “Following a lead on my special project,” I replied.
He cocked his head, staring at me with his stormy gray eyes. “You have encountered Annie again,” he surmised.
I nodded, confirming my second experience with the ghost of Annie Fletcher. “Yes, she awaited me at my door after dinner last night.”
“Did she speak to you?” he inquired.
“No,” I responded. “She is not up to communicating yet.”
He nodded, his disappointment clear. “She will come around,” I promised. “It takes them time. They go unnoticed in most instances. It is often shocking to them when they do not. And they do not always communicate as we do.”
His gaze fell to the bedcovers, and he failed to respond. “She will come around,” I reiterated, understanding the emotional toll the process took on him.
“My apologies, Lenora. It pains me to learn of Annie’s apprehension.”
“I understand. I shall be gentler with her in future encounters.”
He waved his hand at me, dismissing the comment. He stood, stalking across the room. “It also troubles me that you endure this treatment.”
“I have endured nothing,” I responded.
“A night locked in a cold tower is not to be dismissed,” he countered.
“That was my own foolishness.”
“Lenora,” Robert chided, “the door does not lock itself.” He gleaned my explanation a deception. The jig was up.
“There is no cause for worry,” I assured him. He glanced toward me. “I have sustained no injury.”
“She was not like this in life,” he stated, returning his gaze out the window.
“I am sure she was not,” I assured him. “The dead behave differently than they did in life. They can be confused and disturbed. They need time and understanding.”
“I have endangered you by bringing you here. Lenora,” he paused, turning toward me, “I am sorry. I did not expect this when I sought answers.”
“You owe me no apology,” I asserted. “I was aware of what I was taking on when I accepted. Besides, there is no harm done.”
He offered a half-smile. “You take the situation very much in stride, Lenora.”
“I am well-acquainted with it. It has been my entire life.” I pushed the bedcovers back, intent on rising and going about my day. At the orphanage, a day spent in bed was not permitted unless one could not remain on one’s feet.
Robert approached the bed. “Is there something you require?”
“No,” I responded, standing. “I do not need to remain abed.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yet you shall.”
“It is unnecessary,” I contended.
“Necessary or not, I insist upon it.” He paused. “As your husband,” he added, a coy expression on his face.
“As my husband?” I queried with a chuckle. He raised his eyebrows again, cocking his head at me. I raised an eyebrow but climbed back into my bed. “Very well. I shall agree only by
