O'Hare House Mysteries Read online

  He looked at her, his face a conflict of emotion. There were words upon his lips that he seemed frightened to say. He seemed to be searching for something, some sign, that to open himself to this possibility, he would not be rebuked, that he would not ruin this moment, that he would not destroy the perfection of just he and she at the start of the world.

  So instead, Clara said it. "I could not leave you," she confessed. "I did not wish to live if I knew that there was not a chance of you being at my side."

  Her words seemed to cause time to stop. She felt his heart skip a beat, and then double its pounding. She felt his breath fill his chest in a mighty sigh of happiness. He looked down upon her, his dark, brown eyes filled with tears of joy. Slowly, taking each moment so that she could stop him or pull away, he closed the distance between the two of them, placing his lips softly upon hers to seal her confession with the tenderest of kisses.

  That kiss chased away all the pain in her bones until the aches were just a memory. That kiss chased away the pain in her heart and washed over the wound Thomas left there. It soothed its festering like a healing balm and mended it with Wesley's love. Wesley gripped her tighter, as if never wanting to let go, and she clung to him, wanting him to know that she finally found home.

  He lifted away from her, his face awash in disbelief. Clara almost laughed. It seemed as if, despite demons and magic and otherworldly horrors, he could not think this was true.

  "Come, my darling," she whispered. "Let us leave this terrible place. We have the rest of our life to begin."

  He kissed her once more, and then slowly helped her to sit. He crouched, placing her arm around his neck, and lifted her to her feet. Her knees buckled beneath her, unable to stand, but he caught her, letting her use his strength for as long as she needed.

  "I cannot walk," she said, realizing that she was too weak to support herself.

  He smiled. "Then I shall be your legs." He reached down and swept his arm beneath her knees, lifting her as easily as a feather, and carried her out of the room into the world that waited for them beyond.

  25

  They sat in the carriage, the sights of the city passing by the window. It was a place that seemed to have existed a lifetime ago, and not just the twenty-four hours which had passed. Clara leaned her head against Wesley's chest, his arm wrapped around her, propriety be damned.

  They had returned upstairs to the house to find that Marguerite was still alive, and that she had crawled over to the telephone. She was slumped against the wall, the receiver dangling by her head. She gave a weak salute. Whatever force was banished upon Violet's defeat had also broken the storm and restored use of the phone. Marguerite had been able to ring the constable and the entire police force was on their way by the time that Clara and Wesley emerged.

  Though faint and pale from the loss of blood, Marguerite seemed in good spirits. "The damned bullet seemed to have hit one of my stays." She pointed at the metal ribbing of her corset. "I have never been so grateful for this horrible contraption."

  Wesley deposited Clara upon a chair in the hallway, close to where Marguerite sat collapsed, and ran off to find some sort of bandaging to aid the injured woman. After he left, Marguerite leaned forward and asked, "So? Did you get her?"

  Clara nodded and Marguerite leaned back, as if finally she could rest. "Good. Good..."

  "What was it?" Clara asked.

  "We don't entirely know," Marguerite said.

  "We?"

  Marguerite nodded. "This is not the first time such a creature has appeared. They prey off the sadness of others. They seem to look for people that no one would seem to miss if they disappeared. Norman and myself have been hunting them for years."

  Clara looked over at the library where Norman's body was hidden. "I am so sorry for the loss of your friend."

  Marguerite waved her off. "He was a damned pain in the ass." Her face softened just a bit though. "He would not have wanted to go any other way. Far better to be taken in battle than crippled and gray and trapped with the memories of all the things we've seen." She glanced at Clara. "That said, I shall be looking for a new partner, if you know of anyone."

  Clara did not say anything, just gave her a smile, and the two of them sat in silence until Wesley returned.

  As the cab pulled in front of Clara's house at the end of the garden square, a bewildered look crossed Wesley's face.

  "What is it, my love?" she asked.

  "You live here," he replied.

  She gazed up at him, wondering why it seemed so strange. "Indeed. Why?"

  "This was the home where my sister was killed," he said.

  Of course Minnie, his sister, was the girl who died in this home. Minnie was the death she had been warned of when she purchased the building. In the chaos of what they had been through, she had been so anxious to get home, and Clara had not been thinking of Wesley's ties to this place.

  "Are you all right?" she asked tenderly.

  He nodded, his thoughts still far away. "Of course. I passed this house so many times after her death. It always reminded me of her. And to think that her spirit was waiting here, the entire time, needing someone who could see her." He stroked Clara's hand and returned to her with a tender smile. "I am so glad it was you."

  "She led me to you," Clara said. "It was she that protected me through the maze and helped me to defeat Violet. She has been looking out for you, even though you did not know it."

  Wesley kissed Clara's forehead, resting his lips in gratitude for those few simple words, as if finally, he was at peace. He got out of the carriage and helped Clara out. The cab driver set her bags upon the sidewalk and Wesley picked them up, escorting her to the door.

  "My butler and housekeeper lived there at the time, too," she said. "Perhaps you would like to come in and speak with them of her memory."

  "What are you talking about?" asked Wesley.

  "They said that they served on staff when the murder happened," Clara replied.

  Wesley set the bags down before the door and took her hands in his. "Clara, this house has sat empty for years. The entire household staff was killed along with her that terrible night."

  The front door opened and Mr. Willard walked out. Clara looked at him, truly looked at him, as if seeing him for the very first time. He held his fingers to his lips and Clara suddenly understood.

  "I must have been mistaken," she replied to Wesley.

  He looked at the open door and remarked, "Your door seems to have a broken latch."

  "I shall have Mr. Willard look to it as soon as I get inside," she replied, then leaned over and placed a kiss upon Wesley’s cheek.

  Wesley smiled, his love warm as the spring sun shining down upon her. He lifted her fingers to his lips. "I shall see you tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow, if not sooner," she promised.

  He walked back to the cab, youth in his step and a song in his heart. She stood upon the doorstep, watching him go until the cab was out of sight.

  Then she turned to Mr. Willard. "Mr. Willard?" she asked, the question hanging between them.

  But all he did was take her bags and smile. "Welcome home, ma'am."

  Spirit of Denial

  Book Two – O'Hare House Mysteries

  By Kate Danley

  With Great Thanks

  My power group gals

  Carolyn Wilson

  Diana Costa

  Karen McQuestion

  Kay Bratt

  * * *

  And a special thanks to

  George Edward Stanhope Molyneaux

  and

  the Mummy of Katebet

  1

  "Mr. Willard?" Clara asked with great curiosity. "Forgive me for being so forward, but are you deceased?"

  The tall, balding butler stood in the hallway with Clara, the clock loudly ticking away the moments as he tried to frame his response.

  Finally, Clara motioned to the parlor with its pale green walls and comfortable chairs. "Perhaps you and I should s
it down to discuss this matter."

  Mr. Willard bowed and politely suggested in his low, gravelly voice, "Let me call for Mrs. Nan. I believe this is a conversation best had with all present."

  Clara shook her head, bemused. His evasion answered her question even better than a confession. "The pieces are beginning to come together, Mr. Willard," Clara replied. She removed her black bonnet from her bright, red hair, took off her gloves, finger-by-finger, and placed them on the carved hall table of dark wood. "Very well. I shall wait for you inside. Please join me as soon as you have gathered Mrs. Nan. No disappearing on me!" she jested.

  Mr. Willard seemed unsure of the best response, so he just turned on his heel and went up the walnut staircase in search of Mrs. Nan. Clara strolled slowly across the entry's black and white octagon tile and into the parlor to wait.

  She looked around her home, wondering how the world could have become so completely different in just a few short days. If it were true, if her servants were, indeed, ghosts, well… strangely it would be one of the less surprising bits of information she had received since moving into this dear little house on the square. "So many secrets," she whispered to the house, placing her hand upon the door jam. "So many mysteries hidden here. If only your walls could talk."

  There was a thrum of energy that raced through her hand, like the thrill of a lovely memory or the warm wash of happiness. She could hardly imagine it was anything but her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she patted the wall gently before going over to the couch to wait for Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard.

  She decided she should be stern about their deceit. Whether the lies of omission were about supernatural events or not, she was mistress of the house and could not have her servants, even if they were dead, telling falsehoods.

  She started to laugh. Who was she fooling?

  Not three minutes went by before both servants entered the room. Mrs. Nan smoothed her gray-peppered hair nervously and straightened the apron of her uniform.

  Clara folded her hands on her lap and tried to frown. "Well, what have you both to say for yourself?"

  Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Mrs. Nan broke the silence, her voice rushing out, "We were going to tell you, but the opportunity had not yet risen."

  "Really? It seems like rising from the dead is reason enough to inform me that you are deceased," Clara replied.

  "Now, that was a long time ago…" Mrs. Nan tried to explain.

  Mr. Willard cleared his throat. "What Mrs. Nan is trying to say is that we have been here in this house for a long time. It seemed prudent to judge your character before we confided in you."

  Clara tilted her chin proudly. "And what judgment have you made of my character?"

  "A very, very good character indeed!" Mrs. Nan replied.

  Clara smiled, unable to keep up the facade. "My dear Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard. Of course you needed to ascertain my character before we could have this discussion. But you and I are now family. We live beneath this roof and you shall get to know me better than any living soul…" she paused. "The pun was unintended."

  "But quite appropriate," assured Mr. Willard.

  "Quite," Mrs. Nan added on.

  "What happened? How did it come to be that you are deceased?" Clara asked with concern, motioning to them that they should both sit. The look upon their face indicated her request to take a chair was borderline blasphemy, but Clara remained insistent. Such intimate conversations should be between friends, not masters and servants, she thought to herself.

  "It happened so many years ago," said Mr. Willard. His face became a blank as he thought back to that day. "Fifteen years or so. I looked into my mirror and saw a dark figure. A woman or girl I believe. And that was all. The next day, everyone in the house behaved as if they couldn't see me."

  "It was the same with me," Mrs. Nan continued. "That same figure. That same girl, or woman… I wish I could remember more. The next day, the house was in an uproar, saying that there had been a grisly murder, three servants killed in cold blood, found dead upon the floor of their rooms with their throats torn out. It was at that moment that both Mr. Willard and I realized that we did not survive."

  "Perhaps I am a coward for saying this," said Mr. Willard, "but I am glad my memory stops with the face in the mirror."

  "Not a coward at all," said Mrs. Nan, reaching over to pat his hand bracingly.

  "So just the three of you?" said Clara, thinking to the thrill she felt when she touched the walls of the house. "You two and Wesley's older sister, Minnie?"

  Mr. Willard nodded. "Yes. Lord Oroberg was struggling at the time and kept a small household. We were honored to serve, but Minnie… well, she always had a more difficult time than us, very much caught between worlds, both in life and death."

  "’Tis true," said Mrs. Nan. "That poor, sweet child didn't even know what happened. For someone who did not wish to be here much in the first place, she suddenly found herself trapped here with us forever. I don't mean to speak ill of her. She was an orphan and forced to leave her ten-year old brother in the workhouse. She wanted nothing but to take care of him and you could see in her eyes that even though she was living here in comfort, her heart was always with him."

  Clara could hardly believe this was the childhood of her confident, well-refined hero. Her Wesley. An orphan working in the factories in abject poverty? To have been robbed of his parents, and then of his sister? It was a wonder he survived. But all she said was, "I had the pleasure of making her brother's acquaintance this weekend. He was the man who walked me to the door. Wesley Lowenherz."

  Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard nodded at one another in approval. "He is a fine looking lad," said Mrs. Nan. "Quite worthy of his sister's devotion. I wish we could have said hello."

  Clara stopped her. "We have had guests at the house before," said Clara thinking of Violet Nero who had sat in the very parlor they were now all seated. "How was it that they could see you and Mr. Lowenherz could not?"

  Mrs. Nan looked around the room. "This house here on the square holds a power, Clara, a power that we may never understand. It has gotten stronger since you came. There were families which lived here before, but we were shadows. There is something about you which changes things. We knew it from the moment you crossed the threshold and were able to see us. For the first time in fifteen years, someone could see us! We learned while you were gone, though, that when you are not sleeping beneath this roof, we fade until you return."

  "I shall never lay my head anywhere else again!" exclaimed Clara, distressed. "I had no idea! If I had known, I would have told the police to hurry their questioning earlier so that I could have returned to free you. I am so sorry."

  "Now, duck, don't you make such foolish promises. It is not painful. We are just… restless… and without purpose without you here. We just fade. Why, while you were gone, Minnie disappeared completely!"

  "But Minnie was not here!" said Clara. "She was with me. She was, in fact, responsible for saving my and her brother’s life."

  "What?" said Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard in unison.

  "Whatever happened out in that horrible manor?" asked Mrs. Nan. "Here we have been prattling on about our unfortunate circumstances while your life was recently at risk! Do you need something to calm your nerves, dear? Some tea? Perhaps a lie-down?"

  Clara waved her off, but was warmed by Mrs. Nan's concern. "I am fine," she replied. "There was a great danger to Minnie's brother. I believe she led me there to protect him," said Clara. "He would most certainly have been lost if she and I had not been there."

  "She has never been able to leave these walls before," stated Mr. Willard sternly, looking about the room as if expecting an explanation from the house.

  "She did, though," affirmed Clara. "Perhaps it was the bonds of blood and sisterly affection which gave her the strength, but both she and I were there, and many lives were saved."

  Mr. Willard sat forward. "Please, if it is not asking too much, what transpired?" />
  Clara realized there might still be fond memories of their former master, and so tried to break the news gently. "Last night, Lord Oroberg met an untimely end."

  Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan exchanged glances, silent communication flowing between them. Finally, Mr. Willard said, "He was a complicated man, and I am not one to speak ill of the dead." The unsaid words, though, hung heavily in the room before he continued tactfully. "I shall say that it is a sorry day when anyone does not live to see the morning, and we shall leave it at that."

  "It was at the hand of his daughter-in-law, Violet," Clara continued.

  "Violet? That young woman who came to visit you the other day?" said Mrs. Nan. "She was so delicate, she couldn't have hurt a fly!"

  "She was, I am afraid, under the influence of a terrible force which transformed her horribly."

  "Such strange things," said Mr. Willard, his face grim.

  "Why, if you would have told me two weeks ago what my life would look like today, I would not have believed you!" agreed Clara.

  "Death has a strange way of turning the world on its head," said Mrs. Nan. "Ooch, dear, you said that Violet killed Horace. What a terrible thing! Tell me you did not witness it."

  "I did," said Clara. "Norman Scettico, Clifford Oroberg, Horace, Hilda Nero…"

  Mrs. Nan leaned forward. "Hilda Nero? Why was she there?"

  "She was Violet's mother."

  Mrs. Nan patted Mr. Willard's arm with one finger. "There was a man, a Peter Nero, who was a business associate of Lord Oroberg. He frequently came to the house," said Mrs. Nan. "He was married to a Hilda Nero."

  Mr. Willard stopped her, lost in thought as he slowly recollected. "The exact details of that night are so hard to remember… but I believe Peter was here the night we died."

  "What?" asked Clara.

  Mrs. Nan nodded, her words spilling out as the pieces came back to her bit-by-bit. "The night we were murdered, Violet's father was presented with an item discovered in the tomb by one of the archeologists. Lord Horace was such an adventurer. He invested in a large expedition to Egypt. There was a dinner party here at the house. There were two scientists. Oh, what were their names? They showed pictures and slides from the dig site and gave presents all around. Jewelry and knickknacks they dug up from around the Nile. They spoke of a much larger tomb they believed they were on the brink of discovering. They were all very excited. That was the night we died."