The Solemn Bell (4 page)

“At any rate, you were saying?”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“Before the lightning, you were going to tell me why you’re a black sheep.”

“Oh.” Angelica didn’t know why she’d almost exposed herself, but she was glad she’d come to her senses. If she confessed everything to Captain Neill, he might not want to talk with her any longer. Some people didn’t know how to react to her—which had been part of the reason why Mother had left her behind. “Never mind. I don’t remember now.”

“Must not have been important.”

She listened as he tossed and turned on the sofa. It was only when they ran out of things to say that his pain and suffering seemed to radiate through the room. She distracted him. She might have even cheered him. At the very least, he wasn’t vomiting anymore. That was a good sign. By some miracle, he might make it through the night after all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brody could not sleep. He could never sleep without his nightly injections, but he thought that, after surviving a car crash and walking for miles in the rain, his ragged body might—for once—overpower his mind. Yet, he writhed against the dusty sofa as if his muscles had energy to burn.

It was all part of the withdrawals. Muscle spasms, tremors, nausea, and even hallucinations awaited him until he could find a doctor who’d give him a needle. The night was young and his torment had just begun. He was eternally grateful to Miss Grey for sheltering him. If she wasn’t a ghost, she was certainly his guardian angel.

He liked her. She was quiet, with an economy of words that was refreshing compared to the chatterboxes he’d tolerated before the war. Brody hadn’t spent much time with girls since then, but he assumed they were mostly just as vapid and vain as before.
 

Not Miss Grey, though. She didn’t tax him with small talk, and never fished for compliments. Strange that she didn’t want him to see her face. He doubted she was ugly. In fact, he’d caught a glimpse of her in the darkness, and she seemed all right—if a touch too thin. Whatever she was hiding, Brody didn’t think her appearance was the issue.

Likely, his angel of the shadows had a secret. That’s why she didn’t want him able to identify her, and why she insisted he leave her out of his story. She did not want anyone to know who she was, or that she was even there.
 

Brody didn’t mind the secrecy. He too had a few skeletons in his closet, and understood the value of a quiet tongue. He would keep Miss Grey’s confidence as repayment for giving him a safe, quiet, dry place to be sick. He owed her that much at least.

But he didn’t appreciate her friends.

He watched their shadows move in the darkness, their distorted forms darting from corner to corner. Hiding behind the drapes. Dangling from the chandelier overhead.
 

“Why don’t you go away?” he asked a fat little shadow mocking him from atop a bookcase.
 

Over his shoulder, Miss Grey rose to her feet. “Alright. I’ll go, but you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“Not you, girl. Your cronies.”

“My…what?”

He pointed at another one of them. They were everywhere, crawling over everything like maggots. “Your friends. I’d appreciate not having an audience to my suffering.”

Miss Grey sucked in her breath. “We are the only ones here, Captain Neill.”

“I can see them. And when I can’t see them, I can bloody hear the blasted things.”

“Mice, perhaps.” She sat back down on the cold, hard floor. He heard her skirts rustle in the darkness as she situated herself. “There is a feral cat somewhere, who does his best to keep the vermin away. I’m sorry if they’ve upset you. In an old, un-lived-in house like this, I suppose we’re never truly alone. There are probably bats in the attics, too.”

Brody shivered. These weren’t bats or rats, or even cats. She thought she could deceive him, but he knew better. “I’m no fool. I know you’re trying to trick me. Playing some devil’s game.”

“Captain Neill, you’re starting to scare me. I promise you, I’m not playing any games, or trying to trick you. There isn’t anyone else here. Not in this room. Not in this house.”

He propped himself up on his elbows. Suddenly, his mouth felt full of sand. “Could—could I have some water?”

Miss Grey stood quickly. “Of course.”
 

She turned to leave the room through the panel in the wall, but before she disappeared, he called out to her. “You’ve forgot the cup.” Brody picked it up off the floor, and held it out for her.
 

She shook her head in the shadows. “Never mind that. I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s twice the work for you,” he said. “Come on. I won’t try to look at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I give you my word.”

“All the same, I’d rather bring another glass up from the kitchens…”
 

“Are you afraid to come near me?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Brody flopped back down onto the sofa, letting the glass fall to the carpet at his feet. “Liar.”

Miss Grey had lied about a great many things, but at least she took her friends with her. The drawing room was quiet now, save the pounding rain on the windows, and the ticking of the clock on the mantel. He didn’t hear the whispers anymore, or the scratching in the walls.
 

Yes, Miss Grey’s army of shadows knew better than to take him on. Even in his sorry state, he could beat them—just like he’d beaten back the Jerries all those years ago. Brody didn’t like to brag about taking lives, but, if those shadowy bastards returned, he’d let them all know he wasn’t afraid. He’d kill every last one for embarrassing him in front of Miss Grey.

***

Angelica’s hands shook as she filled the fresh glass. She wasn’t afraid of Captain Neill, though his outburst had frightened her. The truth was that she would’ve had to search for the glass in his hand, and could not have explained that clumsiness without giving herself away.

She wanted to preserve their equal footing for a little while longer—especially if he was starting to hallucinate. A madman could take advantage of her weakness. But, more importantly, if he knew she couldn’t see what he saw, she could never calm his fears. He needed her to be strong. He needed her to be whole.

Angelica didn’t much care about being whole, but she wanted to be strong for him. She so rarely got a chance to be useful to another person. All her life, she had been the one in need. She had been the one to inconvenience people, the one requiring extra time and special assistance.
 

Now, as a woman capable of taking care of herself, she craved the opportunity to make a difference in someone else’s life. So far, Captain Neill was the only other person she’d had the good fortune to come across. And, by some miracle, he needed
her.

She stilled her hands from trembling, and carried the glass of water upstairs. As she pushed through the panel in the drawing room wall, Angelica found her charge sitting upright and waiting for her. She knew he sat up because his voice was firm and clear, not husky or muffled by his weight on his back

“Here,” she said, holding the water out to him. She hoped he wouldn’t make things difficult. Thankfully, he took it from her hand, and guzzled it down without giving her awkward behavior another thought. After a moment, she cleared her voice and added, “You were able to keep it down this time. Hopefully, your nausea has passed.”

“It will return.”

“Really? I hope you didn’t hit your head in the crash. My brother, Freddie, once fell off his pony and knocked himself senseless. He was very ill, afterward. The doctor said that nausea often follows a dangerous head injury. We had to sit up with poor Freddie all night. I would hate it if that’s what happened to you.”

He almost laughed. “Head injury is the least of my problems.”

“Don’t be grim, Captain Neill.”

“Then don’t try to nanny me, Miss Grey. I know the difference between a concussion and—”

He stopped himself short. Angelica sat forward, straining for whatever it was he’d almost confessed. “…And what?”

“I have a sickness.” His voice sounded wrung-out, like he’d had to drag the words from his throat. “It isn’t catching, but I understand if you prefer to keep your distance. I’m not much to look at, and probably hell on the nose.”

She sniffed. “You could do with a bath.”

“I know. When I’m suffering from my sickness, I tend to perspire. And vomit. And a host of other unpleasant symptoms. It makes me tired and irritable, and perhaps a little paranoid. The thought of stripping out of my clothes and having a long, hot soak is repugnant to me. Therefore…”

“Therefore, you stink.”

This time, he did laugh. Not a wheeze, or a snort, but a full-bellied laugh that echoed off the drawing room walls. It took Angelica—and even himself—by surprise.

“You’re a very straightforward sort of girl, Miss Grey,” he said. “Not afraid to tell it like it is.”

“I doubt flattery will get you into the bathtub, Captain Neill.”

“No, probably not. But I promise that when I get back to civilization, I’ll scrub myself doubly hard for you.”

Angelica wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. She didn’t think it was proper for a man to admit to thinking about a woman while bathing, yet her heart cheered at the thought. She hadn’t had the luxury of a long, hot soak in years, but would definitely be thinking of him the next time she washed up.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Captain Neill suffered from delusions. Angelica had lived alone for seven long years, and never once heard a peep of unexplained activity in the house. Yet, her visitor seemed to think demons lurked in the corners. Sometimes, he shouted at them, other times, he seemed genuinely afraid of their presence. She tried to convince him they weren’t real—or, rather, that they weren’t ghosts, but rats instead—but he didn’t believe her.

Now, she was starting to imagine she heard things, too.

Paranoia was contagious. She remembered that from her fevers as a child, and from the outbreak of Spanish Flu many years later. The horrors people imagined were often far worse than reality. Captain Neill’s fears were rubbing off on her. Every creak and bump made her jump. A rumble of thunder might as well have been the very gates of Hell opening up to swallow them both. It was ridiculous. She knew better.
 

Captain Neill flailed on the sofa. “Did you hear that, Miss Grey? There it was again!”

She paused to listen. Her hearing was no stronger than his, but she’d learned to rely on sound rather than sight, which gave her an advantage in the darkened house. Suddenly, there was a thump overhead, as if someone bounced a rubber ball in the bedroom upstairs.
 

But that was Freddie’s room, and—to her knowledge—no one had set foot there in years. “Your ears are playing tricks on you. That’s just the storm.”

He scoffed. “The storm is upstairs, Miss Grey? Really?”

“I don’t know. But it’s certainly not a ghost or demon haunting the halls. This is my house, and I tell you I’ve never heard anything otherworldly here before.”

“That’s because I’ve brought them,” he said, sadly. “I’m plagued. Cursed. Haunted. I’ve got the Devil on my back, and anyone in league with me will surely be damned.”

“Don’t talk like that. It frightens me.”

Captain Neill sneered, “How do you think I feel?”

Of course, he was afraid. He was sick and injured, and trapped in a strange house. In a place like this, it was easy to feel alone. To feel abandoned. She understood how a disturbed individual might find the darkness menacing.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she told him. “I am here with you, and, together, we will make it through the night.”

“You’re an angel, Miss Grey. It has been a long time since someone spoke to me like that.”

“With kindness?” she asked, shocked. Surely, people still showed kindness and compassion to strangers. The world could not have changed that much since the war.

“You’ve gone out of your way to make me comfortable since the moment I forced my way into your life,” he said. “You might have made a wonderful nurse. I know I would’ve loved having you look after me.”

Perhaps he’d been injured during the war. Angelica wanted to ask, but thought it rude to pry. If he wanted her to know what ailed him—past or present—he would tell her. Instead, she focused on the fact that he’d said she would have made a good nurse. In another life, she’d very much like to try her hand at it.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I don’t think you’re plagued by the Devil. You might have had a bit of misfortune in your life, but who hasn’t? You’re very lucky to have survived the war, and a car crash, and this storm. There is something positive in every situation, if one stops to look for it.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. My crash was rather hairy, but in the end, it led me to you.”

She smiled to herself. “There, you see? A light at the end of the darkness.”

He must have smiled, too, because there was an upturn in his voice. “Dear Miss Grey, you’ll make a sentimental ass of me yet.”

Angelica wanted to believe that. She hoped they’d be friends. She dared not let herself think of the time—in only a few hours—when he would go, and she would never speak with him again. Being alone did not bother her. She could spend the rest of her days living in black solitude if he would only come and visit her now and then.

But a visitor might draw attention from her neighbors. Her neighbors might ask questions, or gossip with the villagers. The villagers would talk, and someone might make inquiries. Then, she’d be caught out, and her life would be over.

Perhaps Captain Neill would visit her in the asylum. The orderlies could wheel her out in the sunny gardens, and everyone could pretend that she wasn’t beaten or starved, and that invalids regularly received proper care. Hadn’t she told him there was a bright spot in every grim situation? Angelica scrambled to find one now.

“Where is your home?” she asked, suddenly.
 

“My family estate is near Shrewsbury.” He thought for a moment. “So, not terribly far from here, really.”