They sat in a booth in the main reading room, which was about fifty times the size of Saige’s apartment back in London, filled with aisles of books that went on farther than she could see. Libraries were meant to be quiet, but this silence put Saige on edge. All she could hear was Harriette’s husky breaths and the dull hum of a florescent lamp that looked out of place among the library’s statelier features.
They weren’t alone. The occasional sound of turning pages resonated through the library. Saige panicked that they would be overheard. Ghosts was not a subject she wanted anyone, especially a journalist, to hear.
She lowered her voice. “I’m terribly sorry we were late.” She shot a dark look at Jasper.
His expression shaped into an affronted frown. “What did I do?”
Harriette didn’t seem to share Saige’s quiet sentiment, her voice uncomfortably loud and perky. “It’s not a problem. It gave me time to collect all the books I required.”
Saige didn’t doubt her. The books on their table were piled so high she couldn’t see to the window. Saige hoped they wouldn’t be going through all of them. They’d be in the library till midnight.
Harriette placed a large, overly thick volume in front of Saige. The title read The History of Wolvercraft Manor. She flipped to a page she’d bookmarked. “Here. Proof that just about every woman who has married into the Wolvercraft family”—she made quotation marks in the air—“has died an accidental or suicidal death.”
Jasper leaned forward and hunched his shoulders, as though coldness had just crept up his spine. “Why did you just do that?”
The curator stared. “Do what?”
“The air quotations?”
It was Saige who answered. “Because Dr Reynolds believes my family is cursed. Any woman who marries into the Wolvercraft family dies.”
“Please, call me Harriette.” The doctor’s eyes sparkled in the subdued light. “And here is your proof.” She pointed to the page she’d opened. It was the Wolvercraft family tree, dated back to 1846 when the manor had been officially opened. “It says it right there. Look. Josette Wolvercraft hanged herself in a tree six months after she married Samuel Wolvercraft. Adele Wolvercraft tripped down the stairs and broke her neck. She died instantly. She’d been married nine months. Lucille Wolvercraft married four months before she slit her throat. Bridgitt Wolvercraft… she threw herself off Wolvercraft’s highest tower on her wedding night.”
Jasper’s lip quivered. “We saw her last night. Scary frigging woman. She chased us down the stairs.”
Saige threw a sweeping glance around the reading room, afraid someone might have overheard them. “Jasper, keep your voice down.”
He waved her off. “No one is listening. Chill.” He focused on the historian with an effortless smile. “I was a ghost virgin up until last night.” He pointed at the book. “This is definite proof that there is something seriously twisted with that house.”
Saige lowered her head and rubbed at her eyes. “It doesn’t prove anything other than tragic deaths.”
Harriette raised her brows. “You believe in ghosts but not in curses?”
Saige didn’t answer. She remembered the dream about her mother. She’d buried Elaine’s warning in a deep well in her mind, but now it bubbled to the surface. “Don’t let the wedding go ahead.”
Were the women who married into the Wolvercraft family really cursed to die? Elaine certainly seemed to think so. She wanted Saige to somehow stop her brother’s betrothal to Zoe. She and Xav weren’t right for each other, but Saige didn’t want the relationship ending with Zoe’s sudden death. Xav wouldn’t cope well as a widower. For reasons Saige would never understand, he adored the elitist, highbrowed supermodel.
Jasper smoothed his hands along the table. “Saige, you’re being awfully quiet. I know that’s your thinking face.”
Harriette had been reading, but her head pricked up like a curious dog. “How do you two know each other, exactly?”
“We were friends in school,” Saige blurted before Jasper could answer.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
The curator’s lips lifted into a chaffing smile. “Friends who happened to be together in the middle of the night and saw a ghost.”
Saige didn’t like what she was alluding to. “It’s not like that. I was looking for my aunt Violet.”
Harriette raised her hands in surrender. “It doesn’t matter to me what it is. So long as you and your family are safe in Wolvercraft Manor, that’s all that truly counts.”
Jasper cleared his throat. “So what causes a family curse in the first place?”
Harriette beamed in delight and wriggled her rather large hips in her chair. “Generational curses are caused by sins. The bible says children are punished for the sins of their fathers. Divorce, incest, adultery, lust.”
“Violence, murder. I get it.” Jasper stroked his fingers through his short beard. “So someone in Saige’s family screwed up big-time.”
Harriette winked. “They made a very naughty decision.”
She fumbled a pair of plastic gloves over her hands and placed a small briefcase on the table. The briefcase was made of aluminium and looked like something that would transport bacterial diseases. She opened it and took out an old manuscript that Saige couldn’t believe she’d managed to get her hands on. Using what appeared to be a pair of oversized tweezers, Harriette turned to a specific page. “This manuscript is a book of fables written by Robert Geoffrey Collinsworth, a British writer who retired to Ashvall in 1837. He began collecting stories about the island.”
Jasper leaned forward to examine the handwritten text. “What kind of stories?”
“Folklore. Tales about witches, fairies, ghouls.”
Saige bit down hard on her lip. If she allowed herself to go down this rabbit hole, there would be no turning back.
You need answers. You are not insane. Your mother wasn’t crazy. We need this.
She felt a pure burst of something that wasn’t quite panic but not excitement either.
“Are you listening?” Harriette watched her. She must have caught Saige’s unnerved expression.
“Yes. Sorry.”
“As I was saying. The curse began essentially at the same time Wolvercraft Manor was completed.” Harriette tilted her head to read from the manuscript. “In April 1846, Frederick George Wolvercraft officially opened Wolvercraft Manor to family and friends, hosting a ball for all of Ashvall’s wealthier citizens to attend. His lavish lifestyle, a partiality for gambling, and ongoing construction expenses of the house, which had exceeded the original budget by more than half, brought him to near bankruptcy. In June of 1846, Frederick married in a small private ceremony, but his wife tragically died a few days after the wedding. Four months later, he took a second bride. Several years later, his second wife drowned herself in the bathtub.”
Jasper laughed, half in surprise. “Only four months? The man worked fast through the ladies.”
Saige’s face twisted with disbelief. “Out of all of that, that’s what you picked up on?”
“Yeah, I mean, that’s fast work. The guy must have really hated being alone.”
“Or was desperate for money.”
“The point is,” Harriette interrupted, “Frederick Wolvercraft must have committed a terrible act for the curse to claim both his wives. And now we learn that there are seven victims, not five as I previously believed.”
Saige’s heart beat faster, but she managed to keep her voice level. “Does the book say anything about what Frederick may have done?”
Harriette leaned back, stiff in the chair. “Not in this manuscript, but in this book—” She pulled out a hardcover from her pile and opened to a page she’d bookmarked. “—it states that Frederick Wolvercraft embraced the idea of spiritualism for guidance.”
Jasper dropped his gaze to the book. “Spiritualism?”
“It was a successful religious innovation of the nineteenth century. It united mysticism and science and was on the rise in England.”
Saige’s eyebrows peaked. “It was all parlour tricks and con artists. Mediums who communicated with the dead?” She threw up her hands. “It was all fake.”
There was surprising elasticity in Harriette’s smile. “Says the woman who sees ghosts.”
Jasper dipped his head. He was trying not to laugh. “She does have a point.”
Saige resisted punching him.
“As I was saying,” the historian continued, “before Frederick Wolvercraft married his first wife, he engaged Theodosia Sinclair, a highly sought medium, to attend some of his parties and, well… connect with the dead.”
Jasper’s eyes lit with bad-boy perfection. “Sounds fun.”
“The pair were reported to have had a falling-out. Perhaps that is the reason why the family is cursed.”
Saige couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You think a medium cursed my family?”
Harriette shrugged. “I think you should be open to the possibility. Ask your aunt Prue about Theodosia Sinclair. A popular belief on the island was that she was a witch. Frederick was reported to have a bad temper. Perhaps he angered her in some way.”
Saige’s chest constricted so hard it hurt to breathe. “These are just theories and conjecture. I need proof.”
Harriette dropped another heavy book in front of her. A dust cloud burst from the pages. “Then start looking for it.”
* * *
It was midafternoon by the time Saige and Jasper left the library. Harriette remained behind, caught up in her research. Saige had read so many accounts of folklore and tales that her head had grown dizzy. She’d learned nothing new about her ancestor, or Theodosia Sinclair for that matter, and grappled with the disappointment.
Out in the street, the afternoon sun was the brightest it had been in the twenty-four hours she’d been on the island, but grey clouds to the west suggested rain was fast approaching. The sea was choppy and wild, as though a storm might be brewing.
Jasper stretched his arms and yawned. “That is the longest time I’ve spent in a library.”
Saige rolled her eyes. “You don’t say.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m super hungry. Lunch?”
The thought of spending a second longer in Jasper’s presence was nauseating, but the idea of travelling back up to the house, alone in her room with nothing but her thoughts—and ghosts—made her afraid. “Sure.”
They found a comfortable-looking pub called The Charming Swan. Inside were red velvet sofas and chairs, a large bar that spanned the entire left side wall, and thick colourful rugs that would be a trip hazard to anyone drunk out of their brains. Saige immediately liked the atmosphere. There were lots of nooks and crannies with private places to sit. They settled at a table by the window, far enough from the bar that they could talk. Jasper ordered a fancy Ashvall beer while Saige settled for tea.
She swallowed the hot, black liquid, formulating something to say. “You don’t really think my family was cursed by a spiritualist, do you?”
Jasper sipped his beer. “Once, I would have laughed at the idea. Now, after seeing a ghost, I’m a little more open to the supernatural idea. Theodosia was a witch, right? Makes sense that she’d curse your family if your great-great-great-granddaddy or whatever he was, did something to upset her.”
“It must have been something bad to be vengeful on the entire family, even generations later.”
“I guess so.”
The pair was silent.
Saige fiddled with her hands under the table. Once, she would have loved the thought of confiding in Jasper about the things she saw and heard in the house without him thinking she’d lost her marbles. She’d been too afraid to when they’d been engaged. Now they were estranged, and he was the only one who did believe her. Saige took a moment to appreciate the sad irony.
She leaned forward. “Listen, Jasper. I had a really strange dream about my mother.”
“Makes sense. You’re on the island where she suicided… or at least made to look like she suicided.”
“Right, well….” Saige struggled to find the right words.
Just tell him.
She inhaled deeply, but the air didn’t seem to soothe her spinning mind. “In my dream, my mother told me not to let Xav’s wedding go ahead.”
Jasper stilled. Tension scrunched his face. “Because of the curse? Zoe is in danger?”
“Yeah, I guess. At the time, I thought my dream was just stress, but now….”
“You have to find a way to end the curse.”
Saige stiffened. “What?”
“The alternative is to explain to your brother that he can’t marry his fiancée because a curse will kill her. No offence, but with your history, do you really think he or anyone else is going to believe you?”
Saige’s shoulders sagged. Jasper was right. Her father would have her shipped off to the nearest mental institution the moment they returned to England.
“Saige.” Jasper grabbed her hand, but she pulled away. A flicker of regret danced in his eyes. “I just wanted to say that I’m willing to help. If you’ll let me.”
The waiter appeared with their meals. They were silent as they ate.