‘YOU can see her?’ I stared at the Bishop.
He shook his head. ‘Not in any detail. I told you, I can see only a shadow or a shade – no more than that. But I think you can see it. So why is it here? And why is it hovering over Amelia like that?’ He blenched. ‘It’s not here for… her, is it?’
‘No! Nothing like that. Apparently, she’s trapped. She tried to pass on to the Celestial Realm last night but something went wrong. I’m not sure why she’s here. She told me she was going back to the cathedral.’
Bishop Stiles’s jaw dropped. ‘You… you have spoken to this ghost?’ he stuttered.
‘I couldn’t help it. She appeared in my room. She said––’
‘I have a name, Miss Austin,’ snapped the ghost. ‘And I should prefer not to be reminded that I am… no longer among the living. It is mortifying to my feelings. I pray you will try for a little more sensibility.’
I coloured and inwardly I cursed myself for forgetting that Aunt Butters had told me ghosts didn’t like thinking about their post-life state.
‘And you may call me “Miss Austen”,’ added the ghost tersely.
Oh, great! She’s Miss Austen and I’m Miss Austin. I wrinkled my nose. ‘Maybe you could call me Cassandra?’ I asked meekly.
‘But … but who is she?’ asked the Bishop, squinting at her.
I took a deep breath. It suddenly seemed like a huge thing, admitting the existence of Jane Austen’s ghost, especially when I had no idea why she had appeared to me, of all people.
The Bishop tapped his foot impatiently. ‘Cassandra?’
‘It’s Jane Austen.’ I confessed reluctantly.
‘Jane Austen!’ cried the Bishop. He put a hand to his head. ‘Then Amelia was right about a curse!’
The ghost swooped towards him. ‘This curse of which you speak, My Lord Bishop. Tell me––’
I interrupted. ‘He can’t hear you, you know. But I can tell him what you want to say.’
‘I prefer to speak for myself.’ The ghost looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder…’ She raised her hand and I saw a pea-sized ball of what looked like pale blue liquid mercury spinning on her fingertips. Before I could say a word, she threw it at the Bishop. I watched in fascinated horror as the gleaming matter hit him squarely on the forehead, flattened into a pale blue splodge and disappeared – soaking into his skin like ink into blotting paper. For one agonizing moment he stared at me and then, to my utter astonishment, he blinked twice, stared wide-eyed at the ghost and said, ‘Good gracious, it really is Jane Austen.’
She inclined her head graciously. ‘Good morning, My Lord Bishop. This is an odd circumstance. I wonder––’
‘But––but I can hear you,’ exclaimed the Bishop. ‘I can see you. Why, the whole world looks… different. Sharper. So many ideas…’ He put a hand to his forehead.
‘Never mind that now.’ The ghost darted forward. ‘I need to know—’
‘What’s wrong with Aunty B?’ I cut in. ‘You said she was on the ‘cusp’. What does that mean and how do we get her…well, off it?’
Miss Austen clearly disapproved of my outburst. She glared at me and said coldly, ‘I have not yet the pleasure of knowing this lady’s name.’ She indicated Aunt Butters lying unmoving in her bed. ‘But my observation leads me to believe she is a woman of breeding and sense.’ Unlike some. The ghost did not say the words but I could tell she wanted to.
I stroked Aunty B’s hand. ‘She’s Amelia Butters. Lady Butters. Baroness Butters. She’s my great-aunt. And there’s something dreadfully wrong with her.’
Miss Austen shook her head. ‘She is perfectly well, but something draws her to the Phantral Realm. She is not yet ready to depart the mortal world, so she lingers on the Cusp between the two spheres.’
‘Why? Why is she there? And how do we get her back?’
‘I do not know, for how can I tell what binds her to the Phantral Realm?’
‘You were bound to it, so you should know.’
The ghostly Miss Austen looked at me in astonishment. ‘I? I was bound to that realm? By whom? When? Is that why—’
‘St Swithun told Amelia it was a curse,’ murmured the Bishop, staring at her wide-eyed. ‘I’m terribly sorry… Miss… Miss Austen, but that’s all we know.’ He put a hand to his head and I could tell he was trying to process the fact that he was actually conversing with the ghost of one of the world’s greatest writers – living or dead. I could relate.
The ghost floated nearer. ‘Tell me more of this curse.’
‘Unfortunately, I know nothing about it. I can only assume it was a curse binding one soul – your soul – to… I’m not sure. Perhaps to the Phantral Realm. But certainly to something.’ The Bishop bowed his head and I heard him mutter, ‘All these years of ignorance. Am I the only Bishop to be thus deceived?’ He looked up. ‘Perhaps if you would tell us how you came to be here, Miss Austen, it may give us a clue as to what has kept you in the Phantral Realm for two centuries’
‘Certainly, My Lord.’ She glided to the chair by the bed and hovered over it in a semblance of being seated, with her feet together and her hands folded in her lap. ‘I was in the Cathedral when I saw a great multitude of spirits entering the crypt. I followed them and discovered the Phantral Gate had opened and many spirits were passing through. I longed to follow them but felt I should wait for my dear ones to join me before passing on to the Celestial Realm. Then I found myself thinking, I will await them on the other side. I moved forward to the gate only to find the way barred to me. I tried again and then I heard a voice commanding me: “You must wait for him. He is coming.”’ She made a face. ‘Such impertinence.’
‘Who is he?’ I asked urgently. ‘A ghost? Someone who cursed you?’
She shook her head. ‘I do not know, but I would not be dictated to, so I tried again to pass through the gate, only this time it pushed me back with such power that I could not withstand it. It cast me from the crypt into a storm of ice and fire.
‘I saw you,’ she pointed at me, ‘but you vanished. I felt the strangest compulsion to find you, but I was carried away from the cathedral. There was darkness and silence, and then, somehow, I found myself within four walls. That was your bedchamber,’ she added helpfully. ‘Then you awoke and now here we are.’ She gave a satisfied nod.
The Bishop turned to me. ‘Did you see her ghost, Cassie? In the cathedral?’
‘Only for a moment. It was in the whirlwind, but I didn’t know it was her.’
‘But she was there again when you woke up?’
‘She was in my room. At first I thought she was a dream, but then she said she had to go back to the cathedral. I tried to help her leave, but my bedroom door sort of caught fire and wouldn’t let her out and now—’
‘Your bedroom door caught fire?’ the Bishop started.
‘It wasn’t real fire. I could tell. I think it was some kind of supernatural thing. It reminded me of the fireball from the Crypt.’
Miss Austen nodded wisely, ‘It was most curious, Bishop, but upon considering the matter, I believe it was the Phantral Flame, for neither I nor Miss Austin were permitted to pass from her room alone.’
He frowned. ‘But how did you get out?’
‘She took my hand.’ I gestured to the ghostly Miss Austen. ‘The fire went out and we—’
‘—passed through the door together,’ she finished.
‘Oh dear.’ His tone was not reassuring.
‘I know.’ Jane Austen’s ghost looked at him gravely.
‘What?’ I found nothing in their expressions to comfort me. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
The Bishop said slowly, ‘I’m afraid things haven’t worked out quite as your great-aunt planned, Cassandra.’
My heart was doing a tarantella inside my chest, but I forced myself to ask, ‘What are you saying?’ He hesitated, and somehow I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. ‘Tell me.’
He reluctantly met my eyes. ‘I cannot be sure, of course. But… I believe that your Aunt’s ritual created a… a link, a connection between the Terrestrial and Phantral Realms. Amelia forced open the gate, enabling many spirits to pass through to the Celestial Realm, but when Miss Austen tried to follow them, the curse denied her passage. Instead, it cast her out. And now—’
‘Now?’ Dread spiralled up my spine.
‘Now, I am afraid you are bound to each other.’
I stared at him in disbelief.
‘Bound?’ I croaked. ‘To Jane Austen? Me?’