I PACED Aunt Butters’s hospital room as if the rapid movement would somehow make a lie of the Bishop’s words. ‘It’s not true.’ I twisted my hands together. ‘I can’t be… bound to… Jane Austen!’
‘It’s a shock, I know.’ Bishop Stiles looked serious. ‘But until we understand why she is here I must warn you not to reveal her presence to anyone. Will you promise me that?’
My head was whirling, but the Bishop’s words brought the memory of last night’s broken promise rushing back. I’d totally failed to keep my word to Aunty B; I would not mess up again. ‘All right,’ I said solemnly. ‘I promise I won’t tell a soul.’
‘Good.’ He patted my hand. ‘Now, don’t fret, Cassandra. I’m sure we’ll be able to solve this riddle.’
‘Riddle?’ I repeated stupidly. I rubbed my forehead as though the gesture might magically clear the confusion in my head.
‘Yes, Cassandra.’ The Bishop spoke kindly. ‘I know it’s a lot to accept, but I suspect the only way for Amelia to return to our mortal world is for Miss Austen to be freed from it.’
‘I believe you are right, my lord,’ said her ghost, much struck. ‘In casting me out, the Phantral Force would likely have taken this good woman in my stead.’ She looked gravely at Aunt Butters. ‘I am afraid that her release may indeed depend upon my own.’
‘But how do we free you?’ I couldn’t keep the tremor from my voice. ‘I hate to tell you this, but I’m no good at riddles and I don’t know any magic. I have no idea how to send you back to this ghostly plane of yours.’
Bishop Stiles shook his head. ‘Even if you knew how, you couldn’t send her back there. For one thing they wouldn’t have her, and for another I doubt she’d go.’
‘You are correct, my lord.’ The ghostly Miss Austen was emphatic. ‘I should infinitely prefer to pass on to the Celestial Realm, where I may at last be reunited with my family.’
‘Right.’ I tried to order my tangled thoughts. ‘So, what must I do to I free her?’
The Bishop pursed his lips. ‘A difficult question. I’m afraid I don’t—’
He broke off as the door flew open.
‘Here we be.’ Melford came into the room with a step as sprightly as his bright yellow sports coat.
‘Came straight away,’ agreed Mordaunt, leaning on his walking stick. His jacket was a startling shade of lime-green. ‘Soon as we heard Lady B weren’t doing so well.’
‘Thought we could help.’ Melford gazed at Aunt Butters. ‘She’s not quite here, is she?’
‘Nor alone, neither.’ Mordaunt pointed his stick at Jane Austen’s ghost. She immediately tucked a curl up under her cap, smoothed down her dress (as though it really were made of fabric) and wafted forward, a look of enquiry in her intelligent hazel eyes.
Melford waved dismissively. ‘It’s another one of them dratted spectres.’
His brother shook his head. ‘Not she. This one’s a lady.’
Melford squinted up at the ghost. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’
Miss Austen winced, and a few wisps of faint pink mist floated up to the ceiling and vanished.
‘Begging your pardon, dear ma’am,’ Melford flicked a speck of dust from his corn-coloured jacket before executing an agile bow and digging Mordaunt in the ribs. ‘D’you see who it is, Mordy?’
‘Aye, that I do. An honour, ma’am.’ Mordaunt bowed low.
‘You know who she is?’ I gaped at the two old men.
‘Course we do.’ Melford smiled.
‘We’ve seen her,’ confided Mordaunt.
‘In the cathedral some Sundays.’
‘Not but what we’ve ever done more than nod.’
‘She being who she is and all.’
‘Shy, too,’ continued Mordaunt. ‘At least—’ He dipped his head. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am. Not meaning to offend, only you’re not like them other spirits. That Oscar Wilde would never think of keeping mum.’
‘Always something to say, that one,’ chuckled Melford. ‘Why just t’other Sunday he was telling St Swithun that being in life was a bore but to be out of it were a tragedy.’
‘Poor Mr Wilde. Always speaking in epigrams,’ murmured Miss Austen. ‘Still, one cannot help but sympathise, for he does so dote upon an audience, and there is very little scope for his talents in the cathedral.’ She looked suddenly sad. ‘I expect he too passed on to the Celestial Realm last night.’
Oscar Wilde? Were they talking about the Oscar Wilde? Could he be the ‘Oscar’ who’d stolen Aunt Butters’s hat? Once upon a time the idea would have boggled my mind. Now I just shook Melford’s arm. ‘You’ve spoken to Oscar Wilde?
Melford turned his blue-eyed gaze on me. ‘Listened mostly. Ever since we turned ninety some of them ghosties has bin tellin’ us things.’
‘How do you reckon we knew Lady B were in trouble?’ Mordaunt nodded wisely. ‘That pesky spectre haunting Nancy’s room told us.’
‘Well, I hope she also told you that Aunty B is trapped between two worlds and I have no idea how to get her back.’ I gripped the bed-rail, fighting hysteria at the ridiculous nature of that sentence.
Melford and Mordaunt stared at me a moment, and I wondered if they thought me crazy. Then Mordaunt said, ‘I reckon Miss Austen will know what to do. A woman like her, with all those brains.’ He and Melford turned expectantly towards the ghost.
She inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment, but said pensively, ‘To own the truth, I fear I cannot assist you until I understand the whole. What has brought me to this place? And why have I been constrained to remain in the Phantral Realm, seeing only Winchester Cathedral, for what I am told is more than two hundred years?’ She gave me a penetrating look. ‘You spoke of a curse, Miss Austin. I should be glad if you would explain to me the precise nature of this affliction.’
I hesitated, then said slowly, ‘I wish I could, but like Bishop Stiles said, we just don’t know the “precise nature” of… well, any of this’
‘What’s that? There’s a curse on Jane Austen?’ said Melford eagerly. ‘Now, I wonder—’
‘—If that might be what young Oliver’s letters are about?’ finished Mordaunt.
‘Oliver?’ My eyebrows shot up. ‘He was just here.’
‘And he left while Jane Austen’s ghost was in the room?’ Melford chuckled. ‘Not likely, young Cassie.’
‘He’d want to know all about her,’ agreed Mordaunt . ‘For his research and for his m––for other things.’
‘He didn’t know she was here––’ I began.
‘And he cannot know about her,’ barked the Bishop. He strode forward and caught each of the old men by the arm. ‘You must promise me, both of you, on your honour, that you will tell Oliver Carling nothing of Miss Austen’s presence.’
The twins looked at him for a long moment.
‘You sure about that, Bishop?’ asked Melford.
‘Absolutely certain. We cannot tell him or anyone else anything that may lead them to Jane Austen’s ghost.’
She looked at him indignantly and glided away to the far corner of the room.
‘Worried about the Phantral Decree are you, Bishop?’ enquired Mordaunt affably.
‘I reckon Swithun’s put the wind up him.’ Melford’s eyes gleamed with mischief.
‘No such thing,’ said Bishop Stiles sternly. ‘It isn’t only the Decree––’ He rubbed the perspiration from his forehead. ‘Only think what would happen if people knew Jane Austen’s ghost were real – more than that, if they knew that their loved ones existed in ghostly form just beyond the veil. There would be pandemonium. Every believer in every faith, along with everyone who has ever consulted a psychic or had their tea leaves read, would converge on Winchester Cathedral demanding information, demanding to see her, to speak with her. Thousands of people all wanting to know how to communicate with their dearly departed. It would be chaos. And the cathedral would no longer be a place of prayer and worship, but a meeting-place for every kind of charlatan preying on people’s grief and their longing for their loved ones. And that’s not even considering what her readers would do—’
He trailed off, obviously appalled, while Melford and Mordaunt considered him for a long moment, then grinned at each other.
‘All right then, Bishop, don’t get all het up.’
‘We shan’t say a word.’
‘We promise,’ they chorused.
‘He’s far too young to be seeing ghosts, anyway, is our Oliver,’ added Mordaunt.
Melford grinned at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘Course, might be he has just exactly what you’re looking for—’
‘In more ways than one, if you catch our meaning.’ Twin sets of eyebrows raised and lowered at me suggestively, and even with the situation so dire – so totally insane – I couldn’t help wondering if they might be even more right than they knew.