MISS CARLISLE

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Brandon Lancaster almost rode past the manor house in the wild, midnight storm. The clothes that had been dry when he left the village in the afternoon were now soaked and clinging to his body. His coat did little to protect him as the rain beat against him and his poor horse. There would be no servants awake at this late hour to help stable his mare, leaving him to do it alone. Once the animal was tucked away in the stables, Brandon pounded on the front door. There would be no servants awake at this late hour to help stable his horse, leaving him to do it alone. Once the animal was tucked away in the stables, Brandon pounded on the front door.

It cracked open and he spoke quickly before it could be slammed in his face. “I’m Dr. Lancaster. Lady Winship’s grandson sent me. He is worried about her health and hopes I can help.”

The door opened enough to let him in. The foyer was dark but dry and warm compared to the storm outside. A woman stood in her nightgown and wrap, holding a candle that cast only enough light for them to see each other.

She wasn’t just pretty, but she also had a soft elegance about her, even in the middle of the night. A long braid of soft brown hair fell across her shoulder, and a few strands danced across her high cheekbones. Even in the shadows he could see her thick lashes and her cautious expression. Her night clothes gave her the appearance of nothing but softness and curls. Yet, it was the way her lips were pursed together that made him wonder at his appearance after such a hard ride. Not impressive, he would guess. “You must be the nurse.”

“Miss Carlisle,” she said. “Or you may call me Camille.”

“I was told you would be here to assist me in caring for Lady Winship.” Brandon extended his hand, but she refused to take it.

“You were not expected.” The woman spoke softly, but the sound echoed down the empty hall.

“Lord Winship felt the situation was urgent and didn’t want to wait, but he gave me this.” Brandon pulled an envelope bearing the Earl’s seal from his coat. “I’m to give this as my introduction.”

Camille took the letter and read it quickly. “It seems Lord Winship has decided he cares for his grandmother after all. Sadly, he is too late.”

“Meaning?”

“The lady passed away this evening. I planned to send one of the footmen to tell her grandson in the morning, after the storm had passed.”

“I regret not being here earlier. May I examine her?”

“Why? You don’t believe I know when someone is dead?” Her voice went tight and her posture straightened at the offense.

“No, but I was sent to examine her and would like to complete the task.”

He waited, expecting her to say no, but she nodded and motioned for him to follow. Brandon would have preferred to go to his room and change out of his wet clothes first, but he was in no position to make demands.

Camille led him up the main staircase to the upper floor and down the hallway to the left wing. Everything the candlelight touched showed fine quality, from the expensive decoration to the overwhelming size of the place. Being a country doctor, Brandon didn’t spend a lot of time in homes this grand, but he tried not to let his awe show.

A dark, wooden bed took up most of the space in Lady Winship’s bedroom. As Camille moved closer to the bed with the candle, Brandon saw the white face of Lady Winship above the quilt. She looked peaceful, with her hair tucked back and her eyes closed.

“How long ago did she pass?” he asked, taking the candle from the nurse to get an even closer look.

“It must have been right after supper.” Camille showed no emotion over the loss of the woman. “I brought it up to her and she was well. When I returned for the plates, she was gone.”

When Lord Winship had asked Brandon to visit his ailing grandmother, he had been insistent, but he hadn’t indicated anything this dire. Looking at her now, there appeared to be no signs of a fever or any kind of injury. “Did her illness worsen suddenly?”

“In a way. The poor woman suffered from a lonely heart.” Camille reached out to smooth back the old woman’s hair. “Her husband passed away years ago, and the children are all off living their own lives. No one ever came to visit her anymore, not even her friends. Her weak health kept her trapped inside this house with only memories for company.”

“That wouldn’t be enough to kill her.”

Camille didn’t respond. Brandon began to look through the items on the table beside the bed. He found an expensive silver pendant beside an open bottle with a medicinal smell to it.

“What was this?” He held the empty bottle up for Camille to confirm what he thought.

“Her laudanum. She got it from one of the maids to help her sleep.”

Now a much sadder story began to show, perhaps. “Do you think she was lonely enough to take her own life?”

Camille’s silence was all the answer he needed. Lady Winship’s grandson would not like hearing the news, but Brandon would tell him the truth.

Now that he knew the cause of death, Brandon was ready for a good night’s sleep. Camille led him to his room down the hall. It was smaller than Lady Winship’s but still well-furnished. They hadn’t been expecting guests, so there was no fire to make it warm. Brandon insisted they not wake any of the other servants and instead, started one for himself. He wished Camille a goodnight and went to bed.

Unusual sounds in the middle of the night never disturbed Brandon, living in the country, but the sound of footsteps running overhead was new to him. He sat upright, just as he had been about to drift off, and followed the sound with his eyes. They continued for a few moments until the sound trailed off into silence. Curiosity prompted him to light a candle and venture out to the hallway. He found Camille standing in the doorway across from his.

“Strange noises wake you?” The corners of her lips curled up into a smile.

“Are there any children in the house?” Brandon asked.

Try as he might, Brandon couldn’t look away from the woman standing there in her nightgown. The candlelight caressed the skin left exposed by the absence of a wrap, creating shadows that that drew his eyes to her curves. He wore only his trousers, which were not good for hiding his arousal as he drank in the delicious sight of her. Thankfully, she seemed unaware of the effect she had on him.

Camille caught his gaze. “Not since Lord Winship became a full-grown man, and that was a long time ago.” She didn’t seem bothered by their state of undress. She looked down the hallway with a curious expression. “None of the servants have children, and they are too old to be playing games themselves.”

Brandon was going to recommend they go back to bed, but she took his hand. It was a shock to feel skin that was warm and not clinging to sickness. That pleasant sensation stopped him from saying anything.

“Should we go in search of the culprit?” She turned to look up at him, and the candlelight shimmered in her dark eyes, making him feel brave. He nodded.

They took the stairs carefully up to the top floor. It must have been closed for years; the furniture was draped in white sheets, and cobwebs covered everything. A gust of wind rattled one of the windows. Camille jumped at the sound and moved closer to him.

“I think the area above our rooms is farther back.” Brandon wrapped a protective arm around her and pointed ahead with the other. “It would be on the other side of that door.”

Brandon assumed the doors would be locked in a house like this, but when Camille reached for the knob, it swung open easily. Something about the vast darkness in the room made him hesitate, but she pulled him forward.

The faint light from their candles didn’t reach very far. The room was crowded with items put away for storage. It was hard to imagine anyone would find space to run.

“I don’t think we should be here. There might be valuables,” said Brandon.

“If so, they were long ago forgotten about.” Curious, she looked around the room at the various items. She released his hand and moved toward the middle of the room, leaving him behind.

“A quick look might not hurt.” He hurried to catch her again and held his candle as far in front of them as possible.

It was difficult to move around the large pieces of furniture, but they managed to make it to the opposite side of the room. Paintings hanging from the walls were covered with sheets. They appeared sacred, stopping Brandon from peering underneath. Windows ran from one end of the room to the other along the northern wall.

“Not quite the adventure I hoped for.” Camille sounded disappointed.

“Ghosts don’t really exist.” Brandon gave her hand a squeeze. "I’m personally glad for that.”

“They say that when a person commits suicide, their spirit can’t find peace,” she whispered, forcing him to lean in closer to hear.

“You thought it might be Lady Winship running around up here?” He doubted the lady could do that when she was alive.

“A person’s spirit has no age. It can be anything it wants.”

A shiver ran through Brandon at the thought of someone’s spirit being so close. “Why would she choose this room to spend her afterlife?”

“It was the only room in house she had claimed as her own. The place she went when she wanted to get away from her obligations as an Earl’s wife.”

“Was she unhappy with her life?” That might also explain why she chose to take it.

“No, but she was never really happy with it either.”

Camille turned to look into the flickering flame. The light caught her high cheek bones and soft lips perfectly. As beautiful as she was, she must have had many options beyond being a nurse. He suspected it was her compassionate nature that drew her to the sickbed of others, rather than necessity.

“How do you know so much about her?” Brandon had no servants of his own, but it wasn’t common to share so much with the help.

“The last few days, she confessed many things to me. I think she knew what she was going to do and wanted to tell someone her story first.”

“Before she gave it a sad ending.”

Camille turned, her face now in the dark. “I don’t think she saw it that way. I think she believed she would be happier gone. There is a certain freedom in death.”

In her line of work, Camille must have seen many people pass on, and maybe it was easier if she believed that too. He didn’t want to argue with her when she might become upset by it.

“I suppose we should go back before someone finds us here.” She spoke about leaving, but the way her body leaned toward him showed she wanted to stay.

With the storm still raging outside, casting streaks of lightning into the room, Brandon watched the play of light across her face. Her dark eyes and pale skin glowed as she tipped her face upward, and he let go of any logical thought. He gave in to the wild impulse, bending his head to meet her lips. His mind only knew the sweet taste and soft touch of her mouth in that moment.

In his limited experience, this kiss was almost overwhelming in its sensations. The heat of her tongue as it brushed against his was a sharp contrast to the cool feel of her hands on his bare chest. As their bodies pressed together, he heard only the pounding of their hearts in the same rhythm and the storm bellowing outside. Finally, he had to break away and breathe again before he lost himself. Camille appeared as startled as he, both her eyes and lips wide.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

He didn’t have a good answer, but he didn’t need one. Just then the high-pitched laughter of a child echoed around the room. Camille pulled in closer to him, and Brandon wrapped his arms around her to protect her. She trembled along the full length of his body as he tried to soothe her by stroking her back. His own heart raced, but he tried to appear calm for her benefit.

“Do you think that was her?” Camille asked, her arms around his waist.

“I don’t think it was anything. Just a noisy old house in a storm.”

“A house can’t giggle.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but they heard the sound again. This time it sounded as if it circled around them.

“Do you think Lady Winship would hurt us?”

Brandon didn’t know the lady well enough to answer that, but he didn’t want to upset Camille any further.

“You were her friend. She wouldn’t want to hurt a friend.”

The window burst open and the door slammed shut. Both candles blew out, but the lightning through the window gave enough brightness to get back to the door. It was locked now. He couldn’t get it to budge. Camille closed the windows again, but they still had no light. He shivered. They were trapped.

“We can try to signal someone in the morning.” Camille sounded sensible once again. “Until then, we should try to find a place to rest for the night.”

He watched her in the shadows created by the lightning in the storm, removing sheets to uncover piece after piece of furniture until she discovered an upholstered sofa big enough for two. She beckoned him to join her. It felt strange to move about in silence as she directed him. He sat on one end of the sofa, and she pulled her feet up and leaned against him. The feel of her breath on his neck made his skin tingle.

“It will be very bad for your reputation if we are found alone together.” He hoped conversation might distract him from her warm body.

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Her voice sounded deeper than it was before.

“A bad reputation will make it hard to find your next position.”

She sighed, spreading puffs of air across his bare chest. “I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think at all.”

Brandon was a man who thought about everything—a trait that had drawn him to the field of medicine. He was methodical and driven by logic. All of that disappeared as she turned, snaked her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down for another astonishing kiss. A life of habits and routines was burned away by the passion she ignited in him.

In the darkness of the room they began to remove what little clothing there was between them. With each flash of light, more was revealed to their hungry eyes. Her expression of raw need matched his desire as they continued to bare everything.

From the dim light of the storm, her pearly white skin glowed. She showed her body to him piece by piece as the lightning continued to strike. In her eyes he saw passion, desperate and begging for him. He grew hard, and his hands became frantic in their exploration of her.

“I’m not sure—” He started to say they should stop, listening to the last voice of reason in his head.

Her finger against his lips cut him off. She didn’t speak; instead she leaned against the sofa, stretching her back against the arm, displaying her body to him like a delicious treat he starved for.

In that moment Brandon could no longer think about fear or consequences. He was no longer an employee sent to care for a dying woman. He was no longer a guest locked in a haunted room. He was just a man, in the most basic and natural sense. He was driven by lust.

He leaned over Camille, kissing her slowly. He nibbled on her lips and explored her mouth with his tongue. She tasted sweet, but not like anything he recognized. Her arms reached over his shoulders, and her fingers played along the muscles of his back, making them tingle. He began to graze her ears and down, along her throat. A tiny sigh escaped her, motivating him to continue.

His hands and mouth took a path that was simple, but exquisite. The soft swell of her breasts caught his attention. Small but perky, they fit nicely in his palms as he stroked the peaks with his thumbs. The nipples tightened, and he began lavishing them with kisses in turn. His tongue flicked across one, and her body arched upward. He did it to the other, just to get that reaction again.

Wanting to become familiar with more of her, he knelt on the cushions of the sofa and leaned between her bent knees. He placed kisses along the silky soft skin of her inner thigh, teasing her.

Whimpering noises urged him to continue. He obliged, lowering his mouth to her center, finding her already wet with desire. He used his mouth to stroke her until she began to tremble. When she moaned his name, he suckled her most sensitive spot until she climaxed against his lips. He relished each and every shudder.

“Brandon?” Her voice begged his name.

Slowly, he rose up and over her, covering her body with his own. He sank into her softness, letting her scent and skin surround him. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him in as close as two people could be. The entrance to her body was so slick that he slid right into the core of her. Her body was tight but stretched to welcome him with a gentle squeeze.

Outside the storm raged, pounding rain against the glass and cracking thunder around the house. Inside, Brandon moved rhythmically to the sounds of Mother Nature. His body sank deeper into her with each movement, matching time to the thunder and growing faster. She clung to him and dug her nails into his back. Her heels pressed into his backside, urging him to push harder. Gritting his teeth, Brandon continued to pound into her until she shattered beneath him. Her body squeezed him until he found his own release.

“Are you well?” Her soft voice blew warm against his bare neck.

“I should be asking you that.” He mumbled the words into her hair. He rolled over, draping her across his chest and covering them both with the sheet. The rain had calmed and was now a patter against the glass. Despite the supernatural reasons for being there, Brandon felt at peace.

“I’m wonderful, but you were the one who wasn’t sure we should be doing this.” Camille placed kisses along his collarbone as he started to drift off.

“I’m perfect.”

That was the last thing he said before he fell into a heavy sleep. In his dreams he once again heard the footsteps but was too exhausted to wake up.

 

 

 

~~ *** ~~

 

 

 

Sunlight streaming in from the window woke him, but the sound of loud voices prompted him to put on his trousers. Camille was gone, and the locked door was now slightly ajar. Brandon had hoped they could talk this morning, but she apparently didn't think it was needed. From the top of the stairs he could hear voices from the foyer. One of them sounded angry. He leaned over the railing to see Lord Winship talking to a servant. 

"We didn't expect you to arrive so early, my Lord." The servant sounded rattled.  

"The news of her passing arrived after midnight, and I didn't hesitate to leave.  I wanted to see for myself she was really gone."

Brandon knew he should go down to talk to Lord Winship about what had happened, but he didn't want to do that without being properly dressed. He would look unprofessional and raise questions about Camille. It would be best to wait until he could slip into his room for more clothes. 

"Where is the nurse I sent weeks ago?" Lord Winship asked as he climbed the stairs.

"I'm afraid she left. After your mother's passing, she was convinced the house was haunted and couldn't stay."

"Silly chit. I have half a mind not to pay her if she comes for it. "

Brandon remembered her trembling in his arms and knew she wasn't being silly. She truly believed there was a ghost living in this house. He only wished he had been able to convince her she was safe before she’d fled. 

"Mrs. Pettingbone was genuinely frightened and wanted to leave before the storm."

That couldn't be right. He had arrived during the storm. Camille had said her last name was Carlisle. If she wasn't the nurse, he had spent the night with an imposter. Angry and confused, he stepped back into the private parlor. 

Brandon began to go over every moment of the night before, looking for a sign of deception. Nothing came to mind. Lashing out in frustration, he grabbed the sheets covering the furniture and tore them away. He even yanked off the one that covered the painting above the fireplace. The anger drained from his body.

The portrait depicted a wealthy family, with two parents and a lovely daughter in the middle. They all wore clothes that would have been fashionable fifty years ago. The woman in the painting was Camille: there was no mistake. Dangling around her neck was the same pendant that Lady Winship had been wearing. A small etching at the bottom of the frame read “The Carlisle Family.”

Brandon’s blood grew cold; it became hard to breathe in the room.

He stumbled his way downstairs, careful to avoid Lord Winship, who was paying his respects in his mother’s room. Too shaken to face his employer’s questions about the woman’s death, Brandon stepped outside to get some fresh air and collect his thoughts. There had to be a better explanation than the one he currently imagined.

“Don’t be frightened.”

The soft voice came to him on the wind, and he turned to find Camille standing there, still in her nightgown. A ghost didn’t have to worry about propriety.

“You … you are … you are a …” Brandon found that his lips were unable to form the words he wanted them to.

“I’m a spirit.”

“Of the Lady Winship, who killed herself …”

“I had no spirit left by the time I lay in that bed and took the drug. This was who I was the last time I felt truly alive.”

“How is it possible that we … You are not real.”

“I’m just as real as you are.”

Camille stepped forward and ran her hand down his face. He expected it to be cold and to make him shudder, but instead it was warm. Memories of the night before flooded him, and his skin flushed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, but you will. Just don’t be afraid.”

The jarring sound of the door behind him made Brandon blink. When he opened his eyes, Camille was gone. His lordship and the butler stood on the stairs, not looking in his direction. It was time for Brandon to face his employer about what had happened. As he approached them, a sound in the distance caused them to turn toward him.

“It’s a shame the doctor never made it,” Lord Winship said. “He might have been able to do something to save my mother.”

“Riding in a storm like that can be very treacherous. Being thrown by a horse who is frightened can happen, but it was his bad luck he landed in a creek.”

That made no sense. He remembered his horse spooked a few miles before he reached the manor’s gate, but he had calmed her and continued to ride.

“I’m grateful that the footman who was sent to fetch me saw him there, so I can at least return him to his village for a proper burial,” said Lord Winship.

Brandon rushed at the lord and reached to grab him, but his hands went straight through. He stumbled up the stairs and back into the house, running upstairs to the room that had now become the only safe place in the world.

Camille waited there for him. “I told you not to be frightened.”

“How can I not be? To wake up alive and find that I am already dead is horrifying.”

“The hardest part is done. You don’t have to fear death, because it is already over with.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Can’t a ghost have a sense of humor?”

Brandon couldn’t see any humor in the situation. All he could think about were the things he was never going to see again. The people he would never speak to. The food he would never eat, and the family he would never have. That should have brought on sadness, but he felt no loss from these things being gone.

“I know you had a lot more to live for than I did. I’m sorry for your loss,” Camille said.

Those words had a new meaning now. Rather than feeling the loss of a loved one, Brandon’s pain came from the loss of a life without love. He wondered if Camille knew how lonely he had been in life. Could one lonesome heart find another?

“I feel that I will be gaining much more than I lost.” He extended his hand to hers and when she took it, he pulled her in close. “I guess I needed to die to find something to make my life complete.”

 

 

 

~*The End*~

 

 

 

This story is for Brady.

~ AH

 

 

 

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About the Author

 

 

 

Emma Brady is a mid-western author of historical romance, set primarily in the Victorian period. She loves Gothic stories and has always loved Wuthering Heights. Her favorite part of Halloween is getting to dress up and pretend to be anything she likes. 

 

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