The Solemn Bell(10)

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.”

She clung to that. “How far?”

“About another hour, by car.”

An hour away was not so very far. She thought back to the last time she’d been in a motorcar. They weren’t unpleasant to ride in, and probably good fun to drive. A man like Captain Neill, who clearly liked fast cars, probably would not mind driving an hour each way to visit a friend.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning cut the air—close enough for Angelica’s hair to stand on end. Immediately, a loud crack of thunder followed, only slightly masking the creaking, splintering crash of a nearby beech tree.