After All This Time--Chapter 4

Chapter 4: We've Been Hired By A Ghost

May 8, 1888

We took the relevant parchment that we needed and packed up the rest in an uneasy silence. Once we had completed our task and put the boxes back on the dusty shelves where they belonged, we opened the door and called out to the rector whom we knew to be in one of the rooms.

Presently, we heard his faint voice acknowledge our call and we waited in the gloom, his footsteps coming toward us.

Miles was silent for some time and I wondered what he was thinking about although I had a good idea what was oppressing him at this point since the same thought was on my mind, too.

I looked at him.

“It's a puzzle worthy of Sherlock Holmes,” I mused and Miles nodded in agreement. “Nothing about this case makes any sense and I'm hard pressed to come up with a reasonable explanation for the facts that we do have.”

“Agreed.” Miles looked thoughtful as he considered the facts of the case as they stood now. It was a puzzle, to be sure, and neither of us had any idea of how this would ultimately play out or even if the young woman who had claimed to be Helena Young really was Helena Young. Everything, I noticed, kept coming back to this same point and I'd be damned if I could figure out what it all meant, logically speaking.

I didn't speak for some time, chaotic and nonsensical thoughts whirling through my head. It all came back to the same conclusion and it was one I refused to accept: we'd been hired by a ghost. That was the only thing that made any sense.

“What are you thinking, Phoenix?” I heard Miles' voice ask and it shook me out of my reverie.

“Nonsensical things,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers and closing my eyes for a moment before opening them again.

“Which are...?”

“We've been hired by a ghost.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, Miles' eyebrow rose.

“A... ghost?” I didn't miss the dismissive tone as he said it and I bristled at what the tone insinuated.

“I told you they were nonsensical,” I retorted, “but its the only thing that makes any logical sense!” I grabbed a box, marched across the room and put it back on the shelf, disturbing a layer of dust that flew in the air around me. “How else can you explain that a woman, granted if it actually is the same woman, who's been dead for fifty-three years, mind you, just happened to saunter into our office and hire us to find someone who might also be just as dead!”

Miles was about to say something, whether it was a retort or an apology I wasn't certain, when we heard the rector's footsteps outside the door, making his way through the warren of mazes to where we stood and clamped his mouth shut. I looked at him but made no other comment as we followed the rector out. We shook hands with him at the door, thanked him for his kindness and hospitality and told him we would bring back the parchment once our investigation was complete.

We didn't speak on the half hour long trolley car ride back to the city outskirts, walking the rest of the way home in silence. We didn't hear Mrs. Cameron's worried voice giving us both an earful for not getting her up that morning, for leaving without letting her know where we were going and wondering what on earth we'd been doing all day.

I don't really remember much else of dinner that night or even what it was that we ate or of the evening itself since we were so bound up in our own thoughts.

It wasn't until we were relaxing in the library with two snifters of port that either of us spoke and, curiously enough, it was Mrs. Cameron who opened the discussion when she brought in a tray of cake and biscuits.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cameron,” Miles said absently, his mind a million miles away.

“You're welcome, Sir.” She hesitated a moment and my hand froze over the tray. I had the sinking feeling that she was about to tell us something... and that we weren't going to like it one bit.

Miles raised an eyebrow.

“Mrs. Cameron?” Miles prompted, his face a stone mask and I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind since his face was closed, expressionless. He was at his most formal when he did this and I waited with baited breath, my hand trembling in the air over the silver tray.

“It's...it's about the young lady, Sir.”

My eyebrow rose as I sat back, the same puzzled expression spreading over Miles' face. Whatever it was that he was expecting her to say, this wasn't what he was expecting at all.

I let my breath out with a loud 'whoosh' of relief.

“Thank God!” I exclaimed, reaching over and grabbing a piece of cake and three biscuits, startled looks on both Mrs. Cameron's and Miles' faces appearing simultaneously. It was rather amusing, actually.

“Mr. Wright?”

I smiled at Mrs. Cameron, noting the strained and puzzled look on her face. “I was afraid that you were giving us notice that you were leaving,” I explained, taking a large bite of cake, chewing and swallowing. “That's what I thought you were going to say.”

Spots of color rose in her cheeks. “Oh no, Sir!” she exclaimed, her hands beginning to tremble with emotion. “I'm very happy working for you and Mr. Edgeworth!” She smiled shakily, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Truth be told, Sir, you and Mr. Edgeworth are like sons to me and the nearest thing to family that I have.”

She took another deep breath. “You see, Sir, ever since my Tom died a few years back, I was lost and at loose ends. My children are all grown and have lives of their own and I was lonely... until you advertised in the newspaper for a Housekeeper.” She smiled at each of us in turn, Miles' face reflecting the shock he felt and I couldn't help feeling a little smug about that. Which, on the whole, made me feel better. “I've not been happier than I am here under your roof and it would please me very much to stay here with you gentlemen. If you will have me, that is.” She paused expectantly, worry lines furrowing her forehead.

I gave her a warm smile and nodded without comment, my eyes flickering over to Miles who also nodded, too stunned to speak. A look of profound relief spread over her face and she fished in her pocket for a handkerchief with which to dab her moistening eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth,” she said, her voice heavy with unspoken gratitude, grasping her hands together in front of her.

The emotion in the room was palpable and Miles broke it a few minutes later, wishing to get back to the matter at hand although I could see the blush that was staining his cheeks begin to spread. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch with amusement.

He seems to be coming round, now, I thought, my heart swelling. I guess it means we're both growing up.

“You said that you wished to speak with us about something?”

“Oh, yes!” She looked embarrassed for a moment but quickly regained her composure. “There is something rather odd about that young lady, Sir.”

We nodded.

“We had gathered that,” I said forthrightly. In more ways than one, I added mentally but didn't say it out loud.

“Yes, Sir, but there really is something odd about her.”

We looked at her quizzically for a few moments before she added, “Well, it's her clothing, Sir.”

We both looked at her in surprise.

“Her... clothing?” I repeated stupidly, my eyebrow raising. I noticed that Miles had the same poleaxed expression on his face as well and we both waited for our Housekeeper to explain what she meant.

“Yes. It's a style that was popular when I was a young lady, some forty odd years ago,” she explained. “I noticed that Miss Young was wearing a style of widow's weeds that was pretty popular back in the 1830's and 40's.” She paused a moment. “I remember it well when I was growing up because my Grandmother wore the same style after my Grandfather passed away in 1837 and she wore those weeds for the rest of her life until she, too, passed in 1865.”

She paused again, considering, her index finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. “The fact that Miss Young was wearing the same style of widow's weeds that my Grandmother did until her death is pretty strange considering that she never married or, at least, I didn't see any kind of betrothal ring or wedding band which she would most certainly have been wearing. And there was something else...”

Her face creased in concentration for a moment and then brightened as her hand went into her pocket, producing a tattered piece of black cloth which she handed to me and I took it, an odd expression crossing my face. “She left this behind as well so I thought that I would hold onto it until she came back or give it to one of you to take back to her.”

“What is it?” I asked, looking at the cloth in my hand curiously, turning it over in my hands.

“Why, Sir, its a black armband,” Mrs. Cameron said patiently. “It's worn by one who's mourning for the year following a death. The young lady had dropped it and she was already gone by the time that I noticed so, as I said, I picked it up and put it in my pocket until she either came back or one or both of you went to see her.”

Miles and I exchanged surprised glances. To be honest, the thought hadn't really occurred to us; women, whether consciously or not, were always aware of what other women were wearing and Mrs. Cameron was no exception, as she had just proven.

She had noticed the odd cut of Miss Young's clothing as being nearly forty years out of date and, for the both of us, that just cemented the odd feeling that we'd had when she was present in our receiving room. Why would a, by all appearances, modern young woman wear antiquated clothing? She wouldn't unless there was some extenuating circumstance that precipitated her doing so.

We both stood as one and leaned forward, giving Mrs. Cameron a kiss on the cheek before bolting from the room, grabbing our overcoats and hats as we raced out the door, yelling back that we would be back in an hour or two, slamming the door behind us.

She watched us leaving from the ornate picture window in the receiving room, touching her fingers to her cheek with a stunned, but proud smile, on her face.

Yes, she thought, pride swelling in her chest as she went through the room and gathered up the tea pot and the delicacies, I'm definitely happy to be working for them.

There was one more thing that she needed to do before we returned and, after she had tidied up, she fetched her best hat and cloak and, with a jaunty step, she made her way out of the house, walking quickly down the street in the other direction than the one she had seen us taking.

It was time, she decided, to speak to the judge. It was high time for her boys to make honest men out of each other and she chortled to herself at how they thought that she hadn't noticed.

Silly boys, she thought with affection as she looked both ways before crossing the street and waving at a farmer passing by in a cart laden with fruits and vegetables who waved back as the horse drawn wagon plodded by. I had four of my own; why did you think you could hide anything from me?

She chuckled to herself. I know all your tricks.

She had much to do today in order to prepare so she hurried down the next street and turned the corner to arrive at her first stop.