2 Spirit of Denial

Clara shook her head, bemused. His evasion answered her question even better than a confession. "The pieces are beginning to come together, Willard," Clara replied. She removed her black bonnet from her bright, red hair, took off her gloves, finger-by-finger, and placed them on the carved hall table of dark wood. "Very well. I shall wait for you inside. Please join me as soon as you have gathered Nan. No disappearing on me!" she jested.

Willard seemed unsure of the best response, so he just turned on his heel and went up the walnut staircase in search of Nan. Clara strolled slowly across the entry's black and white octagon tile and into the parlor to wait.

She looked around her home, wondering how the world could have become so completely different in just a few short days. If it were true, if her servants were, indeed, ghosts, well... strangely it would be one of the less surprising bits of information she had received since moving into this dear little house on the square. "So many secrets," she whispered to the house, placing her hand upon the door jam. "So many mysteries hidden here. If only your walls could talk."

There was a thrum of energy that raced through her hand, like the thrill of a lovely memory or the warm wash of happiness. She could hardly imagine it was anything but her mind playing tricks on her. Still, she patted the wall gently before going over to the couch to wait for Nan and Willard.

She decided she should be stern about their deceit. Whether the lies of omission were about supernatural events or not, she was mistress of the house and could not have her servants, even if they were dead, telling falsehoods.

She started to laugh. Who was she fooling?

Not three minutes went by before both servants entered the room. Nan smoothed her gray-peppered hair nervously and straightened the apron of her uniform.

Clara folded her hands on her lap and tried to frown. "Well, what have you both to say for yourself?"

Willard and Nan exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Nan broke the silence, her voice rushing out, "We were going to tell you, but the opportunity had not yet risen."

"Really? It seems like rising from the dead is reason enough to inform me that you are deceased," Clara replied.

"Now, that was a long time ago..." Nan tried to explain.

Willard cleared his throat. "What Nan is trying to say is that we have been here in this house for a long time. It seemed prudent to judge your character before we confided in you."

Clara tilted her chin proudly. "And what judgment have you made of my character?"

"A very, very good character indeed!" Nan replied.

Clara smiled, unable to keep up the facade. "My dear Nan and Willard. Of course you needed to ascertain my character before we could have this discussion. But you and I are now family. We live beneath this roof and you shall get to know me better than any living soul..." she paused. "The pun was unintended."

"But quite appropriate," assured Willard.

"Quite," Nan added on.

"What happened? How did it come to be that you are deceased?" Clara asked with concern, motioning to them that they should both sit. The look upon their face indicated her request to take a chair was borderline blasphemy, but Clara remained insistent. Such intimate conversations should be between friends, not masters and servants, she thought to herself.

"It happened so many years ago," said Willard. His face became a blank as he thought back to that day. "Fifteen years or so. I looked into my mirror and saw a dark figure. A woman or girl I believe. And that was all. The next day, everyone in the house behaved as if they couldn't see me."

"It was the same with me," Nan continued. "That same figure. That same girl, or woman... I wish I could remember more. The next day, the house was in an uproar, saying that there had been a grisly murder, three servants killed in cold blood, found dead upon the floor of their rooms with their throats torn out. It was at that moment that both Willard and I realized that we did not survive."

"Perhaps I am a coward for saying this," said Willard, "but I am glad my memory stops with the face in the mirror."

"Not a coward at all," said Nan, reaching over to pat his hand bracingly.

"So just the three of you?" said Clara, thinking to the thrill she felt when she touched the walls of the house. "You two and Wesley's older sister, Minnie?"

Willard nodded. "Yes. Lord Oroberg was struggling at the time and kept a small household. We were honored to serve, but Minnie... well, she always had a more difficult time than us, very much caught between worlds, both in life and death."

"Tis true," said Nan. "That poor, sweet child didn't even know what happened. For someone who did not wish to be here much in the first place, she suddenly found herself trapped here with us forever. I don't mean to speak ill of her. She was an orphan and forced to leave her ten-year old brother in the workhouse. She wanted nothing but to take care of him and you could see in her eyes that even though she was living here in comfort, her heart was always with him."

Clara could hardly believe this was the childhood of her confident, well-refined hero. Her Wesley. An orphan working in the factories in abject poverty? To have been robbed of his parents, and then of his sister? It was a wonder he survived. But all she said was, "I had the pleasure of making her brother's acquaintance this weekend. He was the man who walked me to the door. Wesley Lowenherz."

Nan and Willard nodded at one another in approval. "He is a fine looking lad," said Nan. "Quite worthy of his sister's devotion. I wish we could have said hello."

Clara stopped her. "We have had guests at the house before," said Clara thinking of Violet Nero who had sat in the very parlor they were now all seated. "How was it that they could see you and Mr. Lowenherz could not?"

Nan looked around the room. "This house here on the square holds a power, Clara, a power that we may never understand. It has gotten stronger since you came. There were families which lived here before, but we were shadows. There is something about you which changes things. We knew it from the moment you crossed the threshold and were able to see us. For the first time in fifteen years, someone could see us! We learned while you were gone, though, that when you are not sleeping beneath this roof, we fade until you return."

"I shall never lay my head anywhere else again!" exclaimed Clara, distressed. "I had no idea! If I had known, I would have told the police to hurry their questioning earlier so that I could have returned to free you. I am so sorry."

"Now, duck, don't you make such foolish promises. It is not painful. We are just... restless... and without purpose without you here. We just fade. Why, while you were gone, Minnie disappeared completely!"

"But Minnie was not here!" said Clara. "She was with me. She was, in fact, responsible for saving my and her brother’s life."

"What?" said Nan and Willard in unison.

"Whatever happened out in that horrible manor?" asked Nan. "Here we have been prattling on about our unfortunate circumstances while your life was recently at risk! Do you need something to calm your nerves, dear? Some tea? Perhaps a lie-down?"

Clara waved her off, but was warmed by Nan's concern. "I am fine," she replied. "There was a great danger to Minnie's brother. I believe she led me there to protect him," said Clara. "He would most certainly have been lost if she and I had not been there."

"She has never been able to leave these walls before," stated Willard sternly, looking about the room as if expecting an explanation from the house.

"She did, though," affirmed Clara. "Perhaps it was the bonds of blood and sisterly affection which gave her the strength, but both she and I were there, and many lives were saved."

Willard sat forward. "Please, if it is not asking too much, what transpired?"

Clara realized there might still be fond memories of their former master, and so tried to break the news gently. "Last night, Lord Oroberg, met an untimely end."

Willard and Nan exchanged glances, silent communication flowing between them. Finally, Willard said, "He was a complicated man, and I am not one to speak ill of the dead." The unsaid words, though, hung heavily in the room before he continued tactfully. "I shall say that it is a sorry day when anyone does not live to see the morning, and we shall leave it at that."

"It was at the hand of his daughter-in-law, Violet," Clara continued.

"Violet? That young woman who came to visit you the other day?" said Nan. "She was so delicate, she couldn't have hurt a fly!"

"She was, I am afraid, under the influence of a terrible force which transformed her horribly."

"Such strange things," said Willard, his face grim.

"Why, if you would have told me two weeks ago what my life would look like today, I would not have believed you!" agreed Clara.

"Death has a strange way of turning the world on its head," said Nan. "Ooch, dear, you said that Violet killed Horace. What a terrible thing! Tell me you did not witness it."

"I did," said Clara. "Norman Scettico, Clifford Oroberg, Horace, Hilda Nero..."

Nan leaned forward. "Hilda Nero? Why was she there?"

"She was Violet's mother."

Nan patted Willard's arm with one finger. "There was a man, a Peter Nero, who was a business associate of Lord Oroberg. He frequently came to the house," said Nan. "He was married to a Hilda Nero."

Willard stopped her, lost in thought as he slowly recollected. "The exact details of that night are so hard to remember... but I believe Peter was here the night we died."

"What?" asked Clara.

Nan nodded, her words spilling out as the pieces came back to her bit-by-bit. "The night we were murdered, Violet's father was presented with an item discovered in the tomb by one of the archeologists. Lord Horace was such an adventurer. He invested in a large expedition to Egypt. There was a dinner party here at the house. There were two scientists. Oh, what were their names? They showed pictures and slides from the dig site and gave presents all around. Jewelry and knickknacks they dug up from around the Nile. They spoke of a much larger tomb they believed they were on the brink of discovering. They were all very excited. That was the night we died."

"And you are sure that it was Violet
Nero
who was the perpetrator?" clarified Willard.

"Indeed," Clara replied. "Violet Nero. And only Wesley, I, and Marguerite survived. I had to seal Violet in a tomb to save us."

"It was a girl who attacked us," pondered Willard. "Do you think this possession could have been going on since that night?"

"Could it be that this object Peter Nero received was cursed? And that the curse was passed along to his daughter?" asked Clara.

Nan seemed to slowly agree with the logic. "But the question is, what will happen to it now that Violet is gone? Will be curse die with her or continue?"

"I am sure it must be done," said Clara. "Her defeat was unequivocally final." She paused for a moment, deeply unsettled. "But perhaps later I shall inquire as to who is handling the Nero estate and see if this object is still in her personal belongings." Seeing the alarm on Nan and Willard's faces, Clara tried to give them comfort. "I am sure we have nothing to fear."

She could tell that no one believed her words, including herself.

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