Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes stared into the fire of the drawing room.
My father is dead, she thought. My husband is dead. But no one cares but me. My mother has gone on with her life, which isn’t surprising, since she and Father separated years ago. My uncle doesn’t care, because he never liked my father nor my husband. Cousin David doesn’t care, because he’s so young—at that age, everything is about him. Cousin Barnabas is too busy spending time with Dr. Hoffman to care, whatever it is that those two do together… Cousin Quentin is too busy dating whoever he’s dating right now to care… Isn’t family supposed to care when someone’s grieving?
She barely noticed when her uncle Roger came into the room and poured himself a brandy.
And then… a voice in Carolyn’s head spoke. Oh, you shouldn’t do that duckie, unless you’re letting your sister drive. It was a woman’s voice, with an accent. It seemed to be talking to Roger, though he couldn’t hear it. The last time you had one too many, you sent an innocent man to jail for a hit ‘n’ run accident…
Carolyn shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts… the motion caught Roger’s attention. “Kitten,” Roger said to Carolyn hesitantly, “it’s not good to brood…”
Carolyn smiled a little smile in spite of herself. Uncle Roger had been as close to a father figure as Carolyn had had during her childhood… “I’m not brooding,” said Carolyn, “I’m grieving.”
“Carolyn, you are a Collins,” said Roger. “The Collins family has a ‘pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again’ philosophy…”
“I’m not a Collins… I am– or rather, I was– a Stoddard,” said Carolyn.
“Paul Stoddard deserted you and my sister. Ipso facto, Q.E.D., you are a Collins,” said Roger.
Oh, love, that’s no way to be, the female voice in Carolyn’s head said to Roger. Our kid here was just starting to love her Da when he died…
“I am not a Collins,” Carolyn said to Roger, “I am Carolyn Hawkes.”
Roger sighed. “Kitten, I have had not one but two failed marriages. I know what it’s like to lose that sort of connection… However, life does go on…”
But he didn’t really love either of ‘em, did ‘e? said the female voice in Carolyn’s mind. Our Roger there’s been engaged with a lifelong love affair with ‘imself…
“I don’t need a lecture,” Carolyn said aloud.
“You certainly do,” Roger disagreed. “You spend day after day, night after night, playing the grieving widow…”
“I am a grieving widow,” said Carolyn.
“You barely knew the man,” Roger scoffed.
“How does that matter?” said Carolyn defiantly.
Roger sighed. “Stubborn as her mother…” he muttered audibly…
“I’m not stubborn… I’m grieving,” Carolyn said, almost to herself.
Are y’ now? the woman’s voice in Carolyn’s head replied. It seems t’ me that yer uncle ‘s right. You are being stubborn…
Roger sighed. “Look,” he said, “I’m taking your mother, my son, and Hallie Stokes to a play in Bangor called The Heiress. I can get an extra ticket…”
Oh, blimey, I haven’ been to a play in so long…! enthused the woman’s mental voice.
But: “I’m not interested,” Carolyn told Roger (or was she really telling the woman in her mind? Both, she supposed).
“Fine,” said Roger, “forget I said anything– I wash my hands of the whole matter…” Then he drained his brandy in one gulp, and left the room.
“My father’s dead,” said Carolyn, “my husband is dead. But they go off and see a play as if I’m not grieving…”
Life does go on, duckie, at least for others it does… said the female voice.
“Exactly who are you,” Carolyn asked, “and why won’t you shut up?” Really, she should have questioned the woman sooner than this, but her attention had been split by Uncle Roger coming into the room, and, well, there was something so natural about the woman’s voice in her mind. What she was saying was often somewhat annoying, but somehow the fact that she was speaking in Carolyn’s mind was so… normal, oddly, that Carolyn just hadn’t gotten around to reacting to the woman until her words had really had a chance to get on Carolyn’s nerves.
Oh, love, you wound me, said the woman’s voice. You cut me to the very core of me dearly-departed soul…
“Dearly-departed soul?” Carolyn echoed out loud.
Dead as last year’s fashions, duck, came the reply.
Carolyn was about to say something when her mother came into the room. “Carolyn, we must talk,” said Elizabeth Stoddard.
“Go ahead and talk, for all the good it will do,” Carolyn said.
“I’ve been thinking… you were happy working at the antique shop,” said Elizabeth.
Carolyn shrugged.
“I know that the place burned down,” her mother continued, “but I could help you rent another shop, and…”
“Oh, that’s just so you, isn’t it?” said Carolyn. “‘My daughter is sad? I’ll throw money at the problem…!’”
Elizabeth looked wounded, but didn’t rise to Carolyn’s bait. She looked at the drink tray with longing, but decided against having a brandy. After all, she was going to have to drive to Bangor, since Roger was clearly already a little tipsy… “Carolyn, it’s been quite some time since… what happened to your father… and your husband… Perhaps you should talk to Doctor Hoffman about your feelings.”
“I don’t need a sedative, mother,” said Carolyn. “Nor do I need a blood transfusion, so I fail to see what Julia Hoffman could do for me.”
“Well, I… perhaps she could arrange for you to have some time at Windcliff,” said Elizabeth.
Oh, cor blimey, said the woman in Carolyn’s head, Yer mother thinks yer right barmy, she does, straight around the twist! She wants to throw you inter Bedlam…!
“Mother, I’m not mad,” Carolyn told her mother, “I’m just sad.”
“I never said that you were—”
“—You want to talk about being mentally unhinged? You stayed in this house for decades because you wrongly thought that you killed my father during an argument! I’d call that pretty crazy! At school, the other children always called you a ‘crazy witch!’ So you trying to be the caring mother now is—!”
“—Carolyn, I know that you’re hurting, but that was totally uncalled for,” said her mother.
“I lost a father that I only had a short time to get to know, and I lost a husband that I’d only recently fell in love with! Unlike you, I loved my father!”
“…You’re impossible to talk to when you get like this…” said Elizabeth.
Carolyn got up from her chair near the fireplace. “I’m going to bed. Good night!” she yelled.
Now, now… said the voice in Carolyn’s head as Carolyn rushed up the stairs, is ‘at any way to talk to yer mother…?
“Shut up!” Carolyn snarled.
…I will… fer now… said the female voice…
~~~~~~~~~~
After Carolyn got into bed for the night, she tried to have a crying jag about her father and her husband. She wanted to sob and moan… like the Widows of Widow’s Hill used to sob and moan.
“I haven’t thought about the Widows in years,” Carolyn said to herself. “I haven’t thought about walking through Collinwood and hearing their wails. I haven’t thought about how frightening it was to grow up in what the locals called ‘the Cursed Collins place.’ I truly believed in ghosts then…”
Carolyn forced herself to think of her husband’s handsome face. “Jeb, you promised to come back to me, that not even death could separate us. Was that a lie?” Carolyn sighed…
However… no matter how much she tried to mourn Jeb’s traumatic passing… she couldn’t.
Instead, she said to herself: “Who on earth is that woman that kept making catty comments? Obviously, I’m the only one who can hear her… I don’t know… maybe I actually am going mad… mad from grief… I’m hearing things…”
She tried thinking of her father’s face and how she could see her features in that face… but she failed. She just couldn’t conjure up her father’s face, nor that of her husband’s, not right now, not clearly. Too many other thoughts kept crowding their way into her mind.
“No, I am not mad. Uncle Roger heard the Widows back in the day, I’m sure of it. David used to say that he saw Josette Collins over in the Old House, in her bridal gown… And Vicki said the same… And what about Sarah Collins, the ghost of a child? David saw her… Maggie Evans saw her… Sam Evans saw her… and I saw her, too. So, no, I am not insane,” Carolyn concluded.
Realizing that she was actually interested in something other than grief for a change, Carolyn thought about the woman’s voice. “She’s… English… or is faking an English accent… She uses what’s called a Cockney accent…” muttered Carolyn… “Maybe I should ask Cousin Barnabas about it somehow? After all, he claims to have lived in England…”
Carolyn listened for the voice in her head, but it said nothing—for the moment.
“Let’s look at this logically,” she said quietly, continuing to speak out loud since it was helping her to focus her thoughts. She moved to her window, and looked out on the west lawn. “The Collins family are mostly American, with roots going back to the Revolutionary War. With the possible exception of Barnabas, we don’t have English Collins family members, so… unless one of Barnabas’s ancestors married or fell in love with a lower-class woman, why would a woman… she has to be a ghost, doesn’t she…? But… why would she want to talk to me…?”
She decided that she’d call friend-of-the-family and noted occult expert Professor T. Elliot Stokes in the morning to talk about a possible exorcism or a séance…
Then Carolyn blinked. “Why do I have to wait? I’ve seen séances conducted before. I could conduct a séance right now. Even better—mother and Uncle Roger and David have all left the house—I’ve got the whole place to myself right now! This is perfect!”
As quickly as she could, Carolyn gathered some candles and candlesticks, and headed downstairs to the drawing room. “If only Victoria Winters were still working as David’s governess—she loved the past—I’m sure she would have been glad to help me conduct a séance…!”
But to her great surprise, once she reached the top of the stairs… she heard old music-hall style music coming from the drawing room. Didn’t Cousin Quentin have an old Victrola in his room…? It sounded like someone had moved it…
“…Maybe I won’t have to conduct a séance after all,” Carolyn muttered.
When Carolyn opened the drawing room doors, she was shocked to see…
Herself.
Well, it wasn’t really Carolyn. The woman—in late Victorian garb, overly-rouged cheeks, a loosely piled-up hairdo, and a hot pink feather boa—looked like Carolyn, but she certainly did not act like Carolyn.
Carolyn would never dance a bump-and-grind dance number like the woman in the drawing room was doing.
Carolyn looked around at the drawing room. It was not the current Collinwood drawing room—the furniture had all changed from when she’d been in there earlier. Now everything was… old-fashioned, as if it wasn’t yet 1900—the room was now lit by gaslights on the walls.
Also, the drawing room from earlier in the day hadn’t had Quentin’s Victrola record player loudly blaring its one record…
The young woman looked at Carolyn: “Well, it took you long enough,” she said to Carolyn. The voice was the same as the voice that’d been in her mind earlier.
“…Who are you?” Carolyn asked.
“Pansy Fae’s me name, th’ toast of two continents… I’ve performed me signature number before Queen Victoria an’ th’ crowned ‘eads of Europe, I ‘ave,” Pansy Fae said as she danced. “I sing, I dance, I tell jokes, and I tell fortunes, I do. I can even talk to th’ spirits of th’ Great Beyond…”
“So, you’re a medium?”
“I come from a long, long line of mediums, except for me Mum, who was more of a large,” said Pansy Fae.
Despite herself, Carolyn laughed.
“Ah, love, it does me ‘art good to ‘ear you laugh,” said Pansy Fae. “Now, ‘ow about you sit down, and I’ll sing an’ dance fer you?”
Thinking it impolite to say no to a spirit, Carolyn sat down, putting her candlesticks and candles on the coffee table.
“I wanna dance for you…” Pansy Fae sang. Carolyn had heard the record before (she vaguely remembered that when Cousin Quentin’s ancestor had been haunting the house, it had been played often), but this was the first she’d ever heard that the tune had lyrics…
The ghost didn’t exactly have a beautiful singing voice, and her dancing wasn’t really particularly good… However, it was an enthusiastic voice, and an enthusiastic dance, so Carolyn, having seen so little true liveliness in Collinwood, applauded enthusiastically anyway.
Pansy Fae bowed a deep bow. “I loves an appreciative audience…” she said. “Now, my Carl, ‘e was an appreciative audience… ‘e worshipped the ground I walked on. I was so fond of ‘im, in me own way, but tragedy shook me to the core…”
“Did Carl die?” Carolyn asked.
“No, love, I died. I was murdered by a bloodsucking fiend. Sadly, my Carl met the same fate soon after…”
“I’m so sorry…”
Pansy Fae turned off the record player. “Oh, don’t be. Worse things ‘appen at sea, yer know…”
“That’s… one way to look at things, I suppose…”
“It’s the only way to look at matters, love. Take it from me, life is too short to pout…!”
“I’m not pouting. I’m grieving,” said Carolyn.
“Six’a one, ‘alf dozen of th’ other, love…” Pansy said, sitting down near Carolyn.
“You’re just like the rest of my family,” Carolyn sighed.
“Well, except I’m dead, and I’m not related to you…”
“Oh—! Why are you bothering me, Pansy?”
“Oh, roight, that… The Widows sent me.”
“The Widows? Why did they…?”
“The legend says that another widow’s gonna jump off that cliff by th’ sea… They don’t want that widow to be you, love…”
Carolyn put her head in her hands. “Why not? I have nothing to live for…”
“Oh, boo hoo, poor little rich girl wallowing in self-pity! Love, you ‘ave more to live for than most people…!”
Carolyn looked up at Pansy. “Name one thing.”
Pansy got up and adjusted her stocking. “You ‘ave a rich family who loves you… Yer almost as pretty as I am… Yer young… Y’ catch the eye of every young man that y’ meet…”
“Oh, I can get men. It’s keeping them that’s the trouble. I dated Joe Haskell, but he dumped me for Maggie Evans.”
“Naw, ‘e dumped yer because y’ ran after Burke Devlin! An’ fer shame, child—he was old enough t’ be your father…!”
“Burke dumped me for Victoria Winters…”
“Because y’ acted like an entitled brat…!”
“I lost Buzz…”
“The yobbo with the motorbike? You only dated ‘im to send yer mother ‘round the bend…!”
Carolyn couldn’t help but giggle just a little. “Well that’s true… But then I dated Tony Peterson, who ended up having an affair with Uncle Roger’s wife… His second wife, I mean…”
“Oh, ‘er. She was a witch, love, and ‘e was under a spell. That was just bad luck! We all ‘ave bad luck sometimes… Look at me! I died young, but yer don’ see me crying in me beer, now do yer?”
“…I guess not…”
“As me mum always said, ‘If yer can walk an’ talk an’ move on, then yer mustn’t grumble…’”
But Carolyn was still caught up in her old boyfriends. “Then Chris Jennings left me for his old girlfriend…”
“No, ‘e left you because ‘e was a wolf, an’ ‘e didn’ wan’ ter eat yer up like th’ Big Bad Wolf ate up Little Red Riding ‘ood…”
“…Actually, the Big Bad Wolf ate up Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother…”
“Details are the ‘obgoblin of little minds, love…”
“Actually, I think the saying is ‘Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds…?’”
Pansy gave Carolyn a look. “No one likes a know-it-all, love,” Pansy said, a little hurt.
“I’m sorry but… we’re getting off the subject. My husband died…”
“Well, yer ‘usband was a monster…” Pansy said simply.
“That is a terrible thing to say about Jeb!”
“Look, love, this ‘mustn’t speak ill of the dead’ bollocks’s keeping yer from seein’ th’ truth… Jeb ‘awkes was a literal monster. ‘e was a Leviathan. ‘e wasn’ even ‘uman…”
This touched on certain suspicions Carolyn had, but she was determined not to let that show. “…He was still my husband,” she said.
“Love, you’ve got some Father issues… Yer keep throwin’ yer pearls before swine, because yer own father left yer f’r reasons ‘at ‘ad much more t’ do with yer mum than you… You were only a babe-in-arms…” Pansy said, sitting down again. “So… let me give yer some advice, woman t’ woman…”
Carolyn waited for Pansy’s advice. Pansy stared at Carolyn for many long seconds, thinking…
“…Me best advice is this,” Pansy finally said, “…stop dating for a while.”
“Me? I’ll never date again…”
“Pull the other leg, love, it’s got bells on it,” Pansy said.
Carolyn gave Pansy a look. “You certainly have a unique way of speaking…” said Carolyn…
Pansy laughed. “That I do. But, back to your best mate Pansy’s advice… Go figure out ‘oo you are, an’ stop chasing men who ain’t worthy of yer. ‘Cause if you keep doin’ that… you’ll never be yourself…”
“Myself? I have no idea who that is. I was more or less my mother’s caretaker after my father left us… I’ve been a niece, a cousin, a daughter, and a wife… But… who am I, Pansy…?”
“Yer a gifted psychic medium, love! After all, yer talkin’ t’ me, aren’ yer…?”
Carolyn thought back to a time when they’d all thought that her mother was dead, but she’d turned out to just be in a coma, and yet Carolyn had seemed to hear her mother’s mind calling out to her… “That’s… as may be, but… even if—well, even if that’s true, what do I do with that information…?”
“Yer need to go back to school, love!” Pansy said triumphantly.
“College? I have thought about…”
“Naw, not just college—yer needs ter go t’ that college what ‘at Professor Stokes teaches at! ‘E’ll ‘elp yer ‘one yer gifts, ‘e will! An’ see… when I’m sad, I keeps busy… When yer ‘ave somethin’ what keeps yer mind off th’ ‘ard breaks in life, soon enough, yer stop feelin’ quite so sorry fer yerself…”
Carolyn considered Pansy’s words. “I think I will do that, actually. …Thank you for the advice.”
Pansy just stood there for a long time, staring at Carolyn, thinking. Or… waiting? Pansy had a tiny little smile on her face…
“Er… I thanked you, so…” said Carolyn… “So, er… well, I thought maybe now that you’d delivered the message from The Widows… won’t you be, ah… going back to the afterlife…?”
“I believe in a favor for a favor, love… I ‘elped you, so I need you ter ‘elp me…”
“I’ll… I’ll do whatever I can, but…?”
“’at’s all I wanted t’ ‘ear,” said Pansy, pleased… “Sit still, love, this won’t ‘urt a bit…”
~~~~~~~~~~
Quentin Collins entered the front doors of Collinwood, cursing to himself. “Dammit, yet another relationship down the drain,” he muttered. “I’m an immortal, dammit—surely you’d think that after all this time, I could find one woman who really cared about me…”
Then, Quentin heard familiar music playing in the drawing room—very, very familiar. “What on earth…?” he said, entering the drawing room.
When he opened the doors to the room, he saw his cousin Carolyn dancing around to… the record on the Victrola… “…Carolyn?” Quentin asked.
The young woman turned around and gave Quentin a huge grin. “Oh, naw, love…! She’s not in right now…! She’s lettin’ me borrow ‘er body fer—just a little while…”
A wide, incredulous grin came upon Quentin’s face. “Pansy Fae,” he said quietly.
Carolyn/Pansy jumped into Quentin’s arms—he had to catch her—she almost knocked him over—and she gave him a huge hug.
Perplexed and delighted, Quentin hugged her back.
Then Pansy stopped hugging him, and she warily climbed down, sort of squinting at him. “Say, yer not really ‘at wicked ol’ blighter, Count Petofi, occupyin’ Quentin’s body again, are yer…?” she asked, a little afraid.
“…Look in my eyes, Pansy. Take a good look. Do you see that wicked bastard? You always could tell the difference, when you took a good long look, I remember… It was one of the things that made you so dangerous to him…”
Pansy gave him a long look, then jumped into his arms again. “Oh, Quentin, it truly is you…!”
After a second big hug, Quentin asked, “…What are you doing here, Pansy?”
“Oh, I just gave our dear li’l Carolyn some guidance counseling, is all…”
“Oh,” said Quentin, still somewhat perplexed. “That’s nice of you…” He walked over and stopped the Victrola.
“An’, an’ since I just ‘appened ter be in th’ neighborhood, I decided I’d mix pleasure wi’ business, y’ see…”
Quentin raised one eyebrow roguishly (since that was the only way he knew how to do so). “…Well, it has been a pleasure seeing you, Pansy, but Carolyn needs her body back…”
“She’ll get it back, in present time… But before I return this body, you ‘ave ter answer a question. An’ yer ‘ave ter answer it ‘onestly, now…”
“All right. Ask away…”
“Did you… care fer me… even a little?” Pansy asked.
Quentin looked in Pansy’s eyes, and he thought about the past. Every woman Quentin had ever been with had literally or figuratively hurt him. No, some didn’t mean to do so. Some were insane. Some were insanely jealous. Some were just unlucky, and got themselves killed. Then, there was Pansy, the only woman who loved without measure, who faced down the evil Count Petofi in order to help Quentin keep his own soul in his own body…
“Oh, maybe I shouldn’ve asked that question…” said Pansy, distressed at how long Quentin was taking to answer. “It’s obvious that yer never really cared fer someone like me…”
“No, Pansy, that isn’t true,” said Quentin. “You’re an amazing woman, and I have never forgotten your kindness, your bravery, and your love. I feel honored to have known you. I feel grateful for all the time we spent together.”
“Oh… yer jus’ sayin’ ‘at to be noice…”
“No, I’m not. Here, let me prove it to you,” Quentin said. Quentin pulled out his wallet and showed Pansy a picture that was in it—a very old, creased, and half-faded picture, but the person in it was, nonetheless, still clearly visible.
“‘at’s a picture of me,” Pansy said, amazed.
“Yes, it is. I’ve kept it with me all of these years, to remind myself that once upon a time, a beautiful woman truly loved me, a woman who was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside,” said Quentin.
“Oh, Quentin Collins, you certainly do know ‘ow to turn a girl’s ‘ead,” said Pansy.
“Pansy, would you dance with me once, for old times’ sake?” Quentin asked.
Pansy curtsied. By some magical means that Quentin couldn’t be bothered to understand, the Victrola came on again…
“Shall we dance?” Quentin asked, holding out his arms.
Quentin and Pansy danced. Neither of them wanted the dance to end, because when it did, they would have to go their separate ways.
When the music did end, Pansy gave Quentin a quick peck on the cheek, and then—one tear just starting to form in her right eye—she left Carolyn’s body.
Carolyn’s body collapsed into Quentin’s arms.
Gently, Quentin put the sleeping Carolyn on the sofa of the drawing room, looked around to make sure that the drawing room was once again in the present and not the past—it was—and then, with a sigh, he closed the doors to the drawing room, and went to bed.