Page 27 of Love At First Fright

R osemary had existed in a state of frustration for twenty-four hours, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear it. Apparently, Ellis was very serious about taking his time with her, as last night in the turret room he’d only kissed her.

Since their wake-up call and the start of night shoots, they’d had barely a second together. Only once, about an hour ago, when there’d been a momentary break in filming for Vincent to take an important call, had Ellis found Rosemary in a shadowed copse of trees away from the main set.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi.”

“Have you been good?” he whispered, low and honeyed.

“I have.”

He skimmed a hand across the top of her thigh, squeezing it possessively, high enough that if anyone in the crew had seen them, they would know precisely what was going on between them.

“Good,” he huffed, and for a second Rosemary had felt Ellis’s control slip. She’d almost thrown care to the wind and kissed him right then and there. But then the call for Ellis to come back to set had come in, and he’d had to go.

Rosemary wasn’t a brat. She knew that there was a whole host of submissives in the kink community who were, but she never felt called to try it out.

What she craved was praise. She tried not to psychoanalyse herself too much, but if Rosemary had to, she reckoned it might all strike back to her gifted and talented days in school.

Still, brattiness aside, she was desperate for release. If it weren’t for his soft commands, she’d have made herself orgasm already. Likely multiple times.

But she wanted to be good, knowing that the payoff would be worth it. All of this was so new, and she’d wanted to experience this dynamic for so long, she wasn’t about to let one little orgasm get in the way of that.

Still, watching Ellis in that hauntingly attractive billowing cotton shirt wasn’t making it any easier for Rosemary. She decided to go and see what the second unit was filming. Lyn had told her they worked on shots that didn’t require the principal cast.

She made her way through the forest, flashlight in hand.

Now, as she stepped over a log, Rosemary heard a soft giggle to her right.

She stopped in her tracks. What was that?

Then it came again, a breathy little laugh, followed by an echo of a dog barking.

Rosemary, unlike every clever heroine she’d ever written in her horror novels, followed the sounds deeper into the forest.

There, in a patch of moonlight, she found Cecilia, playing with Ellis’s ghost dog. The little dog was lying with his belly splayed up on the grass, and Cecilia was crouched down, giving him pats and telling him what a sweet boy he was.

“Hello,” Rosemary said, speaking quietly so as not to spook the ghost.

“Oh, hello.”

“I’m Rosemary.”

“Cecilia.”

“Yes, I know. He’s quite taken with you,” Rosemary said, gesturing at the ghost dog.

The other times she’d seen Cecilia were mostly when she’d been arguing with Juliet, but now seeing her on her own there was something about her that reminded Rosemary of a delicate flower, dainty enough that it might blow over in a strong wind.

Cecilia looked up at Rosemary and smiled softly. If such a thing were possible for a ghost, Rosemary thought her cheeks appeared tearstained.

“He’s glad to be seen again, I expect. It is hard for the animals, when their owners cannot see them. They don’t understand why.”

Rosemary crouched down and saw that the leather collar had a name, Hank, inscribed on it. She let the little ghost dog sniff her hand. All she felt, as he nuzzled into her palm, was a faint brush of cold.

“You’ve seen animal spirits before?” Rosemary asked Cecilia.

Cecilia nodded, and sat down on the chilled ground, wrapping a shawl, stitched with blue roses, around herself as if she could feel the cold.

“When we died, my horse stayed with me for a time. He died, too, in the carriage accident.” She let Hank climb onto her lap and scratched between his ears.

“Ghost animals aren’t like us,” Cecilia said. “They need permission to go. They need to know that their owner will be alright. They stay around to protect them, and comfort them.”

“It’s their unfinished business.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So he won’t be able to move on until Ellis lets him go?”

Cecilia nodded. “If he stays too long, he will fade even more, and he won’t be able to pass on to…whatever is next.”

Rosemary thought of everything she’d been taught at Sunday school, and her nana, her mama. She had to ask.

“When you died, did you see…?”

“What comes after?” Cecilia tilted her head.

“I think for a second, perhaps. It was a choice, to stay here, you understand. Juliet died first, and when I saw her, and saw myself lying there, I felt…it was utter peace. I think if I had let myself follow that peace, I would have moved on. But I saw Juliet, and she was staying, and even if she won’t admit it, she needs me. So I stayed, too.”

Rosemary felt the weight of Cecilia’s words; what she was really saying.

“And now she won’t even speak to me.”

Rosemary nodded. “Maybe I could help? Sometimes it can help to tell someone else. And I imagine it’s been a long time since you’ve spoken to someone.”

Cecilia brushed her silver tears away. “This is where Juliet lived, you know? Her father was a first son, heir to the estate, and he married well, and Juliet never needed for anything. It was not as simple for me. My family lived in a more modest house in the village; my elder brother was the curate, and when my parents died, he took me in until I could be married. My brother was not a kind man. But it didn’t matter, because Juliet and I were friends.

I spent most of my time here. Luckily, her father didn’t mind.

“But when I turned twenty-one and was still very much a wallflower, my brother gave me an ultimatum. Either I married, or he would send me north to a parish he knew in Yorkshire that needed a governess.”

“You would have been separated from Juliet.”

“Yes. I courted in secret and accepted a proposal, but it was the last thing I wanted. Even if she didn’t know that I…

felt for her, I didn’t want to leave, or ever be parted from her.

I was going to tell her, that day, to explain it all.

But then we died and when I chose to stay, rather than move on, she—” Cecilia pressed her fingers to her mouth, caught in a memory.

“She kissed me. I don’t think she understood why she did it, and she was so furious at herself for so long after.”

“So, before you died, neither of you ever…?”

“No, not at all. I wanted to, of course, but Juliet was raised in the Church. She would never have crossed that line. I think she tells herself that she only kissed me out of relief.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

Rosemary recalled the watercolours in the room where Juliet had been the last time they’d spoken, the ones painted by Cecilia.

They reminded her of those paintings you saw in art galleries of two women who were undeniably queer, where the labels always said something like: “Lady X and Lady Y, just two best friends who lived together for their entire lives and never married.”

Rosemary remembered the way Juliet had looked at those paintings.

“I don’t think Juliet is angry at you for not telling her about the proposal, not really.”

“Then what?”

“I think she feels the same way. I think that when she found out you were going to marry a man, even if that was hundreds of years ago, she got scared.”

“Juliet will never admit how she feels.” Cecilia shrugged, but then her shoulders slumped. “But I have waited this long, and I will wait as long as I need to. For her.”

Rosemary squeezed the ghost’s hand, feather-soft and cool to the touch.

She realised now the reason they were both still so present, not fading, after all this time.

Juliet and Cecilia were each other’s unfinished business.

And it was up to Rosemary to help them figure it out, before they caused more havoc on set.

“I’ll speak to her,” Rosemary assured Cecilia.

“If you want to find her, look for the ruined chapel in the heart of the wood. That’s where she goes when she wants to torture herself.”

Rosemary left the ghost in the glade, her mind full.

She wouldn’t have time to find Juliet immediately.

It was nearly midnight, and the second unit director had invited her to come and see what they were up to, filming in the trim manor gardens, getting exterior shots.

It also meant she wasn’t likely to bump into Ellis tonight, but she needed the space to think.

She would need to tell him about Hank. She didn’t want the little dog’s spirit to fade into nothing, but that meant Ellis would need to let Hank go. And how could he do that without Rosemary telling him her secret, that she could see ghosts?

She texted Dina again. Oh wise, beautiful witch.

What do you want? Dina replied.

What other ways could I use to make someone believe in ghosts, if I don’t have a Babylon candle?

Babylon candles only worked at midnight on Halloween, and their flames burned blue and fast. They wouldn’t allow Ellis to see Hank, only sense his presence. She needed him to see.

I asked Mama and she said to find a hagstone. You can’t make one, you need to find it.

What’s a hagstone?

A small stone with a hole in the centre. You hold it up to your eye and it lets you see a ghost, only during a full moon. Whoever uses it won’t be able to hear them though, just see them.

That would be enough.

Thank you x a million, Rosemary replied.

Are you going to tell me why you need it? Dina asked.

Too much to put in a text, but I will when I see you.

Does it have anything to do with he who must not be named?

Rosemary hesitated, then said: Maybe.

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