The Bride of Ashbyrn House Read online

  “Nothing happened,” I mutter.

  “You called the police to your house for nothing?”

  “It was late at night, and some local children were playing a prank on me. That's all.”

  “And you panicked and called the cops?”

  “I thought somebody was -”

  I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

  “I briefly thought that somebody had fallen into the pond and was drowning,” I continue. “I just thought I saw something, but it was the middle of the night and I was using a flashlight, and clearly I was wrong. And this is precisely why I don't want to hear about the history of Ashbyrn House. The human mind is capable of conjuring up ridiculous visions, and I know I'm not immune from that. The more I hear about anything that occurred at Ashbyrn House, the more likely I am to...”

  My voice trails off. Hearing a creaking sound, I look out the window and see the pub's sign moving in the breeze. For the first time, I notice that the pub is named The Hanging Man , which seems a little morbid.

  “Fair enough,” Charlie replies. “That actually makes a fair lick of sense. You're protecting yourself, but...”

  Now it's his turn to fall silent.

  Hearing the door swing open, I turn and see that a couple more of the local idiots have arrived. They look toward me, and it's clear that my presence has registered somewhere in their minds, but they quickly make their way to the bar and start speaking to the bartender in hushed tones. I hold my breath, hoping that I might be able to overhear.

  “What if you can't protect yourself?” Charlie asks.

  I turn back to him.

  “I know you don't want to hear the history of that house,” he continues, “but I have heard the history, okay? And without getting too specific, you need to be careful in case she...” He pauses. “There's a woman. Someone who used to live there, a long time ago. As a matter of fact, her name was Katinka Ashbyrn and she's the woman in the painting, and it's no coincidence that the painting shows her in a wedding gown. Owen, she died on the day she was supposed to get married. The whole story was a tragedy, but apparently Katinka Ashbyrn was not a well woman when she was alive, not in the head, and I doubt death has made her any kinder. They say her whole life was building up to this triumphant wedding, and then it was snatched away from her at the very last moment.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that I don't need to hear this, but somehow the words catch in my throat.

  “Just promise me one thing,” he adds. “If you see anything at the house, anything that seems like it might be connected to this woman... You have to get out of there. Maybe it's all bullshit, maybe she died and that was the end of her, but if you think you see her, wearing her bridal gown and her veil... Get out of there before she has a chance to lift the veil. That's what the legend says. Seeing her with her veil on is one thing. But if you see her without the veil, if you see her actual face...”

  Again, his voice trails off.

  “I shall take that into account,” I reply finally, feeling as if I let him go on a little too much. Taking a long sip of beer, I end up downing a third of the pint before setting it back on the table.

  Over by the bar, the locals are still engaged in their hushed, urgent conversation. After a moment, I realize I can occasionally hear my name being mentioned, as well as the name of my home. I know I should ignore these fools, but I can feel a slow sense of anger simmering in my chest, and finally I can't help myself.

  “Are you talking about me?” I call out to them. “Is something on your pitiful minds?”

  They instantly fall silent.

  “Cowards,” I mutter under my breath, taking another sip of beer.

  “Maybe we should get out of here,” Charlie replies, suddenly seeming a little uncomfortable.

  “Absolutely not,” I tell him. “We're finishing our drinks.”

  “But a minute ago, you barely even wanted to come to the -”

  “We're finishing our drinks!” I say firmly. “We're here now, and I won't be chased out by a bunch of slack-jawed yokels.”

  “Careful!” he hisses. “They'll hear you!”

  “I don't care.” I down the rest of my pint, and for a moment I struggle to keep my temper under control. Finally I take Charlie's untouched drink and take a sip.

  “You never used to be like this,” Charlie continues, keeping his voice down. “You never had this anger before it all went wrong with Vanessa. You've changed, man. You've started to crunch up into yourself, and the worst thing is, you're not done yet. I'm scared to think of how you'll end up if you're left to rattle about in that house for the rest of your life. Even if there's no ghost, you're gonna lose your -”

  “We're done here!” I hiss, getting to my feet so suddenly that I knock the table, sending it tilting over. My empty glass, and Charlie's barely-touched beer, both crash to the ground.

  Ignoring the shocked expressions of the idiots at the bar, I storm to the door and out into the afternoon air, and then for a moment I feel a rush of dizziness spinning through my thoughts. Barely able to see properly, other than a wall of gray haze, I step back and reach out to steady myself against the pub's door. Just as I worry that I might be about to collapse, the dizziness begins to pass and I'm able to see properly again.

  Sure enough, several locals are watching me with expressions of concern.

  “Owen?” Charlie says as he comes out after me. “Are you alright there, man?”

  “Of course I'm alright,” I mutter, buttoning my coat as I turn and head toward the Tesco store at the end of the street. “Why the hell wouldn't I be? I just -”

  The second I step off the curb, I hear screeching tires. I turn just in time to see a car skidding toward me, although it comes to a halt just as the fender bumps against my knees. I open my mouth to yell at the idiot, before realizing that perhaps I didn't quite look where I was going. Turning, I see that I've now drawn the attention of a whole gaggle of fools, and I shout at them to leave me alone before hurrying across the street. I have to do my shopping and then get back to the house. And then I'm never, ever coming to this infernal little town again.

  Behind me, the pub's sign is still creaking in the breeze.

  Chapter Twenty

  Katinka - 1859

  “Where is Pippa?” Mother asks, looking past the dining table as if she expects my sister to suddenly burst into the room at any moment. “I must say, that girl is becoming harder and harder to pin down by the minute!”

  “I believe she is out in the forest,” I reply, hoping to calm her curiosity. “Probably picking mushrooms. You know what she's like.”

  I glance at Charles, who seems to be studiously avoiding eye contact with either of us. Instead, he's using his fork to fiddle with the meal on his plate. At times like this, I feel that it is going to take quite a deal of work to mold him into the kind of husband I require. Right now, he is so very far from Father's standard, and I'm almost starting to despair. In fact, I am beginning to wonder whether he has as much potential in that regard as I'd initially believed.

  “It's getting dark,” Mother continues, turning to look out the window. “Shouldn't she have come inside by now? She never stays out once it starts getting cold.”

  “Oh, wait!” I say, causing her to turn to me. “I completely forgot! Pippa retired to bed an hour or two ago. She claimed to be suffering from a tremendous headache.”

  “She did?”

  I force a smile. “She said she didn't sleep well last night. Something about exhausting herself. You know what she's like. She can be a petty, trifling thing sometimes.”

  Glancing at Charles, I see that he still hasn't looked up from his plate. I imagine that perhaps he feels a little guilty. Either that, or he finally feels a sense of shame. None of these things are qualities that I particularly value in a man, but it is too late to back out of the wedding now. I shall improve him over time.

  “Your father wouldn't have tolerated this,” Mother mutters under her breath. “
He'd have gone up and dragged your sister down.”

  “Father wouldn't have tolerated a lot of things,” I point out. “Father was a good man, and he had values.” I look over at Charles again, and my heart sinks. “It is to be hoped that Ashbyrn House will soon be run by a good man again,” I add, “even though...”

  As the words leave my lips, I can't help feeling that Charles is a hopeless case. Still, I have selected him as my husband, and I must simply force him to become the man I need. He has no choice.

  After a moment, I look out the window and see that Mother was right. Darkness has begun to fall, and I'm sure the forest must be very cold now. Anybody still out there would be freezing by now.

  ***

  A short while later, once I'm up in my room and I'm waiting for the others to retire, I stand in front of the mirror and admire myself in my wedding dress.

  “You look beautiful,” I whisper, feeling a genuine rush of pride as I see how the dress flatters my form. Turning, I admire the view from the sides, and I can't help thinking how much I shall be envied on my wedding day. I know one should be humble about these things, but I know that Father would be so proud of me right now.

  A moment later, I hear footsteps outside my door. Mother and Charles are retiring to their rooms, which means it's time for me to slip out of my dress and take care of some business in the garden.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Owen - Today

  “I remember that night,” Charlie says with a laugh as we sit on the lawn, safely back at Ashbyrn House. “Christ, I got so drunk, I blacked out completely. I still don't remember how I ended up going home with that Laura girl, but she was... Well, let's just say she was fine in every respect. I still think about her curves, even today. Of course, that was in the days when we were still students, and I never got hangovers. I used to mix my drinks like a feckin' mad scientist.”

  He takes another swig of whiskey, before chuckling to himself.

  “And now look at us,” he continues, glancing up at the starry night sky. “More than a decade later, look how far we've come. I mean, look at you ! You're living in a bloody stately home, for Christ's sake!”

  “It's not quite that big,” I reply, before turning to look at the house. I have to admit, Ashbyrn House is perhaps a little larger than I need, but I expect I'll fill the place out eventually.

  “You, me and Vanessa,” Charlie adds. “Sorry, I know you probably don't want me to mention her, but... We were a real team back in our student days, weren't we? It's a miracle we got any studying done at all, what with the copious drinking and partying. But it all worked out in the end. You ended up as a writer and publisher, which is exactly what you wanted. Vanessa ended up working in law, which was what she wanted. And I...”

  He pauses for a moment, staring into his whiskey.

  “Well, we all know what happened to me,” he continues, with a hint of sadness in his voice. “Still, two out of three ain't bad, is it? And maybe I helped you two along.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I can't help thinking back to those days. There was a time, when I was with Vanessa and we were planning our wedding, planning a family, that I thought I had life entirely figured out. I remember wondering why other people had so much trouble, why they screwed up so often, because from my point of view everything about life was just so easy. I'd found the girl of my dreams, she'd fallen in love with me, and everything seemed absolutely perfect.

  Look at me now.

  “Funny how things work out,” Charlie whispers, as if he's read my mind. He's still staring into his drink. “Life is really about consequences, isn't it? You do something, and it kind of reduces your options a little, and then the same thing happens over and over until you're trapped. Money doesn't buy you happiness, but it can buy you freedom from the consequences of your choices. For a while, at least. But there are some consequences you can't escape, like...”

  Again, he falls silent, before grinning and holding his glass up.

  “Cheers!” he laughs. “To escaping the consequences of one's actions for as long as humanly possible!”

  Although I don't feel much like doing so, I clink my glass against his and then take a sip of whiskey. Then, not really knowing what else to do, I get to my feet. The last thing I need is to wallow any further in thoughts of Vanessa, but fortunately I feel much calmer now that I'm back at the house. I had a mini-meltdown in town earlier, but Ashbyrn House itself seems to exert a soothing influence on my mind. I honestly feel as if I shall be fine, so long as I stay here for the rest of my life.

  “It's dark out here,” Charlie points out. “I've had enough of the dark lately. Why don't we go inside?”

  Ignoring him, I step out across the lawn, stumbling toward the pond with my whiskey glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. I know I'm drunk, at least a little tipsy, but I don't really care. The night air is cold and the grass crunches slightly beneath my feet, and I can see my own breath. Right now, I want to look down into the goddamn pond and see if that strange face appears again. I know it won't, I know it can't , but I have to check. Perhaps I'll never stop checking.

  “What are you doing, man?” Charlie calls out to me. “I thought we were going back in?”

  “Wait a minute!” I yell, stopping at the edge of the pond and looking at the calm, dark water as it ripples in the night's breeze.

  “Owen?” Charlie shouts. “What in Christ's name are you doing?”

  “Wait!” I hiss, annoyed by his constant interruptions. Still staring at the water, I see patches of moonlight glinting on the surface, but the patterns resolutely refuse to form together and present a face. Besides, I'm certain that the face I saw the other night was actually beneath the surface, rather than a trick of the light.

  “Were you real?” I whisper, aware that I'm a little drunk. “Did I imagine you, or were you really down there?”

  “Owen!” Charlie yells. “It's cold out here!”

  “Wait!” I shout, feeling almost mesmerized by the sight of the water. With each passing second, I'm more and more certain that the supposed face the other night was just a momentary blip. Whatever caused it to appear, I don't need to worry.

  The pond is calm now.

  There's nothing in the dark.

  “You're right,” I say finally, turning to look back toward Charlie. “It's cold out here. Let's go back into the -”

  I stop as soon as I see the figure in the window.

  Charlie is still sitting on the lawn, nursing his whiskey. Behind him, there's a woman standing in the unlit study, staring out at us from the darkness. She's wearing a wedding dress, and in her hands she's holding a bunch of yellow and blue flowers, exactly like the bouquet in the painting. Her face is covered by a white veil, with just a hint of shadow where her eyes and mouth should be. And I swear to God, she is as clear and distinct as anything I've ever seen in my life.

  She's real.

  “At least you can see the stars out here,” Charlie mutters obliviously, looking up toward the night sky. “I can't remember the last time I saw stars in London. After a while, you kinda forget they're there, don't you?”

  My heart is pounding as I stare at the bride. I know I should call out to Charlie, that I should warn him, but the words stick in my dry mouth and I feel as if I can't possibly break the bride's gaze. She's clearly not looking at Charlie; instead, her veiled face is watching me with calm resolution, and she seems not to mind being seen. It's almost as if, after watching me for a few days, she has finally decided to make her presence clearer.

  “Charlie,” I manage to whisper finally, even though my throat is croaking slightly. “Charlie, turn around...”

  “Huh?”

  “Charlie, turn around!”

  “What's wrong?” he asks, staring at me with a gormless grin. “Owen, dude, you're being weird again.”

  “Turn around and look at the window,” I stammer, desperately hoping that he'll tell me there's nothing to be seen. “Turn around
now!”

  He gets to his feet, while keeping his eyes on me.

  “Dude,” he continues, “you're freaking me out.”

  “Turn around!” I shout.

  He stares at me for a moment longer, before sighing.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss, finally mustering the courage to hurry over to him. I drop my glass in the process, but that doesn't matter, not as I grab his shoulders and force him to turn to the window. “Look at her! Tell me you see her!”

  At that exact moment, the bride steps back into the darkness of the room, disappearing from view.

  I wait, staring at the spot where she stood, hoping against hope that Charlie saw her.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asks after a few seconds, sounding a little nervous. “Owen? Why have you got your knickers in a twist?”

  I hesitate, before pushing past him and hurrying to the back door. Once I'm inside the house, I head to the study and push the door open, and then I flick the light on to reveal my empty workroom. There's nobody here, there's not even any hint that there was someone a moment ago, but I know what I saw. I head over to the window and look out, seeing Charlie watching me from the lawn, and then I turn to look over at the painting.

  It was her.

  Deep down, I know without a shadow of a doubt that the woman I just saw is the woman from the painting. Or at least, she was wearing the same dress.

  “Hello?” I call out, looking over toward my desk and then at the open doorway. “Who's here? Show yourself!”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Katinka Ashbyrn?” I whisper, feeling a sense of fear starting to tighten in my chest. “Are you here?”

  A moment later, I hear footsteps nearby, and I turn to see Charlie wandering in from the garden with a glass of whiskey in his hands. He leans against the doorjamb for a few seconds, taking a couple of sips, and then he starts smiling.

  “You look pale, old chap,” he tells me. “Come on, share the news. What's up?”