The Ghost and the Rose

Chapter 9

Frenzied, I raced from the room searching every room and hallway I came to, looking for that flame of red hair. I rounded the corner and went bang straight into a solid body. I couldn't even describe what state I must have been in.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Good afternoon, my lady," he offered me a curt nod of his head. "Are you quite well?" Standing there was the man who had directed me to the Main Hall for breakfast that first day.

I struggled to catch my breath; in the end I mustered a head movement I hoped would pass for a nod. "Yes, thank you..." I let the words trail off where I wanted to insert a name until I realised that I did not know his.

"Robin," he finished for me, silver eyebrows knitting together.

"Robin," I repeated, making sure it stuck in my head. "Got it. Well I'd better be going."

"I hope nothing has given you a fright," he said. It sounded cryptic as though he knew. "I know that Lord Farthing insisted that you were to stay in your room today and rest."

I skirted round him ready to resume my search for Phoebe. "No, not at all. I was bored and decided to go for a walk and I'm just trying to find Phoebe."

He studied me for longer than what was comfortable. "Mistress Phoebe is in the library," he offered gently.

"Thank you," I whispered and with speed in my steps went to find her.

I didn't find her. She found me as I returned to my room on the Long Gallery. She must have taken in the state of my face and my frantic breathing because the smile she presented me with fell and paled instantly.

"What is it?"

"There's something wrong with this place," I whispered.

A teetering laugh caught in her throat. "What do you mean?"

"I had one of my episodes, you know, the ones where I get the strange visions and all I saw this time was John."

"John?"

I nodded, more than aware how crazy I looked. "The man we found wounded on the road that first night. Anyway, when I came to, there was a girl standing in my room. I don't know if she was real or a ghost or something else, but she was standing before me as plain as you are now."

"Ok, Anne you need to calm down," Phoebe latched on to the top of my arms. "Do you know how crazy this sounds?"

"She led me to a room and when I entered, she'd vanished. She was nowhere in sight, but I found something else. Paintings. Paintings of me."

"W-w-what are you trying to say?" Phoebe's freckles became more illuminated the whiter her skin turned.

That question got me. I wasn't sure what I was trying to say or even what I was thinking. Nothing made sense. I breathed deep. "Come with me. Please. I'll show you I'm not making this up. There are old portraits of me down in that room." I searched her eyes for that spark of recognition. "Something weird is going on here, I swear."

Phoebe swallowed hard. "Let's go then."

I retraced the path I had taken. It was only then, in my much calmer state I noticed rectangular patches in the wood were darker than the surrounding panels. Perhaps this is where the portraits once hung. We found the door closed even though I knew for certain I had left it open. I led Phoebe back down the staircase and followed the light emitted by the wall-torches at the end of the corridor.

I could envisage the image of the pictures in my head now as they leaned against the wall. Goodness knows how long they had been there. It was only a few moments before we were standing in front of the place where they were. Or where they should have been.