“They won’t hurt you if you stop struggling,” she called.
“Let me go! Let me go! You’re a monster!”
“I’m here to help you!”
“That was what she said too!”
Edwina stilled. “She?”
“The witch said she could help me!” The girl cried. “All I had to do was bind myself to the Willoughby family jewels, and he would choose me. And not Annabelle.”
Witchcraft. Another word for black magic. Edwina’s gut curled as she realized that this poor spirit had been as tortured as both Lady Willoughby’s.
“She lied,” she whispered. “She bound your soul to the ring, and with it your lifeforce. You died, didn’t you? And then she presented the ring to Lord Willoughby as a gift for his bride.”
A sob burst from the girl’s throat. She had to have been young when she died—perhaps seventeen or eighteen.
“What’s your name?” Edwina tried again.
“Clare.” The spirit froze as if she hadn’t been able to recall for such a very long time. “My name is Clare Worthington.” She suddenly sucked in a sharp gasp, the darkness beginning to fade from her eyes. “Oh, my goodness. Mama. Mama?” She turned around in circles. “Where is my mother? Where is my sister? Mama! I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good!”
“It’s been a long time, Clare. Your mother has passed on.”
“No, no, no, mama….” Tears bled down the spirit’s face. “Is she in Heaven? Is this Hell?” Fisting her fingers, she turned around desperately. “I’m in Hell, aren’t I? Oh, mercy me. I sold my soul to the Devil, didn’t I? Please! Please help me.”
“We’re not in Hell,” Edwina soothed, stepping forward warily. “This is some sort of spirit world within the ring, I think. And we’re both trapped here, unless you choose to move on.”
Clare clutched at her throat and for the first time, the cloudiness left her eyes. “It hurts. It hurts. She’s strangling me. I can’t breathe.”
Edwina took a step toward her. “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I can help you—truly help you. I can set you free. And perhaps there is a heaven waiting for you, with those you love.”
“I don’t want to lose him!” The girl cried. “He promised he’d marry me. He promised we’d be together forever. He promised… if I just…. If I let him….” The words stalled, and then Clare forged on as if trying to convince herself. “He loved me and not her. His mother was forcing them to marry, but he loved me.”
Edwina suddenly wanted to punch Lord Willoughby—the original—in the teeth.
It was very clear what had happened now.
A naïve young woman. A handsome young earl.
“He’s gone, Clare.” Edwina caught her by the hands, gasping at how icy they were. “Your Lord Willoughby is gone. You have to give him up, or you shall find no peace for yourself.”
She’d be lost to the ring and the curse would grind inexorably on.
Clare’s eyes were becoming clearer, color bleeding up her arms as if she was stealing some of the warmth from Edwina’s hands.
Dangerous. For the spirit was consuming her heat and warmth and life. But she needed some of it, if she was ever going to be able to move on.
And Edwina made a decision. Curling her arms around Clare, she hauled her into a hug. “Men make lots of promises they don’t intend to keep. I’m sorry that he did this to you. It was wrong of him. Very wrong. But you have to let go, Clare. Let go of your hate and your rage. Let go of your Willoughby. You deserved better. Imagine the light. Imagine heat and warmth. Imagine your family. Your mama. Let go of the past and go be with your family again.”
Her teeth were starting to chatter.
Her breath began to catch.
Please let go….
With a final sob, Clare vanished in her arms.
Edwina staggered forward.
