Page 81 of Love at First Fright

She stopped mid-swoon, looking thoroughly annoyed. “I only have two more weeks to practice, you know.”

“So I gather you know she was a famous actress, back in the fifties?” I asked Charlie.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But I mainly know her from reading Wikipedia. She’s what made this manor famous for being haunted.”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms beneath her bust—a deliberate pose that would’ve photographed beautifully in life. “Darling, I was famous long before I had the poor taste to die here.”

Charlie’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked to me for guidance.

I squeezed his hand gently. “She can hear you. Go on, talk to her.”

“Right. Sorry.” Charlie cleared his throat. “I meant—I know you were a huge star. I’ve seen photos. You were incredible.”

Vivian preened, smoothing down her dove-grey dress. “Well. At least someone appreciates quality cinema.” She glided closer to Charlie. “You read about me on…?”

“Wikipedia,” Charlie supplied. “It’s like an online encyclopaedia. Anyone can edit it, though, so—”

“And what does this Wiki-pedia say about how I died?” Her expression sharpened. “Let me guess. The séance? The dramatic fall from the window? Star-crossed lovers and jealous rivals?”

Charlie nodded slowly. “Yeah, basically. They said you fell during a séance at a house party. That there was speculation about whether you jumped, or were pushed, or—”

Vivian laughed, throwing her head back and cackling at the high ceiling. “Of course they did. Because Heaven forbid Vivian Starling die in an ordinary fashion.” She turned away, facing the covered mirror above the fireplace. “The séance was hours earlier, darling. Everyone was terrified, running about screaming, convinced we’d summoned demons. Absolute chaos.”

“So you didn’t die during the séance?” Charlie asked.

“God, no.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I died later. Much later. After everyone had calmed down and got back to drinking. I was utterly sloshed—Harvey Wallbangers, if memory serves—and I needed air. Went to open the window in the upper gallery. Leant out too far and just… went over.”

Silence stretched. Charlie’s grip on my hand tightened. “That’s it?” he finally said. “You just… fell out of a window?”

“I was wearing these four-inch heels. Magnificent but entirely impractical.” Vivian turned back to face us, and for a moment, something flickered across her face. “But nobody wants to hear about Vivian Starling toppling drunkenly out of a window at four in the morning, do they? Much better to say she died mysteriously during an occult ritual. A jealous lover, a rival actress, a vengeful spirit—so much more interesting.”

“So the haunting legend—”

“Based on absolute fiction. But everyone expects drama from a dead actress, so…” She gestured to herself, then struck another pose. “I give them what they want. The glamour, the mystery, the eternal performance. Truth is cheap, darling. Legend is forever.”

We left Vivian to her theatrics, and I led Charlie to a large window in the corridor overlooking the gardens. The glass was grimy but still provided a decent view of the grounds.

Charlie squinted out at the landscape. “I can’t see anything.”

I took his hand again—that lovely, lovely, warmth—and watched his expression change as Thomas came into view. “There’s Thomas. Groundskeeper who drowned in the well.”

He moved methodically between the flowerbeds, tending to plants that had been dead for decades. His movements were careful, reverent, as if the withered stems might bloom again under his ghostly touch.

“That’s… sad,” Charlie murmured.

“Thomas is happy enough,” I said. “He loved those gardens when he was alive. Still loves them now. Plus, you should see them at night.”

Charlie watched Thomas work, his thumb absently stroking across my knuckles. Did he realise he was doing it? Probably not. But I definitely wasn’t going to disturb him.

Thomas continued his endless circuit through the dead garden, and Charlie’s thumb kept tracing endless patterns across my knuckles, and I remained very, very still, praying for this moment to be endless.

Eventually, Charlie said, “Is that everyone, then?”

I laughed. “Not even close. But depends who we’re counting here.”

“What do you mean?”

How to explain this? “So, some of us are like me, Lady Grimthorne, Molly. We can talk, move around, choose what we do. And some are… not.”