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From his waistcoat pocket, Kit produced a key and smirked at her.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow as Kit manifested and inserted the key. It turned with a squeak, and the door slowly swung open.
Stephanie peered inside as Kit flicked a light switch, and a small gasp left her mouth.
“What’s this?” she inquired, entering the large room and gazing around.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall and appeared recently used. Bookshelves filled the walls, boasting books, ornaments, and other items. A big leather wingback chair that looked really comfortable was near the fireplace, with an occasional table next to it. A deer horn chandelier hung from the ceiling. There was a small writing desk stood to one side with another chair tucked beside it, and there was a footstool to rest your feet on.
“This is where I hid all of my treasurers when I died. The truth is, I have no intention of sharing these precious items. However, that is not the reason I brought you here. This is,” Kit replied and pointed to a portrait on the wall.
Stephanie stepped closer.
“That’s you.”
“Painted six months before my death,” Kit confirmed.
Stephanie studied the painting, looking bemused. She was unsure how she felt when she considered the fact she was actually talking to a ghost. A genuine spirit. Not some floaty mist or a half-formed spectre, but a ghost who seemed to be able to become solid and also see-through. This was beyond anything in her experience, and she was uncertain how to feel or act.
Stephanie gained a few precious moments by staring at the portrait. Kit, as he preferred to be called, stood gazing out over the room. He was turned slightly sideways with a background of a study. He wore fawn-coloured trousers with black shining boots coming to his knees. His hair was loose around his face, giving him a dangerous look, and his green eyes stared out at her. He wore a white shirt with a plum-coloured waistcoat and a coat with silver embroidery. Kit’s hair was dark, but his eyes and face held a hint of mischievousness. The painter had caught him perfectly.
A brass plaque underneath and attached to the gilt frame stated his name, ‘The Honourable Christopher Norton, died1716’. Stephanie raised her gaze again and compared the portrait to the ghost.
Kit winked at her and grinned as her mouth fell open.
“Is this some elaborate prank?” Stephanie finally asked.
“Not at all. What you see, miss, is what you get,” Kit returned.
She shook her head in thought. “My inn is haunted by a ghost who appears intelligent and able to turn solid and not,” Stephanie whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why are you showing yourself to me? Because this inn, apart from very brief moments, has been empty for three hundred years,” Stephanie challenged.
Kit was after something. None of this made sense. Before buying The White Witch, Stephanie had done her research and that had been rather shocking. The inn was rumoured to be haunted by a poltergeist that chased all previous owners away. None lasted long, although the ghost had permitted contractors to make repairs or improvements to the inn, such as electricity. But it allowed none to stay within The White Witch’s walls for more than a few days.
Stephanie hadn’t discovered why the inn had fallen empty nor why the spirit insisted on nobody living there, and she’d honestly not paid much attention to the rumours. Now faced with Kit, she was wondering what more there was that she hadn’t learned. Or what she’d overlooked. Whatever it was, it would be huge… because that was her luck.
“So why aren’t you chasing me away?”
Kit cocked his head to stare at her, and she felt uneasy. There was something in his gaze she couldn’t distinguish.
“Please explain yourself,” Kit murmured softly.
“All the rumours I heard about The White Witch mention a malevolent spirit, one who refuses to allow people to stay here. If you’re the only ghost here, then they speak of you. So whyaren’t you terrorising me to regain sole occupancy of this inn?” Stephanie asked boldly. She held Kit’s gaze but felt fear uncurl in her belly. Was this pleasant-looking and sounding spirit about to become another nightmare she’d had to struggle to overcome? And why was her life so damn difficult?
“Answer me, Kit, why are you treating me differently to all the rumours? Or is there another ghost that you’re protecting me from?” Stephanie pushed.
Kit opened his mouth and then closed it again. A wry smile crossed his lips, and Stephanie found herself mildly fascinated.
“You have some inner strength left,” Kit replied rather bizarrely.
“What’s that meant to mean?” Stephanie asked, straightening.
“I can see the pain and anguish in your soul. You’ve suffered something terrible, brought on by a man, or so I sense. Stephanie, you appear broken, but there’s something inside that still fights.”
Stephanie winced, and her shoulders curved in self-defence. Kit’s words, whether he knew the meaning of them or not, struck home and wriggled into her confidence, undermining her a little.
