Dark Corner

Chapter 18

A Friendly Ghost

I was getting used to wearing the emotional support animal vest. Abigail’s charm wore off, and there was no time to gather the necessary ingredients to cloak me again. I accepted the emotional animal vest. It was my way into places that normally would be closed to me. We sat in the grand foyer of the Biltmore Estate. Mrs. Twiggs, Abigail, Charlotte, myself, and my constant companion, Pixel. Even if Tracker had an emotional support vest, his youthful energy would have given him away. His constant pacing and whining would not be tolerated. A gentleman came over to us.

Mrs. Twiggs rose and greeted him. “Justin, so nice to see you,” she said.

I recognized him from the pumpkin fest. Justin Pickering, director of events, had overseen the Biltmore special events for quite a few years now. We followed him back to his office where he sat down behind his large cherry desk after showing Mrs. Twiggs to the seat across from him. I appreciated the craftsmanship of his desk. It was late 1800s, probably a souvenir from one of George Vanderbilt’s European furniture-finding trips. The palladium window behind him looked out over the east lawn. Pixel hopped out of Abigail’s arms and sat on the small table, staring out the window. Mr. Pickering turned around in his chair and scratched Pixel’s ears.

“Beatrice, I had our exterminators walk through the village grounds, trying to locate the source of the locusts.”

I thought the source would not be found, at least not in this world.

“What a horrible catastrophe. It seems like the Biltmore curse is true. First poor Mrs. Lund and then the locusts ruining the May Day celebration.”

“What curse are you talking about?” Charlotte asked.

Mrs. Twiggs realized she hadn’t introduced Charlotte to Mr. Pickering. “Justin, this is Charlotte Tangledwood, Emma’s great-niece.”

Mr. Pickering rose and turned to Charlotte. “I am so sorry for your loss. She was a great woman and a great benefactress of the estate.” He took his seat, turned to all of us, and continued, “The curse I’m referring to was cast upon the Biltmore and the neighboring village by a clairvoyant from Louisiana, Madame Claire. She came to host one of the many séances that George and Edith Vanderbilt held at the estate. While here, she stayed at the Fillmore Hotel in downtown Asheville, which was where many guests stayed while the estate was under construction. A great fire burned down the hotel, killing many of the guests including Madame Claire. On her deathbed, it was said she cursed the Vanderbilts and the Biltmore.”

Abigail shifted in her chair. I stepped onto her lap. She stroked my fur, listening intently at the sound of her grandmother’s name.

He continued speaking. I spoke with Abigail in her thoughts. “Terra, he’s talking about my grandmother,” Abigail whispered without moving her lips. “She didn’t cast a curse. It was the evil that came for her and the book that cursed the Biltmore.”

Mrs. Twiggs listened into our conversation while smiling and nodding at Mr. Pickering.

“Abigail let it go,” I told her.

“He’s talking about my grandmother. She’s a white witch.” Abigail held back tears for the grandmother she had only met as an apparition. We turned our attention back to Mr. Pickering. The conversation turned to Mrs. Lund.

“How did you find Mrs. Lund?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.

“She contacted us. She saw we were planning the Civil War exhibit, and she volunteered to come help.”

“Did you verify her references? Did you call the university?”

“I didn’t think it necessary since Mrs. Loblolly recommended her.”

Abigail stood up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to show Charlotte around the estate.”

Mr. Pickering said, “Of course.”

Charlotte and Abigail ran off. I thought it best to remain behind and continue listening to the conversation.

“I went over all this with the police,” Mr. Pickering said. “Of course, we’ve tried to keep it out of the papers as much as possible. For now we’re calling it a tragic accident.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Twiggs nodded. Her attention turned back to the Civil War exhibit. “The ladies will be glad to help with the exhibit. They already have been volunteering family heirlooms, and I have an extensive knowledge of the battles fought in the Carolinas. And I would love to help you with the exhibit.”

“Beatrice, that would be wonderful. Your help is always appreciated around the estate.” Mr. Pickering gave her a big smile.

“If you don’t mind, Justin, I’d like to take an inventory of the artifacts in the storage room so we can think about staging.” Mrs. Twiggs stood up.

“Of course, please let us know if you need any help.” Mr. Pickering walked her to the door.

Mrs. Twiggs thanked him. We headed down the long corridor to the back stairs down to the basement. This time I didn’t feel the cold rush of air. Maybe because it was still daylight, or maybe I had been mistaken. We entered the storage room. Mrs. Twiggs took notes on her reporter’s pad while she opened the boxes labeled for the exhibit. The mannequin that had embraced Mrs. Lund was standing upright at attention, next to the other two uniformed soldiers. The sword was missing from his outstretched hand. I noticed for the first time he wore a lieutenant’s uniform. Though his wax face did not look familiar, his uniform did. I had seen it before. I walked around, sniffing the wool. I rubbed my scent against it. Pixel sat, not knowing what to make of my actions, so he copied me.

“Copycat,” I whispered.

He smiled at me, not understanding the reference. This couldn’t be the same uniform. There were many Confederate lieutenants in the Carolinas. I sniffed again, and though it was in excellent condition and well-kept, I could still smell the scent of the lieutenant who had come for Agatha Hollows at her cabin.

“Mrs. Twiggs, who donated these uniforms?”

She reached into her purse and retrieved a piece of paper. She ran her finger along the itemized list and then examined the uniform. “Most of the uniforms were donated by June. They’re boxes of them.”

“What about these three?”

She checked the list again. “Yes, these three were donated by June. She even has the provenance listed of all the uniforms. Their names and regiments.”

“Mrs. Twiggs, what’s the name of the lieutenant?”

Mrs. Twiggs ran her finger down the list, stopped, and then said, “There’s no name listed.”

As she spoke, I felt the cold draft. Pixel felt it too. Mrs. Twiggs would have felt it if she wasn’t so fixated on the matter at hand. Cats and even some dogs, only the smartest mind you, can sense ghosts. Ghosts, they disturb the air, leaving a vacuum behind them. That vacuum causes the temperature to drop. Whoever this ghost was, it was not making itself known to us. Pixel followed behind Mrs. Twiggs as she continued her inventory. He did not seem upset or scared but instead bore a quiet confidence. It was something different about him.

“Mrs. Twiggs, I have to go,” I said.

“Terra, do we need to leave?”

“Finish what you’re doing. Pixel, stay here. We’ll meet up at the Leaf & Page.” I ran out of the room, down the hall and out of the Biltmore, past the crowds of tourists lined up by the front entrance waiting for the next tour. I ran until I reached the Fillmore Hotel. The only way to find a ghost is to ask another ghost. The only ghost who would talk to me stood on guard at the entrance of the refurbished hotel. I waited for the patrons as they came and went, garbed in their finest. Bradley stood at attention like a beefeater. He gave me a sly wink. I had not seen him since early fall. As the last patron entered, he stooped down to be closer to me.

“Young miss, so good to see you. Isn’t she beautiful? What a fine job they did shining her up.”

“Bradley, she looks wonderful. I wondered if I could speak with you.”

“Young miss, I’m afraid it’s a while before dinner.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. May we talk?” I had to be careful on how to approach the subject. Bradley didn’t know he was a ghost, and now that the Fillmore was reopened so many years since the fire, a lot of the ghosts that had haunted it had left. Bradley was one of the few remaining. The night of the fire Bradley had rescued many of the guests, only to succumb to the smoke himself.

“I do have time, young miss, I’m due for a break.”

We walked around to the alley. “Oh, before I forget. Lionel sends his greetings,” Bradley said, striking me dumbfounded. “He stopped by looking for you.”

“Bradley, has anyone else been looking for me?”

“Now that you mention it, a young man no more than a boy who had a very heavy Southern accent. He did not give his name. He said that if I were to see you I should tell you that you can find him at the Dark Corner. Of course, I have no idea what he meant. He seemed very nervous but pleasant. He seemed awfully young to be a soldier.”

“Thank you, Bradley.”

“Of course, young miss. I’ll give your regards to Lionel if we cross ways again.”

“Please do. Tell him how much I love and miss him.”

“He knows, young miss,” Bradley said as he stroked his pencil-thin mustache and winked.