Oxford Whispers Part 23

My sister as my sole companion, I shut the outside world away and turn my attention from her rushed words. I avoid meeting her eyes, for I do not know if I can hide my misery.

Although Oxford, its fellows and scholars, have long supported King Charles, this is where the nuptials will be celebrated. Peter decided so; he intends to settle here, once Oliver Cromwell's triumph has been duly acted out. My future husband is certain he will be called to a position of authority.

My hands circle on my bridal bouquet, a bunch of heather, crushing its stems in my desperate attempt to control my fears. Their miserable sight cannot compare to the brightness of the rose my Cavalier gave me when we were children.

We-Puritans-do not believe marriage to be a sacrament. The enormity of the act I am about to commit overwhelms me, nevertheless. But I have to survive, I have to do what is right. Marrying Peter is right. I slump forward and my shoulders bow, while a dull pain spreads across my chest.

The movements of the carriage make my sister's body lean toward me. She is with child. Her head bends closer to mine. Too close.

"Peter has such promising prospects." For the whole morning, she has been lavishing praise on him in an attempt to make me a smiling bride. To no avail. My lips are pressed.

Facing my silence, she finally touches the subject we have been avoiding since my father accepted Peter's proposal to marry me. "You must forget about him. About this Cavalier of yours."

I am ready to accept everything, even a loveless marriage, but I will not let anyone spoil my memories. "Do not talk ill of him." My voice rises. "I forbid it. You do not know anything."

Her chin lifts as she smirks. "I know he forgot about you, after luring you to commit mortal sins."

My mouth opens to give her a vehement denial, even in the face of the facts. I try not to yell when I accuse, "You are the one who betrayed me in the first place by sharing my secret. You had no right to tell Peter about Robert, about our love."

"I have done what virtue ordered. I had no choice." She squints, and a hard smile forms on her lips. "You have no choice either. I do not want dishonor to strike our family, our name."

The carriage comes to a brutal halt, and my body collides with my sister's. She ignores the contact. The driver comes and opens the door for us, and we make our way into the cold December fog. I adjust the warm cloak above my wedding gown, gray like this day.

She lays her hand on my forearm, but I recoil at her touch.

The church dominates me, its tower throwing a threat over my future. My sister swaggers ahead of me. I follow her, my walk stiff.

We enter St. Giles, and my eyes find Peter's on the other side of the altar. The urge to flee is so strong that I nearly faint under the impulse. I hold back a scream.

I will never love this man. Guilt makes me close my eyes. I am entering into this union under false pretenses But I have no choice.

Chapter 35.

HER STOMACH RUMBLED and reminded Madison she had skipped breakfast. The burglary hadn't destroyed her appet.i.te. That was a good sign.

To rest her eyes, she looked away from her laptop screen. That morning she had downloaded a database and sacrificed big bucks-by her standards-to research the birth, marriage licenses, and parish records for a Sarah Perkins.

The cash had been wasted for now. The spectrum was too broad, and she would need more than a name and surname to find out about Sarah and Peter. At least, she needed a place to start, a location.

And Archie Black's skills. The thought of the genealogist led her to Rupert. Talk about a way to kick off a relationship: her door smashed, the police coming around after his call, answering their questions. Rupert must have thought she was a disaster magnet.

She didn't want to stand out in front of the college authorities either, at least not for the wrong reasons. From now on, she would have to keep a low profile, even lower than in the past. This would mean a subterranean lifestyle, but Yale had taught her how to become invisible.

Of course, her desire for discretion would mean pulling out a certain thorn from the sole of her foot p.r.o.nto, a thorn named Peter, and whoever his accomplice was.

A m.u.f.fled noise dragged Madison out of her plans for annihilation and a ghost-free future. The creak came from behind her door. A chill ran down her spine and back up to her heart, where it settled with a squeeze.

Peter's partner-in-crime was back to get her in broad daylight.

The doork.n.o.b twisted, once, twice. Her knees locked, but she fought her fear and grabbed a picture frame in her right hand. With a jerking movement, she pulled the door wide open.

Jackson stood in front of her. The sight of him brought tears into her eyes. Until that moment, she hadn't fully realized how bad the burglary had hit her.

She wanted to freak out, reach out for comfort and sag against him. He was the only one who knew, the only one she could confide in. But Madison remembered the scene at Freud's, when he had shared his own heartbreak, and his defiance against Rupert.

She was now dating Rupert. So maybe a little restrain was in order.

"I've just heard about the burglary," he started. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe it happened right inside Christ Church." His wrinkled brow and strained smile betrayed his concern.

"It was Peter." Madison had sputtered out the words.

His body tensed.

"Burglaries happen in the real world too. Why would Peter need to steal something from you?"

"That's the point. Nothing was stolen. On the contrary, he left me a little present." She waved toward her desk where the Bible lay.

His eyes narrowed on the book, and he walked toward the desk. He grabbed the leather-bound volume and started turning the pages, showing extra care for the ancient object.

"*He will never love you the way I do.' These are strange words to write on the Holy Scriptures." He now rested on the edge of the desk, as he often did during cla.s.ses.

"Peter said those exact words when ..." Madison stopped, her mouth dry. She hadn't mentioned the Louisiana episode to Jackson. It would have meant revealing Tarquin's attack, and Ollie was the only one she had talked to about the attempted rape. "Peter said those exact words in a dream."

Jackson put the Bible back on the desk and started tapping his fingers on the tabletop, clearly not convinced.

"It was Peter," Madison hammered like a mantra.

"Has anyone had access to your room recently?"

She shook her head, trying to recall anyone she wouldn't know having lurked on their floor. But nothing sprang to her mind. "No, Ollie always comes and goes. Rupert got inside at the same time as I did."

"Vance was with you last night?" He scowled and stood at the same time.

She crossed her arms, took a deep breath and held it in. Once she released it, her voice was controlled. "That is beside the point. We were coming back from dinner. That's when we saw the door had been smashed."

Jackson started pacing the narrow width of her study. "Have you told him anything about the painting? About your powers?"

His question awoke the guilt she already felt for keeping her secret after Rupert's confession. She covered her embarra.s.sment by rolling her eyes and flicking her gaze upward. Her tone had sharpened when she replied, "I haven't told anything to anybody."

"Good. Then how? How did Peter manage to trash your door?" His answer and questions were clipped.

Bouncing on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, Madison headed toward the wardrobe in her bedroom. On the way, she put the photo frame back where she had taken it to defend herself.

She opened the wardrobe, and a lingering scent reached her nostrils and unsettled her once again. Tobacco? Mixed with ... lemongra.s.s? Weird. The scent was not hers, but still familiar. Ill at ease, she pushed the sensation away and grabbed Mamie's diary from beneath layers of clothes.

She turned back toward Jackson. "Remember what my grandmother said about possession. I thought that maybe Sarah's soul had possessed me. But she explained to me that only spirits full of hatred, or with vengeance in them, were involved in such acts. I believe Peter has taken possession of someone. Here in Oxford. Someone human, who can do all these physical acts a mere spirit like Peter can't."

A line formed between Jackson's eyebrows. She handed him the diary, struggling to part from the rea.s.suring contact of the leather against her palm. "I have marked the pages where she writes about the mechanism of possession, and exorcism."

"Exorcism?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, opened the book and wandered a short distance while reading.

"Come on, Jackson. You descend from Salem witches. You should believe in exorcism."

He turned toward her, still reading through the pages Madison had marked with torn pieces of paper. "I'm open to the concept of exorcism. But how do you intend to use it against Peter?"

Her breathing quickened, and her voice became buoyant. "Mamie wrote a prayer voodoo priestesses have used to take demons or evil spirits away from the victims they inhabit, and destroy the demons in the process. Have a look at it, it's on the last page I marked."

His eyes fixed on the diary, he read the selection. "Yeah, I can see that. But there seems to be a few caveats for the whole operation to be successful."

Madison refused to be deterred. "If the host has refused to give himself to the vengeful spirit, then he will survive the exorcism. His own soul will get back into his body."

"What if the host has accepted the possession? If his interests are aligned with those of the spirit, for example."

"In that case, the balance of powers is more equal between the evil spirit and the host. That means the demon can stay inside the host much longer. In a way, it works like an organ transplant. If the host rejects him right from the start, then at some point the demon might be kicked out earlier than he would like to."

"On the other hand, if the possession is consensual, Peter would have to give some leeway to his accomplice," Jackson completed.

"Exactly." Relief swam over her body. He understood.

"So what is our plan of attack?"

"Find out who Peter has possessed, isolate him, and inflict the prayer on him."

Jackson handed her back the diary. "It sounds very straightforward."

Skepticism had seeped into his voice. She raised her chin in defiance. He always was so supportive of her powers. Why not today when she needed his experience more than ever? Surely his resentment against Rupert wasn't enough.

Jackson headed to the door, opened it, and turned toward Madison. "Of course, you realize that someone close to you might hate you enough to agree with Peter's vengeance." He nodded to her. "Keep the prayer with you at all times. Learn it by heart. We never know when that b.a.s.t.a.r.d might strike again. In the meantime, I'll do some more research."

Slowly, he closed the door behind him.

The reality of his words settled inside of her. She went back to her desk and slumped into her chair. Losing track of time, paranoid thoughts swirled in her mind.

A knock at the door startled her and she screamed. Ashamed with her overreaction, she composed herself, then opened the door.

Miss Lindsey took a shuffling step back, surprise etched across her face.

"You're here," she acknowledged in a whisper.

Well, this was Madison's room.

"I came to check if the builder had repaired the door, like he said he would."

"He has. This morning." Madison's voice was terse, but unease had her pull at her sweatshirt. More than ever, the woman summoned images of Rebecca's Mrs. Danvers.

"I see," Miss Lindsey commented, her lips pressed in a fine line. Her narrowing eyes couldn't hide her gla.s.sy gaze. "You don't seem to take this incident very seriously. You didn't even want to call the police." She hardly veiled her criticism.

"I've no idea why they chose my room. I don't own anything valuable. It's bad luck that-"

"Why would someone break into your room and steal nothing? He must have been looking for something." Her eyes were probing, but Madison couldn't meet her gaze. She felt guilty, although she had no reason to.

"I don't know."

Miss Lindsey stepped into the room, and Madison's stomach dropped. The woman paced around the compact square of her study, examining every one of its angles.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for." Madison's voice had taken on a shrill tone. Her hands gripped the doork.n.o.b, turning her knuckles white.

"Drugs."

"Drugs?"

"Anything illegal, you would have refrained from declaring to be stolen to the police. You or your new friend, Rupert Vance. His reputation is scandalous enough."

Madison wanted to punch that haughty face of hers. But she couldn't p.i.s.s off Christ Church's authorities.

Low profile, low profile.

"I don't do drugs, and neither does Rupert. He rows for Oxford, remember? He has to p.i.s.s in a cup every month to prove it."

"No need to be so graphic." Miss Lindsey stood next to the desk, her hands caressing the weathered cover of the antique Bible. "Now, this is an unexpected item, a valuable-looking one too."

"That's for my research. A friend lent it to me." Madison's mind dug for a plausible explanation. "Doctor McCain."

"I see. He's been a good friend to you."

"We discussed my relationship with Doctor McCain before Christmas." Madison wanted to swallow her words, but it was too late. The woman could complicate her college life big time.

The censor took her cue and exited the room. When she crossed the threshold to the corridor, she warned, "I'm keeping an eye on you, Miss LeBon. I'm keeping a very close eye on you."

With deliberate care and without a word, Madison closed the door. She leaned against it, her ears trying to follow the retreating steps of Miss Lindsey.

When she was sure the threat had receded, she released a deep breath.

Miss Lindsey hated her.

Chapter 36.