The Ghost and the Rose

Chapter 19

I scrambled up from the bed, staggering back against the wall. Latching onto the raised flowered surface and I traced them with my fingertips. "What did you say?"

"I killed you," he repeated, his words range with pride. "Your beloved Henry killed John, that you now know. Stabbed him through the heart as though he were nought but game caught on a hunt."

That last comment got me. "I know about Henry, my vision showed me but you're lying about Kathryn. She killed herself."

"Am I? Why on earth would I lie? I have nothing to gain from it, Lord Farthing sought the love of your life on that battlefield to prevent the family name falling into shame, whilst I stalked these halls for hours waiting for your return."

"Thomas did see you that night. It wasn't just a nightmare."

"Ha! I wondered why the young child considered me so. I wasn't aware someone else was in on my secret."

"Kate's death was suicide," I stated. Images from my vision came back into my mind. He was right, I didn't recall her cutting her wrists. No, something hit her head and then the knife fell to the floor.

"Correction. It looked like suicide. You see, I had the perfect alibi. With steel helmets encased around our heads, who could tell who was present at the battle and who was not. I made sure your brother saw my face just before the battle started. Then, I slithered my way back to Burnley and hid waiting for the opportune moment." His eyes shone bright.

"I saw you," he continued. "Rushing through the gallery like some pathetic lowly maid. I have to say, you have more about you this time round. I may have been persuaded to rouse a shed of affection for you."

"You have no feelings!" I spat. "I doubt you were even born with a heart."

"Oh, I was. It just beats more fiercely when the course of one's actions ultimately benefit me. You were upon your bed when I entered your room. The knife held steadfast in your hand," he shuffled forward on the seat and held out his hand as though he grasped a knife.

I wouldn't have admitted it, but he had the stance perfect. So perfect in fact I knew he was telling the truth. The images of that night were flooding my mind, but that was one part I did not want to relive.

"Like this. You had your back to me. I was tempted to wait and see if you had the guts to do it as I wasn't quite sure. As it were, my time was precious and my presence at your brother's victory feast was expected. I struck you on the back of your head with the statue of the knight on the horse. The force killed you instantly."

"The St George," I whispered. "So that is why I had such a reaction to it that I begged Henry to remove it from my room."

Ralph laughed. "I put it back in your room on the day I found you by the roadside. It appears the effect I have is long-lasting and far-reaching. You may discover it is also the source of your violent head pain. Apologies, I digress."

I found it difficult to stomach just how calm and collected he was. He could have been sat with my Aunt Lily and Uncle Richard watching Coronation Street with a cup of tea. But he was speaking about a murder he had committed. My murder. It was so unnerving. It was so cold.

"I knew you were dead," he continued. "The way your body hung limp and how your eyes glazed over like the morning mist," he looked away for a moment and for a brief second, I believed him capable of remorse. "I never forgot those dead eyes."

Then he snapped back. "So I arranged your body, cut your wrists with the knife you had so kindly provided, placed Montagu's locket in your hand and as they say, the rest is history."