Blackwood Farm - Anne Rice [85]
“It didn’t take long to decipher the name on the first page, and to my surprise it was Camille Blackwood. As for the rest of the writing, it was pretty near illegible but I could see that it was verse.
“A book of poems by Camille Blackwood! And it was Camille’s ghost that was always seen going up the attic stairs! I ran to tell all this to Jasmine, who was having a cigarette on the back steps. And again, there came the tirade.
“ ‘Tarquin, you leave that stuff alone! You put that book of poems in Miss Queen’s room until she comes home!’
“ ‘Now, listen, Jasmine, what do you think the ghost of Camille has been looking for? And you’ve seen her ghost same as I have. And why are you telling me to leave this book of poems alone? Don’t you see, she lost it, or it got put in the wrong place, and you’re acting like this isn’t momentous when it is.’
“ ‘And for who is this momentous!’ she fired back. ‘For you? Did you see Camille’s ghost on the stairs?’
“ ‘Twice I did and you know it,’ I answered.
“ ‘So how are you going to tell her you found the book, I’d like to know. You going to tell your Guardian Angel when you say your night prayers?’
“ ‘Not a half-bad idea,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen that ghost, you know you have.’
“ ‘Now you listen to me,’ she said, ‘I never saw that ghost, I just said I did. I said it for the tourists. I’ve never seen a ghost in my life.’
“ ‘I know that’s not true,’ I declared. ‘I think you’ve even seen Goblin. There are times when you just stare at him, and I know it. You know, Jasmine, you don’t fool me one bit.’
“ ‘You watch your tone with me, boy,’ she said, and I knew that there was nothing more to be got from her.
“She just told me again that I was to put the book away. But I had other plans for it. I knew that if I held up each page to a halogen light I could probably make out a little of the poem on it. But it was not enough. I didn’t have the patience or the stamina for that kind of detail.
“I put the book upstairs on my desk and went back down to sit on the front steps again, hoping some guest would drive up and something would change in the morbid miserable spell of the late afternoon. The panic was coming on strongly, and I said bitterly, ‘Dear God, I would do anything to prevent this! Anything.’ And I closed my eyes.
“ ‘Where are you, Goblin?’ I asked, but he didn’t answer me any more than God had, and then it seemed to me that the heat of the spring day lifted somewhat and a cooling breeze seemed to come from the swamps. Now, cooling breezes never came from that way, or at least not usually, and I turned to look down there to the far right of the house, to the old cemetery and the hulking cypress trees beyond. The swamp looked as dark and as mysterious as ever, hovering over the cemetery and rising up black and featureless against the sky.
“A woman was coming up the sloping lawn from that direction, a petite woman, walking with big deliberate steps while with her right hand she gathered up the edge of her dark skirts.
“ ‘Very pretty,’ I said out loud. ‘I knew you would be.’ And then the strangeness of my words struck me, Who was I talking to, and I felt Goblin pulling on my left hand. When I turned to look at him a sort of shock passed through me, and he flickered, shaking his head violently No, and then he was gone. It was like a lightbulb when it burns out.
“To my right, the pretty young woman was still coming on, and I could see her smiling now, and that she wore a lovely old-fashioned outfit, a high-neck mutton-sleeve lace blouse with a cameo, and a tight-waisted skirt of dark taffeta to the ground. She had high-set breasts and full voluptuous hips, and they swayed as she walked. What a dish she was. Her brown hair was all pulled back from her face, revealing a serene hairline around her temples and forehead, and she had large cheerful dark eyes.
“She finally made it to the level part of the lawn where the house stands, and she gave a little sigh as if the walk all the way up from the edge of the swamp had