Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [129]
“I only wondered . . . Are you by chance related to the judge John Hathorne, who was appointed to the Court of Oyer and Terminer so long ago—the witch trial judge?”
The brandy was sweet fire in my mouth. I choked slightly, startled by her words.
“Hobbs, there were Hobbses who were arrested,” I murmured. “Is that why—? To my shame, I am the man’s descendant and so have set the ‘w’ in my name to evoke the woods and innocent blossoms and to mark a difference between him and me. Judge Hathorne will always be the shadow and the thorn in our family tree.”
“Look here,” began Saxton.
“Forgive me,” Patience Hobbs said, gripping the now-empty salver against her body like a shield. “It was meddlesome to ask, as my grandmother warned.”
So that was the cause of lifted voices in the kitchen!
“Our history follows us—I am not sorry that you asked, only that I had such an answer to give,” I told her.
She nodded and busied herself with the fire while we went on transcribing the pages into readable print. As she left the room, Patience Hobbs looked back over one shoulder. Meeting her glance, I thought again how remarkably lovely she was—even when her equanimity was vexed, she somehow reminded me of the dusky beauty of certain dark red roses. Such deep red flowers used to grow by the jailhouse door when I was a boy.
Left to ourselves, we discussed the book in low tones. Instinctively we wished to keep the business quiet. Uncovering one of the mirrors, I examined the face, his and yet subtly estranged from that of Edward Saxton.
“Oh!” Saxton cried, the single note lingering in the air. Once more he looked grief struck, and his hands shook with anxiety.
“Here, have another sip of brandy,” I said, handing him the glass, struggling to find cheer that would dissolve his distress. “Shall we try the first method?”
He set the glass on the library table.
“Is it safe, you think? Or could it be evil? Could it be a spell? I fear being involved in mystery.” Taking a seat by the flames, he gave a shiver of unrest.
“Laying a ghost is considered a charitable act—surely laying a picture or simulacrum would not be worse or more dangerous,” I suggested. “I am no expert, though, and if you wish a priest to attend us—”
“No, no,” he said hurriedly.
“Strange how so small a thing makes its presence felt,” I murmured.
Soon we drew closer to the mirror, where we tried the oldest of the exhortations: In the name of all that is holy, go! Get thee gone to heaven or to parts netherward, thou face, thou crookshank remnant, thou unbuttoned picture of the dead!
“That was no use,” Theron Saxton judged; to my surprise, he laughed until his eyes were moist with tears. “I only wish Edward could have heard us shouting such nonsense! Unbuttoned, indeed!”
Swinging around, he stared at the mirror, and the smile on his face lessened until it finally vanished. “What if the book’s wrong? What if it’s him, a true ghost, or not him but something malevolent?”
“Perhaps we ought to try the words that the author recommended most highly,” I said, “as loosening the hold of the living on the reflection. The idea is that you might be keeping his image here out of brotherly love, even though it gives you a fright.” I yawned as I rustled through my notes. The deficit in sleep had been catching up to me all day, and I was longing for bed.
I handed Saxton a sheet of foolscap bearing the properly spelled, copied-out words and listened as my friend read:
“Belovéd one, you lost your image in this Looking-glass,
And now I cannot turn and look away from you.
This floating semblance of your face belies the moth-like Peace
That settled on your face the day you left the World.
Bestir yourself to hunt this ghostly Mask of unselved Self
And, if you love me, snatch it in your sleeping hand
And keep it there until we meet in other, better worlds
Where no masks lie and all that’s ghostly-lost is found.”
“Poulter’s measure,” Saxton muttered.
“What?”
He didn’t answer. Staring into the mirror, I tried to judge whether the face of Edward Saxton wore a softened aspect.
“I don’t know.