The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [145]
“Can’t believe that Sinjun was our ghost? Evidently so. Yes, she most certainly was. Here’s the proof.”
But Alexandra was thinking furiously, trying to remember when she’d first seen the ghost. She remembered quickly enough. Sinjun had been in London. She wasn’t wrong. She started to tell Douglas when she saw that he was staring fixedly at the east windows. He was somewhat white about the mouth. He looked tense and stiff, his back and shoulders rigid. She said nothing.
Finally, he said firmly, turning back to her, “It was Sinjun all along. Just my little sister playing at being a ghost because she wanted to stir things up, wanted to have some fun at our expense.”
Alexandra was shaking her head. She opened her mouth but Douglas raised his hand.
“Yes, it was just Sinjun, nothing more, nothing extraordinary, nothing ghostly. A real live human being, not a willowy phantom, not a creature who speaks but really doesn’t but you hear it in your mind. No, nothing like that. It’s true. It’s very important that it’s true. It will remain true. Tell me you understand this, Alexandra.”
“I understand.”
He kissed her, stood straight again, and said as he stared at the wig and the gown, “I have decided not to say anything about it to Sinjun. I don’t wish to hear her denials, her protestations. I wish to let the entire subject alone. No, don’t argue with me. My mind is made up. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Unlike my vaunted ancestors, I will never write about that accursed Virgin Bride, no matter the fact that she was of great assistance—in my mind, of course, nowhere else, naturally, and not really there as something substantial or nearly substantial. Since I will burn Sinjun’s props, there will be no more appearances by that ghostly young lady. Never again. No one will have a word to say in nonsensical diaries in future years. That’s the way it must be. I will accept nothing to the contrary. Do you understand, Alexandra?”
“I understand.”
“Good,” he said, kissed her again, and left her to look after him. She smiled as she shook her head, and returned to her mending.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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