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Chapter 3


Buffy is getting a wee bit bolder and William is starting to wonder if he is going mad!!!

Italics = thoughts


He sat silently at his desk.

It was back.

He could sense something watching him again and frankly, he was intrigued. The initial and subsequent spine tingling terror had slowly faded to a small corner of his mind and heart, still there but now overlaid with curiosity.

But, every time he turned to see if he could see what ever it was - his empty room stared back at him.

Goosebumps covered his skin and the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose under the burning gaze of whatever it was that was here in his rooms.

William reached for the snifter of brandy that he had brought upstairs with him and took a sip, the fiery liquid slipped down his throat leaving a burning path in it's wake. The dark amber liquid settled in his stomach and false warmth filled his entire being.

William loosened his cravat and tossed it aside - in his sanctuary he knew it was safe to be slightly more relaxed about his appearance. It was not as if he had to worry about anyone seeing him.

William ruefully thought back over the last two weeks.

It had started with Hetty, their maid, who had asked to be released from her contract. When Mama had pressed Ms Jenkins, the Housekeeper as to why, she had been told that Hetty was too scared to tend to the bedrooms, claiming that there was a presence in there that was not of this world.

Both Mama and the Ms Jenkins had agreed that Hetty should be released with a good set of references - until recently she had been an exemplary maid and it was unkind not to ensure that she were placed within a good household.

William, as the only male in the house, had not been included in these debates over Hetty's placement and claims. This was because, Mama and Ms Jenkins were in charge of the household and William had the utmost respect for Ms Jenkins, the housekeeper who had been with them for over twenty years. He knew between the two of them that order would be restored.

William stared pensively at the blank page of his journal, as it lay open on his desk before him, wondering how to document what had been happening to him over the last few weeks. He was hesitant to do record anything on paper, if he wrote anything within the pages of his treasured tome, he would have to ensure that it remained hidden. William wanted to write freely without worrying if he would be carted off to Bedlam.

William ran his lean fingers through the tumbled curls of his hair; the restless motions of his long fingers pushed the hair off his face. The stress of the last fourteen days was etched around his full-lipped mouth and eyes. Resting his chin on one hand, he reached for the brandy snifter with the free one and took a restorative sip.

Turning his thoughts back to Hetty and her defection from their household, William ruefully shook his head at the antics of the young woman and the hysteria and carrying on that had been a prelude of her exit from the house. He had offered no comment on Hetty's claims to his mother or the housekeeper, as he suspected that she was indeed telling the truth. William was sure that there was something in the house; indeed he suspected that whatever it was had followed him out on two social engagements already.

The crackle of the fire and the hissing of the gaslights were the only noise in the room as William sat there pondering over his life.

It had started the night he had returned from the Sutherland's party, his mind filled with cherished memories of Cecily, the sweetest of girls, whom he had been so taken with from the second she had appeared in society.

The evening had for once not been too much of a trial and he had managed instead to spend the evening unmolested by his tormentors who, for once, had let him be. William cherished the sweet glances he had managed to steal of his object of adoration - he knew that Cecily was unable to return his intimate glances, but secretly William was sure that she was of the same mind as he. That they were meant to be!

It had been on his return from the party, his mind filled with the sweetest of dreams and hopes for the future that William's life had changed. He had talked with his mother and sat watching her sew for a short while, before Mama had begun to cough and he had insisted that she retire for the night and rest.

The first tingles had occurred once he had entered his room. William had slipped off his shoes and stockings and shrugged out of his coat before sinking tiredly down at his Bureau Plat. He wanted to record all the wonderful moments of the party and try to capture the essence of Cecily in a new poem. Pushing aside the concern he felt for Mama and her health, William picked up his fountain pen and then began to write

It was then that he had felt the first tug of awareness that there was something in the room with him; he had dismissed it as a fanciful concoction created by the punch he had imbibed that night and carried on with his writing. Interrupted only by Hetty and her placing a bed warmer in his bed and turning down the sheets. If he had realised at that point what was to come, maybe he wouldn't have been so dismissive about it!

He had sat there writing and for a long while had been lost in the rapture of his words. Dearest Cecily inspired him so much - he wanted to create the perfect sonnet for her to celebrate her beauty, charm, wit and kindness of heart. And yet, he couldn't. The words to capture her radiance failed him; frustrated yet again at his perceived difficulties of expression he had given up, promising to himself to try again in the morn.

He had laid down his pen and sighed deeply in frustration, and that was when William had sensed it - a presence in the room with him. He had shaken off the ridiculous thought and retired to bed.

*****

Over the following days, nothing out of the ordinary occurred and William dismissed the one event as a foolish punch induced dream.

But then it had started up again with a vengeance and now it was not confined to his rooms. William had pondered on calling for a priest to see if he could cleanse the house - but had dismissed the idea as preposterous and dangerous for his reputation. He was aware that in society he was regarded with askance, considered an odd sort of fellow, always in the corner at parties writing in that damned notebook of his. But William had no father to help him, to guide him through the pitfalls of society life and so had turned instead to his mother for love and encouragement - and that was the way he wanted it.

Just the two of them spending time together and enjoying each other's company. He knew that asking his mother's opinion of calling a priest or even the barest mention of the being that watched over him would terrify her. And he had no wish to inflict even the barest smidgen of worry on his dearest mama - she was not a strong woman and he worried that her health would falter even more if he exposed her to his whimsical imaginings. So he had kept his own counsel and tried to continue on as normally as he could.

At first it had been a feeling of being observed. However, to his frustration, William had not been able to determine by whom or for what reasoning. He had felt the prickle of attention often - it was getting stronger as the days and nights progressed and frankly, he had been terrified out of his wits. It was not normal - and he craved normalcy, but instead he was being haunted by something. Even in those early terrifying days he was more concerned with outward appearances and had not considered how unusual or even ridiculous it was that he accepted the wraithlike presence without question.

Instead he had presented the same cheerful countenance to his household and internally quaked with fear.

It had gotten worse when finally the being manifested itself. By this point he had begun to read and research as many tomes on the subject as he could. And sadly, most of them were rather appalling ghost stories. He had, however, found one book of interest in a second hand book shop on Charing Cross road - within it's musty pages he had discovered that there were some poor fools who believed that ghosts, goblins, demons and vampires existed! He had tried to push aside the author's fervent assertions of the reality of an underworld and read the small passages dedicated to ghostly manifestations. All of which detailed a terrifying series of incidents unlike anything he had experienced.

And then everything had changed.

The first time Hetty had started screaming William had been sitting with his mother in the drawing room. He had risen to his feet in surprise and rushed out of the room. The sight of Hetty ashen-faced and mumbling that the room had been cold and that something had pulled at her skirts, greeted him! Ms Jenkins had taken the frightened girl away and calmed her; William had followed the two women and tried to overhear their hushed conversation.

All he had managed to glean was that it was located in his bedroom, where Hetty had been changing the linens on his bed. Reassuring his mama that nothing was wrong and that the girl had seen nothing but a spider, William had hastened upstairs.

To be greeted with nothing.

He had stood in the doorway to his bedroom, puzzled and frustrated. Inhaling a breath, he had sighed deeply and then stalled in shock. A chill ran down his spine; he could smell vanilla. It filled him with a sense of anticipation and delight. Leaning against the doorframe he had taken deep greedy breaths, trying to absorb the scent into him for all eternity.

Over the days that followed, he had caught the whimsical scent often and had thought nothing of it - he had been focussed on his ailing mother and secretly mourning that he had missed several chances of seeing his radiant Cecily at various parties, because he been tending to his Mama.

In the end a doctor had been called, and the decision had been made that if there was no improvement soon, then Anne must go to a spa and under a doctor's supervision begin a course of treatments to clear the flux that had invaded her lungs. William had reluctantly agreed for he knew that Mother had to heal, but he was afflicted with a great anguish that they would have to be parted - even if it were for such a short time.

After the scent appeared, more events occurred which lead him to worry that he had finally succumbed to the insanity that had carried off his maternal grandmother. And to be honest, the ideas that he had been entertaining about ghosts and whatnot he was almost sure that he was well on the road to lunacy!

The first time he had seen something had been when he was seated at his desk. William had glanced up, aware of being observed and to his uttermost shock and surprise, he had seen something out of the corner of his eye.

A flash of movement.

Something on his peripheral vision, which had flickered in and out in an instant.

William remembered leaping up, a strangled scream died in his throat. He whirled to face whatever was there and then slumped in relief, or was it disappointment when there was nothing? - but his own shaken reflection staring back at him in the overmantle mirror. He wanted to scream, but if he did then the entire household would know that he was slowly becoming a lunatic with delusions of a spirit haunting him. His trembling hand rose and he waved it around him - there was nothing there - just the fading scent and a feeling.

That had been the first time and through the following days there had been more. At first just a flicker and the ever present scent of vanilla, and then finally the being had become more bold.

Which had lead to Hetty leaving - he had no idea whether or not she had been entertaining foolish notions lead on by a delicate disposition, but if what the hysterical maid had said was true- and secretly he had believed her- then there truly was something to his imaginings.

Sadly now the little maid was gone - she had been the only other one who had sensed his silent observer. Her reactions to his ‘haunting’ had reassured him that he wasn't as mad as a March Hare - but now Hetty was gone, and he was left alone.

********

Buffy knew that the 'guys in charge' would probably not approve but she didn't care - she had to see him again.

There was innocence to pre-vampage William that drew her to him. The fall of his curls into his eyes as he leant over scribbling madly into his journal. She knew it was his journal cos she had snuck up behind him and peeped over his shoulder. The temptation to touch the soft curly hair at the nape of his neck had been so hard to resist. He was just so soft and fluffy all over! Nothing like the cocky and abrasive vampire that she had fought against and then side by side over the final years of her life. Buffy paused, 'wow, that was weird - I think that was the first time I thought about being dead!'

The maid had begun to bug the crap outta her, with all the jumping around like a cat on a hot tin roof. The massive crucifix and all the praying was kinda lame, too! Buffy had tried to keep out of the short woman's way as best she could, but several times she had moved too slowly and the housemaid had walked right through her. Which was the weirdest feeling in the world! And then the screaming would start.

In the end, she hadn’t been able to resist freakin’ the girl out! So she had tried to touch her. The first few times her hand had floated through Hetty, and then success!

Buffy had given the housemaid’s full skirt a gentle tug and then blew a cool puff of air across the back of her neck. Buffy had immediately felt bad, the poor girl had wigged out on a major scale and started yelling the house down. Buffy had tried to calm her down with a touch and the poor woman had shrieked like a banshee…

Guilt filled Buffy, when she realised that her silly games had lead to the woman leaving.

But what had impressed her was how cute William’s mom had been – making sure that Hetty got as good a job as she had now. ‘Wonder if I’ll be punished for scaring Hetty…’ Buffy hoped not – she was counting on her Slayer record to keep her in the good. The impish blonde ghost wanted to stay here and watch William.

She had never expected this! Spike had told her he had always been bad – that fateful night at the Bronze when she had paid him to tell her about the other two Slayers. He had been all full of the ‘oh little girl, if only you knew’ and Buffy had assumed he had been a serial killer or something before he died. Never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamt that Spike was a nice guy. Okay, kinda wet around the ears and a Momma’s boy – but he was a cutie.

None of her questions about Spike had been answered as of yet.

Except one.

William had a loving heart.

She could see this in the way he treated his mother and the adoring looks he had given that bitchca Cecily, ‘who sooo totally didn’t deserve them!’





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