Joined: 07 Feb 2008
|Posted: Thu Jun 26, 2008 4:39 pm Post subject: There Is No Such Thing As Ghosts
|“Doll face! Do come in. How can I help you?”
Lady Camille pulled a cigarette from her silver case and handed Beatrice the matchbox. “Light me up, will you?” With one stroke Beatrice quite expertly lit the match and held it to Lady Camille’s cigarette.
“My my, you certainly have improved, little one. Tea?”
“Oh no, thank you.”
Lady Camille draped herself on the chaise longue. “Sit down. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Beatrice sat down in the big arm chair. “Lady Camille, I wanted to ask you about my dream.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t think it was a dream.”
“Of course it was, darling.”
“Lady Camile…I…no, it was not a dream. I saw one of the ladies again.”
Lady Camille frowned. “What?”
“I saw her again. The brunette. In one of the rooms in the blondes’ hallway.”
“The blondes’ hallway? Oh, you mean the west wing. Darling, you have a very active imagination. Miss May must have been telling you stories.”
“It was not my imagination. Please…I don’t know who else to tell about this.”
“Doll face, did you ever post that letter I gave you?”
“Wonderful. Could you post another one for me please? I don’t really want to bother Lena with it. She’s busy enough as it is. It’s not too much trouble is it?” Lady Camille walked over to her secretaire and took the letter from one of the little drawers.
“Do you know Helen Drummond?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Lady Camille smiled and handed Beatrice the letter. “She’s just an old friend. Now run along, darling. And don’t believe a word of those stories Miss May tells you. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Rayati.”
“Rayati, Lady Camille.”
Back in the hallway Beatrice wondered about Lady Camille’s last words. Ghosts? Who mentioned ghosts? Not I? And what stories? Miss May told many stories, but they were usually about the time she was young and went out dancing after work.
In the brunette’s hallway Beatrice ran into Diana looking slightly grumpy. “Rayati, Diana. Why are you holding those branches?”
“Because I’m a tree. Where were you, Beatrice? You were not at the rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal? Rehearsal! Oh no! I forgot! …You are a tree?” Beatrice grinned.
“Don’t laugh at me, Avery. Juniper said you are to be in the chorus too. I thought you would play Aenea.”
“Oh, I got out of that one. Thank goodness.”
“I take it you will not be a tree.”
Beatrice coloured. “No.”
Diana squinted her eyes. “Tell me, Avery. What has Juniper in mind for you?”
“Awunnywawwit” Beatrice mumbled. She shuffled her feet.
“A bunny rabbit, Diana. I have to play a bunny rabbit.”
Diana’s face lit up. She tried very hard not to snort. “That’s …er...very nice.”
“It’s better than playing Aenea to Juniper’s Dido. Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You look as if you are about to explode.”
“Yes, excuse me a mome.”
Diana quickly ran into her room and closed the door. Beatrice rolled her eyes as she heard muffled cries. “Laughing into her pillow.” She sighed.
“I suppose I’d better go and post this letter.”