“Lewis!” Myrtle shouted, fighting his push but he was determined and he kept hold of her, darting through the ceiling to their turret.
He still held her when they arrived at their window.
“Lewis! I want to be sure Belle is all right!”
“Myrtle, we can’t be there,” Lewis said softly.
“But –!”
“We’re ghosts Myrtle. Don’t you think they have enough to worry about without two ghosts hanging around?”
She snapped her mouth shut.
Then she burst into tears.
Lewis pulled her deeper into his arms.
“I want her to be all right, Lewis! She has to be all right! She’s sweet! She’s Belle!” Myrtle cried into his boyish chest.
He stroked her hair.
“She’ll be all right,” he lied.
It was a lie because he feared she wouldn’t.
The bad man was there.
How he was there, Lewis didn’t know.
He hadn’t been there for over two hundred years.
Or, at least, Lewis had never seen him, never sensed him.
But he’d pushed Belle down the stairs. Lewis saw him do it.
Myrtle’s head tilted back, non-existent tears the colour of pearls still sliding down her cheeks.
Her voice was quivering when she asked, “You promise she’ll be all right?”
He nodded solemnly and, even though it was against the rules, Lewis lied yet again, “I promise, Myrtie Mine.”
Myrtle pressed her cheek against her brother’s chest.
And Lewis closed his eyes tight, trying to shut out his fear for Belle and his terror of the bad man so he could think about what he needed to do to keep himself, his sister, and Belle (if she was all right) safe.
He held Myrtle a long time.
But he didn’t come up with any answers.
* * * * *
Belle
Belle opened her eyes and she knew immediately she was in a hospital room.
She didn’t hurt.
She didn’t feel anything.
But groggy.
Her eyes focussed and she saw Jack sitting by her hospital bed illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand.
His mouth was tight, his face was hard but his eyes were gentle.
She remembered what happened and whispered, “The baby?”
He leaned forward instantly and in that instant, his expression changed and she saw the pain slash through his features.
And she knew.
She closed her eyes.
“Poppet,” he called and she felt him take her hand.
She turned her head and pulled her hand away.
“Belle, love.”
“Go away,” she whispered, still groggy but now feeling something.
And that something Belle felt was empty.
His hand came to her jaw but he didn’t force her to look at him.
She felt his thumb drift over her cheekbone, slowly, softly.
Then his hand disappeared and, from behind her closed eyelids, she saw the light go out.
She thought he’d leave.
She wanted him to leave.
But instead, she felt her hand taken in his again and his grip went firm when she tried to pull away.
She didn’t have the energy to fight it.
So she kept her face averted and her eyes closed as he held her hand.
Later, she felt his forehead come to rest on their joined hands.
That was when the tears seeped out from between her closed eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack’s Sunday
Jack
Jack woke and the minute he did he knew Belle, who was tucked in the curve of his body, was also awake.
She was always awake before him. And always, for some reason only known to Belle, she lay in bed until he woke.
His arm resting at her waist got tight and her body went stiff in response.
He always pulled her closer when he woke. And always, for some reason only known to Belle, she grew stiff when he did.
He closed his eyes with frustration.
He knew what the morning would bring and what the day would bring. It had been three and a half weeks since the accident and every day was the same.
Belle had had a concussion, a sprained wrist, some intense bruising and she’d lost their child.
Considering the staircase was made of stone and it was a long drop, the doctor told them they’d been “lucky”.
And Jack felt lucky.
She could have broken her neck, broken her back or her head injury could have caused brain damage.
None of this happened.
She was alive and breathing and was released from hospital within a few days.
For this, regardless of the crushing loss they’d endured, Jack felt lucky.
Belle, on the other hand, it was overwhelmingly safe to say, did not feel lucky.
During her short hospital stay, she had been far more quiet than normal, her moments of silent contemplation far more frequent and far longer and, for the first time, Jack did not enjoy them.
Indeed, these moments were so frequent and so long, if she wasn’t having one, she was sleeping.
Jack allowed this. She had told him when she did this she was trying not to think and he hoped, in this instance, she was successful.
When Jack, in his Jag, and Rachel and Lila, in Belle’s car, went to collect her when she was released, Belle’s game began.
There were no photographers mainly because the first night Jack was there, after sitting with Belle until she woke and remaining with her until her quiet tears subsided and she’d fallen asleep, he’d demanded a first thing in the morning meeting with the hospital CEO. When he had that meeting, he told the CEO if that first word was breathed about Belle being an inpatient, why she was and what she’d lost, Jack would stop at nothing until he’d closed the hospital down and the CEO, personally, would never work again.
The CEO believed him but he wasn’t hard to believe. Jack meant what he said and everything about the way he said it screamed it.
Therefore, they had thankfully not had that additional worry.
After she was released, when they were at the backdoors where the cars were parked, Belle started toward the Peugeot.
“Belle, honeypot, you’re riding with Jack,” Rachel had said gently.
Without looking at her mother or Jack or anything but the pavement, Belle replied softly, “I want to go to the cottage.”
Lila got close to her granddaughter, “Belle, my sweet –” but Jack interrupted her.
“Take her to the cottage.”
Both Lila and Rachel’s eyes flashed to him and he saw Belle’s body grow tight. He nodded to her mother and grandmother, they both gave him intense looks but they didn’t demur and helped Belle into the car.
He watched them drive away then he got into his Jag and drove to The Point.