if she were here.…
As she turned back to the bundles of clothes, Emily smelled a soft fragrance. Roses. It filled the air—the sweet smell of a garden in July. Breathing in the heady scent, she looked over her shoulder at the table. She must have left the stopper off, or knocked the bottle over … but her brow knotted when she saw the flagon.
It was full, and tightly stoppered.
Yet the air was thick with the perfume. Amazed, Emily breathed it deeply. Then a cold breeze blew over her, as if she’d stepped outside in the dead of winter, that same raw, damp chill she’d felt earlier. She stood frozen in disbelief as a sudden certainty came over her.
She was not alone.
The cold chill passed right through her. The scent continued to fill the air, sweet and rich, almost as if the woman herself was standing right beside her.
“Rosie?” Emily whispered squeakily. Her own voice sounded strange to her. Only silence answered her, but she was more convinced than ever that there was another presence in the room.
A ghost? Emily sank down onto the chair, her knees shaking. The hair rose on the back of her neck.She’d read about such doings, but never thought to experience them herself! Eagerly, she reexamined her surroundings, but there was no visible evidence. It was more of a feeling, the way one knew when a cat had entered the room long before actually seeing it.
The candle flame went out, just as the gaslight had earlier. Her hands shaking, Emily tried to relight the wick, but the match blew out as quickly as she struck the flint.
“Rosie, now stop that! If you really are here, why don’t you just appear and stop playing these games! Some ghost you are!”
She felt better voicing her fears and taking control of the situation. She found another flint and successfully lit the candle. As she glanced up, Emily smelled the perfume again, and felt the same, eerie presence she’d experienced before. Her eyes rose to the mirror that faced her. Slowly, one by one, the matches slipped from her fingers. She saw her own reflection, and right beside it, the bawdy image of a saloon girl.
“Rosie!” she cried breathlessly, taking in the scarlet dress, the black plumes, the dancing earrings. Her eyes, like the eyes in the portrait, were magnificent. She grinned, as if still enjoying life, and Emily could hear her naughty laughter. “My God, it’s really you!”
“Well, it ain’t Queen Victoria. How are you, sweetie?”
5
Suspicion
Emily stared in amazement, her mouth hanging open like an overstuffed drawer.
“Don’t look so horrified, honey, it ain’t that bad. I won’t hurt you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” The saloon girl giggled. “Sorry about the gaslight downstairs. Seems I can cause that kind of thing, even if I can’t get out of here.”
Emily forced her mouth closed and swallowed hard. “Then I’m not imagining this? You’re really here?”
“In the flesh, I would say, but that isn’t quite correct, is it?”
“Rosie.” Emily lowered herself into the chair at the dressing table, trying to force her mind to accept what she was seeing. “But you’re—”
“Dead.” Rosie said the word with glee. “It’s still a little hard for me to accept, but that seems to be thecase. I was shot, sweetie, not far from where you sit. Hurt like hell, I must say. When I woke up, I was a ghost, and stuck inside the mirror. It’s like being yourself but without a body.”
That was too incredible a concept for Emily to imagine. She touched the mirror, half expecting her hand to go right through to feel the satin of Rosie’s dress. Instead, her fingers rested on cold, hard glass. Ignoring the spirit’s laughter, she looked behind the gilt frame, even going so far as to lift the heavy glass from its nail, but the back of it was smooth and firm, the hook a simple scrap of tin.
“There has to be something,” Emily said to herself. “I’ve seen those new experiments with moving pictures. There must
As she turned back to the bundles of clothes, Emily smelled a soft fragrance. Roses. It filled the air—the sweet smell of a garden in July. Breathing in the heady scent, she looked over her shoulder at the table. She must have left the stopper off, or knocked the bottle over … but her brow knotted when she saw the flagon.
It was full, and tightly stoppered.
Yet the air was thick with the perfume. Amazed, Emily breathed it deeply. Then a cold breeze blew over her, as if she’d stepped outside in the dead of winter, that same raw, damp chill she’d felt earlier. She stood frozen in disbelief as a sudden certainty came over her.
She was not alone.
The cold chill passed right through her. The scent continued to fill the air, sweet and rich, almost as if the woman herself was standing right beside her.
“Rosie?” Emily whispered squeakily. Her own voice sounded strange to her. Only silence answered her, but she was more convinced than ever that there was another presence in the room.
A ghost? Emily sank down onto the chair, her knees shaking. The hair rose on the back of her neck.She’d read about such doings, but never thought to experience them herself! Eagerly, she reexamined her surroundings, but there was no visible evidence. It was more of a feeling, the way one knew when a cat had entered the room long before actually seeing it.
The candle flame went out, just as the gaslight had earlier. Her hands shaking, Emily tried to relight the wick, but the match blew out as quickly as she struck the flint.
“Rosie, now stop that! If you really are here, why don’t you just appear and stop playing these games! Some ghost you are!”
She felt better voicing her fears and taking control of the situation. She found another flint and successfully lit the candle. As she glanced up, Emily smelled the perfume again, and felt the same, eerie presence she’d experienced before. Her eyes rose to the mirror that faced her. Slowly, one by one, the matches slipped from her fingers. She saw her own reflection, and right beside it, the bawdy image of a saloon girl.
“Rosie!” she cried breathlessly, taking in the scarlet dress, the black plumes, the dancing earrings. Her eyes, like the eyes in the portrait, were magnificent. She grinned, as if still enjoying life, and Emily could hear her naughty laughter. “My God, it’s really you!”
“Well, it ain’t Queen Victoria. How are you, sweetie?”
5
Suspicion
Emily stared in amazement, her mouth hanging open like an overstuffed drawer.
“Don’t look so horrified, honey, it ain’t that bad. I won’t hurt you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” The saloon girl giggled. “Sorry about the gaslight downstairs. Seems I can cause that kind of thing, even if I can’t get out of here.”
Emily forced her mouth closed and swallowed hard. “Then I’m not imagining this? You’re really here?”
“In the flesh, I would say, but that isn’t quite correct, is it?”
“Rosie.” Emily lowered herself into the chair at the dressing table, trying to force her mind to accept what she was seeing. “But you’re—”
“Dead.” Rosie said the word with glee. “It’s still a little hard for me to accept, but that seems to be thecase. I was shot, sweetie, not far from where you sit. Hurt like hell, I must say. When I woke up, I was a ghost, and stuck inside the mirror. It’s like being yourself but without a body.”
That was too incredible a concept for Emily to imagine. She touched the mirror, half expecting her hand to go right through to feel the satin of Rosie’s dress. Instead, her fingers rested on cold, hard glass. Ignoring the spirit’s laughter, she looked behind the gilt frame, even going so far as to lift the heavy glass from its nail, but the back of it was smooth and firm, the hook a simple scrap of tin.
“There has to be something,” Emily said to herself. “I’ve seen those new experiments with moving pictures. There must
Similar Books
