Posted on 2009-10-31

Blurb: While preparing for a Halloween party, Fanny learns some Crawford family history.

"Henry, will you grab this lantern before I drop it?" Fanny shifted on the ladder trying to secure her footing. "Henry?" She looked over her shoulder to find that he wasn't in the room.

She exhaled an annoyed sigh. The party had been his idea, so why had he disappeared?! She admitted to herself that he had been very useful and helpful in the planning. She could not accuse him of not pulling his weight--even as the scope of the party continued to expand beyond her control. What began as a simple dinner party with friends and a few work colleagues morphed into a full scale event at his family's estate in upstate New York. It was an old house, full of years upon years of family history. Portions of the house were just plain creepy though and Henry promised he would try not to leave her alone. And now she was.

She was being silly, of course; she was capable of being alone for a few minutes. She stepped down the ladder and placed the paper lantern on the sofa facing the piano. She maneuvered the ladder a few feet to the right. Soft tinkling on the piano keys made her pause. She remembered Henry telling her that he had learned to play as a boy and was forced to endure lessons until he was sixteen. Why didn't she hear him re-enter the room? The tinkling changed to haunting melody, a very appropriate Halloween selection. She turned to ask him the name of the song only to discover that no one sat at the piano.

"Fanny--"

She was so startled she screamed.

"What's the matter?" Henry's arms came around her. "You're trembling; what happened?"

She must have imagined the sound coming from the piano. Her rational mind could not come to terms with ghosts. "I--it was nothing. Just nonsense."

"Clearly, it's not 'just nonsense'. You're worked up over something. You'll have to tell me to get me to stop asking. You know that."

She did know that.

"OK," she moved out of his arms and picked up the paper lantern, "since you insist. The piano was playing--all on its own. You're the only one who knows how to play and you were, obviously not in the room."

She started to climb the ladder; party preparation was easier to think about than paranormal activity. "It does that sometimes." She felt the paper lantern fall from her fingers. She hadn't expected Henry to corroborate the event with examples of previous occurrences. He knew how she felt about situations that could not be explained away by science.

"What?" Probably not the most eloquent of responses, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"My dad thinks the house is haunted by his great, great, great grandmother's brother. The brother was a piano enthusiast. It's the only part of the house that seems affected. It's been the only possible theory passed down generation after generation. Apparently the brother's death was rather tragic."

Fanny eyebrows furrowed. "I--I don't believe in ghosts."

"I didn't either until I was sixteen. I was alone in this room, sitting on the piano bench, thinking about how much I hated playing and wished my parents would let me stop when the piano started to play Bach. I could see the keys being pressed down one by one, forming the notes. It freaked me out. It took me two years to be able to come into this room. And I've irrationally refused to play since then."

"But--"

"No, 'but's Fanny. You witnessed it yourself."

He was right. The piano played all by itself and she couldn't disprove it. The house, or at least this room, was haunted. "What were you saying--when you came in?"

"Oh, I'm hungry, but all we have is the party food. I thought we could go to the diner for lunch. It's only a few miles away. Do you think we're done decorating?"

Fanny glanced at the paper lantern lying on the floor. "Yeah, let's go."

Henry helped her off the ladder. "Are you OK? A haunting isn't an everyday occurrence; it's a lot to take in."

Her eyes flickered over the piano. "I admit it's weird, but fascinating in its own way. Maybe you can tell me about this great, great, great, great uncle of yours over lunch."

Fanny fiddled with a French fry, swirling it around the pool of ketchup on her plate. She wondered how a person, after he's died could decide to become a ghost. It was a frivolous thought, but understanding the process might make it easier for her to accept the reality ghosts. "So, what do you know about it…"

Henry cleared his throat. "I've been told that my great, great, great, great grandmother's family didn't approve of my direct ancestor--he was named Henry too. Stories passed down imply that he was something of a ladies' man before meeting Georgiana Darcy. There was actually a scandal involving him and married woman, but Georgiana ran off with him in spite of the disapproval. They came over from England a few years after being married."

"You're going to make me dig for the full story. OK, fine, so the brother chased Georgiana all the way over to the United States…to what? Take her back to England?"

"Actually, he was running away too; his entire family died in an epidemic."

"How sad! He must have been devastated."

Henry nodded. "Georgiana was all he had left. My dad said her journals describe him as being a depressed wreck of a man. She never really trusted him being alone."

"He was depressed enough to want to kill himself?" Fanny shuddered. She couldn't imagine a situation where she would ever consider suicide as an option. Yet, she hadn't ever lost a family member--never mind her entire family. She reached for Henry's hand, glad that he had sat next to her in the booth instead of across from her. If she had lost Henry, she might know what it was like to feel that sort of hopelessness.

Henry swallowed a mouthful of food. "I don't think it was without reason, though. There must have been instances that perpetuated the concern. He was withdrawn and all he did was play the piano, his way of expressing grief."

"You said his death was tragic, did he…"

"Yeah…"

"Oh."

"The grief never lessened for him."

"How?"

"He drowned."

"Drowned?"

"Yes."

"Yet, if he wasn't ever left alone--"

"He drowned in the house."

"In the bath?"

"No. Henry Crawford had this new fangled notion of a shower installed to prevent that."

"I don't get it then."

"There was a birthday party planned for one of Georgiana and Henry's children. He was sitting in the room when the staff set up the buffet and when they were done, they left him alone."

"OK." Fanny lifted a glass of lemonade to her mouth.

"There was a bowl of punch in the room--"

Fanny spit out a mouthful of lemonade and a coughing fit seized her. "He drowned himself in a bowl of punch?!"

"Yeah, must have taken an extraordinary amount of determination."

"You're not serious."

"I am! Why would Georgiana write it in her journals if it weren't not true?"

"It just so horrid."

Henry nodded and returned to eating the mashed potatoes on his plate. Fanny picked up the French fry and continued to swirl it in the ketchup. The feeling that something was missing began to nag at her consciousness. She started to recall how on the tour of the house Henry had mentioned that room in association with one of his ancestors, one that was renowned in his or her time for being a great musician.

"Was Georgiana a pianist as well?"

Henry's mouth was full of food so he nodded.

"Was she as good as or better than her brother?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. She was reputed to be fantastic. She taught all of her children. Dad said she was an artist as well. She drew the miniatures on display in the library."

"Henry?"

"Yes?"

"Has anybody actually seen the ghost?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then why does everyone assume it's the brother, when it could easily be Georgiana?"

"Georgiana? I don't know, maybe no one thought she cut a tragic enough figure to become a ghost and haunt her own house."

"Did the piano playing happen when she was alive?"

"I don't know when it started. What's this? You don't want the brother to be the ghost?"

She shrugged. "Seems like he should be resting in peace; he went through a lot of effort to die. He deserves peace, no matter how he died. Life as a ghost…"

"It's possible, but my dad always said that Georgiana came across as a happy person in her journals. He's read them several times; he likes knowing all about this family stuff."

"Maybe she was keeping face--even to herself. She must have felt guilty that she couldn't help him through his grief."

Henry seemed to be mulling over the idea. "It's possible. Do you want dessert?"

Fanny sighed; he always changed the topic of conversation suddenly when he was bored. "No. Let's go. We need to finish setting up for the party."

"OK." Henry called for the server and settled the bill. They were pulling into the drive of the house when a thought struck.

"Henry…the punch bowl we're using for the party, is it the same one as…"

Henry appeared to pay a great deal of attention to parking the car straight. "Yes."

Fanny stared at him in disbelief. "What?!"

"It's an antique."

"It's also morbid."

"But a great conversation piece."