Elizabeth “Buffy” Summers sat on the red eye plane to London from California filled with trepidation. An adventure was before her, she could feel it in her bones, she just wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.
Her sister, Drusilla, had deemed her ready though it seemed.
“Do you have family in London, dearie?” the old woman next to her asked.
Buffy smiled, “I do. My sister.”
“Oh, that’s nice. She have a family and a home there for you to visit?”
“A home, not a family. I hear she has a friend.”
“A man friend?”
Buffy nodded, “A man friend.”
“Are you very close to your sister?”
Buffy fought to keep the tears at bay that wanted to come from that question. “We were, sort of, even with the distance.”
“I’m sure she missed you,” the old woman said, and patted her hand. “Does she know you’re coming or are you surprising her?”
“She sent for me actually.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice. A nice vacation for you then.”
“Oh. . . not really.”
The old woman’s brow furrowed, “Not really? Why not dear?”
“I am being put to work it seems. I have to put my sister’s estate in order.”
“Is she sick?”
“No. She’s dead.”
Drusilla’s mansion in Devonshire was a rumbling monstrosity of rock. It was gigantic and not at all homey. She remembered visiting her in the past and having a sense of foreboding upon turning onto the gravel driveway that led to the estate. Her sister would smile knowingly at her when Buffy would complain to her of feeling cold and unsettled in the mansion, like she knew why she felt so unsettled and cold.
And she did know why. Buffy just refused to discuss it.
“You must be Miss Summers. Welcome, Miss. We are happy to see you.”
Buffy looked up from her ponderings to find a whole staff of people waiting for her on the stone steps leading up to her sister’s home. The woman who had officially greeted her was a small, stout woman with frizzy brown hair and large welcoming big brown eyes. She wore a maid’s uniform, as did all the women. And all the men were dressed in suits.
Oh, this would not do.
She didn’t know how Dru managed to stand it. Her husband had been a Lord, and therefore had earned money the old fashioned way – through inheritance. He’d had a staff on hand since he was a child, so to him, this was not a big deal. Buffy remembered the times she had visited though, feeling quite out of sorts when a maid would enter her room to ‘turn down her bed’. When she’d asked Dru how she could stand it, Dru had merely told her that ‘one got used to it’ and that it fit anyway since she always knew she was such a princess.
“Please,” Buffy implored the woman, “Call me Buffy. You are?”
“Edina, miss.”
“Buffy.”
“Sorry, miss, my place does not require that I call you by your first name.”
“Well, your place is to work for me, right?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Then you call me Buffy or you’re fired, how does that sound?”
Edina paled and nodded profusely. “Yes, miss---I mean, Buffy. Buffy it is.”
Buffy smiled, “Thank you.”
“Shall I show you to your room?”
“Yes, please. It’s been…years.”
“Is it always cold in this house?” Buffy asked Edina later, rubbing her arms with her hands, as she drew back the heavy brown curtains from the doors that led out to a veranda.
“It’s actually quite warm, Buffy. It’s a nice warm spring day here in Devonshire. Shall I open all the windows on the estate?”
Buffy nodded absently, watching the BMW that was coming down the gravel path. “Yes, please. Edina, is someone supposed to be coming?”
“Oh, yes, Buffy. William, your sister’s dear friend and attorney is coming today for you.”
“Ah, yes. The William. I suppose I’ll be deciding whether or not I stay today, isn’t that right?”
“It is your home now.”
“Is it?” Buffy murmured. “Well, then. Guess I should get this over with. . . “
The estate ran like a well oiled machine. By the time Buffy had gotten downstairs to greet William; he’d already been shown into the formal room and was waiting for her.
Running a hand through her blond tresses, she took a deep breath before entering. She was petrified. She didn’t know anything about settling estates and all that rot. She didn’t even know what she wanted to do at the present moment. She felt in limbo. Much like some of the people Dru helped.
The man that greeted her was somewhat shocking to her. Shocking because of how incredibly handsome he was. Gorgeous, really. For some reason, she didn’t expect that. Then again, Dru would of course only keep those that were beautiful around her. He was tall, lean with bleached blond hair and striking blue eyes. He had a full mouth and cheekbones that could cut glass.
“Hi,” she said and held out her hand, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as he’d left her.
He smiled broadly, “Hello Miss Summers.”
“Buffy. Call me Buffy, please.”
“Buffy it is then. How are you? Good flight?”
“Um, I’m fine, considering.” Her eyes darted around the room, hearing a slight tapping on the wall behind William.
“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Wasn’t it your loss as well, Mr. Giles is it?”
He nodded, his eyes sad, “Yes. Dru was a good friend. And please, call me William.”
“Can I ask you a question, William?” Buffy asked, trying to ignore the incessant tapping that was still going on behind him.
“You may.”
“Were you and my sister…romantically involved?”
He looked at her startled, “You just cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Sorry. I’m curious. I’d heard her talk of you, and she’d written to me of you, but she never made any inkling as to what the exact nature of your relationship was.”
“Just friends. She was a great deal of help to me when my girlfriend died in a car accident last year.”
Suddenly, the room felt too small and the air felt sucked out of it. “Oh, well, I’m glad to hear that she could help.”
He eyed her, “Are you all right?”
“I’m not really good at this sort of thing. The fact is William, I’m not sure if I’m going to be staying here or not. So if you’re here to have me sign some papers to keep this monstrosity, then you made a wasted trip.”
“She knew you’d hesitate.”
“Of course she knew. She knew everything, didn’t she?” Buffy said, feeling suddenly quite overwhelmed. And now, cold again.
“She made other arrangements in case you decided not to keep the estate, a relative of her late husband’s, but she was quite adamant in wanting you to take over the estate.”
“Why me?” she asked, and the tapping grew louder.
He stared at her. “Surely you know why, don’t you, Buffy?”
“She’s persistent, even beyond the grave,” Buffy muttered.
“Buffy, do you have it?”
Buffy eyed William warily. “Have what?”
“You know. Do you have the gift?”
“No, I most certainly do not,” she said emphatically, angry even.
“She thinks—“
“Well, she’s not here, is she? Just like her…always bringing it up…Goddammit! Do you hear that noise?”
William looked around the room and then at her. “What noise?”
“That tapping. That incessant tapping.”
“Buffy—“
“I don’t want to hear you! I don’t want to know!” Buffy shouted. Breathing heavy, she looked down at William who was staring up at her with wide eyes. “Well, there you go. I have the gift. I can hear them and sometimes I can see them. All the pretty dead people. I just don’t want to.”