Into the Grey

"But then Hitler did his bit and there was a war, and Jack Davies went off to fight in it. He was young, but money mattered back then just like it does today, and they made him an officer of sorts. A lievtenant, the paper said, I believe. War is a nasty business; I can tell you that myself -- don't go into the service if you don't have to. But Jack Davies fought for several years on the continent somewhere and didn't take a wound for it. He came back to Llanmadoc for a few months, and the paper said that he and Katherine were madly in love and that sort of thing; I don't know how they think they know that, but that's what they said. But after that he left again for a post outside of London somewhere. His command was hit by one of those V-2 flying bombs, though, and not a trace of him was found. His wife Katherine refused to believe he was dead and pined for him for months, says the paper, before she killed herself jumping off Worm's Head into the sea. The paper dressed it up a bit, of course, I can't remember the particulars, but they say that she is 'the Gower Ghost', and 'haunts the nights waiting for her husband to return to her'. Or something near that." Joseph chuckled again, and David could not help but smile, if for no other reason than the man's infectious nature.

Joseph continued on into a related story, and he and David traded several rounds of drinks before the night was through. He had a natural gift for narration; David was drawn into his stories in part because the man was so friendly, but mostly because he was so interesting. He had lived more in his life than any other two or three men David had known, and it seemed he remembered every bit of it. And willing to tell it all in one evening, if such were the circumstances. Before Mr. Williams closed the inn down for the night, Joseph had given David his address and told him to stop by sometime, perhaps the next day even, and they could share another drink. David nodded and said he would.

The next morning David woke up and showered, then had breakfast downstairs in the dining room. It was included in the cost of the night's stay. Mrs. Williams knew the times for the Gower buslines pretty well -- she knew the times for the bus to Llanmadoc, in any case -- so David went back upstairs to brush his teeth and pull on his jacket and made it to the bus stop about ten minutes early. When the bus finally trumbled up the road, he climbed aboard and bought an all-day pass, with the thought of going to see Joe later on. With all the stops it was almost half an hour out to Llanmadoc, but it was still the middle of the morning and too early for the museum to be open. He bought a roll of film from the off-license shop and climbed a ways up a nearby slope to take some home-made panoramic shots of the morning cloudline rolling in. He would line up one side of the frame with a tree, take a shot, then line up that same tree on the other side of the frame and take a shot, and keep on going in that same way until he had about four or five frames in a row. The air was crisp and clear for miles this morning. The sky was the same vibrant blue it had been yesterday, and he imagined he could see Ireland out over the sea, beyond the thin black strip that was Carmarthen's district.

When he checked his watch and it read a few minutes past twelve, David put his camera away and tromped back down the slope and up the street to where the museum was. It was a big white house, practically a mansion, with a wrought-iron fence out front, just like Joe had described it, easily the biggest building he had seen on the Gower. It was probably twice the size of the Greyhound Inn, counting just the house itself. A round, bare-stone tower rose behind the house, and David saw a wall of the same material angling off through the trees that would describe an area at least twice the size of the house over again. He walked through the iron gate and up to the front door, which was unlocked. Inside, a small, grey woman sat on a stool beside a counter. Books for sale were propped up around her, and there was a colorful pamphlet on the 'Penbrynedd Museum and Castle' for a pound. A wire rack with postcards of the Gower, and Wales in general, stood near a corner. The old woman smiled as she greeted David and took his money for the entrance fee and one of the pamphlets.

"This was the entrance hall to the Penbrynedd manor," she said. Her voice was surprisingly strong for her size. "There were several paintings on the walls here before the home was restored, but we moved them to the upstairs bedrooms. Other than that, the house and castle both are nearly as they were when its last residents, the Lord Jack and Lady Katherine Davies, died. Each of the rooms has a large board standing in the middle which tells some of the history of the Gower, as well as that of the castle and the Davieses, in English on one side and Welsh on the other. The boards are numbered to lead you along the best path through the house and into the castle. The first room is through that doorway there. If you have any questions, please feel free to come back and ask me." Having finished her speech, she smiled again.

David thanked her and flipped open his pamphlet as he passed through the door. The first few rooms were interesting enough; they were about the history of the Gower in the earlier times, and some of it was worth knowing. One sign said the castle behind the house had been built as part of a chain by a Welsh prince named Gruffydd ap Rhys against the threat of Norman invasion, but did not last out more than a day when the army finally arrived. Another sign said Swansea, the large city where the Gower attached to Southern Wales, derived its name from Svenn's Ey, or Svenn's Aisle. Svenn was probably a Danish lord of some sort.

It wasn't until David climbed the stairs to the bedrooms that he really paid attention though. The sign in the first bedroom gave the history of the Davies family, which was long and melodramatic enough for a made-for-t.v. movie. There was even a red button that, once pressed, would start an audio narration, complete with voices and sound effects, of the Davies' family's involvement in the North American French and Indian War. David listened to it twice. The room for the McCulloughs, Katherine's side, was less dramatic, but certainly interesting. There were pictures of Katherine as a child, and of her family. She had had three older sisters, all of whom were beautiful. Her family had come from a richer part of Northern Ireland; but her father had secured the family's fortune later with a chain of breweries.

The third and last bedroom open to the public was devoted to Jack and Katherine themselves. He had not seen a picture of either as adults yet, so he stopped to study a large portrait of Katherine. She had been even more beautiful than her sisters, David thought -- the diamond in a family of jewels. She had a long, slender neck, a sharp chin, and dark eyebrows that set over a pair of eyes painted piercingly blue. In the painting her hair was a pile of red curls on top of her head, held by a gold clip. Her lips were red and full, and formed in a hint of a smile.

But it was when David turned to look at Jack's portrait that he stopped dead. He could have been looking at himself, if ten years older. David did not spend hours studying himself in the mirror, but he knew his own face, and this was it, or fairly close. The man in the painting had darker hair which was cut quite differently, in the time's fashion, and his chin and neck were stronger. His eyes were a different shade of blue, too; David's were not far from green. David spent almost an hour staring at the two dozen pictures of Jack in the room; from some angles and at certain ages he could have been a different man entirely, but for the most part, when the picture had a strong angle on his face, David knew he could have passed for him. He flipped through the pamphlet to see if he could find a picture of the man, but oddly enough the only picture was too small to make out anything more than that it was of a man with black hair and mustaches.

David didn't read the board in the room; he skipped through the rest of the house as well, and went straight out to the castle. With half a mind for it he glanced at the boards as he wound through the stone-walled rooms, vaguely noting their various purposes and levels of restoration. At last he found his way to the tower, which happened to be across from Jack and Katherine's bedroom. He twisted up the circular staircase to the top room. Large, uncastle-like windows had been cut out of one side and filled with paned glass, and wooden benches lined the walls. A cushioned window seat was tucked under the large center window, and David sat himself on it. The board bolted to the stone wall across from him named this as the Observatory, and claimed it was Katherine's favorite room. David turned in the seat to look out the window; it gave a view over the River Loughor. It was mid-tide now, and marshes and mudflats extended for a couple of miles before reaching the river itself. A few tree-topped humps of land, probably islands when the tide was high, reached out in a chain from the left of the tower. Birds circled over the islands and stepped slowly across the mud, searching for shellfish. With the glass in the windows sealing the tower from the cold and the wind, the room was peaceful, and warmed with his own body heat. He thought he might fall asleep if he was not careful, but a glance at the pamphlet rolled up in his hand brought his mind back to his head.

He stood and went back down the stairs, through the castle and through the house to the entry hall where the old woman sat on her stool, reading glasses perched on her nose as she pored over a paperback novel. She noticed David come in, and closed the book on her finger. "Do you have a question?"

David nodded. "Do you have any books for sale with a picture of Jack and Katherine Davies in it; I mean one with a big picture; a portrait this big or so?" He held up his fingers to show a square about three by three inches. "It's Jack Davies in particular I'm looking for."

The old woman considered the question as she began poking through the books propped on the counter behind her. She decided on a particular book, thin but oversized and with a lot of black-and-white photographs. She opened it to the middle and flipped a few pages back, checking each page as she did so. At last she held it open to David; "There are several of Jack and Katherine in this chapter, I believe." David nodded as he took the book and studied the pictures for a few pages. "Will it do?" the woman asked.

David nodded and looked at the pictures. There was no reproduction of the portrait hanging upstairs, but there were two or three good versions of Jack's face. None of them showed quite the same resemblance he had noticed before, but they would do. "Yes, thank you. How much for it?"

"Twelve-pounds-fifty," the woman said, and thanked him when he paid her.

David left with the book in a paper bag under his arm and walked to the bus stop, where he stood waiting. Mrs. Williams had let him borrow a schedule of the busses when he told her his memory was not as sharp as hers, and he had figured out what busses to take to reach Joe's house. He took the long ride into Swansea's city centre, and bought a lunch there from Burger King. The bus to Joe's house left just as he returned to the bus station -- a few minutes early, he thought -- so he had to wait a half an hour for the next. He took the book he had bought out of the bag and looked through it again.

Joseph seemed surprised and happy when he opened the door a few hours later. His creased face wrinkled further and his eyes squinted as he smiled. He invited David in and offered him something to drink. "I didn't think you would come," he said. "There aren't too many young men like you who would be interested to come visit a crazy old fellow who talks too much." David grinned and assured him that he was very interested in a man with so many great stories. Joseph's wife came in from the kitchen and met David, and shook his hand, and smiled before leaving them to talk in the living room. Joseph's living room was fairly large, with two or three chairs, a couch, a t.v., and walls full of books. He had a small library. He noticed David's book right away and asked what it was. David showed it to him.

"'Llanmadoc Today and Yesterday'," he read. "Fascinating, no?" He chuckled and turned the book over in his hands. "You went out to the museum, then, did you? Good for you."

David nodded and took the book back when Joseph handed it to him. "I bought it because of a picture though." He flipped the book open and, after a moment, found the page he was looking for. Pointing to a particular plate, he handed the book back to Joseph again. "What do you think of that?"

Joseph looked over the photo and read the caption. "'Lord Jack Davies, 1934.' Ah, it's the husband of the woman ghost, is it?"

"Yeah, but does he look familiar?"

Joseph stared at the photo for a while more, and frowned. "Maybe. I can't say. There might have been a picture of him in the newspaper."

David frowned, too. "Do you think he looks like me a bit?" He turned his head to try to give Joseph the same angle.

Joseph looked at David and at the book, and at David again. "Well, yes, now that you say it, he does, a bit. When you stand with your head like that there is quite a resemblance. His chin juts out a bit more, but he could have been your father. What was your last name, again? Not Davies?"

"Jones," David said. "And the book said he didn't have any children, or any brothers or sisters, either. I don't think we could have been related; at least, not very closely. I know most of my family pretty well."

Joseph handed the book back again. "I'd bet he was a relative of yours, in some way. Maybe one of your uncles or aunts would know about it back home." Joseph's wife stuck her head into the room just as he asked, "Have you had tea yet?"

David said he had eaten, but after smelling what was cooking, he decided there was still room. Mrs. Watson seemed to take a joy in feeding him, and the three of them sat around the table for more than an hour. He didn't know where the time went; after tea story led to story, and soon it was time for dinner. The Watsons' daughter came home from work, having picked up her son on the way, and David met the both of them. When he noticed it was nearly eight, David said he should go if he wanted to catch the last bus, but Joseph told him he would drive him back if he wanted to stay. David gave in, and the next thing he knew it was past ten. Joseph agreed then that there was just enough time to drive David back and return himself before he had to be asleep, if he was to be up in time for the rugby match next morning.

When David stepped outside, the air was heavy and wet. The fog had rolled in again, even as far inland as Joseph's house was, and the headlights of the car did little to cut through it. Joseph drove expertly, though, apparently so accustomed to such conditions as to not even notice them. The ride by car was considerably shorter than that by bus, considering the much more direct route, but it still took almost an hour before they were out onto the Gower and not far from the Greyhound Inn.

Joseph had slowed to navigate the blind turns of the Gower roads, seeing as how with the fog they would not notice a car coming the opposite direction until it was only a dozen yards off. They passed few, though. Joseph was telling a story about when he was in the navy, how he had been able to spend the night sleeping among the rocks of Stonehenge (as it had not been fenced off back then). David was listening, but watching the banks of the road slip by out his window. Suddenly a flash of white went past on his side. He clapped his hand to the window and craned his neck to look out the back but, it was already gone. Joseph slowed and looked over at David. "What is it? Did you see something out there?"

"Ah, it was nothing, likely."

"We'll take a look and see." Joseph put his car in reverse and backed up. There was nothing, and nothing, and then the white out the window again. Joseph stopped and they both got out of the car. Without looking closer, David could see it was a white shirt snagged on the fence on the top of the bank. Joseph came around the car and walked over to reach up and tug the shirt down. "A ghost!" he said, holding up the shirt. "Congratulate yourself! I'd say we've caught the Gower Ghost, you and I. Perhaps we'll be in the papers." He chuckled and tossed the shirt down into the ditch before crossing around to his side of the car again. They drove on the remaining few miles to the inn in an odd silence.

Joseph stopped the car in front of the inn and came around to shake David's hand. "In case you are taken by the urge to move on, and I do not see you again, good luck to you, and it was a pleasure to meet you. I enjoyed having you to my house. If you come about this way again, you are always welcome. And since you have my address, drop a note sometime."

David assured him he would as they shook hands. Then Joe got in his car and drove off. Lights and the sound of people enjoying themselves came faintly through the windows from the dining rooms of the inn. David moved out from under the well-lit sign showing a greyhound in full stride and walked around to the darker side of the inn. The fog seemed a bit lighter here than it had been by Joe's house; it was thin enough to see a few stars and the moon, anyway. A nightbird called from somewhere a ways off, and David leaned against the side of the inn. The wall was warm behind him; there was likely a heater right on the other side of the wood. It was comfortable.

Then the mist cleared a bit and a white shape appeared at the edge of the grey. It could have been watching him -- he felt like there were eyes on him. It chilled his skin. It stayed there, and David stayed where he was. He was torn between running back around to the lighted side of the inn and going toward the white shape; the compromise was not to move at all. After a few minutes which seemed ten times as long, the shape moved slowly toward him. It flowed like a loose cloth teased by a breeze. The fog shifted around and through the white, until it began to pull back, revealing a shape. Pale, bare feet peeked out from beneath a white dress that came almost to the ground. The dress was simple, but it had the sheen and flow of silk. Arms covered to the wrists by long sleeves hung loosely at the sides. A high neck came up just under the chin of a pale face framed by loose, dark curls. Two black, depthless eyes reached out across the gap between them to hold David where he was. Bloodless lips opened slightly. Her face was only inches from his. She held his eyes still. At last came a cracked whisper between those lips. "You are come back to me." No breath came with the words. She reached up a hand to touch his face, and the cold of it ripped the heat from David's toes and tore it through his body. He ran, ran around the inn to the light and through the door into the safe inside; surely he would have been screaming if he would have had any breath.

He stood just inside the door and sucked air into his lungs. His knees were wobbling, and his arms bristled with goosepimples. A few men squeezed past him, coming from one of the dining rooms and heading outside to their cars. They were looking at David oddly, so he turned his eyes to the map of the Gower, pretending to study it. After a few minutes he glanced into the dining room he had eaten in up to now; Mr. Williams was in there, laughing with someone, and David didn't care to talk to him just now.

Mrs. Williams was in the other, serving drinks and smiling, but not talking to anyone in particular. When he came up to the bar, a mirror of the one in the other room, she smiled at him. "There you are, love, I was starting to worry you weren't coming back after all. When you did not come back for your things, I decided you were likely staying for another night, and we saved you the room. You look half frozen, my dear! Have you been walking? It's nearly ... it is, midnight. Be sure to turn the heater up in your room, then. Would you like something to drink, now? I could boil you up a cuppa, if you fancy one."