The White Lady Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Beth Trissel and…

  The White Lady

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  A word from the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Avery had a few queries

  on the tip of her tongue, like, “Are you out of your freaking skull?”

  If she didn’t ask, Stan probably would. They’d graduated from high school this past June and worked part-time ‘nothing’ jobs, taking a break before college while finding their way, as Avery’s mother put it. Mostly, they were drawn to Ignus like moths to a flame, especially Avery. Not that he noticed.

  If only he’d look at her the way he did the white lady. More and more, the portrait seemed to dominate his thoughts. How could a petite, okay short, girl in a sparkly pink sweater and unicorn leggings compete with this tantalizing beauty?

  Avery wasn’t plain, some even referred to her as cute, but exotic didn’t describe her. Quirky, sure. She wouldn’t term her brown eyes deeply affecting, and her face wouldn’t compel men through centuries to her side. The best she could do was plead with him.

  “Ignus, be reasonable. Please.”

  No reply. He wore his stubborn look. Crossing his arms over a lean chest, he tilted his head to better view the femme fatale on the wall above them.

  The tousled brown hair covering his ears and forehead needed a trim. In his red Zombie Preparedness hoodie with a white rescue logo, gray dress pants, and white high-topped sneakers, he was the quintessential nerd. Most importantly, he was a wizard and time traveler with a passion for rescuing lost souls. His fervor for this particular lady was alarming.

  Praise for Beth Trissel and…

  SOMEWHERE MY LOVE

  “A riveting blend of romance and intrigue with light paranormal tones that grab hold of you on page one and won’t let you go.”

  ~Jenni, Romancing the Book

  ~*~

  “Ms. Trissel captivates her reader from the moment you start reading the first page.”

  ~Robin, Romancing the Book

  ~*~

  SOMEWHERE THE BELL RINGS

  “I really enjoyed this, because it was an eclectic mix between family angst, history and a century long haunting. It may seem implausible to some, but Beth Trissel is very adept at weaving all of these elements into a tale that will tug on your heartstrings.”

  ~The Wordsmith Journal

  The White Lady

  by

  Beth Trissel

  Ladies in Time, Book Two

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The White Lady

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Beth Trissel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First New Adult Edition, 2017

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1659-8

  Ladies in Time, Book Two

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my dear daughter, Elise,

  for getting me hooked on Doctor Who.

  New worlds have opened. Maybe entire galaxies.

  Who knows?

  Chapter One

  December, Present Day

  Victorian Home in Historic Staunton, Virginia

  Was the charmer, himself, charmed? Misgiving shadowed Avery Dunham as she considered Ignus Burke’s fixation on the gold-framed portrait of The White Lady.

  Her friend—she wished he were more—was preoccupied this morning with the pale brunette beauty in filmy white. The opulent painting commanded the green wall above the carved wooden mantel in the Burke’s parlor.

  Mystery veiled the woman in the portrait, her secret a dark one, Avery suspected, but the white lady’s enticing aura could not be ignored. In his own way, Ignus was equally irresistible.

  At first glance, the slim young man was nondescript, apart from his penetrating gaze. Then wham. The transition from finding him ordinary to fascinating occurred at light speed. She’d witnessed the effect he had on people, especially females. He didn’t even try to reel them in, nor was he aware of the lure he cast. It was his innate charisma, and he’d snagged her.

  “Ignus.” She interrupted his focus on her Highness as she’d dubbed the white lady. “Hopes of a jolly holiday are dimming.”

  He turned greenish-brown eyes dappled like sunlit leaves on Avery. “Why so glum, chum?” He waved at the magnificent tree glittering with bubble lights and glass balls of every color. “Not enough decorations to put you in the holiday spirit?”

  “The house is gorgeous and decked to the hilt.” As he well knew. “It’s you. The workings of your genius mind don’t always guarantee sound decision making.”

  He frowned. “Are you reading it?”

  “No need. Christmas is a week away, if you involve us with this unknown entity, it might bomb, or blow up.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” He returned his gaze to her Highness. The lady’s soulful brown eyes returned his scrutiny as if entreating him.

  Chills scattered down Avery’s spine. “I wouldn’t be surprised if her eyes follow us, especially you, around the room when we’re not looking.”

  “That kind of stuff only happens in the movies,” he argued.

  “Normally, I’d agree. But normal doesn’t apply to you.” He’d beckoned Avery and her childhood friend, Stan Guthrie, into a web of fantasy and magic beyond anything they’d ever dreamt possible, and sworn them to secrecy.

  He extended both hands, palms up, as if pleading his case. “The white lady needs my help.”

  There it was, the dreaded pronouncement. And this potential tear in the universe wouldn’t only involve him. I invariably meant we, as she and Stan, the third prong of this unusual group, had come to realize.

  Living in the same neighborhood, they’d known Ignus since childhood, but he was a little older and had kept them on the perimeter of his vaulted circle. This past year he’d finally let them in, an honor awarded to few. Seems they had to reach eighteen first, the age of consent to craziness.

  Now what? She envisioned the portrait coming to life and wanted to bolt for the hills. Something about the mysterious woman was off, apart from her being a ghost.

  Avery adamantly shook her head, her coppery-red pony tail swishing back and forth. “You can’t just bring the lady back.”

  Ignus held out his hands to the log fire crackling in the hearth. Tangy wood smoke scented the room strung with lights and evergreen garlands. The clanging furnace couldn’t adequately heat the high-ceilinged home, and he was energy conscious.

  “Actually, I can,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “Can isn’t the same as should.” Stan, short for Stanley
, though he’d prefer Stannis (aka Baratheon) roused from a nap on the formal crimson couch where he’d slumped after a late night pizza delivery shift. Tibbs, the orange tabby, curled in his lap. Old-fashioned Santas crowded the end tables on either side.

  Ignus had stuffed the house with antique furniture and vintage Christmas decorations, a perk of being independently wealthy, with an impressive stock portfolio, at the age of twenty. In turn, his grateful mother didn’t ask many questions.

  Avery had a few queries on the tip of her tongue, like, ‘Are you out of your freaking skull?’

  If she didn’t ask, Stan probably would. They’d graduated from high school this past June and worked part-time ‘nothing’ jobs, taking a break before college while finding their way, as Avery’s mother put it. Mostly, they were drawn to Ignus like moths to a flame, especially Avery. Not that he noticed.

  If only he’d look at her the way he did the white lady. More and more, the portrait seemed to dominate his thoughts. How could a petite, okay short, girl in a sparkly pink sweater and unicorn leggings compete with this tantalizing beauty?

  Avery wasn’t plain, some even referred to her as cute, but exotic didn’t describe her. Quirky, sure. She wouldn’t term her brown eyes deeply affecting, and her face wouldn’t compel men through centuries to her side. The best she could do was plead with him.

  “Ignus, be reasonable. Please.”

  No reply. He wore his stubborn look. Crossing his arms over a lean chest, he tilted his head to better view the femme fatale on the wall above them.

  The tousled brown hair covering his ears and forehead needed a trim. In his red Zombie Preparedness hoodie with a white rescue logo, gray dress pants, and white high-topped sneakers, he was the quintessential nerd. Most importantly, he was a wizard and time traveler with a passion for rescuing lost souls. His fervor for this particular lady was alarming.

  “Earth to Ignus,” Stan summoned, with no response. “Oh hell, you’re so off base, make it Mars.”

  Still nothing. Was he too entranced by the white lady to zing back a retort?

  Not like him.

  She and Stan exchanged glances. He detached himself from the disgruntled kitty and joined the others before the hearth on the richly pattered purple, gold, and blue Persian carpet. Physically, he and Ignus were similar, wiry and a little above average in height. Neither were beasts but plenty taller than she. The two could probably wear the same clothes. Not Stan’s style. His artistic temperament embraced eclectic secondhand finds like the brown pinstriped suit and Great Gatsby era hat covering his artificially reddened spiked hair.

  Lips drawn in skeptical lines, blue eyes intent behind a cool pair of black rimmed glasses, Stan studied the portrait consuming Ignus. His Scottish heritage showed in his pale, lightly freckled complexion and reddish-blond hair when it wasn’t colored bright cherry. He weighed their bewitched friend.

  “Eyes on me, dude.” He snapped his fingers in front of Ignus’ face, as if to break the spell. At his insistence, Boy Wonder, as Stan sometimes called him, shifted his reluctant gaze. “You already have a butler, a maid, and a clown from various eras living here, bro.”

  “Mom likes Mr. Silvestre and Miss Bloom. And Guy’s an excellent cook.” Ignus was adamant. “Seriously, who wouldn’t want them around?”

  Avery, for one, objected when Guy, formerly Guerino, wouldn’t shut the heck up. But the nineteenth century Italian man was a recovering clown and on the emotional side, so she cut him some slack. Plus, he was probably in the kitchen right now preparing a mouth-watering lunch.

  She let the question slide. Where else were three refugees from the past to live and work other than the Burke’s castle-styled house? It even had a turret.

  “The current staff are fine,” Stan allowed, “but this?” He waved at the white lady. “She’s different. I feel it in my gut.”

  “So do I.” If this being were unleashed, their lives might spin out of control like unmanned shuttles among the stars.

  Ignus shifted from foot-to-foot. “She’ll haunt us on Christmas Eve and mope about the house like she always does if I don’t intervene.”

  As if they needed reminding. Avery had an unnerving encounter with her chilled whiteness last December. “She doesn’t exactly spread Christmas cheer. What’s with the ‘He never returned to me?’ moan? Makes my skin crawl.”

  “Creepola how she goes on about him.” Stan wasn’t a fan.

  Rubbing his smooth chin, Ignus mused. “Either the he she wails about ditched her on Christmas Eve and she’s a jilted bride, or the dude didn’t return from the war.”

  “Which war? You can’t tell from the portrait.” Stan pointed a slender finger at the painting. “See? Nothing definite about the time she’s from, and the signature is a no name.”

  He would know. When he got around to attending college, he’d major in art and theater. He was practically an expert now.

  “Her hairstyle isn’t a dead giveaway either,” he added. “Those sausage curls could date from most any period.”

  “Even Shirley Temple had them,” Avery agreed.

  Ignus lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I’ve researched her as best I can. I haven’t been able to determine for certain what era she comes from. I’m guessing it’s World War One.”

  “Guessing?” Avery was slack-jawed. Usually he was more specific, like to the exact day a person died. If the moment of their passing were recorded, he’d have the info.

  The lines at Stan’s mouth deepened. “Do you know her name?”

  “Helen something.”

  “Burke, by any chance? Maybe she’s an ancestor of yours,” he suggested.

  Avery hoped.

  Ignus shrugged again. “Mom said the portrait has hung on the wall as long as she remembers, and she moved here as a bride twenty-five years ago. The Burke home has been in the family for generations, but that doesn’t mean the portrait has.”

  Stan’s eyes creased in concentration. “I can’t determine the era. Weird. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want me to know.”

  “Ridiculous,” the resident wizard scoffed.

  Avery wasn’t so sure of his powers of perception, given possible enchantment, and wished his dad, Mr. Burke, could shed light on the white lady. But Ignus’ father was an unknown individual. He and his mother rarely spoke of the absent man. If any siblings existed, they were in hiding.

  “What about the cards and pictures?” she prompted.

  “They’ve been here since before Mom arrived. Some are over one hundred and fifty years old.”

  Antique photographs and greeting cards were stored in the nineteenth century wooden trunk in the third story walk-in attic. Some were whimsical, while others portrayed real people. Here’s where the talent of Ignus Burke shone. He needed an image of someone from the past linked to the house, either sketched, painted, or photographed, in order to connect with them.

  Those persons who appeared troubled, or whose sad history he was acquainted with, were the beneficiaries—depending on their viewpoint—of his gifts. He might bring them forward or go backward to aid them, the most common method, or do both.

  Stan frowned. “The whole time contingency thing must be considered before you bring anyone else here.”

  Ignus thrust out his jaw. “I know.”

  “Might also be useful to know if your travel abilities extend beyond this house.” Stan removed his hat and swatted it on his side, the way he did when pondering.

  “The house is key,” Ignus insisted. “And why push my luck? There’s a stash of images here to work with. I’m the only one who can access them. No one else has my ability. Not Mom.”

  “I bet your father does, or did,” Avery ventured. “Pity you can’t contact him. Some tips would be useful. Wizarding must run in your blood, and there may be more to it than you realize.”

  “A reasonable assumption,” Stan agreed.

  A haunted expression flitted over Ignus’ face. He gave a brooding nod. “I’m a little ol
d to enroll at Hogwarts,” he said, and offered nothing more about his absent parent.

  Stan settled his hat back on his electric-red hair. “Avery and I have no super powers we’re aware of to assist you.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re off-the-chart brilliant, Stan my man.” Ignus clasped his shoulder. “And Avery isn’t far behind you.”

  “Thanks. I guess.” She didn’t come from a highly-educated family but wasn’t stupid. Stan’s parents were high-ranking in the academic world and would prefer their son attend Harvard, instead of messing around. But why sit for a bio-chemistry exam when you could time travel with a wizard?

  She and Stan were both vulnerable, though, if Ignus’ schemes went awry. Then they scrambled. Sometimes smart was as good as magic. Sometimes not.

  Given the risk they undertook going on these ventures, the question ‘why take the chance?’ begged to be asked.

  Deep down, she knew why she did, but Stan wasn’t in love with Ignus Burke. At least, she didn’t think so. He was fairly private about his personal life.

  No, she was pretty certain he didn’t have a crush on Ignus, just admired him. A lot of that going around. Ignus had a way of propelling you into his world like a rocket, and it could be a combustible ride. This time, she sensed he was in danger of dragging himself and them both in over their heads.

  “Listen to me.” She clasped his upper arms and turned him toward her. If only he weren’t so reluctant to rotate in her direction; made her feel about as attractive as slime. “What can you actually do for this woman? If you succeed in bringing her forward, won’t she still moan about the missing man?”

  Annoyance flickered in his gaze. “I’m not bringing her here right off. We’ll go back and assess the situation before making a decision. Perhaps Helen can be persuaded to give him up, whoever he is.”

  “Now she’s Helen?” Stan scrunched his face in disapproval. “Getting friendly mighty fast, aren’t we?”

  “I’ve seen her painting my whole life.”

  “But she’s only grown on you recently,” he countered. “Asked her out for New Year’s Eve yet?”