Brides of Banff Springs by Victoria Chatham

Author:Victoria Chatham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ghosts, banff, alberta, haunted hotel, banff national park, thirties stories, canadian historical brides, working at the banff springs 1935, bride who haunts staircase in hotel, castle in the mountains
Publisher: The Azrieli Foundation

Chapter Fifteen

“Fliss?” Tilly entered the darkened room. It took her a moment to determine the huddled shape cowering in the corner. “What’s wrong?”

She hurried to the edge of the bed.

“Is the door locked?” Fliss whispered as another sob shuddered through her.

Tilly assured her it was, but Fliss just sat there with her arms around her knees, rocking backwards and forwards.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Tilly said gently. “Come on, Fliss, tell me what happened.”

Fliss sniffed. “All right. But don’t put the light on. Just open the curtains.”

Tilly did as asked, then sat down and waited. Fliss shifted slowly to the edge of her bed and looked up. Ambient light filtering through the window illuminated her pallid face. What made it more stark, more shocking, was the dark pain in Fliss’ eyes and the deep purple stain of a bruise on her left cheek. Shocked, Tilly could only stare open-mouthed.

“Who did this?” she asked when she had recovered herself enough to speak.

“Frederic,” Fliss stammered and then started to sob again.

“Oh, my Lord,” Tilly whispered. “Does Saul know?”

“Not yet.” Fliss dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t want him to either because I know exactly what he’ll do. We can’t afford that kind of trouble, Tilly, we really can’t.”

“I need to turn the light on so I can get a closer look at the damage,” Tilly said softly. “I’ll close the curtains first and then there’s no chance of anyone seeing you.”

Tilly reached up and pulled the shabby fabric across the window, making sure there were no gaps before she turned on the light. She put her hand under Fliss’ chin and lifted it up.

“Ouch,” she whispered. “That’s got to hurt, but at least the skin isn’t broken. Did he punch you or slap you?”

“Punch.” The word slipped from Fliss’ lips as a tears trickled down her face.

Tilly nodded. “We had a neighbour who was free with his fists. His wife often had bruises to show for it. There’s a deeper bruise just below your eye, probably from one of Frederic’s knuckles. I’ll get some cold water for a compress.”

At home she would have had a bowl or bucket she could have filled. Here the only handy receptacle was a dusty chamber-pot from beneath her bed. She hurried to the bathroom where she washed it out then filled it with cold water. When she returned, Fliss pulled a face at the choice of container.

“Don’t be picky, it’s the best I can do on short notice,” Tilly said as she soaked a face-cloth in the water. “Hold on, this will hurt.”

As gently as she could she placed the wadded cloth over the bruise. Fliss moaned and bit her lip but took the cloth and held it place on her cheek.

“Let me know as soon as that needs changing.” Tilly dropped another cloth into the pot. She swirled it around, her anger building with each slow motion of her fingers. It was just not right that Frederic could treat her friends like this and get away with.

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