My Lord Ghost, Page 3

  A crack of light appeared to my right as the door at the end of the gallery silently slid open, just a touch. I didn’t know how that had happened, or possibly who had done it. I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to stop to investigate the sounds of heavy breathing, almost a growl. Like a tickle in my ear, I could almost hear him draw breath to begin yelling again. My legs suddenly found the strength to propel me to the end of the gallery and out the door.

  I turned briefly to slam the door shut behind me, and then sprinted down the hallway. I had just opened the door to what should have been my room when I realized I was in the other wing of the house.

  All the furniture in the room before me was draped in Holland covers, creating ghostly outlines in the moonlight. The moans and cries, which had initially drawn me from my bed, still echoed in the gallery behind me.

  I hesitated, my whole body shaking with fear as I slowly backed out of the room. A shuffling noise behind me made me jump.

  A tall, skeleton of a man held a candle in the hallway. I must have screamed again because he had a pained expression on his face.

  With a cry of relief, I belatedly recognized Mr. Barker in the shadowy candlelight. His white night shirt, which he must have hurriedly half-tucked into his breeches, nearly glowed in the flickering light, and his gray hair stood straight up from his head.

  “May I assist ye, Miss?” he said, his gravelly voice even more so with sleep.

  “Oh, no. I, er, I seem to have lost my way,” I said feebly.

  “Aye. So it would seem.” He took a step back and indicated the direction back toward the gallery and the stairs. “Yer room is that way.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.” I walked past the old man toward the end of the hallway. I was grateful when he stepped away to allow me to pass; I was so jittery. As I walked down the hall back toward the gallery, I noticed that the ghostly sounds had ceased completely.

  By the time I reached the stairs, I felt much more in control of myself. I stopped just before descending and turned around. Mr. Barker’s thick eyebrows rose in question.

  “The cries,” I said hesitantly, wondering if he would think me mad. “And screams. Did you hear them?”

  “Aye, Miss,” Mr. Barker replied as if I had just asked him the most ordinary of questions.

  “What...”

  “It’s best if we did not discuss that just now, Miss.” He paused and then added, “It’s late.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  I turned back and walked down the stairs, across the foyer, and then up the other set of stairs. I was most certainly not going to venture through the gallery again. Mr. Barker followed, lighting my way with his candle.

  When we reached my door, he stopped. “Good night, then, Miss.”

  “Good night,” I said, nodding my head in acknowledgment of his slight bow.

  As I climbed back into bed, my eyes darted around the room, looking for what I did not know. Then I noticed the door leading into the master chamber. I had left it open when I’d first gone into that room, searching for the source of the cries. Now it yawned menacingly. Quickly, I jumped out of bed and closed the door, slamming home the bolt.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up the following morning to the sounds of Sally bustling about my room. To my sleep-befuddled mind, it looked very much like she was packing.

  “Sally, what are doing?” I croaked out.

  She startled with a little screech, dropping the stack of petticoats in her hands. “Oh, Miss, you nearly scared the wits out of me.”

  I sat up further. “I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

  “Why, I’m packing, naturally.” She gave me a tremulous little smile. “Shall I get you some tea or chocolate, or perhaps you might prefer a bigger meal this morning? Yes, I imagine something more substantial would be a good idea. You never know when we’ll be able to stop on the road.” She bent over to pick up the items she’d dropped.

  “I feel as if I’ve missed something. Why are you insisting that we leave? We just got here, and if I return to London now, my father will have my head on a platter.” I paused, as she turned back to me. “You do remember that I’m being punished, right? I’m not allowed to return to London until I’ve proven that I’ve matured or six months have passed—whichever comes first, I imagine.”

  “But surely your father wouldn’t want you to stay in such a dangerous place as this, Miss Laia! He couldn’t be that cruel.” she said, her eyes growing wide.

  “Dangerous? Why do you…? Is it all the weapons on the wall of the entry hall? I assure you, no one here is going to take them down to use them. Mrs. Barker said that they hadn’t—”

  “It’s not the weapons, although I admit I don’t like the look of them either. No, it’s the ghost! Don’t tell me you didn’t hear him last night?”

  I would have laughed at the thought of a ghost if I hadn’t taken the little sojourn in the middle of the night. Still, I shook my head. “There are no such things as ghosts. There has to be a reasonable explanation for what we heard.” I threw back the covers to get out of bed. “I’ll ask Mrs. Barker about it this morning. Now please, stop packing and put my things away again.”

  I picked up my green traveling dress, which Sally had laid out for me to wear, and returned it to the wardrobe. Taking out a brightly sprigged muslin walking dress, I said, “After I speak with Mrs. Barker, I plan to do some exploring today. Would you care to come with me?”

  Sally stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Then slowly, she shook her head. “You can’t be serious, Miss Laia. Surely, you don’t mean we’re going to stay.”

  “I most certainly do. Now are you coming with me, or are you going to sit trembling in your room all day?”

  “I’ll stick to my room, thank you very much!”

  After getting dressed, I made to go down to breakfast. Sally stopped me. “Miss Laia, if there is a ghost in this house, I tell you, I would sooner lose my position with you than lie shaking in my bed each night, wondering if I’m going to wake up dead in the morning.”

  I burst out laughing at Sally’s silliness. “First of all, you couldn’t possibly wake up dead. If you are dead, you won’t wake up.” She gave me a murderous expression, which I happily ignored. “And second of all, I tell you, there is no such thing as ghosts!”

  “Then how do you explain what we heard last night?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

  I gave that a thought and couldn’t come up with a suitable answer that wouldn’t send her heading straight out the door. “Don’t worry. I will find out what it was. I’m sure there is a perfectly logical answer to this mystery.”

  With that, I turned and made my way down to the breakfast room.

  It was a bright room in the morning, with the sun streaming in through the French doors. Mrs. Barker had opened them to allow for the air to circulate and freshen the room, which I greatly appreciated. Even she must have noticed the previous night that it was stuffy and smelled of disuse.

  But this morning it was lovely. All that was missing was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table to lend their fragrance. I would have to explore the gardens later and see what I could find. But for now, I needed to allay Sally’s fears and my curiosity.

  “Tsk, I don’t know what ye talking about, Miss,” Mrs. Barker said in a boldface lie after I asked.

  “Mrs. Barker, you heard the screaming as well as I did. Please do not insult me by pretending that you didn’t,” I said with a smile.

  She wrung her hands in her apron for a moment, staring at me and then said, “Would you care for some eggs or a nice beef steak?”

  I continued to smile at her silently, giving her another chance to answer my question. “Just toast with jam, thank you,” I said finally, giving up on her after a long minute.

  She bustled away quickly before I could ask her anything more. After that, she didn’t stay in the room long enough for me to have an opportunity to question her. I did manage to catch her, as she began to clear aw
ay my dishes after eating.

  “I would like a tour of the house this morning, Mrs. Barker, if you don’t mind sparing me an hour or so of your time.”

  “No, not at all, Miss. I’ll just set the daily to work on the dishes and chopping the vegetables for yer dinner,” she said, before disappearing again.

  About ten minutes later, Mrs. Barker found me out on the veranda, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed the countryside, living in London.

  To begin our tour of the house, Mrs. Barker took me through the rooms on the ground floor. The formal reception parlor was swathed in Holland covers.

  “Could you have them removed?” I asked.

  “Of course, Miss,” Mrs. Barker said. She then looked at me curiously. “Are ye expecting to entertain?”

  I shrugged. “I would like to. I’d like to meet the neighbors.”

  The housekeeper’s mouth pursed in distaste. “That would be Lady Hollingsworth to the north. And there’s no one occupying the estate to the south. It’s the estate of Lord Mulberry, but he’s never there.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll meet Lady Hollingsworth,” I said with a smile. I had no idea who she was or even how old she might be, but society was society. I was soon going to be desperate for some.

  Mrs. Barker turned away. I could tell that she wasn’t impressed with either Lady Hollingsworth or my intentions.

  She led the way into the room on the opposite side of the entrance hall, the library. I had explored the books the night before but hadn’t taken a good look beyond what was sitting on the shelves.

  Mrs. Barker pointed out the large sliding doors set in the wall opposite the entrance. “His lordship’s study,” she said, and then corrected herself. “It, er, was his lordship’s study, is what I meant to say.”

  I gave her a smile as if to say that it was a completely understandable mistake, which she returned gratefully.

  The study was, as one would expect, a very masculine room with deep green leather furniture around the fireplace and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

  Upstairs there was a drawing room, which like my bedchamber, was decorated in a simple, pleasing style. It looked out over the front of the house, and I paused to enjoy the sight of the sheep and cows roaming freely across the lawns.

  “Who looks after the animals?” I asked, turning to Mrs. Barker, who was still standing in the doorway.

  “Eh? There are a few hands who look after the farm,” she said vaguely.

  “And the steward?”

  She just nodded.

  With a shrug, I turned back to the window. “I suppose I shall have to see the steward tomorrow,” I said, watching the sheep.

  “I’m sure that Mr. Hancock will be happy to meet with ye whenever ye might wish. Just be sure to send a message to him through Mr. Barker, so he makes himself available. I’m not certain when he arrives each morning.”

  “You mean he doesn’t live here on the estate?” I asked, rather surprised.

  “No, Miss. He moved away about three months ago. But he comes every day to check on things and give directions to the hands who work on the estate.”

  I was shocked. Such lax management! I most certainly would make an appointment to see this steward—and give him a piece of my mind. Even at our excavation sites, we had a steward who lived on the site with us and managed all of the details. Looking after fifteen-twenty people was not an easy task.

  My mother always made sure that the steward was a local who knew the ways of the area and spoke the language as well. Naturally, I wouldn’t have to worry about that here, but for someone to run an estate, I would imagine he would have to live there.

  Mrs. Barker and I continued down the hall, randomly opening doors to various bedrooms. She briefly opened the door to the master bedroom next to mine, but before she could close it again, I put my hand on the door, stopping her.

  I walked into the room. The bed’s curtains were now drawn and it was neatly made. I stood staring at it for a minute.

  “Is there something wrong, Miss?” Mrs. Barker asked from behind me.

  I turned around and looked at her. She looked baffled by what I could possibly find interesting in the room.

  I looked back at the bed.

  Could it have been my imagination? I mean, who would turn down a bed and draw the curtains as if expecting someone to sleep in it when there was no one. Lord Bolingbrook had been dead for over six months. Why would his bed be prepared for him each night as if he were still alive?

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Of course, let’s go on,” I said, walking from the room. I heard her close the door behind me.

  As we came to the top of the stairs, I deliberately turned and headed straight for the gallery doors.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” Mrs. Barker said, stopping me. “Would ye be wanting to see the other wing of the house?”

  “Yes, of course, that’s where I was going,” I said as innocently as I could. Was there some reason she didn’t want me to go through the gallery?

  Mrs. Barker indicated the stairs, but I obstinately turned back toward the gallery and opened one of the pocket doors. “I’d like to go through here if you don’t mind.”

  I heard a small intake of breath from the housekeeper but couldn’t tell if it was a gasp or a sigh. She did, however, follow me into the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

  The first thing I noticed, as soon as I stepped into the long gallery, was that all of the curtains had been drawn, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. If it had been that way last night, I would have had the benefit of the moonlight after I’d dropped my candle.

  I made my way slowly down the room just I had done last night. The portraits didn’t look nearly as menacing as they had in the candlelight.

  I looked in vain for the candle I had dropped the previous night. It had clearly been removed by whoever had opened the curtains.

  I stopped at the portrait where I had dropped it. The man in it still looked down at me in such a way that I could barely tear my eyes away.

  “That is our Lord Marcus, himself,” Mrs. Barker said from just behind, startling me into turning around.

  I turned back to look briefly at the gentleman in the painting. “Lord Bolingbrook, you mean?”

  Mrs. Barker clicked her tongue. “He was always Lord Marcus to us. That is Lord Bolingbrook, his brother.” She nodded her head toward the bust that stood on a shelf just next to Lord Marcus’ portrait.

  The way the hollow, white marble eyes of the bust stared at me was disturbing. I turned back to the portrait. “He was certainly a handsome man,” I said. And indeed, his dark blond, stylishly tousled hair and piercing green eyes made him very attractive. His cheekbones cut across his face, driving my eyes down his sullen cheeks to his sensuous mouth. With looks like those, he would have certainly been high on any hostess’ guest list, I thought to myself. And then it occurred to me, I didn’t believe I had ever seen him in town.

  I was certain that I had at least seen, if not met, every handsome young gentleman of the ton—much to my father’s chagrin, I realized. That was another reason why I was here, and not in London at this very moment. But I couldn’t help it if I liked to speak to men. I liked them and was used to them—most of the people at our excavation sites were men. And they were so… Well, pleasant to look at… and flirt with … and tease… and be with. Goodness, how I missed being in town!

  With a shake of my head, I turned back to Mrs. Barker. “Why is it that I never met Lord Marcus in town?”

  “He wasn’t like his father,” was all she said, before turning and continuing down the room.

  I was left staring after her. What an odd comment. I had no idea what his father was like, so how was I supposed to interpret that? I laughed at her absurdity and then followed her down the hall.

  “He’s a ghost!” Sally said vehemently, as she helped me from my dress that evening.

  I scoffed. “And how do you k
now that with such certainty?” I asked, hardly able to keep the cynicism from my voice.

  “Mary told me. She’s the daily and won’t stay here. No one will. There used to be a whole staff here—footmen, maids, a cook, everything. But they’ve all left, scared away by the ghost.”

  I slipped my nightgown over my head and then turned a disbelieving eye on my maid.

  “It’s true, Miss Laia. You just ask anyone. Ask Mrs. Barker, she’ll tell you.”

  I sat down at the delicate, spindle-legged dressing table, so Sally could brush out my hair and braid it for the night.

  “She and Mr. Barker are the only ones brave enough to stay,” she continued, “and Mary said that Mr. Barker wanted to leave too. Only Mrs. Barker wouldn’t hear of it. She was his lordship’s nanny, and even though he’s dead, she still won’t leave him.”

  I kept quiet, thinking about this. Could the moans and groans truly be coming from a ghost? No! It was ridiculous. There was no such thing as ghosts.

  But what other explanation could there be?

  I sat thinking this through, when I hit upon a plausible explanation. “There might be a distant relative living in the house,” I offered. “Someone no one knows about.”

  “You mean a lunatic?” Sally said with a touch of fear in her voice.

  I swallowed. “Well, yes, I suppose he could be a lunatic. Or someone who’s just very disturbed.”

  Sally shook her head as she set my hairbrush down on the table in front of me. “Either way, Miss, if that moaning and crying starts up again tonight, I’m not staying.”

  “Sally! You can’t just leave me,” I protested.

  “If there is a ghost or a lunatic in this house, I am very sorry, Miss, very sorry, but I, I just can’t…” She shuddered dramatically.

  If she left, I would be without either a maid or a companion. Sally was here in both capacities. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay here without a companion. I may have just walked up to men and introduced myself, but I knew what was right and proper. I wasn’t a complete nincompoop. I had been accompanied when I’d walked up to those men—even though, to be honest, there had been times when I’d slipped my leash, so to speak.