My Lord Ghost, Page 4

  On the other hand, I wasn’t in London anymore. Who was to say that I couldn’t go around by myself, here in the country? Who was going to see me after all?

  I sighed, resigning myself to losing my maid. Honestly, I think it would be safer to lose her, than to face the wrath of my father were I to return before I had permission to do so.

  “You’ve got to come with me. Please, Miss Laia, say that you’ll come with me?” Sally begged.

  “No. That is one thing I will not do,” I said resolutely. I would not be scared away by some poor soul—dead or alive. And I wouldn’t go directly against my father’s commands. Who knew what sort of punishment he might exact were I to return too early? I dearly wanted to be brought out next season. I was not going to risk that because of a ghost!

  “But, Miss…”

  “No, Sally. You may leave if you feel you have to, but I will not.”

  The moaning and crying woke me up once again that night. It began as before, sounding as if it were coming from the room next door.

  Out of curiosity, I got up and tiptoed to that door. I tried to listen for the sound of movement within the room, but the moaning was so loud that I couldn’t hear anything else.

  With a deep breath to steel my nerves, I shot the bolt back and opened the door. The room was completely dark, so I went back into my own room for my candle.

  Once again, the bed curtains were closed. I parted the curtain at the foot of the bed and peered in. It was empty, but like the previous night, the covers had been turned down.

  Stepping back, I marveled at this odd occurrence. Why would Mrs. Barker turn down a bed and close the curtains when the man who should have slept there was dead? It seemed rather ridiculous to me. I laughed at it, despite the cries and groans, which seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  Once again, as I stood there, the groans moved away from me. This time, however, I knew where I was going as I followed them through the dark, sleeping house.

  In the gallery, I went straight to the portrait and bust I’d been looking at this morning. The noise was distinctly louder there, and if I must admit it, I was not quite as immune to the effect as I would have liked. Years of dealing with dead people and their belongings had done nothing to prepare me to deal with someone who, well, if they weren’t alive, certainly wasn’t quiet about being dead.

  “LEAVE!” a voice screamed.

  His command sounded different this evening, as if it were being spoken directly to me. Clearly, whoever—or whatever—this was knew that I was there. Was he watching me? Could he see me?

  I raised my candle and looked all around. Were there any pocket doors hidden in the wall? Any peepholes from where someone would be able to see me?

  “I SAID, LEAVE!”

  I ran my hand over the wall. It seemed solid. I gave it a knock.

  “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

  It certainly seemed solid enough, as far as I could see in the dim, quivering light of my candle. I really had to get a hold of myself or else I would drop my candle, as I had the night before. I didn’t want to be rescued by Mr. Barker a second time.

  I spun around. The curtains at the windows had been drawn again. No, this simply made no sense whatsoever.

  But truly, there didn’t seem to be any way for someone to be spying on me. It was the oddest thing. I slowly turned in a circle, lifting my candle above my head to see if there was anyone else in the room. My trembling, little light didn’t reach very far, but as far as I could tell, I was alone.

  “LEAVE!”

  Then how was the crying louder here than anywhere else? Who was making this awful noise?

  “I heard you,” I said audaciously, ignoring my trembling. I couldn’t believe that I’d just had the temerity to speak to this, this... “Where are you?” I asked, turning around again and examining the bust that stood nearby.

  “GET OUT!”

  I startled but tried to keep my heart and mind steady. “My maid says that you’re a ghost,” I told it, staring into its vacant eyes. “But I don’t believe her.”

  The moaning continued. Perhaps he hadn’t heard me.

  “I’ll go away if you tell me where you are,” I tried again in a bit of a singsong voice, as if he were a child playing hide-and-seek with me. I attempted to convince myself that this was some relative of Lord Bolingbrook’s simply hidden away out of sight.

  “GET OUT NOW!” he yelled.

  His voice was so loud, it reverberated throughout the gallery, and quite possibly throughout the entire house.

  I was halfway down the hall before I realized that I’d given in to my instinct and fled. But I was not going to give up, I told myself, even as I continued through the doors and back to my room at a near run. I slipped back into my bed even more determined than ever to find out just who was disturbing my sleep each night.

  Chapter Five

  I would not let some poor lunatic scare me off. He might have terrified Sally but not me.

  I found the stable boy and had him harness a workhorse to the gig I had found in the stables. Sally put her portmanteau into the back and then climbed in as I took the reins.

  “Are you certain I can’t convince you to stay?” I asked before setting the horse into motion.

  She didn’t turn toward me but stared straight ahead, dark circles under her eyes, her expression determined.

  I sighed, gave a little click of my tongue, and the reins a snap. The horse began to amble forward, and soon we were trotting down the half-mile drive to the main road.

  For a rather small, quiet little village, the Cock and Mouse Inn was a bustling place. As I pulled the gig into the yard, a stable boy jumped out of nowhere and grabbed the horse’s bridle. A fancy phaeton was just about to leave, and there was a bit of jostling for space as it moved past my gig in the narrow yard.

  While looking to my wheels to make sure they didn’t graze the large shiny yellow ones of the phaeton, I managed a glance up into the lofty gaze of a well-dressed lady, possibly only a few years older than myself. She was looking at me in mild surprise, as if she wasn’t sure where I’d come from, but very quickly, she had to turn her attention back to driving her vehicle. The moment passed.

  I hopped out of the gig, leaving it in the care of the stable hands, and walked with Sally to the inn.

  It was a clean place filled with a sweet, yeasty aroma, probably from the ale served there. A few men sat enjoying a pint in one corner, but other than that, the room was empty.

  “Good morning,” I said to the rotund gentleman at the bar.

  “Mornin’,” he replied, without looking up.

  “When is the mail coach to London due?”

  “Eleven o’clock,” he answered, finally checking to see who he was speaking to. He looked faintly surprised, although I don’t know why. I suppose they don’t get too many new faces here.

  “Excellent. I’d like to purchase one seat, inside please,” I said, pulling out my purse.

  I handed over the money, as he ripped off a ticket from the stack in front of him and handed it to me. I, in turn, handed it to Sally.

  “Thank you, Miss Laia, but I do wish you’d come with me. It can’t be safe for you there, all alone. I just know that it can’t,” she pleaded with me.

  I tsked and brushed aside her fears. “I am not alone. Mr. and Mrs. Barker are there. I’ll be just fine.”

  “Are ye at Marshfield, then?” the man behind the bar asked, not ashamed to have been eavesdropping in on our conversation.

  I turned to him a little surprised but quickly decided that if anything did happen, it would be best to be on friendly terms with the innkeeper. Just in case I actually did need to leave the house in some sort of short order.

  “Yes. I’m Aglaia Grace. My father, Lord Pemberton-Howe, inherited the estate when Lord Bolingbrook passed away.”

  “And he sent a wee bit like ye? To that haunted house?” the man asked incredulously, his white-blond hair falling into his eyes.

&
nbsp; I just laughed. “The house isn’t haunted...”

  “Oh, yes, can you believe it?” Sally jumped in, becoming agitated once more. “She won’t admit it, but we hear moans and crying all night long.”

  The man’s eyes grew round and he nodded. “Aye, heard about that months ago. All the staff left. Said it was Lord Marcus come back from the grave. Only Mr. and Mrs. Barker would stay, but ye wouldn’t catch anyone else staying there over a night.”

  “No one should!” Sally agreed vehemently.

  “You are being ridiculous, the both of you and all of the former staff as well,” I said, unwilling to be talked into being afraid by these two, any more than I was afraid of the screams and cries of... Well, of whoever it was in that gallery. “Come, Sally, let’s go for a walk around the village while we wait for the mail coach,” I said, taking her arm, determined to stop her nonsensical talk. “We shall see you again soon, Mr...”

  The man gave me a broad grin. “White, Miss, Mr. White, should ye ever be in need.”

  I smiled back, happy to have made one new friend. “Thank you, Mr. White.”

  In a village of this size, being on good terms with the locals could make the difference between living in comfort and things being extremely difficult. It was hard enough being alone in a strange place. I didn’t need the animosity of the villagers on top of it.

  Sally and I walked out to the street and then slowly made our way along the line of shops. There were all of the basic necessities—a baker, a tailor, and a shoemaker. At the end of the row was a dry goods shop.

  “May we take a look inside?” Sally asked, as we peered into the window. “I would very much like to find some new ribbon to go on your green walking dress.” She suddenly stopped herself. “Oh dear, I won’t be here to sew it on for you,” she said with true chagrin.

  I put my hand on her arm. “It’s quite all right, Sally. I can sew my own ribbon.”

  At Sally’s look of disbelief, I added, “Who do you think sewed it on when I lived in Greece? Certainly not either of my sisters!”

  “Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but I’ve seen the way some of your dresses are sewn. Maybe Mrs. Barker could do it for you.” She softened her insult with a sweet smile so that I was forced to laugh and acknowledge the truth of her statement.

  “Very well. I will ask her.”

  Sally gave a little giggle and then followed me into the shop.

  “Good mornin’,” said the gray-haired woman behind the counter. “Is there something I can help ye ladies with?”

  “Yes,” Sally said, taking charge. I allowed her this victory but gently guided her toward a ribbon that was more of an emerald green rather than the slightly paler one she was leaning toward.

  “Oh but, Miss, young ladies like you shouldn’t be wearing such bold colors,” she argued.

  “It’s all right, Sally. It’s just ribbon after all. The dress itself is quite demure.”

  “Miss Laia, you do remember why you are here,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully at me.

  With a sigh, I nodded. “For being too bold. And you think that extends to the colors I wear as well?”

  “It most certainly does.” She picked up the lighter-colored ribbon. “We’ll take a yard of this, please,” she said to the saleswoman.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you keeping me on track,” I told Sally, as I paid for the new ribbon.

  My maid just looked at me, blinking rapidly.

  “Well, I won’t be dressed as properly, that’s for certain.” I said, trying to lighten the mood, which had suddenly become strained with my outburst.

  “You know, I wouldn’t leave if it weren’t for that ghost, Miss Laia.”

  “Yes, Sally, I know.”

  “Ghost?” the woman asked, looking from one to the other of us. “Staying at Marshfield, are ye?”

  I sighed. Would I have to go through this every time I met someone? “Yes.”

  The woman tsked. “Such a shame. Should have never gone to America, that one. Said so at the time, but who listens to an old woman?”

  She certainly caught my attention. “Who went to America?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

  She looked at me as if I had just fallen from the moon. “Why, Lord Marcus, who else? And never did return, did he? Except in this sorry form, I suppose ye could say,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Do you mean he moved to the United States?” I asked.

  “Tsk. No, dear! Went after that brother of his, Lord Bolingbrook. Such a shame. Such a silly thing to do. Well, silly of Lord Bolingbrook to go off with that Henry Collier to begin with, I say.” The woman shook her head sadly and then went to help another customer who had come into the store.

  I clearly wasn’t going to get any more information today, but I was definitely intrigued. I hadn’t known anything about the Viscount or his family. No one had ever told me anything, and I admitted to myself with some chagrin, I had never thought to ask.

  I tried to sort this out in my head. Lord Bolingbrook was in America? And then Lord Marcus, his younger brother, went after him. To what purpose? And I presume that neither one returned alive. So perhaps it was possible that there was a ghost inhabiting Marshfield? The reality hit and nearly knocked me off my feet.

  My logical side laughed at even considering the possibility, but another side of my mind seriously did. Now this gave me the shivers!

  That night I didn’t wait for the screams and cries of the past two nights. I woke up entirely by myself, despite the fact I had spent a good part of the day exploring the grounds.

  It was eerily quiet as I made my way to the gallery. I laughed at myself for being scared of the silence. I wasn’t this nervous when I’d been surrounded by screams and groans.

  However, as soon as I entered the long gallery, I heard the crying once more. This time it was quieter, more personal.

  That touched me. I felt as if I were intruding on someone’s private sorrow. Still, as I stole down the length of the room, I hardened myself to what I’d set out to do. Tonight, for certain, I was going to find out if this was indeed a ghost.

  I stopped at the portrait of the recently departed Lord Marcus since this was where I had heard him the loudest. I didn’t know if I should speak to the portrait or the bust of Lord Bolingbrook, and then realized I was being silly. Neither one was alive. It didn’t matter where I looked.

  I was simply standing there in silence gathering up the nerve to speak, when quite suddenly the shouting began.

  “LEAVE! GET OUT!”

  I jumped and spun around, certain that the voice had come from behind me. But as usual, there was no one there. I swallowed, then took a deep breath. “Are… are you Lord Marcus?” I asked hesitantly.

  “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

  “I just want to know if you are the ghost of Lord Bolingbrook or Lord Marcus,” I called out once more a little louder, in case he hadn’t heard me the first time.

  The moaning began again. I crossed my arms and held on as if I could give comfort and support to myself. Thus steeling myself, I shouted over him. “I was in the village today and both Mr. White at the inn, and the woman at the general store said you were the ghost of Lord Marcus. You could just as easily be the ghost of Lord Bolingbrook, though.”

  He quieted a little, as if he were actually listening to me.

  “I don’t see how you could be either one. I mean, there is no such thing as ghosts, right?” I paused for a minute, giving him time to think about this. “But the lady at the general store, I’m sorry, I didn’t get her name, said that Lord Marcus went to America to fetch his brother for some reason, and neither one returned.”

  The crying stopped. I could hear his heavy, rasping breathing.

  “Who are you?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

  “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?” the shouting started again, and this time it didn’t stop.

  I was so start
led that I jumped, and as I had the night before, I suddenly found my legs carrying me back to the other end of the gallery. This time, I did not hesitate but ran all the way back to my room.

  I could still hear the yelling and screaming from the gallery. For the first time, I jumped into bed and hid under the covers. But then I... Well, I couldn’t help it, I started to laugh.

  It started as a nervous little giggle but soon developed into a full, bright belly laugh. I rolled around in my bed laughing away. No, I had not lost my mind, although one might think so to have seen me. I was excited. I was thrilled and not a little nervous.

  I had talked to a ghost! I had actually spoken to a real ghost, and he’d listened to me. For the first time, I actually had held his attention.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I suddenly stopped laughing to lie there in awe of what I’d just done. Still breathing hard from my laughter, I was truly amazed at myself. Amazed at my own bravery. But all too quickly, my mind moved on. What did this mean? Was all of this noise every night made by an honest-to-goodness ghost? And whose ghost was it, Lord Bolingbrook or Lord Marcus? I’d have to ask Mrs. Barker in the morning. She would know, wouldn’t she?

  I thought about this while scouring my mind for all that I’d ever heard about ghosts. What were they anyway? The souls of living beings who, for some reason or other, chose not to or couldn’t go on to their heavenly reward.

  I pushed down the covers and propped my head up on my arm, breathing in the cool refreshing air of the night. Lord Marcus had gone to America and only his ghost had returned... But why would he have gone and how had he died? Why hadn’t he gone to heaven? Was there some unfinished business he needed to attend to? If he had been murdered, perhaps he was after his murderer. But then why was he here and not still in America?

  Chapter Six

  “I can’t tell ye how much I appreciate Lord Pemberton-Howe taking an interest in the estate, Miss,” Mr. Hancock said in an almost monotone voice, which made it very hard to find the truth in his words. The fact that he was sitting absolutely straight at attention with his face set in a hard mask on the opposite side of the great mahogany desk in the study did nothing but confirm my suspicion.