by Kirsty Ferry
She’d never forget what she saw after that – Georgiana’s beautiful marble tomb was split, right down the middle. It was as if the lightning strike had come straight through the roof and pierced the heart of the monument. It was all sort of broken in half and the place wasn’t filled with plaster dust: it was more like a mist of marble fragments. There were shards of the stuff scattered around and huge parts of the figure were shattered too. Even Georgiana’s lovely face was cracked from forehead to chin, yet she still looked so, so peaceful. And with the rain flowing over her cheeks, it seemed as if she was crying.
‘Oh, Georgiana!’ Elodie whispered and reached out, touching her hair.
There was an ominous creaking and groaning – then: ‘Look out!’ Alex grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her towards him as the whole tomb collapsed in on itself. The side fell off and Alex yanked Elodie out of the way. She lurched into him and automatically buried her head in his sopping wet chest. Then there was a horrible silence and all she could hear was the rain pounding on the wreckage of the tomb and Alex’s heart beating.
The silence was broken by Alex swearing.
‘Where is she?’ he asked. ‘Where the hell is she?’
‘Who?’ Elodie pulled away from his chest and turned to face the mess that had been the tomb. His arms were still around her, and, seeing what she saw, perhaps it was just as well.
Amidst all the mess that had been Georgiana’s tomb, there was no Georgiana. There was no actual body inside it. There wasn’t even a trace of a body ever having been there. No ragged cloth that might have once been a beautiful gown; no bleached white bones rattling across the floor; no long, wavy hair spilling out. Elodie had a sudden memory of someone telling her about Lizzie Siddal, the artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s muse. Lizzie died and it was said that when they exhumed the body, her red hair had filled the coffin and her body was still well–preserved.
At that moment, Elodie felt quite sick. She didn’t know what would have been worse – getting an eyeful of Georgiana’s hair filling the coffin and the mummified remains of the girl grinning at her, or the fact that she had been filched from her tomb and nothing remained of her. Which was odd, because she’d seen so many ghosts in her life that the idea of simply seeing a skeleton shouldn’t have been that repellent. But it was.
‘Grave robbers. It has to be.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Alex broke away from her and splashed and crunched his way across the floor. It was just as well it was made of stone flags – any sort of wooden floorboards would have been ruined by now, thanks to the rain still streaming into the place. Elodie followed him closely and he didn’t bother to tell her to stay back.
‘Grave robbers didn’t come here – surely!’ He frowned, his dark blue eyes troubled. ‘I mean, I know in Scotland and London and what have you they were rife … but here? No. I suppose there could have been an opportunist …’
He turned to her and pushed his wet hair out of his face. His expression was one of bafflement and she didn’t blame him. ‘Where is she?’ he asked, again. ‘Where the hell is Georgiana?’
Elodie felt torn between feeling sorry for him, horrified for Georgiana and sick to her stomach at the thought the girl hadn’t been there. At all. The whole time she’d sat and talked to her – she wasn’t there, physically, at least. Bloody hell.
She felt as if the world, not just the church and the monument, was being washed away from under her feet. Nothing made any sense. She couldn’t even speak to answer Alex, so she just shook her head.
‘Is the tomb just built over her grave?’ she suggested eventually. ‘You know, as if she’s … down there.’ She jabbed a finger towards the floor. ‘In the crypt or something?’ She looked up at Alex hopefully.
‘No, she’s not. There’s nobody down there. We had work done before we opened the Hall to the public, to strengthen the foundations. I insisted they use geophysics to check what was underneath the crypt floor before I let them start. I wanted to avoid …’ It was Alex’s turn to jab his finger floorwards and then towards the tomb, ‘… this. I wanted to avoid this. I didn’t want them disturbed.’ She knew he was thinking of his father who was now in consecrated ground outside, over by the wall and traditionally under the grass where he should be. ‘They didn’t find anybody,’ he continued. ‘Nobody at all. Whoever is buried at Hartsford Hall is in the graveyard or—’ his hand waved expansively across the area of the church, ‘—or in here. In the tombs.’
There were two or three other square tombs in the place and Elodie looked around with fresh eyes. ‘So what about Alexander who died in 1172?’ she said, remembering one particular stone in the floor.
Alexander, Earl Hartsford – Mortuus in Gloria MCLXXII (or ‘died in glory, 1172’ for those who didn’t speak Latin) had always been Alex’s favourite memorial. The stone made up part of the original church floor and Alex would often boast that he had been named for this old Earl.
Alex shook his head. ‘Not here. Not underneath the floor, at any rate. He might be in the cemetery hidden away without a stone, or even on a battlefield somewhere but we’ll never know. Elodie—’ He turned to look at her and she saw confusion in his eyes. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Preview
Watch for Me by Moonlight
Chapter Two
Alex had grown up with a sense that Hartsford Hall had some secrets – it couldn’t possibly not have any, being so old – but never in his wildest nightmares did he ever think that the corpse of one of his ancestors would be missing.
Why on earth would someone have broken into the church somewhere between 1796 and today and taken Georgiana’s body? It made no sense and he couldn’t even think of a reason good enough for that to have happened. Elodie’s theory about grave robbers was ridiculous, but at the present moment in time it seemed the most feasible.
‘I wish I’d checked the tomb properly before all this happened,’ he said. ‘Maybe there was a sign there – a crack or a join that showed someone had been inside. I know the chap who made it would have sealed it all up properly. She was supposed to have just been put in it. Placed in her coffin and sealed in the tomb. How hard can it have been?’ He stopped talking then, conscious that he was in danger of cursing and swearing about it all. That wouldn’t do. He was the Earl of Hartsford now. Competent. In charge. Respectable.
Not that Alex really expected an answer from Elodie – it wasn’t her problem after all – so he wasn’t disappointed when she just shook her head. Her blonde hair wetly slapped the sides of her face like rats’ tails, and she folded her arms.
‘Do you think we can find her?’ she said at last. More of the slapping hair as she shook her head again. ‘I know. We can’t. I’m stupid.’
Alex shook his own head. It would be an impossible task to find Georgiana. Where on earth would she be?
‘Do you have any records up at the Hall about her?’ Elodie stared at the mess before them. She took a couple of steps towards the tomb and ran her fingers down Georgiana’s cheek. ‘Anything about her burial? Or her life?’
The rain continued to splash down and it was ricocheting off the marble and bouncing up around Elodie in a constant series of dull thuds, but she seemed oblivious.
‘There’s nothing that I’ve ever seen.’ Alex shrugged. ‘We have one picture which might be her. It’s in the attics, but the canvas is rolled up and it’s in a terrible condition. We’ve never done anything with it. We – I – needed to prioritise. I had to get the house and the gardens ready for visitors.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Public liability insurance took priority over restoring a cracked old painting, and I always thought it would be the very devil to prise it out of Cassie’s grip anyway.’
He knew his younger sister Cassie had spent many hours in those attics as a sad little girl, perhaps wondering what it would be like to grow up and be as beautiful as her ancestor, whilst waiting for her father to notice her and her mother to come back for her. Their father didn’t know how to spend qua
lity time with his children – books, academia and horses were much more absorbing – and although he loved his children, a few pounds tossed their way for ice-creams or an affectionate ruffle of their hair as they scurried past was, to him, perfectly good parenting.
As for their mother, she had left them when Cassie was only six months old. They hadn’t seen or heard from her since. All they’d been told was that she had remarried and now lived in a castle in the Dordogne with her new husband, a wine merchant.
Alex’s father may not have been much of a hands-on parent, but he’d been overly generous to everyone else. He was so generous he just kept giving and giving and spending and spending and investing in one crazy scheme after another; and then, when he’d died four years ago, the money was all gone, along with the race horses and most of the estate lands. Hughie, Alex’s old pet carthorse, was the only horse left in the stables by then. The racers could go, but to give the old Earl his due, he’d never tried to get rid of Hughie.
Cassie had just started University when the old Earl died and Alex hadn’t wanted to disrupt her studies, so he’d tried to take on the running of Hartsford Hall and everything else by himself. How hard could it be?
He’d soon found out it was very hard. Very hard indeed.
Elodie nodded now, still staring at the tomb. Her fingers rested on Georgiana’s face, then traced the crack on her forehead. ‘An old cracked painting, eh? Well.’ She sighed and turned back to face Alex. ‘I wish I’d known. I’ve got a friend who might have helped. Do you think Georgiana had any diaries or letters then? Young ladies always had stuff like that.’
‘If they were educated enough,’ he agreed. ‘But yes, Georgiana should have had something. We never found anything. It was like she never existed. Makes it all the more crazy, when she isn’t even in the bloody tomb. Dad had some old family papers and genealogy charts he tried to show me once when he mentioned the end of their family line and the start of ours. He never said anything about finding any diaries or letters from Georgiana herself though.’
He ran his fingers through his hair and stared around him. This place was going to cost something to repair. He sincerely hoped the insurance company would pay up and not, ironically, class the lightning strike as an Act of God.
‘But why would anybody build a tomb and leave it empty? Sorry – I know you don’t know the answer to that. Forget I asked.’ She bent down and peered into the mess of shattered marble.
‘Elodie, there’s nothing there.’ Alex held his arms out, ready to receive her again if she perhaps still felt emotional; but she bent down even further and then poked her fingers through a space in what had been the wall of the tomb.
‘Alex! Look!’
It was the work of a moment for her to thrust her hand all the way in and pull something out. He heard her exhale as if she had been unsure what she was going to get hold of, and then she hurried over to him. ‘It’s a locket, isn’t it?’
Sure enough, in her hand she held a grubby-looking silver oval on a heavy chain.
‘You’re right! May I have a look?’
She hesitated, standing in front of him like a statue. Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if her mind was elsewhere, and her hand was shaking a little.
He remembered the obsession she seemed to have had over this ancient relative of his. ‘Earth to Elodie?’
But it took her quite a while to respond.
As soon as she stood up with the locket in her hand, Elodie had a sense that the world was shifting. She was no longer in the church, she was in a coach, and she could feel the gentle motion of it as the horses pulled it towards home; towards Hartsford Hall …
Her brother Jasper was rather drunk. He was slumped against the side of the seat, singing a bawdy song, quite off-key, that he had learned in a tavern somewhere. Georgiana was torn between laughing at him and feeling a burning shame that she had had to ask two footmen to help escort him back to the coach after the Duchess’ birthday party.
‘Jasper, I do hope you sober up before Father sees you!’ She squeezed his hand.
‘Ah, he cannot complain about me, Georgy. Have you seen our dearest Mama recently? Why do you think she decided to stay at home tonight? She’s sleeping it off, you see. Sleeping it off.’
He grinned at her, that cheeky, lopsided grin that was irresistible to anyone of the female persuasion.
‘I suggest you sleep it off too, Brother,’ she teased, ‘and wake up before Mama does and then tiptoe around her as we always do when she’s had an episode.’
Jasper rolled his eyes and lolled his head against his sister’s shoulder affectionately. ‘There’s only you and I, Georgy, who are the sensible ones in this family. Lucy is sly and spoiled and grates on my last nerve at times.’
‘I must concur with that,’ agreed Georgiana vehemently, ‘she argued over her ribbons being the wrong length last week and cried until I set them right for her.’ They looked at each other and they both laughed.
‘As I say, it’s you and I against the world. I do think—’ He swore, as the coach bucked and stopped abruptly. A shot rang out in the darkness beyond the coach walls and a scream bubbled up in Georgiana’s throat as the silence was broken by the coachman’s shout and pleas.
A strong, confident voice cried out, making her want to shrink inside herself and hide.
‘Oh, be quiet. I have no argument with you. It is your passengers I wish to see this fine evening. Now, Mesdames and Messieurs, would you be so kind as to hand me your valuables this very moment, and please, make no noise, for if you do I will shoot you dead. And tragically so.’
This man sounded faintly amused and entirely bewitching. This was no vagabond; no thug or ruffian. His accent was very much like her own; aristocratic and well-bred. He was not to be disobeyed.
Georgiana stared at Jasper. ‘It’s a highwayman!’ Her fingers gripped her brother’s convulsively.
‘It’s a damnable heathen!’ roared Jasper. ‘I’ll see him swing for this, I’ll see him—’ He staggered to his feet and lurched across the coach, making it wobble. His hands grappled for his pistol, missed, then strayed to his belt, trying and failing to unsheathe his dress sword instead. He threw open the door and stepped outside; then he misjudged his footing and slithered down the steps landing in a messy heap at the bottom of them, entirely unconscious.
‘Oh, dear Lord!’ Georgiana began to shake. The coach door remained open and she was beyond terrified. The stark moonlight shone down on a scene she had only imagined from engravings and news articles. The coachman was being held at gunpoint by a man sitting astride a huge black horse with a white flash on its forehead. The man was staring at her brother and shaking his head slowly, still pointing the gun lazily at the coachman.
‘By God. The lad cannot hold his wine. What a poor, poor specimen. I feel for him, I most certainly do.’ He raised his head and the moonlight glinted in his eyes. Georgiana saw them flare then soften as they settled on her. ‘I did not realise the coach contained such treasure. Step into the light and let me see your face properly.’ The lower half of his own visage was covered in a black kerchief, a black tricorne hat pulled far down over his forehead; but Georgiana could tell he was smiling as he spoke. ‘I won’t harm you. I promise. Come.’
Elodie was stunned. The images had come to her so clearly, she could even feel the rocking of the coach as Jasper strode across it, hear the thud as he landed at the bottom of the steps. The highwayman’s eyes were imprinted on her mind and she knew if she closed her own eyes she would see his sparkling straight at her again.
The chill of the night had, for a moment, enveloped her and her breath had come in small puffs of mist in the cold air as she panicked and looked around helplessly. The velvet of the cushions had crushed beneath her fingers as she grabbed at them; her heart pounded as the fear made her shake. It was as if she had lived through it and she knew, without question, that Georgiana had done just exactly that.
She looked down at her hand. It was trembling
, just a little, as she released the locket into Alex’s palm. Alex closed his fingers over the silver, brushing hers for a split second and she jumped as if she’d been stung.
She balled her hand into a fist and stared at the top of Alex’s head dumbly as he bent to examine the necklace. That little scene in the coach was something she hadn’t anticipated seeing when she fought her way through the rubble of the church to the tomb. She didn’t think it was something she should share with Alex just yet either; not when the Lady Chapel lay in ruins. Instead, she tried to push the memories out of her head and forced herself to concentrate on the here and now.
Alex didn’t blame her for jumping. He’d done the same – something like a tiny electric shock had shivered up his arm when he’d brushed her fingers. He looked up and they stared at each other for even less than a split second; then both of them looked down at his hand, which was now curled into a fist around the locket.
‘Do you think it’s hers?’ asked Elodie. Her voice was a little shaky and she sounded breathless.
He looked up, worried that her asthma was going to get the better of her. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘D’you want to get out of here?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She shook her head. ‘Is it Georgiana’s?’
He looked down and opened his fist. ‘I’m not really an expert on jewellery, but it looks pretty old.’ He turned the locket over and over, and could just make out some engraving on the face of it. ‘Very ornate in its time. The catch is damaged so we’ll have to be careful. We’ll try and open it later, at home.’
‘I wonder if there’s anything else?’ Elodie dropped to her knees in front of what was left of the stone sarcophagus and peered inside.
