A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6)

by Sally Britton

  “Long before King James.” Her shoulders fell, and she put one fisted hand upon her hip. “What was it like in Harbottle during your lifetime?”

  Now he would have to lie, or else turn the conversation. “Not so-so-so fast. What do you want with the trea-trea-treasure?” He had spoken too quickly. Ras bit his traitorous tongue. It was markedly unfair that other men had complete control over their words, whereas his went spilling about without any logical reason for doing so.

  Not overly bothered by his question, Miss Banner dropped the hand from her waist. “Mostly, I wonder if it’s real. And if it is, why has no one found it? And if I found it…” Her voice trailed away to nothing, her head lowering. “It does not matter. I am certain every person who lives in Harbottle has searched for it at least once, and every one of them has dreamed of what they would do should they find it. Most likely, the treasure does not even exist.”

  Though Ras thought her right, that was not how he would have her imagined story end. “You are right. Everyone looks for the treasure. Boys on holiday. Courting couples.” He had spent hours looking one summer, over hill and dale.

  “And silly girls far from home,” she said, finishing his list with a sigh. “I thank you for your honesty. It has been most interesting to speak with you today, Mr. Grey.”

  Was she already leaving?

  Though Ras had come to the graveyard for solitude, her conversation had proved interesting. His mind already worked upon how to add to his own story. Perhaps the baron would have a sister—no. A beautiful friend, someone he could not be seen with, who searched for the treasure. The governess of a nearby household.

  “Will-will-will you come again?” He had to choke out the rest of the words, stumbling upon them in his haste. “I sh-should like your company.” That sounded entirely too desperate.

  But Miss Banner smiled. It was the first time he had seen the cheerful expression upon her face. Dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled, and those dark eyes sparkled. “Really? Then I suppose I must come again. But in daylight. Like today. I will not be talked into graveyard meetings at midnight.”

  “I would nev-never.” Ras bit his tongue, but he could not hide the amusement in his tone. She was a lively young woman. Her curious mind was interesting, too. And she did not seem disgusted by his stammer. Of course, given that she thought him a ghost, perhaps it was not so hard to overlook a speech impediment.

  Most women lost interest in him the first time they heard a word struggle to leave his lips. Which made it all the more difficult to speak to any of the ladies his mother continually pushed him toward.

  Perhaps Ras could practice his conversational skills with Miss Banner. His pulse quickened at the idea.

  “Very well. I will come back soon, though I cannot for certain say when.” She looked about again, then curtsied. “I will take my leave of you today, Mr. Grey.”

  He pushed away from the tree and hurriedly bowed. “Good day to you, Miss Banner.” Hardly a stammer. Ras ignored the momentary feeling of triumph as she turned on her heel and picked her way through the grave markers all the way to the arch.

  The village and surrounding area was small enough that there would be few people to criticize a lady wandering about on her own. The lack of society’s rule would save him from being discovered and permit him to meet her without trouble.

  And before he saw her again, he had writing to do.

  Ras started walking back to the Lodge, and he had almost come in sight of it again when he saw two people waiting for him outside the tree line. Two people he would much rather not see. Ever again.

  “What were you aboot at the graveyard, lad?” his Scottish grandfather asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “You mean you don’t follow me everywhere I go?” Ras glared at the spirit, slowing his steps as he came nearer them.

  “We have other things to do, now and again.” His grandmother brushed at her dress, though what a spirit would have to brush off their clothing he could not imagine. She looked to her husband. “And we are not omniscient, whatever Erasmus would say.”

  “Ah. But I suppose you can both keep a secret?” Ras tucked his pencil into the pocket with his notebook, hardly aware he had been carrying it all that time. “I met with Miss Banner again. She came looking for me. Apparently, she thinks that I am a ghost.”

  “No!” His many-times great-grandfather’s eyes widened dramatically, then he guffawed. “I cannae believe it. Isn’t that the best joke ye’ve ever heard, my lady?”

  But the woman stared at Ras with a hard look. “What did you tell her, Ras?”

  He shifted, then made it a point to walk all the way around them. They did not look entirely present. He caught the slightest sheen of something else when he looked at them. It was enough to make him leery of attempting to touch either spirit.

  “I didn’t tell her I was.” He said the last over his shoulder. “And I didn’t tell her I wasn’t.”

  “Of all the cheek,” his grandfather said, sounding as though he held back a laugh. “What a thing.”

  “Ras, that is quite terrible of you.”

  He ignored them both. In his opinion, it was “quite terrible” for them to appear in his life, unannounced and unwanted. Apparently, they took his hint, as neither spirit interrupted him when he set to work on his book.

  His hero, the baron, came upon a woman while taking a ramble to the lake, the treasure-hunting governess.

  The scene spilled from his pen with ease, and as Ras wrote, he relaxed. Stories did not always come easily, but when even a small part did, it was reason enough to be content.

  Chapter 7

  Louisa did not have enough time to think on what she had learned, or to puzzle out the true identity of Erasmus Grey. For she was convinced he was not a true ghost.

  A visit from Lady Erran the next morning resulted in an invitation to dinner that evening. As it rained the whole of the afternoon, Louisa remained indoors with her aunt. The only topic of conversation was, of course, that evening’s dinner.

  Aunt Penrith rather despaired over Louisa’s wardrobe, but they decided upon a simple ivory gown with a deep green sash. “There. You look lovely. Is your Sarah a good hand at hair?”

  “I hardly know.” Louisa looked to where Sarah stood in the corner of the bedroom, head lowered as she waited on them to decide on clothing. “Sarah, have you ever prepared a lady’s hair for the evening?”

  Sarah raised her head only slightly. “A few times, miss. I think I can turn you out well.”

  “Wonderful. I will leave you to it.” Aunt Penrith rose from her place seated on Louisa’s bed. “It will take me time to look anywhere near presentable.” She fluttered her hand around her head, indicating an already lovely hairstyle.

  “I doubt that, Aunt. You are the very picture of sophistication.” Louisa could not help her smile as she spoke. Though she hardly knew Aunt Penrith, after only a few days in the woman’s company, Louisa quite liked her. Aunt Penrith had a kindly nature, a quick smile, and something about her invited affection. Not at all like Louisa’s own mother, with whom Louisa often felt as though one wrong word would throw her out of good graces.

  Perhaps that was why Louisa had been sent away, while her mother enjoyed the company of a friend.

  Once her aunt quit the room, Louisa lowered herself into the chair before the table that served both as a desk and a place for her toilette. Sarah came up behind her, then lifted a brush. “Have you anything you particularly want done, miss?”

  “Not at all. Whatever you think best will suit me.” Louisa smiled at the maid in the mirror and was gratified by seeing the barest hint of a smile on the younger woman’s face. Louisa kept her eyes on the maid’s reflection, trying to ignore a stab of guilt. She ought to have inquired into the maid’s circumstances already. “How are you finding the Manse, Sarah?”

  The maid kept brushing a section of Louisa’s hair. She did not touch the curls already framing Louisa’s face. “It’s a fine
house, and Mrs. Caper is a good sort for a housekeeper. If I mind my manners and do as I’m told, she’s gentle as a kitten.”

  Although that did not sound precisely ideal, Louisa relaxed somewhat. “And your accommodations? They are in the attic, are they not?”

  “Yes, miss. Nice and warm up there, too, with a little stove in me room. I’ve got a corner to myself—I don’t have to share it.” Sarah put the brush down and began plaiting small sections of hair. “When I’m not workin’ on your behalf, they give me things to do that aren’t beneath my station. Respectable, clean work. I’ve said I’d do more, too. It’s quiet here. Not like town. But the servants and merchants are all respectable and mannerly.”

  “Have you spent much time in Harbottle?” Louisa perked up. “At The Unicorn?”

  The maid’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

  “You are perfectly allowed to go there, of course. I would not expect you to remain in the house all the time.” Louisa lowered her gaze to the array of hairpins upon her table.

  “Thank you, miss. Yes, I’ve been to the Unicorn. That’s how I’ve started to meet people.” The maid sounded somewhat reluctant to discuss that topic. Though disappointed, Louisa let it go. Sarah ought to have some things private, and if she went to town during her free time, there was no reason to question her about her experience there.

  Louisa changed the subject to discuss a letter that she intended to write to her mother, and Sarah relaxed as she put the finishing touches to the twists in Louisa’s hairstyle.

  When Louisa came downstairs, she found her aunt waiting. Aunt Penrith wore a gown of mauve, and her hair was adorned with short pheasant feathers.

  “There you are, dear. Lovely. It seems your maid has a deft hand with hair after all. That is an advantage. The horse and gig are waiting.”

  A horse and gig? Louisa bit back her surprise. Her mother had never allowed them to drive themselves anywhere, but a gig meant no more than two seats, and a single horse meant a humble mode of travel.

  “Do you drive the gig, Aunt?” Louisa followed her aunt out of doors.

  “Of course, dear. But we only take it out on rare occasions. Such as this evening. We would not wish to walk to the Castle in our finery, though we are not far. And if it rains on a Sunday, we pull up the top of the gig and stay warm and dry before the meeting at church.”

  Her aunt’s man-of-all-work, John, waited to hand them up into the low vehicle. With only two wheels and one horse, it was a light contraption. Louisa’s heart fluttered, somewhat uncertainly. “I’ve never been in anything pulled by a single horse.”

  “It goes easy-as-you-please, miss,” John said as he handed her in. “Your aunt’s a fine driver, too.”

  “That is kind flattery, John.” Aunt Penrith settled into her seat, taking up the leads. “Do go enjoy yourself at the Unicorn, if you’ve a mind. You’ll see us go by on our return.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Penrith.” He tipped his cap at Aunt Penrith at the same moment she flicked the leather against the horse’s rump.

  The horse pulled them forward at a sedate pace, head high.

  It took a few moments for Louisa to relax; the wheels were so near, she felt certain she would get her skirt or hand caught in them.

  “While you are here, Louisa, we ought to teach you to drive. It is marvelous for a woman’s independence to know how to get herself safely from one place to another. I am going to assume you have never driven, given the way you sit as though you are ready to fly from the gig at the first opportunity.”

  Louisa did not miss the amusement in her great-aunt’s voice. She tried to adjust her posture, gripping her hands tightly in her lap. “I have not driven before. I have hardly even ridden a horse on my own. Mother did not let us keep horses for riding.”

  Aunt Penrith clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, causing the horse to twitch its ears back. “How unfortunate. Never mind. We will see to your equine education while you are here.”

  Every time her aunt mentioned Louisa’s stay, the older woman sounded as though she did not expect it to last forever. Why? Did she know something Louisa did not? Or would she merely send Louisa away, as her mother had, when Louisa became inconvenient? As unsettling as the idea was, Louisa had no control over her future. She had no fortune, not even a dowry to tempt a husband to take her, and was left to the kindness of others.

  If her education were better, she might put herself out into the world as a governess. Maybe after spending time with her aunt, she could find a position as a companion.

  The future had to wait, however. They had arrived at the castle.

  A footman appeared to help them down from the gig, while a boy dressed in the practical browns of a stable hand took hold of their horse.

  Louisa entered the Castle for the second time, noting the number of tapestries in the corridor with interest. Most appeared quite old, if not ancient. When the new castle had been built, perhaps decor and things had come from the old castle. Would the builders have found the treasure in their transfer of precious things from one building to the other?

  She ought to stop thinking on it. Even the supposed ghost, Erasmus Grey, said no treasure had ever been found.

  The butler led them into a sitting room, where only two men dressed in evening finery waited. The women of the house had yet to come downstairs.

  “Oh, good evening. Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Roger Cunningham.” Her aunt curtsied to both men, her usual kind tone altered to one of deference. “Might I introduce my niece to you both? Miss Louisa Banner. Louisa, these are the sons of Baron Erran.”

  They were fair-haired like their mother and sisters, tall, and certainly handsome. They were at least a few years older than Louisa, she thought, given the breadth of their shoulders.

  The gentlemen bowed with Louisa’s returned curtsy.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Banner,” the one her aunt had indicated as the eldest said. He wore an easy smile while the younger man remained somewhat impassive. “My mother and sisters have told me you are unfamiliar with country life. But I must say, it appears to be agreeing with you.”

  Louisa’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Cunningham.”

  Mr. Roger Cunningham said nothing, though Louisa found his cool gaze upon her. Was the entire family intent on putting her in her place? She knew well enough she was beneath them, both in her own right and as the niece of Mrs. Penrith.

  The elder brother offered them chairs. Aunt Penrith took hers cheerily, as though she either did not notice the coldness of the one brother or did not care. Perhaps she was used to it.

  But the instant Louisa was situated, Mr. Cunningham took the chair nearest hers and leaned toward her. “I understand you are from Scarborough, Miss Banner?”

  “Yes. Mostly.” Her cheeks warmed again at his interest. She was not a catch at home, so while she had exchanged pleasantries with any number of gentlemen at balls and during visits, it was a rare occasion one settled his attention on her. “We also had a house in Manchester.”

  “Had?” the other brother repeated. “Did your family give it up?”

  Now her cheeks blazed with humiliation rather than flattery. She lowered her eyes to her lap. “It is no longer ours.”

  “That is of no matter, Miss Banner. Tell me more about Scarborough. I have never been, though I have often wished to go. I have heard it is an excellent place to holiday during the summer. The city is quite ancient, is it not? I believe there was a castle built there by Henry II, like our old ruins.”

  “Yes. I am afraid they are ruins themselves now. People do like to tramp through them on occasion, but most visitors come for the sea bathing.” Louisa shrugged one shoulder upward. Her mother hadn’t approved of sea bathing any more than she did of a lady driving herself about town.

  Before Louisa realized it, Mr. Cunningham had her discussing Scarborough’s sights and the purported wonders of the Scarborough Spa. The city was as well-known as Bath for all its restorative l
uxuries, and for the large park kept specifically for those wishing to feel they were in the country, but with better preserved paths and the ability to purchase ices if the day grew hot.

  The doors to the parlor slid open after nearly a quarter of an hour, and Lady Erran, her two daughters, and an older gentleman who must be the baron appeared.

  “Ah, Mrs. Penrith. I was delighted when Lady Erran told me you would be our guest this evening. Who is this lovely young lady accompanying you?” the baron asked, all affability. Perhaps his eldest son took after him, while the other children were more like their mother, without the veneer of good manners.

  After introductions were made again, the butler opened the doors to the dining room and announced dinner was served.

  The baron took his lady’s arm, but no one else seemed to wish to pair up. They merely entered singularly, with Aunt Penrith and Louisa taking up the rear. It was odd, but perhaps the designated order for going in to dinner was different in this part of the kingdom.

  Dinner itself proved an interesting affair. The baron exchanged what amounted to local gossip with Aunt Penrith, eagerly discussing neighbors and the results of harvests. He said nothing unkind, but obviously took an interest in everyone living nearby. His wife only offered the occasional delicate comment, always with a serene countenance.

  Louisa had been seated between the daughters of the house and across from the sons. The young women spoke over her, discussing fashion and the coming London Season. The baron’s eldest son exchanged a few comments across the table with Louisa, mostly on the subject of the food.

  “I find the lack of variety in our diet intolerable,” Miss Arabelle said. Louisa had finally determined the younger sister had slightly darker blonde hair than the elder. “I will be glad of the fine dinners in London.”

  Miss Cunningham sniffed her agreement.

  “Lack of variety, in general, is a complaint for country living.” Mr. Robert Cunningham glared down at his plate as he spoke. “No variety in food, sport, entertainment, or company. It is a dull existence.”