A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6)

by Sally Britton

  “Come, we ought to be more positive in our remarks.” Mr. Cunningham lowered his fork and cast his siblings an affronted look. “Miss Banner has only just arrived, giving us variety in company. And we should not wish for her to have a poor view of our home. Do forgive them, Miss Banner. I am afraid my sisters and brother prefer all the noise and bustle of a dirty town to the serenity of our rolling hills and forests.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, I am certain.” Louisa hated how meek she sounded, but she had no wish to speak in a way that would give offense. “We all have our own tastes. Your sisters are fortunate to have had so many experiences of other places. I have only known one way of life until now. I look forward to discovering which I like best.”

  Mr. Cunningham’s eyes sparkled, and he nodded once, as though not only approving of her statement, but approving of her. She felt a blush rise and demurely lowered her eyes.

  Inexperienced as she was in the ways of the world, she knew the baron’s heir likely thought no more of her than he did of any neighbor. His was polite kindness, nothing more. A penniless girl like her had nothing to offer a man set to inherit a title.

  When the ladies left the room, allowing the men to linger over port, Lady Erran took them into a library. There was fine furniture about, and a large fireplace to keep the room cheerily warm, but there was no mistaking that the room’s purpose included the numerous volumes on the shelves.

  Lady Erran gestured for Louisa to join her near a shelf. Louisa hastened across the plush Persian rug to join the elegant woman. “Your aunt has mentioned you have an interest in the local history, Miss Banner.”

  “Yes. I am most curious about the castle. So far I haven’t learned much, except a few local legends.”

  The baroness lowered her eyelashes somewhat knowingly. “Ah, you mean about that missing treasure and the robber-warden. Yes, I am quite familiar with those tales. I rather like knowing that royalty lived in the castle at one point.” She gestured to a shelf full of volumes of differing sizes, though all were bound in deep red leather. “This is what my husband has collected. His father was something of a historian and commissioned young authors, patronizing a few Oxford students to come and write about the area.” Lady Erran gave the books a thoughtful glance. “You are welcome to borrow whatever you would like.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Louisa turned to the shelves, trying to appear only curious rather than deeply interested. The titles of the volumes were not entirely helpful. The Drake Stone and Druids of Northumberland, Harbottle’s Ruins, Old and New Harbottle Castle, The Coquette River and Its Estuaries, The Scottish Border and King Henry II, and Alwinton’s History.

  If only there was one titled Ghosts and Treasures of Harbottle. She would have to borrow these titles one by one and carefully comb through them for any information. But if the authors of the books were as uninterested in talk of treasure as Lady Erran appeared to be, there would be little of interest within their covers.

  The gentlemen joined them a short time later, while Louisa sat with the volume about the Drake Stone in her lap.

  Mr. Cunningham sat next to her on the sofa directly, peering at the book she held. “Ah, I like that one. Have you been to see our Drake Stone yet, Miss Banner?”

  “I have not.” Louisa hastily closed the book. “I have not even learned where it is located.”

  “Not far behind your aunt’s property, actually.” He gestured to her book. “May I?”

  “Please.” She handed the volume to him.

  With ease he turned to a particular page that she saw was an etching of a map. His finger traced a road. “See, here is the Manse.” He pointed to the little rectangle that indicated the building. “Then here, just southwest a bit, is the Drake Stone.” His finger traced over a few trees and sheep, then stopped at a label. “It is all uphill, you know, behind the Manse. But it is not a difficult climb.”

  “Thank you. I see that.” She made note of the page number, then looked sideways at Mr. Cunningham. “There are rumors of druids in this part of the country?”

  “I am certain prior to Christianity there were druids everywhere in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.” He shrugged and snapped the book closed. “Have you an interest in druids?”

  “Not particularly.” Louisa took in a breath and checked to be sure no one else was listening to their conversation before she continued. “But I have heard rumors that Havenwood itself is haunted.” Of course, she hadn’t heard any such thing but given her own experience with someone professing to be a ghost, she might not be far off the mark.

  “So you are interested in the supernatural.” He grinned, but not unkindly. More as though he had found out her secret than that he laughed at her for it. “Here, I have a book for you.” He stood and gestured for Louisa to follow. He took her to another side of the library, where there was even more variety in the shape and colors of the volumes.

  Mr. Cunningham ran his finger along several spines, then stopped. “Here we are. My father brought this home to me when I was a boy.” He tugged out a brown, leather book. “Have you seen it before?”

  “I have not made ghosts a particular study before,” Louisa said, somewhat defensively. She took the volume. News from the Invisible World; or, Interesting Anecdotes of the Dead, by John Tregortha.

  The gentleman at her side opened the book where it was in her hands to an engraving just a few pages in. “Look here.” A woman stood barefoot in front of a tomb with two men dressed as monks speaking to her. “It isn’t a gothic fantasy, but a collection of stories from people who purport to have actually seen spirits. I find it interesting that most of the stories are about ghosts appearing in order to help someone, or else soothe them after a loss.”

  Curiosity piqued, Louisa closed the book and pulled it against her chest. “Do you mind if I borrow it?”

  “Not in the least. There aren’t many people who come to borrow our books, nor discuss them after. If you promise you’ll tell me what you thought of it when you finish with it, you may keep it as long as you wish.” Mr. Cunningham turned then, called by his father. “Excuse me, Miss Banner.”

  With two books tucked close in her arms, Louisa could not help but feel herself better armed for her next meeting with Mr. Grey, whomever he might be.

  Chapter 8

  Ras wrote with fiendish speed during all the time it rained, holed up in his bedroom or the study, until Mrs. Douglas or her daughter brought him a meal or tea. They kept their word and said nothing of his appearance to anyone, and Miss Banner must have done the same. No one came calling to the house, and the servants carried on as though he were not there, unless he required food or the care of his belongings.

  The ghosts had not come to bother him either, which made him wonder if his writing was the thing he was meant to do in this place. They had not exactly given their reason. As his book was nothing of great consequence, telling a fantastical tale instead of a moral one, that did not seem right. Why would anyone from beyond the veil of death wish for him to finish an adventure novel?

  After three days had passed since his last meeting with Miss Banner, the sun at last shone through a cloudless sky. Ras took his breakfast, as normal, and then took no more than a notebook and pencils with him out of doors.

  He immediately turned around again for a greatcoat. The wind and rain from the previous days had considerably lowered the temperature.

  Did spirits get cold? Perhaps the coat would give him away to Miss Banner. If he stayed under the trees again, in shadows, she might not even notice.

  If she came.

  There was every chance she had grown bored with him, or fearful. No young woman without a chaperone ought to seek out the company of a man. Of course, Ras had never particularly liked that rule. Mostly because it meant he had to accompany his sisters to all the places they wished to go during the Season. He never minded the theaters or museums, of course, but the balls, assemblies, and parties were not to his taste at all.

  When h
e arrived at the graveyard, beneath his customary tree, he found Miss Banner waiting for him. She had spread a blanket upon the ground near his great-grandfather’s headstone, and she wore a cloak to keep warm. In her hands, she held a book, and did not notice his arrival as she read.

  Sitting there beneath the cold light of the autumn sun, Miss Banner was the very picture of contemplative beauty. Her posture was perfect, despite her down-turned head. Her dark curls escaped from her bonnet to brush down her neck and across her cheeks. And her lips, pink and pursed in thought, took a moment of his attention, too.

  He had been wrong the first time he saw her, thinking her not quite beautiful. She did not appear as the Diamonds of the First Water, or the women who dripped in jewels and silks at balls. But she was beautiful in her own quiet way.

  Something in his chest stirred near the vicinity of his heart. Why had Miss Banner come to live with the Widow Penrith? Harbottle was in the middle of nowhere. Why would her family send her to such a forsaken place, all alone?

  Ras came around his tree quietly and settled down upon the ground. The slight rise of the hill allowed him to still see Miss Banner. He waited another moment, but when she did not stir, he cleared his throat. She started and looked up, directly at him.

  “Good morning, Miss Banner.”

  “Mr. Grey.” She nodded her head, keeping one hand placed upon the book’s open pages. “I began to think you would not come.”

  “It is early yet,” he answered with a shrug. Short answers were always best.

  She pursed her lips. “Perhaps.” She looked down at the book in her lap and turned the page. Without looking up, she continued speaking. “I have been studying the subject of ghosts, Mr. Grey. I was fortunate enough to find a book in which several anecdotes of hauntings and spiritual manifestations have been recorded. And not, I might add, in a way that sensationalizes the topic.”

  Ras perked up, looking with fresh interest at the book she held. “Indeed?”

  How had she managed to locate such a book? He had been through the library at the Lodge, which was admittedly small, and had found nothing on the issue of hauntings. His rather grumpy great-grandfather had been in the library the whole time, telling him it was no use trying to find a way to get rid of the two spirits following him around.

  “Yes. And you ought to know, sir, that you are going about your haunting all wrong.” She turned another page before looking up. “For example, nine times out of ten, people are only haunted by departed relatives. Fathers to sons and daughters, mothers to children, and the occasional spectral spouse. As I have no relations outside of my great-aunt in this vicinity, nor do I recall any of my family coming from this area in the past century, I must think I am an inappropriate choice of person for you to manifest yourself to.”

  She spoke with such a measured tone and sincere aspect that Ras could not help his smile. What woman of his acquaintance would ever speak of ghosts as though it were an everyday conversation, and then attempt to use logic and reasoning to speak to a ghost of her own?

  “You think so?” He cleared his throat when he heard his amusement. “You did say nine out of ten. Perhaps you are the tenth person.”

  “I had wondered if that might be the case.” Miss Banner looked down at the book in her lap again. “That would mean you have an excellent reason for speaking to someone with whom you share no acquaintances, Mr. Grey. It is a most extraordinary circumstance, after all.”

  He mentally scrabbled about for an answer to that one, though he kept quite still as he stared at her.

  “My reasons are my own.” That sounded properly ghost-like.

  Her eyes narrowed. “That is most unhelpful. I had hoped you would be more forthcoming. Meeting young ladies in graveyards is not at all proper.” Was it his imagination, or did he detect a merry gleam in her eye?

  Miss Banner closed her book and picked up another he had not noticed laying on the ground next to her. “If you will not tell me what you want, sir, at least exhibit better manners in your conversation.”

  Conversation? But he loathed polite conversation. Ras grimaced. “Will you re-return home before winter?”

  He bit the insides of his cheek. His stammer very well might send him into an early grave. While the people who knew him well, his mother, sisters, and friends, never minded it, he heard every nervously repeated syllable.

  “No.” Her shoulders stiffened, almost defensively. “I will be in Harbottle for quite some time yet. All of winter.”

  She would be in Harbottle all winter? Granted, it was only two and a little months off from Christmas. But even their somewhat protected little valley experienced the harshness of Northumberland winters. What would she do for weeks and months shut up in a house with no society about to offer entertainment?

  Ras knew what he would do. Read, write, and bask in the silence of frosty days. Not everyone enjoyed such peaceful activities as he, though.

  “What will you do to pass the time?” he asked.

  She had been on the verge of telling him before he had asked his impertinent question.

  “I thought to spend most of it as a companion to my aunt, but she sends me out of doors at every opportunity.” She looked away from him, to the trees and then up into the sky. “While the weather holds, I will adhere to her wishes and enjoy the country air.”

  Harmless, innocent entertainment, if a young society woman could call rambling about the country entertaining. Given the slight tilt to her head, and the sudden gleam of mischief in her eye, Ras realized there was more to her simple answer. Her lips turned upward in a secretive smile before she spoke again.

  “And perhaps…I will dabble in treasure hunting.”

  Louisa’s announcement to take up treasure hunting caused Mr. Grey, or whoever the rascal playacting as a ghost might be, to jerk his head backward. With enough force to knock the back of his head into the tree trunk. He groaned and reached for the spot, then caught her watching and hastily lowered his head.

  Louisa barely refrained from pointing out that ghosts ought not knock their heads on trees, given their incorporeal state. “You seem surprised, Mr. Grey. I would think a ghostly fellow as old as you are would know all about the purported treasure of the Old Castle.”

  “Of course I know about the treasure,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Everyone does. And everyone here has searched for it.” Perhaps he meant to sound disapproving, but Louisa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from giggling at his offended expression.

  “Oh, good. Then I shall join the ranks of the locals and earn my place among them. You see, I have already found a few promising threads to tug upon to begin my investigation.” She lifted the book in her hand. “This is from the baron’s library. The Drake Stone and Druids of Northumberland. And this is from my great-aunt’s library.” Louisa took out the notes she had found in her book. “Listen:

  “The old families rejected the Scotch King. They had guarded the border too long to accept an end of their work. When he placed one of his favorites, and not even a man of noble birth, to live at Harbottle there was an outcry. This led to an arranged marriage for the Scotsman, to a local daughter of noble blood.

  “The First Harbottle Castle still stood, and rumors of the treasure left there abounded.

  “The treasure came from one of the Scottish kings of the previous century, stolen by the soldiers garrisoned at Harbottle. The local gentry and peasants feared the new king had sent the Scotsman to reclaim the treasure for Scotland.”

  She leaned back on her hands with the book in her lap and smiled at Mr. Grey in triumph. “Isn’t that perfectly marvelous?”

  The man before her appeared thoughtful. “I had heard the connection of the treasure to Scotland, but not the rumor that the king placed someone in Harbottle itself.”

  “Given that you were born in”—she glanced at the tombstone with the name he had claimed—“1575, you were alive when all of that happened. I do not suppose you have any insight into whether or n
ot the Scottish man sent by the king actually found the treasure?”

  Mr. Grey stared at her, his eyes slowly widening, as though he were the one seeing a ghost. “No. No insight.” He reached into his coat and took out a small book, flipped it open, and tore his gaze from hers in order to scribble furiously onto its pages.

  Although most women considered such behavior terribly rude, Louisa tipped forward with interest. “Have you thought of something, Mr. Grey?”

  He did not look up from his writing as he spoke. “Indeed. You have given me two extraordinary ideas, Miss Banner. The first is only helpful to me, but the second might prove interesting to us both. There is a book in the Lodge, in the family library. It holds an account of the family estate from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century. Births, deaths, that sort of thing. But it does note that my—that I am from Scotland.”

  Louisa did not bat an eyelash for a moment, trying to untangle all of what he had said. He had spoken with such haste and excitement that she had hardly noticed his stammer on a few of the words. “Are you?”

  Though she had not encountered a significant number of Scotsmen in her day, she had heard enough of their speech to recognize the complete lack of burr in his accent. He sounded more like the well-educated gentlemen of her acquaintance than a man from the other side of Hadrian’s Wall.

  His cheeks turned red, as though he had realized his mistake at the same instant she had deduced yet another part of his lie.

  Rather than give him time to cover his mistake, Louisa began packing her things into the basket. “I should like to see this book. Come, let us go fetch it.”

  “Fetch it?” He scrambled up to his feet. “Us? I do not think that necessary.”

  “Your family library may have exactly what I need to continue my search.” Louisa kept moving, folding her blanket. “I need more information before I go poking about ruins or forests.”