A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6)

by Sally Britton

  Chapter 11

  Ras’s distracted mind refused to cooperate with him.

  Despite the quiet of the study, his pen remained still. The ink remained stoppered. The paper…blank. The author himself sat back in the leather chair, his notebook in hand, glaring at the ceiling.

  The words never came as easily as he thought they should, even though he worked upon his fourth volume for publication. Never mind how many scraps of paper and notebooks he had filled with idle ideas even before publication. Every word still took time to form, every story time to coalesce into a narrative that made sense.

  Miss Banner’s smile appeared in his thoughts. He whisked it away with the wave of a hand. The charming woman was yet another distraction, and he had spent enough time the day before thinking about her, wondering when he might see her again. He had promised himself she would not cross his thoughts, nor interfere with his writing, this day.

  Writing often proved laborious, but not writing at all was rather like trying to give up sunshine. He did not think he could do it and live happily. But given his family’s distinct lack of understanding, Ras had stolen time to write in secret for years.

  Perhaps that was the issue. He no longer had to squeeze writing time between the dullness of responsibilities, therefore the writing itself had become dull.

  His lack of inspiration had nothing to do with the ghosts bickering in the room with him.

  “My lady, the one reason we’re here with the lad is enough. We cannae distract ourselves or him from our purpose.”

  Ras lowered his gaze to the two of them. Having already solicited their silence once, he did not think it likely to help should he ask again. The two of them had their own tasks to worry over. Or so they claimed.

  “I refuse to believe it a distraction. I think the two things complement each other.” Lady Elizabeth stood at the window, looking out over the front drive. “Can you believe they removed my rose bushes from the drive? The white roses were so lovely in the summer.”

  “Aye, they were.” The ghostly gentleman drew up beside her. “When ye wore them in your hair, I always thought ye looked like a fairy princess.”

  She smiled at him, then caught Ras watching from the corner of her eye. Lady Elizabeth squared her shoulders and shook her finger at him. “You cannot sit at that desk all day, Ras. You need to be up and out of this house.”

  Tucking his notebook back into his coat, Ras tried to ignore the building pressure behind his eyes. “Perhaps if you directed me as to where I should go, it would be of some help. Neither of you have told me what it is I am meant to do.”

  The couple exchanged a heavy glance.

  “Well. This is the first time you have actually asked for direction,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “About time.” Erasmus grinned, his teeth flashing white. “It’s obvious, lad. We’re here to help you secure the treasure.”

  Ras stared at them both, then groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “There is no treasure. If there was, you would have found it in your lifetime. It’s an idle story. Something to tell children to give them something to do on long summer days. Or a story to tell on dark winter nights when there is little else for entertainment.”

  Erasmus snorted, and Ras looked up with impatience. “Oh, it is real, lad. I promise ye that.”

  “You do not think we would be permitted to visit you over a mere nursery tale, do you?” Lady Elizabeth asked, her nose wrinkling.

  “All right. If that is your purpose in being here, why haven’t you simply told me where to look?” He glanced from one apparition to the other. “Just tell me, this very moment. Where is the treasure?”

  Lady Elizabeth’s nose went into the air. “I do not appreciate your tone, grandson. Besides, there is more to it than giving you the location. You must earn the right to receive the treasure.”

  “Earn the—?” Ras threw his hands up. “What does that mean?”

  “Follow the trail, lad. There is a trail laid down for you.” Erasmus approached his wife, taking her hand. “We cannae be more direct. But it will all make sense in due time.”

  “Who makes these rules?” Ras muttered, pushing himself out of his chair. “Very well. I’ll go on a ramble, as aimless as Miss Banner and her treasure hunt.”

  “There’s a thought. Why not join the lass?” Erasmus asked, noticeably perking up, and his wife immediately beamed at him. If ghosts could beam.

  Now it was Ras’s turn to snort. “It would not be proper.” He looked to the window where he and Miss Banner had conversed the day before, he from the bushes. If only he had played a ghost a little longer. He might have kept company with Miss Banner as often as his ancestral spirits did so with him.

  Ras nearly smiled at that thought as he left the room in search of coat and hat. Many a young woman had found his conversational skills wanting in the past, and ladies had merely put up with him to gain access to his pocketbook. He had even overheard one such woman call him tiresome. Given his natural reserve, it was astounding any female with a mind for marriage bent it his way.

  Miss Banner had seemed different. She hadn’t grown impatient with his stammer, nor remarked upon it at all. Instead, she patiently listened to him, responded with wit and intelligence, and had a candor about her that was refreshing.

  While thinking of her, Ras started on his walk. How had she come upon the family cemetery if not from the main road? Perhaps there was a game trail she had followed, or a new footpath carved by the servants coming and going from Alwinton. Ras directed himself that way, determined to find the place where she had entered his wood.

  Passing the graveyard, Ras tipped his hat to his great-grandfather’s stone. The ghosts hadn’t followed him, nor did he know if they would appreciate the gesture. Yet it seemed rude to go by without at least acknowledging the last resting place of the spirit haunting him.

  He found the small path, littered with leaves. It led him through the woods, all the way to the old stone wall lining the road. The same flowers, white and purple, that Miss Banner had gathered littered the ground. Ras bent to pluck a white flower, noting the delicate petals. The flowers had called her from the road and led her up to where he first came upon her.

  Ras grinned to himself, twirling the flower with a twist of his fingers. He stood to his full height but hesitated when he heard the clatter of hooves. At once he crouched down again, swiping off his hat and ducking behind the stone wall. He had no wish for a neighbor or a farmer going to market to glimpse him.

  His desire for privacy might verge into the absurd, but he didn’t care.

  Laughter of men and women echoed off the stone wall and the branches above him. Ras moved backward, putting a tree between himself and the road, shifting to see over the stone barrier.

  A man and a woman rode horses, the people and animals both elegantly groomed. Ah. Lord Erran’s exclusionary offspring. A good thing he had avoided their notice. The daughters were keenly interested in Ras’s fortune. The sons were not entirely pleasant to those beneath them in station.

  Behind the riders came a gig with three passengers. The rest of the family?

  As the equipage drew nearer, Ras saw a man sitting in the middle of the bench with a woman on either side.

  Ras’s breath caught. One of the feminine figures, hand atop her bonnet to hold it in place, was Miss Banner. As they approached, he saw that she smiled, then spoke with animation to Mr. Cunningham.

  A twist in Ras’s gut made him wince. What had he expected? A woman as vivacious and bright as Miss Banner would make friends, and need them, even here in Harbottle. The Cunninghams would be foolish if they neglected Miss Banner. She was an enjoyable companion. A delightful person.

  And when she laughed, as she did at the moment the gig passed his hiding place, her unconventional beauty shone at its finest.

  The party was on its way to Alwinton.

  Ras’s shoulders slumped.

  He hadn’t come to Havenwood Lodge for companionship. He came because two ghos
ts harassed him into travel, and to use the quiet to write his book.

  Yet as the crunch of wheels on gravel and dirt faded, a rock settled in the deepest part of his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable. When there was no danger of being seen, the party gone from his sight, Ras rose from his place, the white flower still in his hand.

  Perhaps he had miscalculated in his plans. As a man of words, he had never been confident with sums.

  He walked back to the Lodge, untroubled by ghosts for the moment, and tried to untangle this latest development in his thoughts.

  Louisa had little in common with Miss Cunningham, who rode with her younger brother, but Mr. Cunningham and Miss Arabelle together made for fine driving companions. When they were not teasing one another about their choices in fashion, they related amusing stories from their childhood in Harbottle.

  “It is such a backward little by-water,” Miss Arabelle said after one such tale. “Suitable for adventurous children, I suppose, but there is little to amuse us now.”

  “It is a peaceful place, though.” Louisa did not feel the need to defend the village, created as it was with the singular purpose to serve Lord Erran’s family. But she had enjoyed the lack of social engagements. There was the added benefit of having no one to impress. Her mother had constantly picked at Louisa to dress better, buy the most fashionable baubles, and behave with enough poise to keep herself above the notice of gossips.

  None of it had actually been to Louisa’s tastes, she began to realize. Even if it was what Society expected. Perhaps that made her somewhat unnatural. Obviously, the Misses Cunninghams felt as Louisa’s mother did about what counted as a suitable manner of living.

  “To be sure. Harbottle is as peaceful as a tomb.” Miss Arabelle released a delicate and airy laugh.

  Mr. Cunningham joined his laughter to his sister’s, directing his gaze to Louisa. “My sisters believe the country is for children and Town is for women of quality. They are quite bored.”

  “Which is why we go to visit Mr. Cruse. He has a fine house in Alwinton, and fine manners, and has only just returned from Newcastle.” Miss Arabelle adjusted her gloves as she spoke. “If he had only a little more of a fortune, I would even be tempted to flirt with him.”

  “Fortunate man, then.” Mr. Cunningham winked at Louisa. “He need never worry my sisters will set their cap for him.”

  They kept on their way, Louisa enjoying the sight of the rolling hills, and paying special attention to Alwinton’s church. Her aunt had told her of its charm, and Louisa had to agree. It looked a bit like an old castle all on its own, hewn from rough gray stone and sitting high upon a hill.

  They passed the lane to the church and turned up the next minor road. A flock of sheep barely acknowledged their passage, and then they arrived at a large, stone manor.

  Mr. Roger Cunningham and Miss Cunningham dismounted while the eldest Cunningham helped his younger sister and Louisa down from the gig.

  The front door opened upon their approach. A butler along with two footmen waited to take their coats and wraps.

  “Welcome, welcome.” The voice, jovial and deep, came from above. Louisa turned about to see a portly young gentleman standing at the rail. His expression was entirely jovial, and his hand gestures broad. “Come up at once, Cunninghams, and introduce me to our new neighbor. Then I must share the Newcastle news.” He chortled and stepped away from the railing as they began climbing the steps.

  Louisa followed the group of siblings, ducking her head until they made introductions.

  Mr. Cruse cheerfully showered her with compliments and kind wishes. The others filed by him to enter a sitting room. Louisa entered and looked about, knowing her first duty was to compliment some aspect of the room where they would spend the next half hour in conversation.

  The first thing to strike her, drawing her gaze, was a large painting above the mantel. The couple in the portrait were dressed in almost Elizabethan clothing, though the man wore a kilt along with the slightly ruffled collar about his throat. They stood close, with obvious affection for one another given the way the gentleman’s hand rested upon the woman’s waist.

  “What a striking painting, Mr. Cruse. Tell me, are they family?” She approached the mantel, drawn by the woman’s bright blue eyes that were a match for her gown.

  “Ah, yes. This is my many-times great-aunt. Distant relation. The portrait was gifted to my great-grandmother, her niece, upon her death. It’s an original by Robert Peake the Elder. Priceless, especially given the Scotsman in traditional dress.”

  Louisa nodded, her eyes falling to the bottom of the gilded frame to see a small golden plate inset. Reading the plate, Louisa’s stomach dipped, and she had to swallow a gasp. “Erasmus Grey and Lady Elizabeth, Havenwood Lodge, 1618.”

  Did her Mr. Grey know about the portrait hanging nearby?

  Her gaze rose to the man in the portrait again, a man whose grave she had visited, and her heart sped up. He was handsome, with a proud bearing, and a head full of curling black hair. Though one hand curled around his wife’s waist, the other gripped a rolled-up scroll at his side. The scroll bore the king’s seal. There was no doubt left by the painter that Erasmus Grey was a man with an important connection to King James.

  The conversation began behind Louisa, Mr. Cruse having launched into a story involving a person Louisa did not know by name or reputation.

  She studied the details in the painting, from the ring on Lady Elizabeth’s finger to the window in the room behind them. Out the window, she could see the drive of Havenwood Lodge, with bushes bearing white flowers on either side of it. On a table at Lady Elizabeth’s side was an enormous book which resembled the ledger Mr. Grey had allowed her to read.

  A scrollwork had been added to the bottom of the canvas by the painter, with words written in Latin.

  Numquam Seorsum. In Vita Sive Mors.

  Louisa studied the words carefully, whispering them to herself, and committing them to memory. Though she hadn’t the faintest idea what the words meant, she intended to relay them to Mr. Grey at the earliest opportunity. One never knew but that the words had something to do with the treasure hunted by his ancestor and now Louisa.

  She withdrew from the painting to sit and enjoy the conversation around her, though her mind frequently turned to Havenwood and the gentleman living beneath its shadows.

  Chapter 12

  The day after Ras had spotted Miss Banner with the Cunninghams, he walked all the way down the lane to where it joined the main road. Then he hesitated, looking to the east where Harbottle and the Manse waited just beyond a bend in the road.

  “Once again, the lad hesitates overlong.” His ghostly grandfather sounded more annoyed than amused. “Makes up his mind only to change it again.”

  Lady Elizabeth spoke her rejoinder dryly. “Not everyone has your single-minded and stubborn confidence, dear.”

  Ras cast a quelling glance over his shoulder at both of them. His kilted grandfather folded his arms over his chest and glowered. Lady Elizabeth gave him an encouraging smile. Why they persisted in following him about and yet refused to be of any actual help confused Ras. They were the very worst sort of spirits, to haunt with no sort of rational purpose. For he did not believe they knew the location of the treasure. Had they known where it was during their lifetime, would they not have turned it over to King James?

  Erasmus the Elder whispered barely loud enough for Ras to hear his words. “Ten-to-one he goes back to the Lodge.”

  That did it. Clenching his jaw tight, Ras marched onto the road. He charged in the direction of Harbottle, the Penrith Manse his aim. No one witnessed his determined gait other than a few sheep grazing near to the stone wall. The gurgle of the river grew louder as he rounded the bend, raising his gaze to find the rooftop of the old steward’s house—

  “Mr. Grey!”

  Halting abruptly, Ras lowered his gaze to a stone wall beneath the shadows of a tree. Bundled up in a gray cloak, her lips parted from her exclamation
, sat Miss Banner.

  After a brief moment of hesitation, Ras bowed to her. “Good morning.”

  “Is it?” She slid from her seat on the wall, and he noted she held his book in her hand. “What are you doing out here, where anyone might see you? I thought your presence in the country a matter of true secrecy.”

  “It was—it is.” Ras stumbled over the explanation. “Only—only—only—” The word stuck itself between his tongue and the roof of his mouth and repeated incessantly. Miss Banner mercifully did not interrupt him, or end his exclamation for him, or coax the words out.

  Instead she waited, not so much as batting an eyelash, as though she was frozen along with the word he could not get out.

  His ears warmed, and the word stopped coming. He took in a calming breath. Still, she remained patiently waiting.

  “I wished to call on you.”

  The vice-like sensation closing around his chest tightened with that admission. She would think him the greatest of fools. She would politely decline his interest.

  “Oh.” A delightful, rosy shade of pink bloomed in her cheeks. “How very thoughtful. I was on my way to return your book.” She held it out to him. “I stopped to read my favorite part again. Here.” She took the last few steps from the wall to where he stood in the middle of the road, leaves crunching beneath her feet.

  When he accepted the book from her, their gloved hands brushed.

  “I enjoyed reading it immensely, and I could not wait to tell you so.” She tucked her hand behind her. “Even though you said you were occupied with your work, I did not think you would mind.”

  Mind? How could he mind any interaction with her? “Not at all.” He gestured to the road. “Would you—that is—might I walk you home?”

  “Oh. I would rather not return yet.” She pointed to the stone wall. “I had thought to walk up to the Drake Stone.”