A Haunting at Havenwood (Seasons of Change Book 6)

by Sally Britton

  “I—I suppose not. You made me curious about the lake. But it will wait another day.” She would not tell him she was disappointed they must part company so soon.

  His lips twitched upward. “Curious, hm?”

  Oh, that dratted word. Louisa huffed. “I cannot help it. Truly.” Having never been permitted to explore whatever subject took her fancy, having the freedom to do so at last was a rather addicting sensation.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and his smile faded away.

  “Come.” He extended his hand to her. “I must see you safely home before the rain arrives.”

  Louisa slipped her hand into his, delight encircling her heart, and allowed him to lead her down the hill. Having never had the undivided attention of such a kind gentleman, she could not even tell herself what it meant.

  His attentiveness did not wane even once they were back at the road, the storm clouds nearly overhead.

  “I cannot leave you to walk the rest of the way alone. Not with this weather.” He kept her hand on his arm, covering it with his own. “I will see you all the way to your door, Miss Banner.”

  “But your privacy—”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and one side of his mouth slipped upward in that new smile she liked more than she ought. “Your safety is more important.”

  Making no further argument, Louisa set a quick pace for home. He matched her stride and ducked his head against the wind.

  They arrived at the Manse’s doorstep at the same moment a clap of thunder sounded above, and the rain broke loose.

  The Manse door opened wide, Aunt Penrith standing there. “Come in, both of you. Yes, Mr. Grey, you too.”

  Louisa gulped as she slipped by her frowning aunt. The day of reckoning had come.

  Chapter 13

  Aunt Penrith bustled about the parlor, insisting Louisa and Mr. Grey took comfortable seats near the roaring fire. Louisa had not realized how cold the air had become while she walked with Mr. Grey. His presence had distracted her from everything else. A maid took his coat, Louisa’s cloak, and their hats. Sarah appeared with a tray of tea things. She briefly met Louisa’s gaze and widened her eyes, showing her surprise that her mistress had arrived home with a gentleman at her heels.

  Louisa tried to prepare her words, an explanation for her aunt that would not put her or Mr. Grey in a difficult position.

  He spoke before she could.

  “Mrs. Penrith, it has been an age since I have enjoyed your hospitality. I have missed it. Are these the ginger biscuits your cook used to stuff in my pockets when I came to the kitchen door?” He lifted a plate with the goodies. “Are they as delicious as I remember?”

  There was not a single sign of his stammer. Louisa shifted in her chair, studying him with puzzlement. She had thought he would be flustered, and she had noticed that sort of disquiet brought his stammer out around her.

  Instead, he appeared as confident as he had during their walk down the mountain.

  Aunt Penrith’s eyes sparkled behind her spectacles, though she kept her lips pressed together firmly a moment before speaking. “You will have to be the judge of that, Mr. Grey. Dear me. It has been a very long time. I did not even know you were in the neighborhood.” She looked at Louisa with puzzlement. “Or that you were acquainted with my great-niece.”

  “Miss Banner and I did not meet until I came to Harbottle.” He smiled effortlessly, then took a thoughtful bite of the biscuit. “Mm. Yes. As wonderful as my memories.”

  “Oh dear. Did you introduce yourselves? Mrs. Banner would be horrified.” Aunt Penrith’s tone was at odds with her words. She sounded amused rather than affronted. “Young people do not always keep to convention, I suppose. Did you meet on one of your walks, Louisa?”

  “Yes.” Louisa took up her own plate of treats and hastily popped a small cake into her mouth. She preferred not to speak any falsehoods and having food in her mouth was a certain deterrent to answering more questions.

  “Wonderful. I am so glad you are come to the neighborhood again, Mr. Grey. I cannot remember the last time I saw you. It must have been three years or more ago. Will your mother and sisters be joining you in the country? I had not heard of their carriage coming through.”

  “I am afraid they remain in Town. London’s flocks will migrate back there soon for the Season.” Mr. Grey leaned back a little more in his chair, completely at ease. “My mother and sisters would not want to miss a moment of the entertainment or enjoyment that the crowds provide.”

  Nodding with understanding, Aunt Penrith gestured to Louisa. “It is as I told Louisa. There are some who enjoy that busy way of life, and others who are happier in the quiet of the country.”

  Mr. Grey took that moment to turn toward Louisa, a gleam of interest in his eyes. “And what do you think, Miss Banner? Should you prefer a life in Town or in the country?”

  Louisa answered with honesty, and a little dismay. “I do not know. I have only ever lived in larger towns, with my mother. That is what I am used to, and she always took me about with her when she sought entertainment.” Her gaze drifted to the window looking out into the front garden and the road. “Thus far, my experience here in Harbottle has been peaceful. I am most content.”

  Her gaze went back to Mr. Grey’s, and she caught a soft look in his eyes before he turned his attention to her aunt.

  “It seems I must commend you, Mrs. Penrith. You have made a town-dweller comfortable in our obscure corner of the world.” When Mr. Grey smiled at Louisa, her heart stuttered, and her cheeks flushed. He knew very well she had spent enough time in his company for him to take some of the credit, too.

  “Louisa is much like her father in temperament, I think.” Aunt Penrith arched her eyebrows, smiling not unkindly at Louisa. “Your father was one to enjoy solitary walks. Though I am most pleased that you met Mr. Grey when you went out today.”

  Though Aunt Penrith could not know the whole of how the acquaintance began, Louisa relaxed deeper into her chair. “As am I.” She met the gentleman’s gaze with a gentle turn of her lips. “We have discussed local custom relating to the tales of the Drake Stone and the Old Castle treasure. Mr. Grey is a wealth of information.”

  Mr. Grey’s lips twitched upward, and he tucked one shoulder into the corner of his chair. He settled in for his visit, crossing his legs. “I’m not certain of that. I know as much as any of the locals.”

  “Every old village in England has something of the mysterious about it,” Aunt Penrith added. “We have the Drake Stone, of course, and castle ruins, but what county is without rumors of druids, Danes, or saints?”

  “Holystone is a few miles south of here.” Mr. Grey tapped one finger on the arm of his chair. “Have you heard of it, Miss Banner?”

  “I cannot say that I have.” Louisa sipped at her lukewarm tea. “Perhaps we passed through there in the coach, on our way here.”

  He continued, his tone one of conversation rather than one of lecture, despite the historical nature of the subject. “Holystone has been on the maps of England since the days of the Romans. There is a bath, of sorts, built there. Legend has it that the spring and pool were blessed by Saint Ninian, and that he used the Roman pool to baptize Christians.”

  “The water is said to have restorative powers.” Aunt Penrith took another biscuit from the tray. “No need to run so far as Bath to take in healing waters.” The way she smiled gave Louisa leave to guess her aunt did not believe in such things.

  “So here we are, nestled near both a druid site of worship and an early Christian site.” Mr. Grey spread his hands before him. “Both with legend and myth surrounding them, and both used by locals. The most superstitious people will have miraculous stories to tell you of each location, all while nestled near the comfort of their own hearths.”

  “You sound skeptical, Mr. Grey.” Louisa fixed him with a curious stare. He had seemed as interested as she in the treasure his ancestor hunted. Was this his way of telling her he did not believe it to exis
t? Perhaps it was only one more story for people to tell each other on a fire-lit night.

  His expression changed, from one of amusement to something more thoughtful. “I believe remarkable things have happened. But I think it is that moment in history which makes the location special. Not the other way around. What child cannot tell you of a frightening moment, caught atop a rock or in the currents of a stream? Such moments are marked in that person’s mind for their entire lives. So when something of a remarkable nature happens to a village, or to a society on a greater scale, it will be remembered in the people's consciousness throughout their history.”

  Louisa considered his words, wrapping their meaning around her mind and heart. Yes, she could accept that explanation. “What think you of places like Harbottle and the Old Castle?” she asked. “Are they remarkable enough to grow in legend?”

  Mr. Grey studied her, his eyes solemn and his head tipped to one side. “I think the people here love Harbottle, they love the castle, and even the Drake Stone. So they will keep making memories and telling stories to their children, and their grandchildren, about the treasure and the druids. They will mingle those stories with tales of their childhood adventures, youthful mishaps, and stealing kisses beneath the shadows of Havenwood trees.”

  Did Louisa imagine the way his gaze dipped briefly to her lips, or had he thought of her when he mentioned kisses in the shadows? A sensation that reminded her of a fluttering flame sparked within her stomach.

  He cleared his throat and looked away, speaking with less intensity. “Shared stories unite us as a people, and they preserve our culture. Both locally and nationally. That creates a sense of identity for our people, a shared history to rally behind.”

  With a start, Louisa realized her great-aunt watched her closely. How long had Aunt Penrith studied Louisa’s reactions to Mr. Grey’s words? When her aunt spoke, she sounded as cheery as ever, and not in the least suspicious.

  “Storytellers have always held important positions in society.” She directed her next words directly to the gentleman. “You used to have a penchant for stories, Mr. Grey. Not to say,” she added, sounding amused, “that you told falsehoods. But you could spin a story about a bumblebee in the garden into something of great amusement. My dear husband and I used to love hearing you talk about what you observed.”

  Louisa took up the change in topic happily. “Why, Mr. Grey. You enjoy a well-told tale? I simply must share with you one I read the other day. It is all about bandits and fair maidens.”

  When he narrowed his eyes at her, Louisa swiftly took up her teacup to hide her teasing smile behind its rim.

  “I have always enjoyed stories. I am afraid the telling of them grows more difficult with age.” He released a disappointed sigh, and a sardonic smile twisted his lips. “People are quick to tell a grown man not to weave fanciful tales into his conversations.”

  “What a shame. I can think of several men in history who have made the telling of stories an art.” Aunt Penrith clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Only think of the people in our own English history who valued stories well told. Geoffrey Chaucer, William Shakespeare, Alexander Pope.”

  Mr. Grey lowered his gaze to the carpet and crossed his arms. “One can hardly put me on the same level of achievement, Mrs. Penrith. Though I thank you for the compliment.”

  His modesty did him credit. Louisa had enjoyed his book, and while it was not at the level of a Shakespearean play, it had certainly kept her energies occupied upon its pages. His family ought to be proud of him, not discourage his creativity.

  The rain patter against the window had slowed nearly to a stop. Louisa noticed the tracks of water with some disappointment. Mr. Grey would be on his way soon. Though the afternoon had not resulted in any further clues for her treasure hunt, his company had been enough of a reward to make her wish to enjoy it longer.

  Louisa turned her gaze to her great-aunt to find the old woman watching her. Behind her spectacle’s, Aunt Penrith regarded Louisa with a speculative gaze and a tilt to her lips.

  The unusual expression disappeared when Mr. Grey stood.

  “I thank you for your shelter during the worst part of the rain, Mrs. Penrith. As the heavens have granted us a reprieve from the downpour, I will make my way back to Havenwood.” He tucked one arm behind his back. Louisa would not have seen his gaze flick to her had she not been watching him closely.

  He did an admirable job of pretending they hardly knew one another.

  Aunt Penrith appeared genuinely disappointed. “It is always a delight to see you, sir. Will you join us for dinner tomorrow evening, so we may enjoy your company further?”

  The invitation made Louisa’s chest tighten with anticipation. If her aunt sanctioned their spending time together, Louisa could venture out with Mr. Grey on another walk. Surely, his appearance at the Manse marked an end to his reclusive behavior.

  “I accept your invitation with delight, Mrs. Penrith. Miss Banner, it was a pleasure to walk with you this morning.” He bowed directly to Louisa. “I hope it was not too dull for you.”

  Louisa’s insides twisted rather delightfully. “Not at all. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.” Why must leave-taking always be polite and insipid? He appeared every inch the perfect gentleman, while she wanted to tease him about encountering ghosts in the wood. But with her great aunt in the same room, watching with more shrewdness than Louisa liked, she did no more than curtsy and smile.

  Mr. Grey took his leave, and Aunt Penrith saw him to the door herself.

  Louisa lowered herself back to her chair and watched out the window as Mr. Grey went down the walk and to the gate. At the gate he paused, hand on the latch, and looked over his shoulder at the window. She did not think he could see her, due to the distance and the glass between them. But her heart pattered forward somewhat hopefully that he was trying to catch one last glimpse of her.

  Then he was gone from her sight.

  Louisa released her breath, uncertain of when she had begun to hold it.

  “Well now.” Aunt Penrith’s sudden return made Louisa start before she lowered her gaze guiltily. “Today is obviously not the first time the two of you have met. Is it?”

  “No, Aunt Penrith.” Louisa kept her voice soft. Her mother would lecture her on proper behavior, on etiquette, on everything that Louisa had to have done wrong with her encounter of the gentleman.

  But Aunt Penrith chuckled. “Excellent. I have always liked that boy. That he likes you, and you like him, says a great deal about both your characters.”

  Louisa looked up. “You are not upset with me?”

  “Conduct yourself as becomes a lady, and I never will be.” Aunt Penrith peered over the rims of her spectacles. “You strike me as a clever girl, Louisa. In this part of the world, we cannot watch over every step a child takes. Be wise and all will be well. Now, if you will excuse me, I will tell cook about our dinner guest so she can plan a most excellent meal.”

  Somewhat dumbfounded, Louisa offered a polite response before her aunt withdrew. This left the young woman to reflect on her morning spent in Mr. Grey’s company. And allowed her the privacy to blush as she anticipated seeing him again the next day.

  Ras returned to Havenwood with a lighter step, his mind clearer than it had been in ages. So bright were his thoughts that he did not even wince when his phantom ancestors appeared in his study as he sat down to write. Instead, he greeted them with a cheery tip of his head.

  “Great-Grandfather, Great-Grandmother. Good to see you both.” He took out his paper from his drawer, then a pen knife and goose quill. “Is there anything new you might tell me about your presence here?”

  They exchanged a glance, standing near each other.

  “Not precisely,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “Nay. Nothing of importance.” Erasmus the Elder went to the window. “Did ye enjoy the time spent with the lass?”

  “Miss Banner?” Ras grinned to himself. “I did. I find she is exce
llent company.”

  “And how goes her treasure hunt?” Lady Elizabeth asked, brushing at her spectral gown. “She seemed most determined to uncover something about it. At least that makes one of you interested in our task.”

  Ras lifted his brow. “She is no more determined than any child who hears the stories.” He sharpened his quill, giving his attention to the nib. “As to my lack of interest, I have been thinking. There is no evidence that the treasure exists. None that you ever found it. There is nothing in our family papers, or in the local stories, that details any of your work even looking for the treasure. I imagine that the people living in Harbottle when you came were not eager for a Scotsman to find it. What happened when you began your search?”

  Lady Elizabeth turned to face her husband, who still stared out the window.

  “What you imagine would happen.” Erasmus snorted. “I was led a merry chase, with false trails laid by commoner and nobleman alike. Some new story reached my ears every week, with rumor of chests seen in a hollow log, or a burial mound disturbed as though someone had hidden something inside it. Some would tell me their child found a coin, but it had already been spent. They spoke of jewels glittering at the bottom of the Coquet, where the water’s path bent.”

  “The Devil’s Elbow,” Ras murmured, naming the odd crooked part of the river. It had not been named such a thing due to any danger in that spot. The river was not wide nor rushed in that place, unless a fearful rain had fallen. Rather, those navigating the river had named it such due to the hardship of getting a boat through the curve.

  “Aye. A right fool I looked when I went trawling the riverbed for sign or scent of what His Majesty sent me to find.” Rather than sound bitter, the ghost chuckled, perhaps as amused with the past stories as Ras. Distance in time often turned past frustrations into amusing anecdotes.

  Lady Elizabeth approached her husband, then laid her cheek upon his shoulder. “Day after day, he came home discouraged. Sometimes wet and dirty, sometimes with torn clothes and a shredded spirit. I think his determination to do right by his king was yet another thing that made me love him. That, and his determination to woo me.”