by Cate Dean
Ghosts of the Past
Maggie Mulgrew Mysteries Book 6
Cate Dean
Copyright, 2019
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
List of British Slang
Ghosts of the Past
About The Author
One
Maggie Martin carefully lowered herself to the dining chair, one hand pressed against the small of her back.
She let out a relieved sigh, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and wiggled her aching, swollen feet. With less than two weeks until her due date, she felt huge, clumsy, and like a burden to her husband.
Pembroke Martin appeared in the doorway of Blakeney Manor’s newly renovated dining room and leaned against the door frame, smiling at her.
“Taking a break, love?”
“I had to threaten to quit to get one.” When Martin’s smile faded, she raised her hand. “I’m kidding. Don’t bite Heather’s head off. She’s on a tight deadline, and my pregnancy made it even tighter.”
Heather Kent, the militant but caring producer of the documentary chronicling the restoration of Blakeney Manor, had been supportive, and more patient than Maggie deserved. Just after Maggie had found out she was pregnant, Heather had finally confessed to her just how close they were to losing their spot on the history channel that planned to air the documentary. They had finally been promised an air date—if they finished in time.
So, Maggie had spent most of her time at the manor, filming in between bouts of the morning sickness that had lasted until after lunch. She hit her sixth month before the nausea finally went away.
Today was her final day, and she would power through it, no matter how much her little one kicked. The baby had been more active than usual, waking her up the last few nights.
“I will keep any biting to a minimum,” Martin said. He winked at her, and she started to smile—then let out a gasp and spread one hand over her belly. He pushed off the door frame, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Maggie—ˮ
“I’m fine.” She took his hand and laid it next to hers. “Our baby’s playing football today.” He stared at her belly, his mouth open, and what looked like awe on his face. “Martin?”
“Beautiful.” He looked up at her. “You are so beautiful, Maggie Martin.”
“I’m as big as a house, and the only part of me not swollen is my chin.”
His laughter warmed her. “You are carrying our child. I love you—both of you,” he said, leaning in to whisper against her belly. “I can’t wait to meet you, child of mine.”
“Ow.” An enthusiastic kick had her clutching the edge of the chair. “It may be sooner, if they keep trying to kick their way out.”
“If you’re not up to this, I want you to go home. Kent can fill in the last of the documentary.”
“I’m fine.” She ignored the sharp twinge, and ran her hand through his thick, wind tousled hair. “What brings you out here?”
“I heard from Ian. The apothecary jar is about to be released from evidence.”
“Oh, Martin—that’s wonderful news.”
The Sayer & Brown apothecary jar had been the catalyst for them meeting, after Maggie had bought the rosewood box belonging to the jar at an auction.
“I want to pursue the story attached to it,” he said.
“Of course.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think I’d say no?”
“Actually, I expected you to demand to join me.”
She smiled, rubbing her belly. “I’m going to be a little busy. But I wouldn’t mind visiting where it happened. Is it far?”
Martin stood, a smile tugging at his lips. “There’s my inquisitive Maggie. The murder attached to the jar took place in Sandview, which is just down the coast. A short visit could be arranged—after you and the little one have had time to become acquainted.”
“Fine.” She smiled at him, and prepared herself to stand. “I should get back outside. We’re filming the last scene in the garden.”
Before she could ask, Martin wrapped one arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. He’d been so attentive the last few months, and she felt guilty, knowing that the time he spent taking care of her kept him from his own work—
“Oh—ˮ She bit down on the scream wanting to burst free. The sharp twinge became a powerful, twisting pain.
“Maggie?” Martin held her up, and she realized her legs had given under her. “Talk to me, Maggie.”
“I think—ˮ
She didn’t have time to finish. Liquid splashed the newly varnished oak floor, soaking the hem of her dress.
Swallowing, she looked up at Martin.
“I think the baby’s ready to meet you.”
***
Martin froze, his mind refusing to function.
When Maggie let out another pained gasp, he acted on instinct and lifted her into his arms, heading for the front door.
“Martin—I—wait—ˮ
“I need to get you back to the clinic.”
“We’re not going to—ˮ She dug her fingers into his shoulder. He knew he would find bruises there later. “We won’t make it.”
“Are you certain?”
She nodded, looking as panicked as he felt.
Taking in an uneven breath, he turned to the wide staircase.
“Martin—what are you—ˮ
“There are plenty of bedrooms here. Dr. Smith can come to you.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t—oh, lord.” She stared at him. “I’m going to have the baby here.”
“Unless you think I can make it back to Holmestead, love.”
“Maybe—ˮ A sharp cry cut her off. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.
Martin carried her up the stairs as fast as he dared, heading for the first bedroom. Ted Bayley, the expert in charge of the restoration, stepped out of a door at the end of the hall.
“Is Maggie all right?”
“Ring the clinic in Holmestead for me. Tell Dr. Smith we’re about to have the baby.”
Ted paled, but he nodded, his mobile already in his hand. “Take her to the second bedroom, on your left. The bed has no footboard, and will be easier for the doctor.”
“Thank you.” Martin moved fast, flinching every time Maggie let out a low cry. He could tell that she was holding back; her body stiffened with what had to be contractions, and sweat already darkened her wild red hair. “Here we are, love.”
He gently lowered her to the bed, thankful that it hadn’t been completely made up yet. The crisp white sheets could be replaced.
“Martin—ˮ She clutched the sheets and screamed. He thought his heart would stop at the agony in that single scream.
“I’m here, love.” Gently, he untangled her left hand from the sheets—and
bit back a gasp when she gripped his hand hard enough to grind the bones together. “Dr. Smith is on the way. What can I do?”
She relaxed her grip, and took a shaky breath. “I was supposed to do this in a hospital, with optional drugs.”
“I have an aspirin in my pocket.”
“Oh, I love you, Martin.” Her free hand cradled his cheek. “You should keep it for yourself. You might need it.” She studied his face. “I know we haven’t talked about a name, since we wanted to wait to know if it’s a boy or a girl, but if it is a girl, I want to name her Christina.”
Tears stung his eyes. “After my mother.”
“I know how much she meant to you.”
“Maggie—ˮ
“It’s a beautiful name, and I’m already set on it.” She smiled, then closed her eyes, her hand falling away. “Can you call Spencer for me? He’ll never forgive me if he hears about this from one of the villagers.”
“Of course, love.” Martin knew how much Spencer Knight meant to her.
They had been best friends since they laid eyes on each other during Maggie’s first visit with her great aunt. He took the small break from her pain to fumble his mobile out of his pocket one-handed and tap the screen.
“Spencer—it’s Martin. Maggie and I are out at the manor.”
“Is Maggie all right?”
“She is fine, but she wanted you to know that we are about to have a baby.”
“You—she—I’m on my way.” Spencer rang off before Martin could say another word.
After he set the mobile on the small bedside table, he turned to find Maggie looking at him.
“Spencer is—ˮ
“On his way.” She smiled. “I could hear him shout all the way over here.” Her smile faded, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m so scared, Martin.”
“You will be fine, love.” He kissed her forehead, wiped the new beads of sweat off her pale skin. “You are the strongest woman I know, Maggie.”
“Not about that. I’m afraid I—won’t be a good mother.”
Her next contraction kept Martin from asking why, but he knew the answer.
Her own upbringing had been cold, with parents who cared more about their careers, and the state of their perfect home, than their only daughter.
Martin helped her breathe through the contraction, and the next one on its heels. At this rate, he would be the one assisting with the birth, instead of the doctor.
When Maggie collapsed, sweat pouring off her, he freed her hand long enough to grab a bottle of water from the small collection near the door. He opened it, and carefully lifted her enough to take a sip.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Is there anything else I can do?” He felt so incredibly helpless, watching the woman he could not imagine his life without enduring such pain.
“Have the baby for me?” A ghost of her smile crossed her lips—just before the next contraction tore a scream out of her.
“Maggie—ˮ
“Move aside, Professor.” Dr. James Smith’s brisk voice startled him. He looked up, and found both the doctor and Lydia Smith next to him. “Why don’t you wait downstairs? Spencer is there, along with what looks like most of the film and restoration crew.”
“It’s all right, Martin,” Lydia said. She smiled gently, and eased Maggie’s hand free, sandwiching it in both of hers. As the clinic’s nurse, she had taken care of both Martin and Maggie. She was kind, professional, and a talented caregiver. “You go on, now, let us bring your child into the world.”
Martin pushed to his feet, his legs shaky, his head aching. “Thank you for coming.”
“You dear, sweet man.” Lydia patted his cheek. “We adore your wife, as does most everyone in the village. She is in good hands, Martin.”
Another raw scream from Maggie had Lydia leaning over her, soothing and calm as she helped her through the contraction.
Martin limped to the door, his right leg aching from kneeling on the floor. Working at the dig again had exposed him to constant, cold wind, even during the summer months, and the injury that he had thought healed so well started to bother him again.
He didn’t tell Maggie; she had enough on her plate, between the baby and juggling time at her shop with the restoration at the manor. If his leg continued to deteriorate, he would consult with Dr. Smith. No need to worry her over nothing.
Spencer met him halfway down the stairs, frowning as he took Martin’s right arm. By the time they reached the bottom, every other person on the property had gathered in the foyer. They all waited, hushed and edgy as Maggie’s screams echoed through the manor.
“Bloody hell.” Spencer settled Martin in the closest chair and ran one hand though his hair. “Is she all right up there?”
“Contractions.” Martin wiped at the sweat sliding down his face. “I never want to put her through this again.”
“She’ll be fine, Martin.” Kent crouched down beside him and laid her hand on his left knee. “There’s a reason women give birth, and not men.” She winked at him, and some of his dread eased.
“I’ve never heard such screams,” he whispered. Not even when his friends had been trapped in the caved-in passage, during his time in the Valley of the Kings.
Another one echoed around them. Martin wasn’t the only man who shuddered.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Kent raised her voice over Maggie’s torment, and Martin knew she was trying to distract him.
“We decided to wait to find out.”
“Then you have more patience than I, Professor.” She patted his knee and stood. “Knight—take him for a walk.”
Spencer’s head snapped up. “What? I’m not leaving—ˮ
“Yes, you are. Both of you. Get out. I’ll send someone for you if the baby arrives before you’re back.”
“Come on, old man.” Spencer held out his hand. “We can get some fresh air.”
And pretend the woman we both love isn’t in agony.
Martin took the offered hand and pushed to his feet, limping after Spencer as he walked out the open front door.
***
Maggie cradled the tiny, flushed figure in her arms. Lydia had wrapped the baby—her baby—in a soft blanket, and now they studied each other, alone in the bedroom.
“I’ll do everything I can to be the best mother, I promise you,” she whispered. Her own mother hadn’t been any kind of role model she’d want to follow, but Aunt Irene had shown her what real love looked like. “And if I do screw up, we’ll find a way to fix it.” Unblinking blue eyes looked up at her. “You are so perfect. I love you,” she kissed the incredibly soft skin. “I will always love you, no matter what.”
“Maggie?” Martin stood in the doorway, so pale she was afraid he might pass out.
“We’re fine. Come in, Martin, and meet your son.”
“Son.” He looked dazed as he limped over to the bed. Now that the baby was here, she planned to talk to Martin about that limp. He probably thought he had hidden it from her. Carefully, he lowered himself to the bed, and reached out to brush his fingers over one flushed cheek. “Our son.”
Maggie had to swallow several times before she could talk again. “He got your hair, thank goodness.” The baby’s soft, downy hair was still damp, but it was definitely brown.
Martin smiled. “I think I spy a glint of red in the brown.”
“I hope not.” She wouldn’t wish her wild hair on anyone. “Martin—I’d like to name him Christopher, if that’s okay. It’s not your mother’s name, but—ˮ
“It is perfect.” He kissed her forehead, then wrapped his arm around her, his long fingers resting on the blue blanket enveloping Christopher. “We can call him Kit.”
“Kit.” She looked down at her son. Their son. “What do you think, Kit?” He met her eyes, so serious. Then he grabbed her finger and held on, his tiny grip surprisingly strong. “I think he approves.”
“I love you, Maggie.” Martin kissed her, so gently she had to blink ba
ck tears. “I was terrified, hearing you scream, knowing I couldn’t help you.”
“You stayed with me, Martin. I couldn’t have done it without you here. And it was worth every second.” She leaned against him, and watched Kit fall asleep in her arms. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, if I had him at the end of it. I love you so much, Martin.”
He kissed her again, and she gave in to her tears when he cradled the back of Kit’s head, so gentle, so careful, before he leaned forward and kissed his son’s cheek.
Maggie didn’t think she could ever be happier than she was right now.
Two
The first six months of Kit’s life flew by.
Maggie spent every day half in joy, half in terror of doing irreparable damage—and crawled into bed at night, too exhausted to do more than kiss Martin goodnight.
Her saving grace was Kit.
He slept through the night, which saved her sanity. After her second week of insomnia, waiting for him to cry, she slowly realized that he wasn’t going to. He woke up hungry and cranky, but as soon as she changed and fed him, he turned into the serious, focused baby he’d been since his first day.
Maggie cried when he smiled for the first time.
She had been terrified that he might have inherited his grandfather’s lack of humor. When he started laughing at her silly faces, her heart lightened.
To her surprise, Anthea had only shown herself once, soon after they brought Kit home. Maggie had snuck in to check on Kit for the hundredth time, and found Anthea standing just inside the doorway to his room, watching him sleep. After nodding to Maggie, she had disappeared.
The cats were temporarily housed with Spencer in his flat, since they both had the uncanny ability to get through closed doors. Maggie wanted her attention all on Kit and Martin, not chasing cats out of rooms they didn’t belong in, even if she did miss talking to them. Kit now got the brunt of her rambling, though he didn’t seem to mind.
Martin had been consulting on more than one dig, and had been heavily involved in his latest, a new site near Canterbury. He was often gone for days at a time, and Maggie missed him, more than she expected.
But today, Martin was coming home, for a long stay. With the colder fall weather, the dig would slow down—which meant she and Kit would have him to themselves until at least the new year.
