Accursed Abbey: A Steamy Regency Gothic Romance (Nobles & Necromancy Book 1)

by Tessa Candle

  The thought disturbed Canterbourne. “However I might have spent my youth, as a man I am no longer satisfied with meaningless affairs. That is not my interest in Miss Whitely. But as you say that she is not here, I suppose I should be on my way.”

  Silverloo huffed.

  “You have her dog, I see.” Orefados’ lip curled in distaste. “That is unusual. I have heard from her aunt and uncle that the little cur never leaves her side.”

  “Oh? Have you spoken to them recently?”

  “Yes. We dined last night. I am to marry their niece.”

  “Marry Miss Whitely?” At first this declaration struck Canterbourne like a blow to the stomach. But then he reasoned with himself that allowances had to be made for Orefados’ delusion. “I did not know you were so well acquainted with her.”

  Orefados' teeth looked longer and sharper as he grinned. “And yet you came here to look for her.”

  Canterbourne ignored this baiting observation and resisted the urge to punch out a few of the man's nasty teeth. “And has she consented to be your wife?”

  Orefados waggled his head evasively. “It is all arranged with her guardians. I have paid a handsome bride price. They are very pleased.”

  They are very unconscious. Canterbourne considered again the merits of tying a beating on the man. That this foul cretin should suggest that he could buy Miss Whitely was infuriating. But he reasoned with himself that he would be no good to her if he landed in some local prison. “So she has not consented then. Very well, I shall defer wishing you joy until you have secured the lady's heart, and not merely her guardians' undying gratitude.”

  “Hearts have nothing to do with marriage.” Orefados bestowed a condescending look of tolerance for Canterbourne's naivety. “And this is not England. In the wildernesses of the continent, many things are readily possible that are not easily done back in your homeland. However, were it necessary, securing the devotion of Miss Whitely's heart would be a moment's work.” He waved his hand in an ambiguous gesture that could be the casting of a spell or the dismissing of a trifle.

  Canterbourne shook his head. He did not believe the man. Whatever his arrangement with her guardians, Miss Whitely's heart could never belong to the monster who had so terrified and abused her friend, who had drugged her aunt and uncle, and who had done the-Lord-knew-what with her own person.

  He stood. It would be better to leave while he was still the master of his anger. “Well, I mean to find her. And as you assure me she is not here, I shall return to my searching.”

  “Do not go so soon. Do you not wish to know why you are so obsessed with this girl whom you have only just met?”

  “I am not obsessed. I admit that I care for Miss Whitely, but my looking for her is nothing beyond what any decent man would do. She is my fellow countrywoman and has found herself in straightened circumstances in a strange land, with guardians who seem completely indifferent to her happiness. And now she has suddenly gone missing. I cannot do less than look for her.”

  Orefados seemed more in shadow than ever as he began to peel another egg. “There is a connection between you two.”

  “I do not need another to tell me that.” Canterbourne could not disagree. He had felt it almost immediately. But so far as he was concerned, it did not require an explanation.

  It was no wonder that a young man like himself, who encountered such a beautiful, charming creature should fall in love with her. And this was particularly so when they both found themselves in the same unusual place, and under such similar circumstances as to immediately spark a kindred feeling.

  “Good evening, Lord Orefados.” Canterbourne nodded and walked for the door, Silverloo following close behind him.

  “Her mother knew your father.” Orefados blurted out without ceremony.

  Canterbourne froze. He wondered if this were some trick to delay him. The man could say anything he liked about Canterbourne's father. His father's life remained a mystery to his abandoned son, and Orefados seemed to know it.

  Naturally it was the greatest point of curiosity—nay one might even say that Canterbourne laboured under an insatiable desire to know more. Until Miss Whitely's disappearance, no other aspect of his life had filled him with such a need to discover. He knew Orefados meant to exploit this fact.

  Canterbourne resolved to leave, despite this most recent temptation. He did not turn back to face the lord. “I think you are making up stories to delay me. Why ever should you wish to do that, I wonder?”

  Silverloo yipped, and they both left the room and made their way through the maze-like hall to quit the manor.

  As he climbed into his carriage, once again to leave Abbazia Pallida with a strong feeling of good riddance, Canterbourne feared that he would be forced to make a third visit to the accursed place.

  Chapter 36

  When Elizabeth had finished telling Mrs. Grissoni her story, the servant gently insisted that she go clean herself up, then have something to eat. So Elizabeth bathed and changed her clothes, then joined Mrs. Grissoni in the kitchen, still carrying her axe with her.

  The kindly woman had laid out a breakfast of eggs and warm rustic bread, butter, olives and table grapes. It appeared as a feast to the famished Elizabeth. Perhaps Mrs. Grissoni was right, a little food would restore her nerves. Elizabeth leaned the axe on the wall next to the table.

  As she seated herself, her gaze was drawn to the little clay tea pot that sat before her place. Her eyes widened. She dared not hope. “Is this tea?”

  “Ah yes. Is tea. Your Lord Canterbourne made me take some for you before he drove me home last night, after we took your friend to the cloister.”

  “Oh, that was so kind!” Elizabeth gushed, then became shy. “But he is not my Lord Canterbourne.”

  “If you say so, Miss. But is very expensive tea, heh? Nothing but the best for Miss Whitely, he says to me.” Then seeing the disbelief in Elizabeth's face, she added, “No, is true, I tell you. Taste!”

  She took a sip. It was, in fact, very good tea. As she savoured it, all the longing for her homeland came back to her. She would have found the tea utterly enchanting merely for inducing this recollection, even if it were not the best that money could buy in the little village, and even if it had not been a gift from Lord Canterbourne.

  It stirred her imagination to raise up a vision of her family's parlour window in England, bedecked with glistening raindrops and a little foggy from the steam that framed her view out into the emerald green of grass and hedge. It was just a simple kitchen garden, but how she longed for the sweet, calm greenery and soothing bird songs of the English countryside!

  A shadow passed over the sun and darkened the sunlit meadows of her mind. That was the homeland of her childhood. Life had not been like that for a very long time.

  As her father's madness had progressed, he had become obsessed with keeping her away from those devils in town. Her home had become more and more like a prison. And then, one mad, stormy evening, he had taken her mother out on the lake. Elizabeth shuddered.

  “You missed something.” Mrs. Grissoni gestured to her lower lip, to indicate a smudge.

  “I know.” Elizabeth was pulled out of her thoughts and plunged into the recollection of Lord Orefados' assault. She unconsciously rubbed the spot where she knew the red mark was. “It is from some kind of pigment he used. Do you not recall that Miss Berger had red around her mouth, too? At the time I believed she had bled when she chewed through her restraints.”

  “I remember.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Grissoni, I have to get away. I shall never be safe here now. Not with such a neighbour. And the two people who should be protecting me—should be taking up the matter with the local authorities—are determined that I should marry that horrid man.”

  Mrs. Grissoni seemed philosophical. “There are worse men to marry. He is odd, maybe not quite right in the head, and not so handsome as Lord Canterbourne—but he is rich as the devil.” The woman's grin was pure mischief. She did not seem t
o take the matter seriously.

  “He is the devil. And I care not about his money. I know you jest, for you are too kind-hearted to wish such a fate upon me.”

  Elizabeth slipped into gloomy rumination as she ate. She was famished, and the food was delicious, but she could not enjoy it. It came from this strange, terrifying place. She wanted to go home and eat English food. She would not stay in this land, no matter if it meant losing the benefit of her father's testamentary trust.

  She would work as a governess if she had to, but she would return to England. Surely her godparents would take her in, even if she returned without a penny. She knew they never approved of Elizabeth's being shipped off to Venetia. And although they were not rich, Mr. Burns earned a decent living from his law practice and his small investments. Yes, surely they would take her.

  She finished her meal and stood up. “Thank you. That was the nicest breakfast I have had since I arrived here.”

  “Was not so long ago you arrived, heh?” Playful humour shone in the woman's brown eyes. “But is nice you say so, Miss. You can thank Lord Canterbourne for most of it.”

  “And I hope I shall get a chance to thank him.” But the plan forming in her mind might not permit seeing him again—perhaps not until such a time as they both were returned to England, if they should chance to meet there.

  “You will see him again, Miss.” The servant's smile showed confidence in her knowledge of the ways of men. “He no stay away from you long.”

  Elizabeth sighed, but looked with resolve into Mrs. Grissoni's face. “I plan to go away, so I know not how he will find me.”

  Mrs. Grissoni looked surprised and a little hurt. “You really leave again, Miss?”

  “I cannot stay here, not with that mad man after me, and my aunt and uncle trying to marry me off to him.” Elizabeth was overwhelmed by a deep sadness that she would leave without Silverloo. But she could only assume that the little dog had been killed by her abductor.

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she forced herself to think rationally. She had to go. She knew the man was mad, and beyond that rational ground, she sensed deep in her heart that he intended a great evil for her.

  “Mrs. Grissoni, have you seen Silverloo?” She knew what the answer would be, but diligence required her to ask.

  The woman shook her head. Elizabeth could see that she understood what was transpiring in Elizabeth's heart. “No, Miss. I no see the little milord.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat then added, “If you have seen any sign of him, even if it be evidence of his death.” She stopped and looked heavenward to keep her eyes from tearing again. “I can understand why you would not wish to tell me, but please do. It is better for me to know for certain, than to wonder. Especially as I must leave him here, if he does not turn up soon.”

  “No, Miss. I tell you true. I see nothing of the sweet little dog. And no blood, or anything bad.” She shook her head soberly.

  Dark clouds began to fester on the horizon, and the wind picked up. The woman turned to close the window, perhaps thankful for the chance to hide her own sadness.

  When she turned back, she was again the mistress of herself. “Well, then, Miss. Let me clean up things. Then I come help you pack. Maybe we ride to town with one of the local carts. Is market day tomorrow. Mrs. Mancini takes baking and vegetables to Melonia the day before and stays with her sister. Is half an hour's walk. I talk to her after we pack.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Grissoni.” It would solve the problem of getting into town, at least. Then Elizabeth would have to inquire at the posting inn for the next carriage to Treviso. “You will come with me to town?”

  “Ah yes! There are not so many who speak English, and you need a place to stay until the next coach. I help you.”

  Elizabeth thanked heaven for the company of the good woman, as she picked up her axe and went to pack her things.

  Chapter 37

  Lord Canterbourne returned to the Whitelys to find the house empty. He looked in the kitchen and found Miss Whitely's aunt and uncle were now gone. The table had been cleared and the dishes washed up. The box of tea he had given Mrs. Grissoni for Miss Whitely's enjoyment sat on a work table next to a teapot.

  It was a good sign. At least the servant had been here, and the Whitelys must be revived. He wondered if they too were looking for their niece.

  Silverloo seemed agitated. He sniffed around the table and then dashed out of the kitchen. When Canterbourne caught up to him, he was waiting by Miss Whitely's bedroom door, looking up at Canterbourne with an intense gaze, as if willing him to open it.

  Canterbourne knocked. As he expected, no answer came. Silverloo huffed with impatience at this ridiculous adherence to ceremony.

  He opened the door and found the room empty, as he had expected. What he had not expected was the disappearance of all of Miss Whitely's things. Her writing materials and novel were gone from the little table. Her trunk was no longer in its place in the corner, and when he opened the wardrobe, he found it empty.

  Had she been removed to safety? Silverloo whined unhappily. Perhaps Mrs. Grissoni was around the grounds somewhere and would have an explanation.

  Canterbourne searched the entire yard and all the outbuildings, calling for the servant, but to no avail. And yet she must have been there, for she had brought his gift of tea. He hoped that she too was looking for Miss Whitely. Perhaps she was even with her at that very moment. The thought gave him some comfort.

  From the backyard he could see one corner of the distant vineyard. He detected movement. Were the Whitelys out in their vines at a time like this? Perhaps it was just the workers. Surely not even a pair like these two could simply ignore their missing niece and go about their business.

  He decided to take his carriage out to the vines. Miss Whitely could be there. If she were not, perhaps the aunt and uncle knew something.

  When Canterbourne arrived at the vineyard, he could see the Whitelys and several workers among the vines. But there was no sign of Miss Whitely. He walked closer, meaning to go in among the rows to look for her.

  But the Whitelys saw him and came scurrying to meet him at the edge of the plot, their faces full of alarm. “Oh, my lord. Oh the vines! Pray do not come further, my lord!”

  “Good day, Mr. Whitely, Mrs. Whitely. I am looking for your niece.”

  “Oh, but she is not here,” assured Mr. Whitely.

  “Oh nay!” agreed his wife. “Not among the vines. Not the uninitiated.” She shuddered.

  Canterbourne was almost overcome by a desire to shake them both until their teeth rattled and to burn their vines to the ground. Their niece was missing, and all they could do was roam about the grapes in a pointless pretence of agricultural labour.

  Why, they were fanning the grapes with great feathered fans. It was not even especially hot—though it was as humid as anything, which made the temperature less bearable for man, if not for grape.

  A bank of rather evil looking clouds was forming in the south. Unless weather were very different in Melonia, it would rain soon, and their ridiculous feathered fans would be useless.

  He calmed himself and mustered all the politeness he could. “But surely you know where your niece is, for she is not at your house. Pray tell me, and I will remove my uninitiated boots from your plot of land.”

  “We saw her only this morning,” said the uncle. “Surely she is about somewhere, fishing or some such thing.”

  Canterbourne no longer had any scruple about revealing the extent to which he had trespassed in their home. “But, Mr. Whitely, all of her luggage and personal effects are missing from the house. Do you mean to say that you do not know where she has gone?”

  “Gone!” Mrs. Whitely's face paled and contorted into a grimace of panic. “She cannot be gone! She must not leave!”

  “Calm yourself, Mrs, Whitely,” said her husband. “She is to be married. She has no doubt been collected by her groom.”

  “Ah yes!” The woman's desperation subs
ided somewhat. “But whsst. You talk too much, husband.”

  Canterbourne was incensed and lost his polite demeanour. “I am well aware of your plan to sell your niece off to this Orefados fellow. But I tell you, by the law of England and all that is right, that if she does not consent, this match shall not take place.”

  “But this is not England, my lord.” Mrs. Whitely smiled, and he could not tell if it were a sly, gloating smirk, or a sad smile that tries to hold back desperation. “Things happen very differently here. We have consented to the match and that is all. Our fortune and hers depends upon it.”

  “I do not see how her fortune depends upon it, for such a marriage can only bring her misery.” Canterbourne swallowed his distaste. “And as for more material considerations, I should be happy to wed Miss Whitely, if she will have me. And I assure you, I can provide very comfortably for her.”

  He assumed his most commanding viscount's manner and added, “Only, if you know where she is, you must tell me.”

  Mr. Whitely shrugged with a maddening indifference. “We know not where she is. We have left it in the hands of the master of the mountain. He manages all things.”

  Then man and wife turned a gaze of mutual religious fervour to the mountain. They both spoke in unison. “And the time is coming, and is now nigh, when the wine of Dionysus and Demeter shall flow into the vats of our celestial hope.”

  Canterbourne shook his head in disgust to fend off the chill this weird utterance had given him. “I see that it is pointless to enjoin you to protect your niece from this madman of the mountain. But you may at least use your time profitably. The only thing that will be flowing here is a vast quantity of rain.” He gestured at the clouds. “I know nothing of the wine of Dionysus and Demeter, but I know that late rain upon your vines will ruin the crop. If I were you, I should cover my grapes, not tickle them with ruddy feathers!”