“Why didn’t you tell him what I told you?”
“How was I to explain how I know these things?”
His smile was cold. “You have been doing well making up bangers so far.”
“You are beastly.”
“Is that any way to speak of the dead?”
She stared at him. When a slow smile spread across his face, she could not help laughing. “You are beastly, you know.”
“Who is beastly, dear?” Marian hurried into the foyer. “Is someone causing you trouble? You need only to speak to Lorenzo, and he will be certain it is dealt with in lickety-split time.”
“No one.” Ellen took a step up the stairs. “Just talking to myself.”
“Calling yourself beastly?”
“Just this blasted bandage.”
“Ellen, be careful of your language.” Marian put her arm around Ellen’s shoulders and guided her up the stairs. “Just imagine what Lorenzo would think if he heard such things at a time like this.”
Ellen ignored Corey’s laugh as she went with Marian. She did not look back to see if he was following. She doubted if he would leave her alone for long, and she was unsure if she looked forward to his next appearance or dreaded it.
The chapel at the back of Wolfe Abbey was small and dark and stank of age and winter damp. Dust motes swirled in a soundless waltz within the colored light flowing through the two arched windows facing each other across a pair of stone pews.
Ellen flinched when her fingers brushed the stone. It had been smoothed by countless hands before hers. Lowering herself gingerly to the hard seat, she looked around. Although nearly every pew was full, no more than two score mourners had gathered in the tiny chapel. She recognized several faces from the soirée on that tragic night, but either she could not recall the names to go with them or she had never been introduced. Much of that night was lost to the memory stolen from her by her injuries. Odd, that the parts with Corey remained seared so clearly into her mind.
She nodded to a gray-haired woman who looked somewhat familiar as she passed down the aisle to take a seat in a pew closer to the front. If Marian had been there, she could have told Ellen each person’s name and relationship to Corey, but Marian had been delayed within the house by a servant with a question about the food to be served after the funeral for Lord Wulfric was over.
An involuntary smile tugged at her lips. Lord Wulfric. Not Corey Wolfe. Even to herself, the body in the closed casket could not be connected with the impish spirit that haunted her.
She touched the lighter bandage on her arm. Mr. Bridges had changed it that morning after she had dressed. He had reminded her again of how fortunate she was to be alive. As she raised her gaze to the simple casket, she blinked back sudden tears. Corey had taken the brunt of the explosion, saving her life. She had never thanked him.
“May I sit with you, Miss Dunbar?”
Smiling at the new Lord Wulfric, Ellen eased to the far side of the pew. Lorenzo Wolfe’s spindly knees pointed toward the ceiling when he sat beside her. She never had seen such a bald-ribbed man.
“I am pleased you are here,” he continued.
“Did you think I would stay away?”
“You met Corey but once.” He scanned the nearly empty chapel. “Not long enough for him to vex you with his peculiar sense of humor. Too many of the people in the shire did not understand that his honed wit was meant only to jest.”
“I can see how they might feel that way after what I have endured.”
He faced her, bafflement on his face. “When?”
Ellen swallowed roughly. She must be careful. Unthinking words would betray her. “At the gathering before the fireworks, of course.”
“It wasn’t,” Lord Wulfric said, looking again at the simple pulpit beneath the huge sounding board suspended from the rafters, “that he meant to be vexing. He was so much his father’s son. The late Lord Wulfric—the late, late one—was ever a jester. Corey enjoyed teasing all of us.”
“That is the way of many families.”
“Yours?”
She was glad she could answer with the truth. “My family is far from here in Scotland, so I seldom have the pleasure of their company.”
“Sad.”
“Yes, very sad.”
“Excuse me?” Lord Wulfric asked.
Only then did Ellen realize that the words of commiseration had been in a deeper voice. Swiveling slightly, she bit her lip to silence her gasp as she saw Corey sitting on the back of the pew, his boots nearly brushing her skirt. Except for the peculiar glow around him, he looked as solid of flesh as his cousin.
“What are you doing here?” she mouthed, unable to speak the words aloud, for Lord Wulfric would overhear.
“I cannot make out your soundless words, so you must forgive me if I fail to answer. However, you can hear me.” Corey looked around the chapel. “Sorry showing, isn’t it? I thought more folks would come to say good riddance to me.”
As if he were privy to Corey’s words, Lord Wulfric said, “I do not mean to suggest this small gathering is the result of Corey’s pranks. Without his sister Vanessa and her family here, I thought we would have a simple funeral. Later, when they return from the continent, we shall have a memorial service which will be more suitable for the passing of a marquess.”
“You always liked ceremony, Lorenzo,” Corey grumbled.
Ellen glared at Corey, then gave Lord Wulfric a smile. “I think that is a wonderful idea. How soon do you think his sister and her husband can return?”
“Her husband is busy on the government’s business. Last month, we received a letter telling us they were in Vienna, but I am not sure they are there now. The message of Corey’s accident was sent to their address in Vienna as well as to several of the ministries in London which might know where they have been sent.” He clasped his hands on his knees. “Ours is a most unusual family.”
“Only to you.” Corey copied his cousin’s pose. “To the rest of us, you are the odd bird, Lorenzo.”
Wanting to warn Corey to be silent, Ellen had no chance. The minister in his dark surplice paused by the pew. He shook Lord Wulfric’s hand and murmured a few words of sympathy before looking at Ellen.
“Miss Ellen Dunbar,” Lord Wulfric supplied quickly, “this is Reverend Stapleton. His parish includes Wolfe Abbey.”
“Reverend,” she said as the portly man dipped his head in her direction.
“Miss Dunbar was hurt in the same accident that took Corey from us,” Lord Wulfric said with a sigh. “It is our good fortune that she is healing well.”
“You were a friend of Lord Wulfric’s?”
“We had only met.”
“But,” Corey interjected, “we are getting to know each other better all the time.”
Ellen bit back the words that would not be fit for a clergyman’s ears. When she saw Corey’s mischievousness grin, she was tempted to utter the truth.
She was saved from her own flummery by the door to the chapel crashing open. Marian rushed down the aisle to grasp the minister’s hands.
“Late as usual,” Corey said with a grin. “I doubt if she was on time to her own birth.”
“Forgive me, Lorenzo,” Marian gasped, sitting in the pew across the aisle. “I am so glad I could get here in time. So much to do. So much to do. Your servants need more guidance, Lorenzo. I know Corey never cared for such mundane matters. This household needs a competent hand to oversee it so the cook need not ask about every dish to be served after this ceremony is over. I told her what should be done, so I believe all will be well. As for the footman at the front door …” She shook her head in dismay.
“I appreciate your help,” Lord Wulfric said and patted her hand. Looking at the minister, he added, “We all are here, Reverend. May we begin?”
“Of course.”
Ellen was pleased when Corey was respectfully silent during the prayers Reverend Stapleton spoke. Hearing Marian’s sobs, she wished she could be honest with her friend.
Corey might be dead, but he was not gone from Wolfe Abbey. Yet, to speak the truth would leave Marian thinking Ellen was out of her mind.
The minister began his service, his voice resounding off the sounding board as if he were exhorting the angels themselves to come into the small chapel. By the end of a half hour, however, Ellen was wondering if he ever grew tired of listening to that echo.
“He always has had more tongue than teeth.” Corey chuckled as she shifted on the uncomfortable stone pew.
“Shh!” she cautioned.
“Why? No one can hear me save you.”
Ellen wished she could argue with that logic. “Then please be silent,” she whispered, “so I may hear Mr. Stapleton.”
“He never says much worth heeding.”
Ignoring his laugh, she stared at the fubsy man at the simple pulpit. Again she had to concur. This eulogy could have been spoken for almost anyone. There was nothing uniquely Corey Wolfe in anything he said. She resisted the temptation to yawn as her eyes grew weighted.
“But Corey Wolfe, the Marquess of Wulfric,” said the minister, drawing her attention back to him, “shares one thing with his ancestors who founded this prestigious house.”
“He died,” Corey said grimly.
A laugh burst from Ellen. She quickly disguised it as a sob as she held her hand over her face. Lord Wulfric stroked her uninjured shoulder gently, and she hoped he guessed its quivering came from sobs, not her efforts to keep from giggling.
“No Lord Wulfric ever shirked his duty to country and king,” continued Reverend Stapleton, although he glanced in Ellen’s direction. “Corey Wolfe followed their grand tradition.”
She calmed herself and nodded her thanks to Lord Wulfric, who turned to comfort Marian. This was absurd!
“Corey Wolfe, like those before him, risked his life to safeguard his nation …”
At a low groan, she glanced over her shoulder at Corey. She had never thought a ghost could blush, but an unmistakable flush darkened his cheeks.
“… and lost nearly a year of his short life while he was a captive of Napoleon’s accursed empire.”
“There is no reason to eulogize my stupidity,” Corey growled.
“Being a hero is not stupid,” she whispered.
He leaned his chin on his fist. “Not only is it jobbernowl to be a hero, but ’tis a damned burden. Once you do something others consider courageous, you have to spend the rest of your life with them watching to see if you will repeat your grand deed.”
“You are free of that now.”
“True.” He flashed her a grin. “Maybe dying was not so bad.”
Ellen looked away. No matter how he pretended, she could sense his frustration. He was caught somewhere between life and eternity, and he had no idea what he should do next. That must be horrible for a man like Corey Wolfe who, if the minster was not just being complimentary, had always known what new gamble he would take next.
Why was Corey still here? The minister’s words left no doubt that Corey had been a man of honor, albeit a man of honor with a peculiar sense of humor. Nothing anyone had said suggested he had done anything during his life to deserve being shackled to earth as a ghost. She believed the praise she had heard lauding his bravery and kindness was honest, not just adding a stone to his cairn. Mayhap everyone who died lingered for a time close to the place they loved. That would explain the many tales she had heard, as a child, of haunted places among the rolling hills of the Scottish borders. None of those stories had explained how one became a ghost or for how long. Mayhap the only way she and Corey would learn the truth was to wait and see what happened to him.
The service drew to a quick close. When Lord Wulfric offered his arm to Ellen, she gratefully accepted his help in rising and walking toward the door at the back of the church. She looked back, but saw no sign of Corey as the coffin was lifted to be carried out to the wagon in front of the chapel.
The small cemetery overlooked the sea. Salt stained the stones which had been tilted beneath the onslaught of the sea winds. As the iron gate opened on hinges that had been recently oiled, for Ellen noted drips on the rust, she was sure there could be no better resting place for this family. If all of them loved the sea as Corey did, they were close to it forever.
A heaviness filled her eyes, but she refused to let the tears fall. He was not dead to her, so how could she mourn him? Every day, every conversation, he became more and more alive to her.
When the minister spoke the last words over the casket which had been lowered into the ground, Ellen was glad to turn her back on it. The gravediggers began to fill in the grave even as the mourners went through the gate.
Marian sat next to Ellen in the carriage that would take them back to Wolfe Abbey. Her hope they would return to Herrold Hall today had come to naught. Marian insisted she must help Lord Wulfric greet his callers while Ellen had another day of rest.
As Ellen gazed out at the rolling hills lifting themselves from the sea, Marian asked, “Who were you talking to in the chapel?”
She fought not to tense. “Lord Wulfric and—”
“No, during the service.”
Ellen put her hand to her chest in mock dismay. “I would not think to intrude on a funeral service by talking.”
“I heard you whispering.”
“Mayhap it was someone’s prayers you heard.” She loathed being false, but how could she be honest?
“I thought ’twas you I heard. The voice was a woman’s, I am sure.”
She smiled. “Marian, it may have been me. I am so unsettled by all this that I might have been whispering what I thought was only in my head.”
“Dear Ellen, I did not mean to accuse you.” Her eyes were wide. “I only wish to be certain you are well.”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Mayhap we should go back to the house in Town. Putting some distance between us and this tragedy would be for the best.” Marian tapped her chin. “Of course, we cannot leave before the village fair or the gathering which the Pratts are hosting or …”
Ellen let her bosom-bow prattle on about all the plans ahead of them during the next month. Marian did not pause until they had reached the house. Helping Ellen into the grand foyer with its huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling two stories above, Marian led Ellen up the stairs and into a small room beneath the next curve of stairs.
It was a simple room. The single window was covered with dark green drapes, but a lamp was lit on the table near the hearth. Marian motioned for Ellen to sit on the chair beside it. Pulling up a stool, she drew off Ellen’s slippers and set her feet on it.
“You need to rest,” Marian said. “I shall close the door, and you can rest. You look as peaked as if this had been your own funeral.”
Ellen shivered as her friend hurried out of the room, shutting the door. Surely Marian would speak differently if she thought before opening her mouth. But her words were unsettling.
The wing chair by the hearth welcomed her. As she relaxed into the thick cushions, quiet wrapped about her like a favorite shawl. This room was nothing like the grand chamber where she had been sleeping. It had a coziness that would not have been out of place in her parents’ house, although the wood on their walls was not grand mahogany like this. The dozens of books lining the glass-fronted shelves were a luxury she had never known until she came to England.
Closing her eyes, she sighed. This was wondrous. She had not been able to relax since … Slowly she opened her eyes as she felt a gaze upon her. Corey stood by the hearth, his elbow upon the mantel as he smiled at her.
“I was not sure if you would return,” she said.
“You thought I was buried along with the casket.” He chuckled. “Or mayhap you hoped?”
“The thought of how simple things would be if you were not about did cross my mind.”
“Honesty again. Much better. Then I shall be as honest with you and say I had no yearning to witness my own casket being put under the daisies.” He p
aused by a pipe rack on the table. A wry grin tipped his lips. “I think I miss my pipe most of all.”
“So what happens now?”
He picked up a pipe. “I have no idea. I have not had your good fortune to meet a ghost.”
“Good?” She watched him turn the pipe over in his hands. “I swear Marian considers me half-mad after intruding on so many conversations since the accident.”
“Mayhap you are.”
Ellen frowned. “You think this is nothing but my imagination?”
“I no longer know what to think.” His grin returned as he crossed the room to sit on the marble hearth. “I would as lief enjoy this extraordinary adventure and see where it leads. After all, I have made a vow to help you find the perfect husband, Edie.”
“Edie? My name is—”
“Ellen Dunbar. E-D.” His chuckle was as warm as the fire. “Pet names were a game we played in our family save for Lorenzo, who always has been as somber as an undertaker.”
“Not you, too!” She leaped to her feet. “Must you speak of funerals and undertakers incessantly?”
“But ’tis true. Lorenzo is a most somber chap.”
“Then say it that way! Don’t speak of death and undertakers and all that!”
“Edie—”
“My name is Ellen.” She clenched her fingers as she blinked to keep the tears in her eyes. “Blast you! Will you leave me alone?”
“I wished only to tease you.”
“Please don’t.”
“You need to laugh.”
“No!” She ran to the window and pointed out. “Begone.”
“Edie—”
“My name is Ellen!” She gripped the thick drapes. How she wished she could cocoon herself in this smothering velvet! To shut out everything and everyone and to protect herself from the insanity around her. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Is that what you wish?”
She dropped onto the window seat. “I don’t know. I am so confused.”
“You need to smile, Edie.”
“My—Blast it! Call me what you wish!”
He frowned. “I did not intend to send you flying up to the boughs. Only to tease you.”
A Phantom Affair Page 6
