Lady Huntley took my hand in her own slightly trembling one. “My dear, you must leave this place. I don’t know what was making that awful noise last night, but clearly living with that has addled your mind.”
I gave her hand a squeeze but shook my head. “I can’t leave. You must understand that I can’t.”
“But...”
“It’s quite all right, Cassandra. Why don’t you go and finish your packing. I’ll speak with my sister,” Rose said, giving her friend a comforting smile.
Lady Huntley stood but then didn’t move toward the door immediately. She pulled me to my feet and took me into a warm hug. “You need to be safe, Laia. I just couldn’t live with myself if I thought that we were leaving you someplace where you could be hurt. You’re like a sister to me.”
I gave her a squeeze. “Thank you. But please, don’t worry. Marcus won’t hurt me.”
“Marcus?” she asked, pulling back.
“The ghost,” I answered.
“You know his name?” she asked, stunned.
“Of course! Didn’t I just say I’ve been speaking with him every night?” I laughed.
She just shook her head in confusion and left to see to her packing.
“Are you absolutely certain of this, Laia?” my sister asked after both the Huntleys had left the room.
“Yes. I’m... I’m helping him, Rose.”
“And he’s really a ghost? In all the years we dug up the remains of people and their belongings, we never encountered a ghost.”
“I think there’s something that’s tying him here,” I explained. “And the people we exhumed were long dead.”
She nodded. “That’s certainly true, although I have heard of odd things happening at other archeological sites. Unexplained things.”
“I’m not very surprised,” I said with a shrug. “But truly, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
I followed my sister out to where the carriages were being loaded with people and luggage.
“You will not flee to safety with us?” Mr. Haston asked, taking my hands in his own.
“No. I am perfectly safe here. Really.” I gave him a reassuring smile.
“Brave. Brave girl!” he said, giving my hands a squeeze, and then letting them go in order to climb up into the carriage beside Lady Huntley.
With one last effort to convince me to go with them, my sister gave the coachman the office to start. I waved as they rolled down the drive.
I couldn’t decide if I was happy they were leaving or not. It had been rather pleasant having my sister and Lady Huntley taking care of the house for me. But on the other hand, I did enjoy my time here alone. And my nights with Marcus.
Poor Marcus. I had managed to put him into a better frame of mind last night before I had gone to sleep, but I feared for him all the same. He had clearly been distraught with his imaginings, scarred by all the horrors he’d been through. I prayed I could help him heal. With my guests gone, I could go back to visiting him as I normally did, without fear of either someone discovering me, or exhaustion the following day for having to entertain others.
Now that I thought about it, I was ready to drop after riding about the entire estate the day before then being woken up and spending over an hour with Marcus last night.
It was only eleven o’clock in the morning, but I retired to my room for a light nap.
“I’m so sorry,” Marcus apologized yet again, soon after I arrived to speak with him that night.
“And I’ve told you, you shouldn’t be,” I said, laughing at him. “I’m happy without them here, honestly!”
“But...”
“Marcus, will you go on with your story?” I asked, interrupting him. There was silence for a few moments.
I waited patiently for him to respond, but he didn’t.
“Marcus?” I finally prompted.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t go on.”
“Tell me,” I encouraged him.
“It’s too difficult, Laia. You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.”
“How was it difficult? Was it the journey? The Native Americans? Did you find Peter?” I asked.
Silence filled the room, but I waited. Finally, I was rewarded when he began to speak again.
“We found Peter, but only after a tortuous, three-week journey. We left Boston at daybreak on the morning of November 14. At one point in our journey, I was certain I would never see civilization again... But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It was cold but pleasant when we drove out of the city. Almost immediately, we entered a mountainous region. It quickly got even colder and then began to snow by the third day of our journey. I was grateful for the warm clothes I’d thought to bring along, and the woolens Anne had provided for us both. We needed all that we had with us, and more, it was so cold. We traveled onward through the snow, plodding along roads we could barely see. We were grateful to reach New York. By that time, the snow had piled over a foot high. If the horses could pass, the wheels of our wagon would get stuck. We pushed and pulled, doing as much work as our beasts just to make it through.
In Rochester, we were forced to stop and take refuge from the storm. Never in my life had I seen so much snow! We rested for four days, by which time the storm had passed. I was so eager to get moving again, I could barely keep still.
Even the local people told us we were insane to continue on, however. The snow in that region was unpredictable and the storms fierce. In just a matter of minutes, it could go from pleasant to air so thick with snow you couldn’t see your hand before your face. Still, I was determined to try. I had to get to Peter!
We followed the shoreline of Lake Erie for days on end. With the wind and blowing snow, it was treacherous. We could barely see the road before us, only able to tell that it was there by the tree line. We very nearly drove straight onto the lake without even realizing it, and I mean on to, for it was frozen solid.
We were amazed and relieved when we finally reached Fort Shelby in the Michigan Territory. I think I aged a year in the month that it took us to get there. Never in my life had I made such a harrowing journey, and aside from the return trip, I never wanted to do so again. I now understood why so many people who head west, stay there. Such a trip is not for the faint of heart.
“But you reached your destination?” I asked, unable to keep the awe from my voice.
“Yes, we reached it,” Marcus said, sounding exhausted from the recounting of the tale.
“And your brother?”
“I went the next day with a local interpreter to the village where he was being held. With the weapons I had brought with me, we were able to secure his release.”
“That’s wonderful!” I said, sitting forward on the bench.
“It was...” His voice trailed off.
“But?”
“But the Native Americans changed their mind,” he said, his voice so low I could barely hear him.
“What? They changed their mind?” I asked.
I wanted to get him back to Fort Shelby as quickly as possible to be examined and properly fed. He looked horribly thin, and there were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. He looked ragged.
We were a few miles from the village when we heard the thundering sound of horses. We had no idea what it was until we turned and saw a posse of Indians galloping toward us, weapons raised. The very same weapons I had just given to them in exchange for my brother’s life!
They circled the three of us, knives and spears and guns pointed directly at us. “What do you want? We’ve given you what you asked for,” I called out. The interpreter repeated what I said in their language.
The largest man, dressed in furs and leathers, moved so close his spear pierced the thick coat I was wearing. He said something, which the interpreter took exception to. There was a fierce discussion back and forth between the two of them, during which the Indian’s spear pushed me further and further back, away from Peter and the othe
rs.
Finally, I was alone surrounded by the Indians. They’d expertly separated me from my party. The leader shouted something to the interpreter and then to one of his men. They grabbed my horse by the bit and yanked the reins from my hands. Before I knew it, we were galloping away, and all I could do was hang on to make sure I didn’t fall off my horse.
“They took you prisoner?” I could barely believe it. “After you had given them all those weapons?”
“They wanted more. Clearly, the tactic had worked the first time. They probably thought it would work again,” he said.
“What...” I started but wasn’t quite sure I wanted to ask the question. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“They took me back to their village and tied me up like cattle, hands and feet bound.”
I gasped.
“The men who took me clearly enjoyed playing games. They would tease each other, and me, with knives. Sometimes it was just an ordinary knife, sometimes they would heat it up first in the fire. Their friends could jump out of the way. I couldn’t.
“No!”
“They enjoyed themselves.” The words were hollow and devoid of any emotion whatsoever and tore me apart.
I had begun to cry. I didn’t know when I had done so, but hot tears coursed down my cheeks and I couldn’t speak. I wanted to say something. I wanted to comfort him, tell him that it was all right, and that it was over. I couldn’t get out a word.
In the end, it was he who comforted me. He, who’d gone through such horrors, was the one to say that it was all right. But it wasn’t. This must have been what had killed him, and I didn’t even want to imagine how it had happened.
I cried myself to sleep that night and stayed in bed all of the following morning. I just lay there, unable to gather the emotional strength to get myself up and face the day.
Why did this hurt so much? I hardly dared to ask myself the question. Marcus was dead. I had known that all along. But now faced with how he died, it felt as if it had been yesterday and to a man I now knew and cared about.
I forced my mind to other things and finally managed to pry myself from my bed, knowing that I had work I had to see to. Household accounts and matters regarding the estate that had to be taken care of. But it was a long and sad day.
That night when I went to speak to Marcus, it was with the knowledge that I couldn’t bear to face any more of his story. I just couldn’t.
“I am so sorry, Marcus,” I said. “I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Wrong to ask you to tell me your story. I thought that I could handle it, but...”
“It’s all right, Laia. I can’t tell you how much it has meant to me just to tell what I have. I completely understand that you don’t want to hear any more.”
“At least,” I started, “at least, give me a few days to get over what you told me last night, please.”
“I don’t have to tell you any more if you don’t want to hear it.”
“No.” I set my mind. “I do want to hear it.” I didn’t really, but I knew that talking about it, telling me his story had been helpful for Marcus. Except for that one night, he had completely stopped his screaming and moaning. This was a major step forward, and I didn’t want to be the one to cause him any setbacks.
Besides, I had decided I would find out what was keeping him here on earth, and I would do so. I had to hear the rest of the story, no matter how much it hurt me. I had to help Marcus continue on with his journey so that he could rest, once and for all, in peace.
But not tonight. And perhaps not tomorrow night either.
“I understand,” he said, gently.
“Thank you.” I paused, and then with renewed determination, I said, “Did I tell you about Mr. Hancock’s trip to the wool market?”
“No! No, you didn’t. How did it go?”
The next hour was very pleasantly spent. I told him everything that was happening on the estate and in the house as well. All about the new maids and Joseph, the footman. For the first time in a few days, we laughed again, and it felt so good. I loved to hear Marcus laugh!
I felt so much better when I went to sleep that night. So much more at ease.
Chapter Fifteen
Despite the fact that I didn’t feel quite ready to hear the rest of Marcus’ story, I still wanted to learn more about him and Peter. Of course, the best place for me to do that was in town. A few days later, I rode to the inn, where I stabled my horse before walking over to the dry goods store on the pretense of wanting some new ribbon.
“Good morning,” I said, walking into the shop.
“And a very good morning to ye,” the shopkeeper replied with a bright smile. “Heard ye were still about.”
I smiled. “I’m afraid I’m hard to scare off.”
The woman gave me an approving nod. “Good. Shows you’ve got character. I always preferred them with character. Too many girls now-a-days are milque toast. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything. What use are they?”
“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” I said, holding out my hand. “My name is Aglaia. Aglaia Grace.”
She took it, her smile growing brighter. “Eloise Cooper.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cooper.”
“And I you, Miss Grace. Now, how can I help you today?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me more about Lord Marcus and his brother?”
With a slight lift of her eyebrows, she gave me a little nod. “Natural that ye would be curious about them as ye’re living in the house.”
I just waited patiently, and presently I was rewarded when she said, “Lord Marcus was always cleaning up after ‘is brother. I remember one time when Lord Peter and Henry very nearly dumped a jar of spiders onto the magistrate’s head.”
I gasped.
“Oh, yes! It was quite a clever trick. Peter, knowing how Mr. Samuelson was always particular about keeping the streets clean, dropped a trail of rubbish on the ground leading to the inn, just as the magistrate was on ‘is way out of a mornin’.”
“He did it while the magistrate was looking?” I clarified.
The woman nodded. “Then while Mr. Samuelson was scolding Peter, Henry leans out the window of the inn to drop his spiders, see?”
“Oh! How horrid!”
“’Twould have been, except young Lord Marcus was looking on. He ran at the magistrate and pushed him aside just in time. Ended up covered with the spiders himself.”
“Ugh! What an awful boy Henry was! He probably thought up the trick just to get Peter in trouble,” I said.
“Oh, no. That one was Lord Peter’s idea,” Mrs. Cooper said, raising her eyebrows in an “I told you so” sort of look. “Henry didn’t want to do it because he was sweet on the magistrate’s daughter, Rachel. But Lord Peter convinced him he could be the one in the window and then duck back inside so Mr. Samuelson didn’t see who’d done it.”
“So, it wasn’t always Henry who came up with these tricks?”
“Oh, no. A good part of the time it was Lord Peter who did so. Not always, mind you. They were both naughty boys. And poor Lord Marcus was nearly always the one saving ‘is brother and Henry from this or that.”
“Nearly always? “ I asked, catching that one little word there.
“Oh, well, no one is all good, is one? There were times when Lord Marcus would join in the fun, but usually it was he who was pulling the boys out of the fire,” she said with a laugh.
“And this time he ended up with a head full of spiders,” I said, shivering dramatically.
The woman laughed again. “Oh, don’t you think that Lord Marcus didn’t get ‘is own back. From what I heard, that one refused to sleep in any bed but Lord Peter’s for a week afterward, just in case there were any more of those creepy-crawlies about. He wanted to be sure Lord Peter’s bed got ‘em and not his own.”
I laughed at that. “Clever.”
I thanked Mrs. Cooper and then headed
back to Marshfield, my mind spinning with thoughts of Marcus, Peter, Henry, and even Rachel. Clearly, Henry couldn’t have minded pouring spiders onto Marcus’ head, but he didn’t want to risk making a bad impression on the magistrate. As it turned out, it was Marcus who ended up the hero, saving Rachel’s father from his brother’s trick. Surely, that had to have helped him when he’d asked for Rachel’s hand in marriage.
But what about Henry? He’d liked Rachel too. It made me wonder. I also wondered whether Peter had lied to his brother about who the instigator was in so many of the tricks the boys played. Marcus seemed to think his brother was a saint, and Henry was the devil of the two, but it looked like they were pretty equal.
Over a week had passed since my sister’s visit, and I was finally getting used to having extra help around the house. Certainly, Mrs. Barker seemed to be much more cheerful and energetic, now that she had a small staff to do most of what she had done alone for months.
Mr. Barker, however, didn’t seem to be nearly as enthusiastic about his new underling, so I decided to see what I could do to help alleviate the situation.
“Can you tell me what the problem is, Mr. Barker?” I asked him, after cornering him in the butler’s pantry where he was polishing the silver. “Is it that Joseph isn’t a very good footman, or...”
“There is no problem, Miss,” Mr. Barker said, filling in the gap I’d left.
“Do you not like having a man under you?” I offered.
“I am perfectly capable of managing fifteen footmen or more,” he said, straightening his back. “When ‘is lordship was alive, Lord Peter’s father, mind, we had a normal staff of ten men and that tripled when there was an entertainment.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply...”
“There is no problem,” Mr. Barker said again, this time with formality.
“Excuse me, Miss,” Joseph said, coming into the room after a brief knock. “Your father ‘as arrived.”
He’d said this as if I’d been expecting him to visit, so for a moment I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. “My father? “
My Lord Ghost Page 14
