My Lord Ghost

by Meredith Bond

  Peter came in while the chief spoke very quietly to the men. I was surprised that there was no shouting, as the old man, who I now assumed to be the chief, had just been yelling at the commander. Instead, the gentle calm of his voice was even more terrifying.

  I couldn’t understand a word he said, but the way he said it almost made me sorry for those men—almost.

  My brother untied me and helped me to my feet. I could barely stand; I was in such pain. If it weren’t for Peter, I would have ended up in a heap back down on the ground.

  I was given some water, covered with a blanket, and led outside to a fire where I could sit down on a log.

  A woman came over and washed my hands and wrists, then applied some salve for the rope burns there. Another fed me some warm liquid, a sort of meat broth. Finally, the commander from the fort came over just as they were offering me some sort of pipe that smelled oddly sweet.

  “Take that. It’ll make you able to stand the ride back,” he advised.

  I took the pipe. After a few inhalations of the smoke, he was right. I felt light-headed but in less pain.

  The chief returned with the translator. “My apologies, Mister. I had no knowledge of what my men were doing. I was not even aware of the man they held for so many months.” He sighed heavily and then continued after the translator had spoken. “I am getting old and do not see all that I should. But this will not happen again.” This last seemed to have been directed to the commander still standing by my side.

  The commander just gave a nod of acceptance, then turned to me. “All right enough for the ride to the fort, or should we get a cart for you?”

  “No. I can ride,” I said, my voice still hoarse from being dry, or perhaps it was the smoke.

  “Good man,” he nodded with approval before turning away. My brother helped me mount, and we walked our horses the whole three-hour journey back to Fort Shelby.

  Robert attended to me as soon as we arrived. The effects of the smoke had worn off by then, and I was in a great deal of pain.

  “Well, no wonder,” he said, after examining me. “You’re a damned lucky man, Marcus. Four broken ribs and not one managed to puncture a lung,” he said happily.

  “I didn’t realize you were a doctor,” I commented.

  “Medical school in Boston, then I decided I’d rather go into business. But the knowledge helps with the pharmaceuticals, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” he said with a wink before going back to his examination. “Judging by the bruising on your body, I can’t say what sort of internal injuries you have. And what’s with these cuts?”

  They criss-crossed my abdomen where the men had played their knife game, and there were slashes up and down both arms.

  “They had fun with some of the knives I had brought them,” was my only explanation.

  “Doesn’t look like a lot of fun for you,” he commented.

  “Can’t say that it was. At least I know the knife was clean. They put it in the fire first before using it on me.”

  “Ah. That would explain why your skin looks burned,” he said, putting a soothing salve on it.

  “Not a lot of bleeding either.”

  Robert nodded. “Cauterized.”

  “Yes, in a way, I suppose.”

  He paused for a moment. “That had to have been painful,” he whispered.

  I said nothing. How could I tell him the truth? He was my friend. I allowed myself a week to heal, which was probably too long, and then hauled myself from bed.

  We needed to return to Boston as quickly as possible. Already the roads, well, what passed for roads in that godforsaken country, were covered with snow. I didn’t want winter to delay us any further.

  Robert had concluded his business days earlier but waited for me to be able to travel.

  “It had taken Robert and me a month to get to the Michigan Territory. It took the three of us only a little over three weeks to get back to Boston,” Marcus said.

  “How did it take less time?” I asked.

  “The weather cooperated,” he said, as if it were obvious.

  “But that’s wonderful!”

  “Yes. What I learned along the way...wasn’t.”

  “Peter,” I asked about two days out from Fort Shelby. “How did you manage to get a company of soldiers and the commander of the fort to come and demand my release? Was it because of your title or did you have to pay them?”

  “My title?” Peter asked, sounding confused.

  Robert burst out laughing. “If he’d tried using his title, he would have been assured failure. Thank God, he was clever enough not to even mention it. You didn’t notice because you were abed, but our good viscount here was called Mr. Bolingbrook the whole time he was there, and not once did he correct anyone.”

  “Yes. I didn’t think that would go down for much,” Peter agreed. “But no, in answer to your question, Marcus. I simply went to the commander, explained the situation to him, and asked for help.”

  I turned to him in awe. “And he just gave it to you?”

  Peter laughed. “Yes. He’s quite a good fellow, don’t you know?”

  “Er...no, I didn’t.” This confirmed my worst fear. “So, why didn’t Henry do the same thing when you were captured?”

  The smile on Peter’s face died. “Is he all right? Henry?”

  “He was a bit beaten up. Had a broken arm when he returned, but he was basically fit. Certainly fit enough to go and ask for help,” I said.

  Peter looked concerned. “How did he get a broken arm?”

  “I thought the Indians had done that to him. I’m pretty sure he said as much when I met him,” I said.

  “Not when I was there. When those men grabbed me off the trail like they did to you, Henry just took off like a shot after they made their demand,” Peter said. “They thought that he was off to get the weapons they wanted. I was hoping he’d gone for help... But then he never came back.” Peter’s voice got quiet. “I thought something had happened to him on his way back to the coast.”

  I just shook my head. “He said it was the Indians who laid hands on him.”

  Peter just sighed and looked troubled for hours afterward. It was clear that his friend had not, in fact, had his back. Just the opposite—he’d abandoned Peter to whatever fate the Indians had in store for him. Luckily, they’d been kinder to him than they had been to me.

  “So Henry could have saved Peter just as easily as he had saved you, but he hadn’t even tried?” I asked, stunned.

  “Apparently so.” Marcus was sounding tired, so I quickly made my excuses and went to bed.

  Henry’s duplicity nagged at me all the following morning. I couldn’t bear the thought of what horrors Peter had suffered at the hands of the Indians. Marcus had said that they’d treated his brother better than they’d treated him, but he didn’t know that. All he knew was that whatever bruises or cuts Peter had were healed or hidden by the time he found him. But Peter and Henry had been close, like two peas in a pod. Henry had promised to take care of Peter, as Peter was to do for him. They had said that they would watch each other’s back. That’s why they both were going—to look out for each other. And then Henry had just turned and run, leaving Peter there with those savages.

  No one could be that heartless! I simply couldn’t believe it.

  I rode into the village that afternoon and finally sat down for my promised pint of cider with Mr. White, the innkeeper.

  “There aren’t too many young people around here,” I said, trying to start the conversation.

  “Gentry, you mean? No, not too many anymore,” he agreed.

  I waited, hoping he would continue, and was soon rewarded.

  “Used to be. Used to be Lord Marcus, he wasn’t very old when he went, barely twenty-five. Then there was his brother, Lord Peter, and of course, the vicar’s son, Henry. That was it for the boys.”

  Before he could get started on the young women in the area, I quickly asked, “What were Peter and Henry like?”r />
  Mr. White smiled, and then his smile grew into a little chuckle as he thought about it. “They were rascals,” he recalled. “Master Henry was always leading poor Lord Peter into trouble.”

  I smiled and asked, “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

  The innkeeper’s smile broadened. “Oh, there were times… Lord Peter wanted people to believe he was an angel, but I’d see him or overhear some of their scheming, and he had as many nasty ideas as Master Henry when they were older.” The man chuckled, remembering. “Of course, he hadn’t always been that way. Lord Peter was a sweet young lad when he was little. A touch simple, perhaps? But he started with young Collier after the Pastor moved in, and learned quickly enough.” He shook his head. “Such a shame he ever got mixed up with that boy. It was the death of him, it was.”

  “Henry wasn’t such a good boy?”

  “Oh my goodness, no! Whatever trouble he could get into, you could be sure he did. Anything went wrong with anything, any rocks went flying, any, well, anything that could possibly be laid at that boy’s door, and you can be pretty sure he was the culprit.” He leaned an elbow on the counter and wagged a finger at me. “But you can guarantee that if he was blamed, he denied it. He was a sly one!”

  The door opened, bringing in the sound of the jingling of harnesses from outside. Mr. White stood up and away from me, and I turned to see the vicar striding into the taproom.

  He stopped when he saw me sitting at the bar. “Miss Grace, I am shocked!”

  I stood up and gave him my most innocent smile. “At what, Mr. Collier?”

  “Why, that you are still here! I have heard again and again over the past week from the young girls who have been working at Marshfield. They say they’ve been hearing that ghost again.”

  “He has been a little vocal over the last few days, it’s true,” I admitted.

  “Then what are you still doing there?”

  “I told you, Mr. Collier, it will take a great deal more than a little screaming to scare me away.” I started to turn away but then stopped myself. “Actually, Mr. Collier, the ghost has been telling me quite a few interesting things about your son, Henry.”

  “My son? What has that... that thing got to say about my son?”

  “Well...”

  The vicar stopped me with a hand on my arm. He indicated that we should take a more private table toward the back of the room.

  I took my cider and followed him.

  “He has told me the true tale of just how Peter was captured by the Indians,” I told him after we had sat down.

  “Henry told me the truth of it when he returned from America. He told Lord Marcus as well. It is no secret.”

  “But apparently the tale that he told to you and to Lord Marcus at that time wasn’t the whole truth,” I said gently. I wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to hear the truth, and I wondered whether I was doing the right thing in telling him. I was spared, however, because the man refused to listen.

  “I have had the truth from my son,” he said with some vehemence in his voice. “I have no desire to hear any story that ghost has concocted.”

  I nodded, thinking that perhaps it was for the best. “Very well,” I conceded.

  “I am certain that whatever Lord Marcus would have to say about my son would not be favorable. He never liked Henry,” he said with a tinge of sadness in his voice.

  “Why do you think that’s true?” I asked.

  “Very simply, Miss Grace, he was jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of what?” I asked unable to believe that Lord Marcus had any reason to be jealous of Henry Collier.

  “Of the close friendship between Henry and his brother,” he said, opening his hands in front of him, as if what he said was obvious. “Peter, for all of his simplicity, refused to listen to Lord Marcus. But Henry he would listen to. It enraged his lordship, naturally.”

  “But why wouldn’t he listen to his brother?”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s because he tried to keep Peter cocooned. Henry was happy to treat Peter like anyone else, but Lord Marcus tried to insist that he stay home and study, instead of going out and enjoying himself as a boy should. Peter was much happier running about with Henry and they became close.”

  I nodded, understanding how that could be. Marcus probably wanted to shield his brother and not learn the ways of his naughty friend, while Henry led him into all sorts of mischief. How sad it was that Henry’s exploits finally did lead Peter to his death. Marcus was right.

  “What I don’t understand, Miss Grace,” the vicar went on, “is why you care?”

  I looked at him. There was most likely an expression of surprise on my face because he continued, “You have been here asking questions about Lord Marcus for over a month now, despite repeated warnings. Is there some reason why you are insisting on following this through despite the obvious danger to your person?”

  I laughed. “I don’t believe that there is any danger, Mr. Collier. If you do, then I assure you, you are mistaken.”

  I stood up, thanked him for his time, and bid him good day.

  It wasn’t until I was riding home that I began to think about what he had asked. Why did I care? Why did I insist on staying here and finding out about Marcus’ life and his death? Why did I want to help him so very much? I had never asked myself that, and if I had, the answer would have changed from the time I first arrived to today. Even as I rebuffed all of the well-meaning people who kept telling me to leave, I knew that the longer I stayed and the more I learned about Marcus, the more I would want to stay, and the more I cared.

  I cared. I cared a great deal.

  I slept well that night, secure in the knowledge that Marcus was nearby. I got up to talk to him as I usually did but deliberately kept our topics of conversation neutral. Focusing on the estate and learning from him what should be looked after next, now that the wool had been sold, we talked for over an hour. It was my incessant yawning that finally had him laughing and sending me back to my bed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I now know why it’s called the clear light of day—suddenly what you were unsure of the previous night is now so obvious you can’t believe you didn’t see it before.

  It was all clear for me now, as I galloped across the fields of the estate.

  Before I’d gone to bed, Marcus had asked if I would come back after I left to make by debut in London. Naturally, I assured him that I would. In all honesty, I had now come to rely on his presence as much as he relied on mine.

  In short, I realized as I rode, I’d fallen in love with my ghost.

  It was ridiculous, of course. How could a person be in love with a ghost—a more hopeless romance there never was. And yet, there it was. Undeniable!

  Every time I thought of him, my heart pounded. I wanted to be with him constantly and looked forward every single day to the night when we would be alone together. I desperately longed for his touch, but even then, just the sound of his voice made me unreasonably happy.

  I’d felt these indications coming for some time now, but I denied it. Now, in the clear light of the day, I couldn’t any longer. They were fact, as solid as the horse below me, and I was as sure of them as I was of anything.

  But it wasn’t my love for Marcus that had me fretting.

  Yes, it was silly and I was sure to end up with a broken heart, but I was young. I would mend. There was a whole world of men out there. Surely, I would become attached to another sometime—probably after months of heartache and crying, but still, I had faith in myself.

  No, what worried me much more than my own feelings was that of Marcus’.

  I feared that he had fallen in love with me as much as I had with him! I was now what was keeping him here on this earthly plane rather than going on to his ultimate destination.

  This wasn’t right! I had stayed, spoken with him, listened to his horrific story all in an attempt to free him. Instead, I had bound him here even more firmly.

  Gui
lt wracked through me.

  I couldn’t do that to him. He deserved so much more. Out amongst the sheep, I came to an unpleasant decision.

  As soon as I returned to the house, I informed the Barkers of it and then spent the afternoon packing all of my belongings. I took a few favorite volumes from the library, which I knew we didn’t have in London, and determined to get a little sleep before breaking the news to Marcus.

  “I’ve got something important I need to discuss with you,” I began straight away that night.

  “Does it have anything to do with the fact that your trunk is packed and standing by the front door?” he asked, his voice deep and solemn.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to betray my surprise that he was aware of this. How did he know everything that went on in this house? I wondered if he could pass through walls too.

  “You’re leaving. Earlier than you’d said.”

  “I am,” I agreed. I sat on the bench. “I came to a wonderful, and at the same time horrible realization today.”

  “Oh? “

  “I’m in love with you,” I said simply.

  I nearly laughed at how easy that had been. I had been certain that when the time came, I wouldn’t be able to even say the words I knew deep in my soul were the truth. But they’d come with no problems at all.

  “And I realized,” I continued on with my new-found courage, “that you love me too.”

  There was silence.

  “Am I right? “

  “You’re an incredibly astute woman. Yes, I have fallen in love with you.”

  I nodded. “That’s why I need to leave. This isn’t right, Marcus. I’m here to help you move on to your heavenly reward, and instead I’ve become the one keeping you here.”

  “My heavenly reward? MY GODDAMNED HEAVENLY REWARD? IS THAT ALL THAT YOU CAN THINK ABOUT? “

  “Marcus, calm down!” I cried, coming to my feet.

  “HOW CAN I CALM DOWN? I LOVE YOU AND YOU WANT ME GONE!”

  The paintings on the wall began to tremble in his fury. I ran forward and placed my hands on the wall in a futile effort to stop it.