by Ava Stone
She would like that. There was something so calming about the woman, almost as though all the sounds and all the worries in the world disappeared in her presence. “What’s your name?” Callie asked. Honestly, she should have asked long before now.
“Mary,” she replied, turning on her heel back towards the garden gate. “And you’re Miss Eilbeck.” Her blue dress swirled with the movement, and Callie couldn’t pull her gaze away from the soft flow of the material. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, nearly mesmerizing in the way it shimmered and moved. “Follow me,” Mary said softly, almost like a whisper on the breeze; and Callie couldn’t help but follow the woman, her gaze locked on Mary’s swirling blue skirts.
Butcher’s bollocks! Quent sloshed through the gardens, more than irritable. His mood was understandable, however. No one could blame him for his temper as he’d been locked up inside Marisdùn with his impossible brother for two straight days.
In all his life, Quent had never seen Braden quite so prickly as he had been the last few days, barking at servants, sulking over each repast, and staring out windows at the dreary weather like a heart broken idiot. Thank God the rain had let up early this morning, because if he had to suffer one more day with Braden in such a state, Quent would be half-tempted to toss his brother outside into the storm, no matter how bad it happened to be, just to be rid of his sour mood.
Miss Eilbeck was certainly in for a delightful life married to Braden. Quent scoffed at the very idea of his brother taking a wife. How the devil had Braden even decided to marry the girl? She was a pleasant sort, of course, and quite comely, but their acquaintance had certainly been brief. If deciding to get married left his brother in such a temperament, Quent was quite certain he never wanted to fall victim to the parson’s noose himself.
It was, however, quite difficult to imagine Braden married. His brother had never seemed inclined to take a wife. He’d avoided the marriage mart, as had Quent, except when escorting their sisters to something that required their presence. He’d never considered courting any girl in either London or in Buckinghamshire. He’d never even given pointed attention to any girl, at least none that Quent was aware of. But now…Now Braden was going to willingly meet Callie Eilbeck at the altar and spend the rest of his days with the girl. It was more than surprising to say the least.
Quent rounded a hedgerow and noticed a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. A silk dress, he thought. Odd, that. He quickened his pace to the end of the row, turned the corner, and he shook his head. Damn it all. Speaking…Or rather thinking of the devil. Miss Eilbeck was apparently in as big a hurry to see Braden as he was to see her. At least his brother would be in a decent mood for the rest of the day. Everyone would be happy about that. However, she was headed the wrong direction.
“Miss Eilbeck!” Quent called out, but she didn’t seem to hear him as she navigated the row without slowing her pace at all. And she was headed straight for a large hedge! What the devil was wrong with her? Didn’t she see it? “Miss Eilbeck!” he called again, quickening his step in the process.
And then…Quent winced as she disappeared right into the hedge. Or had she? The bushes didn’t so much as flutter and she hadn’t cried out, but she was most definitely not there now. Quent hastened towards the spot where his would-be sister-in-law had just been, but there wasn’t a sign of her anywhere. He pushed his hands into the hedge and yanked them back when all that met him was poking branches and a wall of leaves. Had she stepped into that, she’d have let out an awful yelp.
Was he losing his mind? He would have sworn on his life that she’d been right there. “Miss Eilbeck!” he yelled, louder than he had before. “Where are you?”
But nothing met his ears except the sound of a distant fountain and a pair of birds chirping somewhere nearby.
Quent scratched his head in confusion. She had been there, hadn’t she? He hadn’t imagined her presence. He wasn’t seeing things, was he?
“Wait, Mary!” Callie Eilbeck’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, soft and rather haunting.
Quent spun around in a circle, hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl. But there was no sign of her golden dress or flaxen curls anywhere. What the devil? “Miss Eilbeck!” he shouted in vain as a bit of panic settled in his chest.
Brighid packed her small bag and looked about the room she’d occupied these past few days. It wasn’t as comfortable as her own bed, but she was reluctant to return home. After Mr. Thorn had interrupted the near kiss, she had not had a moment alone with Blake. All of yesterday, and into the night, she remained with Mrs. Small and the other servants, gathering apples, preparing the cider to pour on the roots of trees, making toast to hang from tree limbs, baking soul cakes and apple tarts. None of these were for the party guests. At least, not the living party guests.
These traditions went back decades, if not centuries, and the servants of the castle were not going to do anything to upset the spirits already roaming about.
Brighid shivered at the memory of Blythe Tucker holding Blake to the bed. The closer they came the Samhain, the stronger the spirits became. She might not see them all, but their presence surrounded her.
It was best she was away before the festival began. But not before she saw Blake. She wanted to be certain she hadn’t imagined the moments they had shared—in particular, the one when he’d almost kissed her.
She picked up her small bag and made her way from the servants’ quarters, down the stairs and into the foyer. The servants and guests were moving about, a bit anxious, and Blake waited at the foot of the stairs.
He smiled in greeting then frowned when he noted her bag. “I had hoped you would stay.”
Those simple words helped calm her fear that she hadn’t imagined what had transpired between them. “I should be going home. I’m not a guest of Lord Bradenham’s. I am simply a healer and now you are well.”
He reached out, grasping her hand. “You are far more than that, Brighid, at least to me.”
Braden hastened towards the sound of his brother’s yell. Why the devil was Quent calling out Callie’s name? He rounded a hedgerow and stopped when his eyes landed on his brother, standing in the middle of the row, looking more than distraught, both of his hands poised on either side of his head as though he couldn’t quite believe something had happened.
Callie, however, was nowhere in sight.
“Were you talking to Miss Eilbeck?” Braden strode towards his brother.
Quent’s face went nearly white. “Did you hear her too?”
Hear her? Braden shook his head. “I only heard you screaming her name. Where is she?”
His brother scoffed in disbelief. “On my word, Braden, I have no idea. She was here and then she just...” He seemed to search for the right word. “…Vanished.”
“What do you mean ‘vanished’?” he asked, glancing up and down the row. Had Quent said something obnoxious and sent her running off? “Callie!” he called, brushing past his brother. “Callie, are you all right?”
“I swear on my life, Braden, she just disappeared right before my eyes.” Then his brother gasped and Braden turned back in time to see Quent stumble slightly as he dropped to a stone bench. “It’s like our great-grandmother. It’s like that story grandfather always told us when we were children. I never really believed him, but…”
“I hardly find that amusing.” Braden narrowed his eyes on his younger brother. Callie Eilbeck did not simply vanish into thin air. Such a thing wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. “Did you upset her? What did you say to her?”
“I said nothing,” Quent vowed. “Nothing except her name. I saw she was about to walk right into those—” he pointed accusingly at a hedge “—bushes. But it was like she didn’t hear me. And she walked right into them and vanished.” He shook his head as though not believing his own tale. “But they didn’t even move, Braden. They didn’t rustle at all. It’s like she vanished before she even touched them.”
“I don’t want to hear one more word about her vanishing.” It was a horrible thought. One that wasn’t possible and for his brother to keep saying those blasted words over and over struck a bit of fear into Braden’s heart. He slid his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb over the edge of the note she’d sent him that morning. It was still a bit early for her to arrive. “If you saw her, then she must be here somewhere.”
Quent stared at Braden as though he were a simpleton. “Aye. Somewhere. But not here, Braden. I know what I saw.”
“I had no idea you’d taken to imbibing so early in the day,” Braden returned, which only earned him a scowl from his brother.
“I’ll gather up the others, if you want, to help search for her,” Quent offered. “But I’m telling you she van—”
“No buts,” Braden interrupted. If his brother said the word ‘vanished’ one more time, he’d thrash him within an inch of his life. “Round up whoever’s inside and we’ll find her, wherever she is.”
It didn’t take long for Quent to hasten back to the castle, leaving Braden alone in the gardens. He stared at the hedge his brother had accused and shook his head at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. Vanished, for God’s sake.
He stepped towards the bush in question, and at once the soft scent of gardenias filled his senses. It was the wrong time of year for gardenias, but… Callie did use gardenia oil or soaps in her bath. It smelled so much like her, right where he was standing. Or he was imagining it, because believing that she’d been there one second but was gone the next was simply not conceivable.
“Callie,” he said softly. “My sweet Callie, where are you?”
A breeze brushed past him, almost like a caress and an unconscious shiver raced down his spine.
Within just a few minutes, the entirety of Marisdùn’s staff as well as Quent, Wolf, Garrick, Thorn, Chetwey (recovered from his sickbed) and Miss Brighid Glace (whom Braden suspected was the reason for Chetwey’s quick recovery) filed out into the gardens.
“All right,” Thorn began, “what’s this about, Braden?”
What, indeed? He didn’t even know if Callie was missing. “Well…” He chanced a glance at his brother. Quent’s brow lifted as though daring Braden to call him a liar. “I’m trying to find Miss Eilbeck. My brother saw her here in the gardens not long ago, but we can’t seem to locate her now.”
“I saw a woman in the gardens this morning,” Wolf said. “From my window. She might have seen Miss Eilbeck.”
“Which woman?” Braden asked.
“I don’t know. All dressed in blue. Spotted her the other day too.”
“You saw the woman in blue?” Mrs. Small, the housekeeper, asked, her brow quite furrowed.
Wolf nodded. “I saw a woman in blue. Does that mean something?”
“The ghost of Mrs. Routledge!” squealed one of the maids, grasping the hand of the footman at her side.
“I do not have the patience for ghost stories this afternoon,” Braden growled. “Miss Eilbeck needs to be located.”
“Braden thought if we all searched the grounds, we could find her,” Quent added, skepticism lacing his voice.
“You don’t sound certain,” Thorn replied, casting Quent a sidelong glance.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” his brother grumbled. “I’ll start over towards the fountain.”
“If you have something of merit to say, Quent,” Chetwey began, “I’m certain we’d all like to hear it.”
There was a rumbling of sounds through the assembled that seemed to be in agreement with Chetwey. Braden snorted. What a complete waste of time it would be to tell them, but they didn’t seem inclined to dissipate without hearing Quent. “Go on—” he shook his head “—tell them.”
Quent heaved a sigh, stepped slightly away from the group to face them and said, “Braden doesn’t believe me, but she vanished right before my eyes. Right here in this garden.”
“Vanished?” Thorn echoed as everyone else gasped nearly in unison.
“I thought it was my imagination, but then I heard her voice and—”
“What did she say?” Miss Glace asked.
Quent frowned. “Wait,” he replied. “She said, ‘Wait, Mary!’ But I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from.”
“Mary?” The housekeeper touched a hand to her heart and glanced at Bendle. “Like Mary Routledge, you think?”
Mary Routledge? A relative of some sort?
Before Braden could ask the question, Bendle shook his head. “I hope not,” the butler breathed out.
“Who the devil is Mary Routledge?” Braden finally asked.
The butler’s brow creased with concern as he met Braden’s gaze. “Your great-grandmother, my lord.”
“But she disappeared,” Quent said, stepping closer to Braden. “Our grandfather told us all about it.”
“No.” The housekeeper shook her head. “She didn’t disappear, she was taken by Marisdùn. It’s not the same thing at all.”
Taken by the castle? It was the most ridiculous thing Braden had ever heard, and this nonsense had gone on quite long enough. He looked at his friends, who had to be the most levelheaded of those assembled in the gardens. “Will you help me look for her?”
“Of course,” Garrick replied. “We won’t leave a stone unturned.”
A woman cackled again. It was the same one who had laughed when Lord Quentin entered the herbarium. Brighid glanced around but no one was laughing, nor did anyone other than Brighid appear to have heard the woman.
“This can’t be happening.” Her heart pounded and her skin grew cold with fear. She took a step back, no longer paying attention to the others. As much as she wished to deny the possibility, she could no longer. For some reason, Mrs. Routledge had taken Callie and she had to get her back before it was too late.
Ignoring Blake and the others, she turned and ran into the castle until she stopped just short of the herbarium. Blood raced through her veins, her hands shook and her heart was lodged in her throat. Taking a deep breath, Brighid stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
The room was just as she left it the day before, except the trunk beckoned for her even more. Once she opened it, she could no longer deny what she was and as soon as Blake realized, he would have nothing to do with her. He had already told her it would be a fact. But she couldn’t let her friend be kept in another world. She had to save Callie. Even if it meant she would lose Blake forever.
Daphne had never in her life been so excited to see the sun shining. She nearly flew from her bed to the window, and then pinched herself, just to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. Indeed, she felt the pinch, and it felt wonderful.
Blood coursed through her veins as she readied herself for the day. It had been two long, excruciating days since she’d seen Alastair, and he’d not been able to visit her on the day he’d promised due to the torrential rains.
At least, she hoped that was what kept him from coming. It was possible he’d thought things over and decided he didn’t want anything to do with her at all.
Daphne shook her head, trying to rid her mind of such thoughts. This was no time for self-doubt. She had her brother’s blessing, and she’d not waste it. She would have to postpone it, however.
Her eyes landed on the dozens of jars that filled up their kitchen table, and her heart sank just a bit. She’d forgotten all about them. But her customers had been waiting to receive their deliveries just as long as she’d been waiting to see Alastair, and she and Graham were in no position to delay their income. Daphne needed to deliver the rum butter today.
Crestfallen that she couldn’t rush right to Marisdùn , she began to prepare her breakfast of toast and tea. In the process, she discovered the note from Graham.
Mrs. Cullen’s baby has come down with fever. If you need me, I’ll be there.
Love,
Graham
Daphne sent up a little prayer for the Cullen baby. Anytime anyone took ill, she worried for the
m, but she always worried quite a bit more when it was a babe.
With breakfast done, she loaded her little wagon with the jars of rum butter and then set off to make her deliveries. The weather was quite a bit crisper than it had been the last time she left the house. Winter was most certainly on its way. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her as she walked across the street to the inn. The pub there stocked her rum butter to use on top of their bread pudding. The rest of her deliveries were to individuals, most on the outskirts of town. With the wind so strong and biting, it took Daphne longer than usual to get to everyone. It was almost noon by the time she returned home, and there was still no sign of Graham.
She’d thought to perhaps wait and see if Alastair called on her this afternoon, but after a few minutes of puttering about their small home, she felt as if she might go out of her mind. She needed to see him. She needed to know if their two days apart had changed anything for him.
Daphne threw her coat over her shoulders and once again set out into the cold. Within fifteen minutes, she stood at the front door to Marisdùn Castle, awaiting someone to grant her entry. But no one ever came.
“Hm…” She peered into the foyer through one of the cut glass panes that flanked the door. A little maid scurried past the staircase and disappeared down the corridor, but beyond that, there wasn’t a soul to be found.
She peered around, observing the porch and the front drive, then she turned her attention to the door handle. Should she go in? Or should she knock again?
When the next knock went unheeded, she reached for the handle and opened the door herself. Once she’d stepped inside, she shut the door behind her, and began to divest herself of her coat and hat.
The castle was quiet. A little too quiet, if you asked her.
“Hello?” she called, folding her coat over her arm. “Is anyone here?”
A moment later, Bendle emerged from a room down the corridor. He seemed rather alarmed to find her standing there alone in the middle of the foyer.
