by Anne Herries
'Why, what's wrong with the room?' asked Lord Dawlish, sensing their mischief. He had followed
Harry into the parlour and they had now been joined by Nan and Olivia.
'It is haunted,' Olivia declared before anyone else could speak. 'By a headless spectre who rattles
his chains at midnight and scares anyone foolish enough to sleep there half to death.'
'Ghosts!' Sir Peregrine said dismissively, and looked at Olivia with obvious dislike. 'I do not
believe they would disturb me.'
'The room has not been used in years,' Beatrice said with slightly more truth than her sister. 'I do
not believe it could be aired in time, sir. Besides, the bed has a broken strut. The last person to
spend a night there was very uncomfortable.'
'And took a virulent fever,' added Nan, making everyone look at her in surprise. 'Besides, the
sheets have just been washed and there are no dry ones.'
This was most unusual for Nan, and showed that she had taken Sir Peregrine in great dislike.
Sir Peregrine looked horrified. 'Then I shall not stay,' he said. 'I have a delicate constitution. No,
Ravensden, I shall not be persuaded. You may give me dinner, I hope? Then I shall return to
London. Better to drive though the night than sleep in a damp room.'
'Yes, I am sure you are wise, sir,' Beatrice said and her eyes were drawn involuntarily to Harry.
He looked as though he might explode, though whether with anger or some other emotion she
could not be sure. 'Now—shall we have our sherry?'
She stayed to drink a glass with them, then excused herself, going to the kitchen with Nan to help
prepare their meal, which consisted of a roast, a pigeon pie and a baked carp...supplied by
Bellows from where she did not dare think. She spent some time making rich sauces and a choice
of puddings. Whatever else Sir Peregrine chose to sneer at in this house, he should not find fault
with the dinner set before him.
'That was a splendid meal, m'dear. Splendid!' Mr Roade looked at his eldest daughter with
affection. 'Once again you and Nan have excelled yourselves. Now, if you ladies would go
through to the parlour, I wish to talk to our guests for a few moments.'
'Yes, Papa, of course.'
Beatrice placed the port and brandy on the table in front of him, then followed Nan and Olivia
from the room.
'I shall be glad when that dreadful man has gone,' Olivia said a little later, when they were seated
in the parlour drinking tea. 'I cannot like him, Beatrice. Did you hear some of his remarks at
dinner? He was so offensive. He almost suggested that I had trapped Lord Ravensden into offering
for me. I do assure you, I did not!'
'You should not let him upset you,' Beatrice said and frowned. 'He is clearly eaten up with conceit
— and jealousy. Plainly, he hopes to drive a wedge between you and...' She broke off as Sir
Peregrine came into the parlour.
'I have sent your man to tell my coachman I am ready to leave,' he announced pompously. 'I fear I
cannot stay longer, Miss Roade. My compliments to your cook for an enjoyable meal. I have
scarcely eaten better in town. I wonder that such talent is to be found in a village like this.'
His words were uttered in such a manner as to imply that he wondered any decent cook would
stay in such a place. Beatrice held her breath and counted to ten. If he had not been Harry's cousin,
she might have given him the rough side of her tongue.
'We have many talents in the country, sir,' she said, and stood up. 'I shall see you to the door
myself.'
'You are very good, Miss Roade.' He stood back and allowed her to go before him. His cloak and
hat were in the hall. He waited for her to hand them to him. She did not do so, and he was obliged
to retrieve them from the wooden stand himself. He frowned. 'I must tell you I cannot approve this
marriage, Miss Roade.'
'I beg your pardon, sir?' Beatrice curled her nails into the palms of her hands. She must not lose
her temper. She must not! 'I fear I do not understand you.'
'The match between your sister and Ravensden was ill-judged. She has jilted him, and no doubt
pride brought him here in pursuit of her—but he would be well advised to cut the connection. I
cannot think well of Miss Roade Burton.'
'Your opinion of my sister is of no interest to me, sir,' she replied, as calmly as she could. 'If you
have anything to discuss concerning Lord Ravensden's marriage, you should properly address it to
him.'
'Well said, Beatrice!' Harry came out of the dining parlour. The expression in his eyes shocked
her. He was furious. He looked as if he would like to strike his cousin, and was barely able to
contain himself. 'Do you have something to say to me, Peregrine? If so, please speak now. But I
must warn you, I am at the limit of my patience.'
'I—I must go,' Sir Peregrine muttered, his face pale. 'You are your own master, Ravensden, and
have no need of advice from me.'
'Exactly. You would do well to remember that,' Harry said. 'Do have a safe journey back to town,
cousin. Should you meet Lady Susanna, please tell her that I am in good health—and very shortly
she will have the pleasure of meeting my fiancée.'
Sir Peregrine bowed his head and went out without another word.
'Forgive me for my cousin's disgusting manners,' Harry said, moving towards Beatrice. 'I do
apologise for his having inflicted himself upon you. You look pale. What did he say to upset you
so much?'
'Only that he could not approve of your intention to marry into my family.' She put her hands to her
face, which was burning. 'I know we are not your equal...'
'Have I said that?' Harry looked at her, eyebrows raised. 'Have I ever given you any cause to think
that either you or any member of your family was beneath me?'
'No.' Beatrice took a sharp breath. ' You would not, of course, but I know...'
'What do you know?' Harry asked gently. He took her hands in his, gazing down at her in such a
way that her heart went wild, beating against her ribs so madly that she could hardly breathe. 'Had
I the freedom to speak as I would like, then you would know, Beatrice. Believe me...'
He was interrupted as Mr Roade and Lord Dawlish came out into the hall.
'Lord Dawlish has agreed to pay my debt to the blacksmith, Beatrice,' her father said, looking
delighted. 'That means he will deliver the new parts I need for my experiment. Is that not good
news, m'dear?'
'Yes, Papa.' Beatrice looked doubtful and Harry's eyes began to gleam with amusement. 'I do hope
so...' she added as her father and Lord Dawlish went into the parlour, apparently on excellent
terms. 'Oh dear, how unfortunate...'
'You seem anxious?' Harry looked at her. 'Any particular reason?'
'It is only that the last time Papa fitted his stove, there was an explosion. It blew a hole in the
kitchen wall and it was an age before we were straight again.'
'Ah yes, I see,' Harry said. 'We must hope that the improvements work, must we not?' He smiled at
her, holding on to her left hand and playing with the fingers. 'Are you feeling more like yourself
now, Beatrice?'
'Yes, thank you.' She gave a small, rueful laugh. 'I must tell you frankly, Harry—I cannot like your
cousin.'
Harry chuckled, his eyes bright with mischief. 'My very dear Beatrice. No one ever likes the
abominable
Peregrine. I would have thought it very odd in you if you had.'
'Oh, Harry!' Beatrice's laughter was free of shadows this time. 'You always make me feel so much,
better.'
'Do I, my dear? I am glad of that.' He let her hand go. 'I think perhaps we ought to join the others,
or I might forget that I am a gentleman and must live by the code of honour to which I was born.'
'Yes.' Beatrice's heart raced wildly as she saw his expression. 'Yes, we should join the others...'
Chapter Eight
Beatrice was up early the next morning. She knew the rest of the household would not be stirring
yet, and so she slipped out of the house to carry out some of her errands, which had been neglected
since Lord Ravensden had followed her sister to Abbot Giles.
There were some elderly folk living alone in the village, in cottages barely fit for inhabitation, and
she had always done her best to help where she could. As difficult as things were at times for
Beatrice and her family, she knew that some others were far worse off and she always shared
what she had; at the moment there were so many good things in the house that she had brought
biscuits, cakes, sweetmeats, and some cheese for her friends.
The first cottage she called at was that of Miss Amy Rushmere, a lady who had been a companion
to many rich employers during her long and interesting life. Beatrice always called on her at least
once a month, staying to drink a little elderberry wine and gossip about what was happening at the
houses of the local gentry.
Miss Rushmere opened her door with a smile of welcome. 'Oh, how good of you to come,
Beatrice,' she said. 'You must have so much to do with all the company you have staying.'
'Lord Ravensden does not often rise much before noon,' Beatrice explained. 'I think he may be in
the habit of riding early when at home, but he still has a slight cough, you know.'
'Yes, I heard that Dr Pettifer had been called out to see him three times,' the old lady replied,
shaking her head in distress. 'He must have been very poorly.'
'We feared for his life at one period,' Beatrice said, frowning as she remembered how very ill
Harry had been. 'But he is a strong man and I am thankful to say very much better now.'
'Yes,' Miss Rushmere smiled at her. 'I saw you walking together yesterday morning. What a very
handsome man he is to be sure.'
'Yes, very.' She sat down at the table. Amy Rushmere was one of the oldest villagers living in
Abbot Giles, and there were many things she could remember that no one else knew. 'Tell me,
what do you think of the news that Lady Sywell has run off?'
'It is very curious, isn't it?' Miss Rushmere wrinkled her brow. 'Of course, one knew how it would
be when he married her. The marriage was always a mistake. She was obviously the by-blow of
John Hanslope—at least, rumour would have it so...'
'Have you some other thought on the matter?'
'No, no...I dare say the story is true in this case. I saw her a few times, you know...a pretty child.'
Miss Rushmere smiled; her faded eyes seeming to be looking somewhere beyond Beatrice, into
the past. 'As a child I used often to walk in Giles Wood, including that part of it which belongs to
the Abbey. The estate was very different then, well tended and alive with people. There is a grove
in the woods, on the Abbey side, that is said to be sacred, you know...'
'No, I did not know that,' Beatrice said, her interest caught. 'At least, I may have heard it, but I had
forgotten.'
'Oh, yes, I know it well from my childhood, and I have been there more recently. It is a pleasant
spot and always seems peaceful to me, as if it is blessed in some way. There is a stone, moss-
covered, with some strange lettering on it.' Miss Rushmere wrinkled her brow as she recalled
something. 'I once saw Lady Sywell sitting alone there. It was just after her wedding. She seemed
so sad. I remember her hair was an unusual colour—and she had a delicate, vulnerable look. I
spoke to her, but she only smiled. She reminded me of someone, but I am not certain who...I do
hope she is safe.'
'Yes, I pray she is,' agreed Beatrice.
Miss Rushmere nodded. 'They do say that anyone who desecrates the shrine is for ever cursed...'
Beatrice felt the shiver trickle down her spine.
'But surely Lady Sywell would not...'
'Oh, no, my dear. I was thinking of her husband. He and his friends were often in the woods when
he first came here, and the stories of his orgies are too unpleasant to relate. I think that the spirit of
the woods...whoever she may be; I believe it is a woman...would choose to visit her anger more
upon the Marquis than his innocent lady.'
'Yes, that would have more justice,' Beatrice said. 'But it is Lady Sywell who has disappeared.'
'Yes, indeed, and one wonders what can have happened to her. I remember the family who used to
live there long ago...young Rupert as a boy...'
Beatrice nodded, letting the elderly lady ramble on as she would. She had wondered if Miss
Rushmere could throw a little more light on things, and the story of the sacred grove was very
romantic—Olivia would love it!—but it did not help to solve the mystery of the Marchioness's
disappearance.
After leaving Miss Rushmere's cottage, Beatrice visited two more, but she did not stay to gossip
for long, merely handing her gifts over at the door. She was in more of a hurry than usual, and did
not at first respond when someone called her name, then she turned and saw the young woman
walking towards her, holding a small girl by the hand. The child was perhaps two years old, a
pretty little thing with reddish hair, her mother's very much darker and pulled back in a severe
style that did nothing for her.
'Oh, Beatrice,' Annabel Lett said as she came closer. 'You walk so fast I thought I should not catch
up to you. It is ages since I saw you.'
Annabel was a widow and lived in Steep Ride with only her cousin as a companion. Some people
with nasty, suspicious minds whispered that she was not truly a widow, perhaps because her
closest friend was Charlotte Filgrave, who the gossips would have it was a fallen woman, but
Beatrice ignored such gossip. She liked Annabel and was always pleased to see her, though they
did not often meet, unless it was on their walks.
'I have been visiting Miss Rushmere and others,' Beatrice said as Annabel came up to her. 'Now I
must get back. We have visitors staying and there is so much to do...'
'Yes, of course, there must be,' Annabel replied. 'I came early because I wanted to ask Dr
Pettifer's advice about something. When I go back I shall call on Charlotte Filgrave and Athene...'
'You could come up to the house and take a glass of sherry if you wish,' Beatrice said. She knew
that Annabel's situation was very like her own in that there was very little money coming in, and
often thought she too must be lonely at times. 'I am sure Olivia would love to meet you.'
'I should like that another day, providing I may bring Rebecca with me?' Annabel replied and
smiled as Beatrice bobbed down to say hello to the child. 'I am expected by Charlotte this
morning, but do tell your sister she is very welcome to call if she is over at Steep Ride.'
'Yes, of course—but you must come to tea with us one day, Annabel. Olivia will be glad to make
your acquaintance. I shall send a note with Bellows.'
/> She left her friend, who had begun to walk in the opposite direction and went up to the house. As
she did so she was hailed by Lord Dawlish, who had just arrived and was being shown into the
parlour. She hurried to take off her bonnet and pelisse and followed him, finding that both Olivia
and Harry were already there, sherry wine and biscuits having been set ready on the table.
'Ah, Beatrice,' Harry said with some satisfaction. 'We were just wondering where you were.'
'I had some errands in the village,' Beatrice replied. 'Friends I must not neglect because we have
company. I had hoped to hear something that might help us with our investigation, but I did not.'
'Well, I have some news,' Harry said. 'I have spoken to Bellows, and he has agreed to help us.
Apparently, he has a few trusted friends. They are going to the Abbey grounds this very night and
will cover much of the ground that we would find difficult.'
Olivia had been standing at the window. 'It has started to rain,' she said, coming to sit down on the
sofa. She looked disappointed. 'We shall not be able to walk today.'
'I learned something this morning,' Beatrice said. 'It appears that there is a sacred grove in the
woods, on the Abbey side. There is an old tale that says if anyone desecrates the grove they will
be for ever cursed. Miss Amy Rushmere saw Lady Sywell there once.'
'A sacred grove?' Olivia was entranced. 'How I should love to see it! And a curse—how strange!'
'A sacred grove,' Harry nodded. 'And a shrine to the Earth Mother, I dare say. Perhaps there might
also be the remains of a Roman temple somewhere on the estate?'
Beatrice looked at him oddly. 'Why, yes, I've heard it said the monks built on the site of an old
temple—what made you say that?'
'One of my interests is the study of old manuscripts and ancient writings,' Harry said with a little
smile. 'There are many forms of what are basically the same belief in the power of good and evil.
And it is a strange but oft proven fact that the priests of what would seem to be entirely different
faiths chose to build their shrines in the exact same places.'
'Why would that be?' Beatrice asked, fascinated more by this new insight into Harry's character
than by the study of old religions.
'It is my own opinion that the forces for good and evil are both held within the air, earth, fire,
