A Vengeful Deception

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘You mean the poor man just stayed shut in there until he died of starvation?’

  ‘More likely of thirst or loss of blood,’ Gideon said practically.

  Anna shuddered. ‘How awful. And you say he still appears?’

  ‘Only under certain circumstances.’

  There was a strange note in his voice and, a faint suspicion forming at the back of her mind, Anna said, ‘You mean if it’s Christmas Eve?’

  ‘There’s rather more to it than that, and tonight the circumstances are just right.

  ‘You see, the story goes that if a young woman walks alone down the gallery on a snowy Christmas Eve, carrying a lighted candle and without looking back, when she reaches the place where he was entombed, Sir Roger will appear.’

  The suspicion strengthening, Anna muttered, ‘I bet!’ Then, crisply, ‘Tell me something—Henry’s wife, Anne, was she about my height and build, with dark hair and grey eyes?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Call it second sight.’

  ‘You think I’m having you on?’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ Anna said with great conviction. ‘In any case, I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  ‘If that’s so, what are you scared of?’

  ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘So why not put it to the test? All you have to do is take the candle and walk to the end of the gallery while I wait here… I remember my younger sister doing it when she was about eleven.’

  ‘Then you haven’t made the whole thing up?’

  ‘Certainly not. I may have embroidered the tale a little,’ he admitted with a grin, ‘but it’s well chronicled in the family archives. So if you want a chance to see “a real live ghost”…’

  ‘I’m not sure I do.’

  ‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘give it a whirl.’

  As she hesitated, he asked mockingly, ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  For some strange reason it had temporarily deserted her but, unwilling to admit that, she objected weakly, ‘It all seems a bit silly.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you really haven’t got the courage…’

  Far from willing to let him think she was an abject coward—though why should it matter what he thought of her?—Anna took a deep breath and agreed, ‘All right, give me the candle.’

  Handing her the iron candlestick, he asked, ‘Sure you’ve got the nerve to go through with it?’

  ‘If you’ve got the nerve to wait here in the dark?’

  ‘Touché.’ He gave her a mocking salute. ‘Don’t forget you’re not supposed to look back.’

  Telling herself stoutly that the whole thing was just a silly game, something to be played on Christmas Eve, like Murder or Charades, Anna began to walk down the gallery.

  From behind her came a faint scraping sound, as though Gideon had drawn his foot along the black oak floorboards.

  Her head held high, she made herself walk slowly. The flickering candlelight pushed back a Stygian blackness that retreated reluctantly before her and closed in triumphantly again behind her.

  The urge to turn and look back, became overwhelming and she threw a quick glance over her shoulder. There was nothing visible within the pool of radiance cast by the candlelight. Letting out a relieved breath, she kept walking.

  She was almost at the end of the gallery when, without any warning, there was a gust of icy air and the candle went out.

  As she stood rooted to the spot, a cold hand reached out of the darkness and took hers.

  The sudden shock made her heart miss a beat and stopped her breath. The candlestick fell from her nerveless fingers, hit the floor with a thud, and rolled away.

  For a second or two her entire body remained frozen, but then her brain began to work with a sudden sharp clarity.

  Taking a deep breath, she said furiously, ‘Damn you to hell, Gideon Strange! You frightened me half to death.’

  She heard his soft, satisfied chuckle in the darkness, then his voice, saying, ‘You seemed so wary, I thought you must be half expecting it.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t,’ she told him shortly. Adding, ‘I’m just glad I don’t suffer from a weak heart.’

  ‘In that case, so am I,’ he said in a heartfelt voice. ‘Much as I—’ he broke off abruptly. Then went on, ‘Much as I like a joke, I wouldn’t care to have your death on my conscience.’

  She got the distinct impression that it wasn’t what he’d started to say.

  The cold draught that had extinguished the candle continued to blow and, teeth chattering, she said, ‘If I don’t get warm soon, you may still have.’

  When he said nothing, she added tartly, ‘So, now you’ve had your little joke, do you think we could go back?’

  ‘Certainly.’ His voice sounded cool and contained. ‘I dare say that at a pinch I could find my way back in the dark, but it might make more sense to locate the candle.’

  He let go of her hand, and after a moment she heard him feeling around the floor.

  ‘Ah! here it is.’ A moment later a matchbox rattled, a match scraped, and the candle flared into life. He was holding it at waist height, and his face, lit from below, momentarily took on the grotesque qualities of a Hallowe’en mask.

  As he shielded the flickering flame, she noticed a black hole in the dark panelling behind him, and realised that it was the source of the draught.

  ‘Better close this up,’ he remarked casually and, holding the candle to one side, reached to press the centre of a carved rose.

  With scarcely a sound, the open panel slid into place, cutting off the flow of air.

  ‘Now the fire calls, and the quickest way back is through this door…’ He turned, and the candle illuminated the end wall of the gallery.

  Anna had thought it was a dead end, but let into the dark wainscoting was a small door she’d failed to notice. Though in the circumstances that wasn’t surprising, she thought trenchantly.

  ‘If you’d like to hold my hand?’ Gideon suggested.

  Though she could detect no sign of mockery in the offer, she answered briefly, ‘Thank you, but no.’

  ‘Then stay close. There’s a spiral staircase with crumbling steps that are awkward to negotiate even in a good light…’

  By the time they reached the blessed warmth of the kitchen, a combination of cold and the after-effects of the shock she’d suffered had started to take their toll and, despite all her efforts, she was trembling in every limb.

  Gideon helped her off with her coat and, feeling the tremors running through her, steered her over to the fire and pushed her into a chair.

  Annoyed by what she saw as her own weakness, she managed, ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice shook.

  He piled on more logs, and, watching her stretch her feet towards the blaze, asked, ‘Feet cold?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then let’s have these off.’ Stooping, he pulled off her thin suede boots and stood them to one side.

  ‘Thank you.’ Then with an attempt at humour, ‘And, after all that, I still haven’t managed to see a ghost.’

  Gazing down at her pale face, he said abruptly, ‘You look like a ghost yourself.’

  He moved away, only to return after a moment with a glass of brandy. ‘I’ll make some coffee, but in the meantime drink this.’

  ‘I don’t like brandy,’ she protested.

  ‘You don’t have to like it. This is for medicinal purposes.’ Standing over her, he insisted, ‘Go on, take a drink. It’s good for shock.’

  She lifted it to her lips, but her hand shook so much that the glass chinked against her teeth and she was forced to use both slender hands to hold it steady while she sipped.

  The fiery liquid trickling down her throat made her cough, but almost immediately its warming effects began to brace her.

  Watching as a little colour returned to her cheeks, he said, ‘That’s better. Now finish it up while I get the coffee.’

  Shuddering from time to time, she drank obediently while she stared into th
e fire and thought about what had happened.

  Although Gideon had meant to frighten her, she couldn’t credit that it had just been done for a joke, as he’d tried to make her believe.

  Without really knowing him, she felt convinced he wasn’t that kind of man. Whatever his motives, they stemmed from something a good deal more serious.

  Anger? Hatred? A desire for vengeance?

  All very dramatic and quite ridiculous, she told herself crossly. They’d only just met and, though she had been the unintentional cause of his accident, he surely didn’t hold that against her…?

  ‘Here we are.’ Gideon put the tray of coffee on the stool. ‘A little cream, no sugar?’

  ‘Please.’

  Having poured the coffee and handed her a cup, he splashed more brandy into her glass, before helping himself to a small amount and taking a seat opposite.

  His eyes on her now slightly flushed face, he remarked, ‘You were looking very thoughtful.’

  The coffee was good and hot and very welcome, and she took several sips before answering, ‘I was wondering why you’d felt it necessary to frighten me.’

  Regarding her shrewdly, he asked, ‘You don’t believe it was just a practical joke?’

  ‘No,’ she said baldly. ‘I think you could be ruthless, if you felt it necessary, but I hadn’t put you down as being either thoughtless or deliberately unkind.’

  His lips tightened a little, as if the shot had gone home.

  Then, as though still not totally convinced, he pursued, ‘And you say you had no idea what might be going to happen?’

  It was plain that he’d expected her to know, or at least guess what kind of game they were playing.

  ‘No idea at all.’

  She couldn’t tell from his closed expression whether or not he believed her.

  ‘I knew you were trying to scare me, of course, but I thought that all it involved was the walk along the gallery…’ Grimacing, she went on, ‘When the candle blew out and you took hold of my hand, I nearly died.’

  ‘That was something I hadn’t planned,’ he admitted. ‘All I’d intended to do was wait until you drew level and then step out. When we were plunged into total darkness, I merely took advantage of it.’

  Her hair had come loose, and, pushing back a dark silky strand, she said, ‘As soon as I saw the opening, I realised there must be a secret passage, but I still can’t fathom where the draught came from.’

  ‘For added security, both ends of the passage lead outside. Though the exits have bars across now, neither are sealed, so there’s always a current of air funnelled through it. But this time I hadn’t taken into account the strength of the wind.’

  No wonder they had been able to hear that muffled moaning and whistling…

  Thinking back to those few nerve-racking minutes in the gallery, she said, ‘There’s something else I don’t understand. When I walked away, you were left in the dark, so how could you see to open panels and find your way through the passage?’

  ‘I had a pencil torch in my pocket,’ he admitted.

  ‘But if you had a torch, why take a candle? No, silly question,’ she added, a shade bitterly.

  His face unreadable, he told her, ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t have tried to frighten you like that if I hadn’t thought you’d be at least partly prepared.’

  ‘Why should I have been prepared?’

  After a brief pause, he answered, ‘Well, earlier I’d mentioned sliding panels and a secret passage…’

  Yes, that was quite true—he had. Yet somehow it hardly seemed enough.

  ‘And, in order to get ahead of you, I was forced to open the first panel before you’d gone very far. It made a scraping noise and I felt sure you must have heard it.’

  ‘I did, though at that minute I didn’t realise what it was. If I had, I might have put two and two together.’

  ‘If you didn’t put two and two together, all I can say is you were very cool about the whole thing. A lot of women would have had screaming hysterics.’

  Glancing up, she saw that his hard face held a touch of respect, possibly even admiration.

  His approval was strangely sweet. But, incurably honest, she said, ‘I’m afraid you can’t put it down to bravery. For the first few seconds I was completely frozen, then, when I realised who it was holding my hand, I was too angry to be frightened.’

  ‘How did you identify me so quickly?’

  ‘I couldn’t imagine a ghost wearing a signet-ring,’ she said drily, ‘but I knew you did. I’d noticed it earlier.’

  ‘Ah!’ he said softly. Then, reaching for the cafétière, ‘Ready for some more coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  He refilled her cup and, without consulting her, poured more brandy for them both.

  For a while, as the logs crackled and blazed merrily and the snow beat against the windows, she sipped in silence.

  At first she’d found it difficult to drink the strong, fiery spirit, but the more she drank, the easier it became.

  When she glanced up, Gideon was watching her with a brooding look. A look that totally unnerved her.

  A second later it was gone, replaced by what she was starting to recognise as his normal, slightly ironic expression.

  Reaching over, he took her hand and, his voice holding a touch of wry self-mockery, asked, ‘If I give you my abject apologies for what I did, is there any chance of being forgiven?’

  Her composure shattered by the way he was holding her hand, and the gentle pressure of his thumb stroking her palm, she stammered, ‘Y-yes, of course. Though you don’t need to apologise. There was no real harm done.’

  His long, heavy-lidded eyes smiled into hers, and she saw flecks of gold dancing in their green depths. Softly, he said, ‘In the circumstances, that’s very generous of you.’

  He was still holding her hand and, becoming aware that she was gazing at him like a mesmerised rabbit, she hastily withdrew it.

  Rushing into speech to try and hide her reaction to his overwhelming attraction, she asked, ‘So the story about the ghost and how Sir Roger met his death was all made up?’

  Regarding her with considerable amusement, the cause of which she preferred not to speculate on, he answered, ‘It most definitely was not. Though I have my doubts about the ghost bit, the actual facts are well documented.’

  ‘But if there was a secret passage that led outside, why didn’t he go through it?’

  ‘There is now, but there certainly wasn’t then. Some time after Sir Roger’s tragic end, and presumably to prevent anything like that ever happening again, it seems that Henry had the passage constructed. There’s a story to the effect that, after it was completed, the men who’d worked on it were quietly done away with, so none of them could divulge the secret to anyone else.’

  Seeing her expression, he shrugged slightly. ‘They were pretty ruthless in those days.’

  After a moment, she remarked, ‘If the story’s true, and there really are such things as ghosts, I’d expect Sir Roger to have company.’

  Gideon’s white, healthy teeth gleamed as he laughed. ‘You have a point there. So it’s just as well we have plenty of room.’

  She found herself staring at his mouth. It was the kind of mouth that made butterflies flutter in her stomach and sent little shivers running down her spine. The kind of mouth that made her wish…

  Realising he was watching her from beneath those long, thick lashes, she hastily looked away.

  Before she could think of anything to say, the lights went out again.

  This time they stayed out.

  ‘It appears that the generator has packed up completely,’ Gideon observed. ‘I’ll have to have another look at it in the morning.’

  ‘Can’t you look at it now?’ Anna asked anxiously.

  Firelight flickered on his face and gleamed in his eyes. ‘It’s housed in the old coach-house which now serves as a garage and, apart from the fact that it’s bound to be freezing out there, mending a gener
ator is a two-handed job.’

  All at once, the vague realisation that had been hovering on the periphery of her mind crystallised into a certainty.

  ‘Don’t try to tell me your arm won’t work,’ she said crisply. ‘You’ve been using two hands since you picked up the candlestick in the gallery.’

  ‘That’s quite true,’ he admitted mildly. ‘The use gradually returned, as I felt sure it would.’

  ‘So you have two hands to mend the generator,’ she pressed.

  ‘Well, as there’s no lighting, I’d need one to hold the torch.’

  It all sounded logical enough, yet she found herself wondering if he was looking for an excuse not to mend the generator.

  ‘I’ll hold the torch for you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t hear of you going out there and getting frozen again, after all you’ve been through. In any case, I doubt if I could lay hands on a torch, so it makes sense to wait until daylight.’

  ‘You told me you had a torch,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I’m afraid that one would be nowhere near powerful enough. It has only a narrow spotlight beam that’s useful in confined spaces but not for much else.’

  He seemed to have an answer for everything.

  ‘There’s no need to look so concerned,’ he added lightly. ‘What could be more romantic than going to bed by candlelight?’

  He seemed almost pleased at the prospect, Anna thought vexedly, as if, for some reason, candlelight suited his purpose.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WELL aware of her agitation, he asked innocently, ‘Don’t you agree it’s romantic?’

  ‘The word I had in mind was “inconvenient”,’ she told him shortly.

  He sighed. ‘Isn’t it funny how the withdrawal of the modern amenities everyone takes for granted throws people into a panic?’

  ‘I am not in a panic.’ Too late she realised he was baiting her, and bit her lip.

  ‘The thing that is inconvenient,’ he pursued, ‘is the lack of central heating. The bedrooms are anything but warm.’

  ‘Are there no fireplaces?’

  ‘Unfortunately my father had most of the chimneys boarded up. Though I believe a fire can be lit in the master bedroom.’