One More Haunted Evening

by Ava Stone

  “Lila Southward is Quent’s angel?” Hope asked, slowly catching up. “Are you sure?”

  “Relatively,” Patience nodded. “For one, she was at the masquerade last year.”

  Hope shrugged. “That hardly means anything. There were hundreds of people at the masquerade. Henry said he could hardly move through the crush last year.”

  “Yes, but Quent doesn’t know she was there and she doesn’t want him to know,” Grace added. “She practically begged us not to tell anyone she was there, but she meant Quent. I know she did.”

  “And she knows he’s looking for his angel.” Patience frowned. “But she doesn’t want him to know it’s her.”

  Very obviously. “But why?” Grace asked. “Why wouldn’t she want him to know?”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t like him,” Hope suggested.

  No, that couldn’t be it. Grace and Patience exchanged a glance dismissing that possibility instantly.

  “Didn’t you see her face yesterday?” Patience asked. “She was mesmerized by him, up until we told her about the search for his angel.”

  “Well, perhaps she’s not his angel, but she knows who the girl is?”

  Grace shook her head. “You weren’t down there just now, Hope. You didn’t see her. She’s his angel, there is no question in my mind.”

  Hope blinked her eyes wider as though they were still pained from all the crying she had done over the last day. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Not one bit,” Grace agreed.

  “We’re going to have to do something,” Patience said.

  And they were going to have to do something. But it was the what that Grace hadn’t figured out. Not yet, anyway.

  “Didn’t he say,” Hope began, “that if he kissed her he’d recognize her in an instant?”

  Patience nodded quickly. “He did say that.”

  “So how are we supposed to get him to kiss her?” Grace frowned.

  “Especially if she isn’t coming to the masquerade?” Patience threw in.

  How indeed?

  Quent may have taken most of the items from the secret room last night, but David had retained a few for himself. The first item, a leather, nearly flat pouch he found buried beneath several silk stockings, a decorative fan and a parasol. Inside, twelve of the finest paint brushes he’d ever seen. The bristles were made of premium sable, a costly set, indeed. The only reason he knew anything about brushes was because of his cousin, who liked to dabble in watercolor and he’d purchased a few brushes for her on her fifteenth birthday.

  Though it was not appropriate to give a woman a gift, especially one he barely knew, Thorn considered it to be a shame to just let them stay there, or be tossed out, when Miss Southward would certainly appreciate the quality and had a need for them. Perhaps she’d use them to paint him another picture. Or finish the one she began yesterday.

  He’d been quite taken with the painting of the sunrise across the water, and the mixture of colors, blended in bringing the scene to life. It might not be finished, but he intended to hang it in his chambers once he returned home, regardless. It was painted by her hand and the moment he saw it, he knew he must have it.

  What was he thinking? If he hung the picture at home, he’d never get her out of his mind. Yet, he couldn’t part with it either. Yesterday was most enjoyable and he’d had every intention of pursuing her further to see if they would suit… until she announced that she wished for a model to sculpt.

  The sculpting wasn’t what shocked him. If she wanted to create her own David, nudity would be necessary, and that shocked him. Genteel young ladies did not do such things and if he was serious about setting his life in order, and finding a respectable female, it could not be Miss Southward.

  Pity though. Had she made the statement last year, he would have gladly taken her to a private room, provided the clay and removed all of his clothing. Much had changed in the past year, however, even if his friends didn’t even realize it. Chetwey was the only person he’d confessed anything to and David didn’t tell him very much.

  None of them knew that this was his goodbye to a rakish life and that come spring he would be all that was respectable so that he could find the perfect wife.

  And, become as boring as his father, who was quite content to wander around the estate, read his books and sit with his cronies when in London.

  David quickly dismissed that thought and wished he could dismiss his obsession with Miss Southward as well. But, she was lovely. No, she was beautiful with her golden hair, green eyes, and a body that was lush and curved in all the places it was supposed to be. The two times he had his hands on her waist to help her up and down from the wall had been all he needed to know of her softness, and he’d desperately wished he could grasp her to him.

  Thankfully, he restrained the urge to kiss her.

  Yet, as much as he wished to avoid her, for his own sanity, he did want her to have these brushes.

  David closed the case and slid it under a blanket at the knock at the door. A moment later, it opened and in stepped Garrick. “Care to join me in a drink downstairs?”

  It was a bit early to be drinking, but Garrick did seem a bit anxious. “Is anything on your mind?”

  “No.” He answered quickly and stepped into the room, stopping at a table. “I’d have thought you of all people, would be the last to possess a chastity belt.” Garrick laughed as he picked up the evil device designed to maim a man in the most personal way possible.

  “It’s a curiosity, that’s all.”

  “Nightmare would be more like it.” Garrick grimaced and set it back down. “Why isn’t it included in the artifacts Quent intends to deliver to the British Museum?”

  “It’s not a relic.” It had surprised David when he made a closer study of the item. If he were to make a wager, he’d bet the thing couldn’t be more than five years old, if that, given the fine state of the polished metal, sharp pointed teeth and all.

  “I’m sure that many a father have threatened fitting their daughters with such a devise when you are in the area, but they aren’t truly a practice.”

  “Take a closer look,” Thorn insisted. “Do you recognize the scrollwork along the edges?”

  Garrick frowned but he picked it up once again, peering down for a moment before his eyebrows shot up. “This was fashioned by Haskins?” The man was known for some of the finest metal works in London.

  Garrick put the offending object back on the table again. “I do hope this is not going to become fashionable.” He glanced down at the sharp points. “A most unpleasant surprise to any gentlemen.”

  “Unpleasant indeed,” Thorn chuckled. “Vicar Smetters was quite adamant of fitting all young maidens with one not long ago.”

  “Vicar Smetters?” Garrick looked at him with a mixture of confusion and distress. “Who is he?”

  “The vicar in my uncle’s parish,” Thorn laughed. “When I visited a few summers back, he called a meeting of all fathers and gentlemen, and suggested that the best way to combat the low morals of society and ensure that their sweet, innocent daughters were not taken advantage of, was to fit each of them before going off to London.” He couldn’t help but smile. “And, he looked directly at me when he said that there are certain gentlemen who cannot be trusted and that every device available should be used to discourage fornication.”

  Garrick burst out laughing. “The old man was probably afraid lightning would strike his church the moment you walked in.”

  “Undoubtedly,” David said dryly as he walked across the room and picked up the belt. “My only question is, where did this come from?”

  Garrick could only shrug.

  “From what I’ve gathered, there had been few visitors, if any, to Marisdùn until the masquerade last year.”

  “Are you saying it was worn by a guest of Braden’s and Quent’s?”

  Thorn could only shrug. “It’s the only possible explanation.”

  “I wonder who was wear
ing it.” Garrick asked.

  “A better question, my friend. Who succeeded in its removal?” Thorn grinned.

  “Ah, there you are, Mr. Garrick.” Bendle stood in the doorway of Thorn’s room, where Sidney had been biding his time that morning.

  “Bendle,” he said, trying to ignore the fact his heart was picking up speed in his chest, anticipating what the butler was about to say.

  “A visitor for you, sir,” he said.

  Those four little words were like music to his ears. She’d come. Well, of course she’d come. He had her diary. And he wasn’t about to send it back via messenger. He’d slept with it tucked under his pillow last night, and this morning, he’d stashed it away in the bureau where the maids wouldn’t be able to find it.

  “I put her in the main salon,” Bendle continued.

  “Her?” Thorn teased. “Perhaps I should join you, Garrick.”

  “Perhaps you should try on that chastity belt,” Sidney retorted.

  Thorn laughed as Sidney stalked out of the room, headed for the main salon. He felt something like a lovesick pup, with his sweaty hands and churning stomach. It was unlike him. But then again, she was unlike any girl he’d ever met.

  He paused in the doorway when he arrived at the salon. She sat on a sofa, her back to him, and though he couldn’t be exactly certain, it looked as if she might be wringing her hands. A little smile came to his lips. He loved to make a girl nervous.

  “Ahem.”

  Tilly stood and whirled around all in one, fluid movement, her eyes wide and her mouth in the shape of an “O.” “Sidney,” she exclaimed, and then, “Mr. Garrick, I mean.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, coming into the room to greet her. “We are quite alone…Tilly.” And then, when he was near enough, he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. Even at an arm’s length, he could smell the soft rose oil that she’d no doubt dabbed behind her ears. Her green eyes shimmered with a mixture of nervousness and excitement, as if she wasn’t certain which emotion to settle on. “Welcome to Marisdùn,” he finished, just before he placed a too-long kiss to her knuckles.

  “Th-thank you,” she stuttered, her pink lips spread just slightly enough to make him want to kiss her. On the mouth this time. “You said you have my diary?”

  He gently dropped her hand as he raised an eyebrow. “Right down to business, I see. Perhaps you’d like to take tea with me first? Or perhaps a tour of the castle?”

  She took a deep breath and looked around. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not certain I feel…comfortable here.”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about, my dear. I’ve slept many a night in this castle, and I’m still here, aren’t I? Aside from the oddly pungent smell, there is nothing to worry you. Come. I shall give you the grand tour and we shall take tea together. Then, I promise, you will have your diary back.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to blackmail me.”

  “Oh, dear. Blackmail is such a nasty word. I prefer to think of it as bribery.”

  “You are clever, aren’t you?”

  “Which should make this tour all the more enjoyable.”

  A reluctant smile spread her soft, pink lips, and he, in turn, couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Where do we begin?” she asked as Sidney offered his arm to her. She slipped her small hand into the crook of his elbow, a place where many a female hand had rested in the past. Yet this one, this particular hand, belonging to this particular girl, felt different. It felt…right.

  “This way,” he said, ignoring the tightening of his britches. They had a long afternoon ahead of them.

  They strolled about the main floor of the house, his boots clicking on the marble floors, and her slippered feet making not a sound. She oohed and ahhed at the dining room, the table long enough to seat nearly sixty people, and at the grand ballroom, where the masquerade would mostly take place. There was a music room, several smaller salons, the library and, at the far back of the house, the solarium.

  “This is a lovely room,” she said, sinking onto one of the yellow and white tufted chairs. “I think I would spend most of my time here if this was my home.”

  “Really?” Sidney said, dropping into the chair beside her. “Why is that?”

  “Well, for one, it’s the only room with ample sunlight.” She turned her head to look out the door the led to the dark hallway, and shuddered. “It’s a lovely castle, but rather dark for my taste.”

  Sidney hadn’t really thought about that, but he supposed it was true. The solarium was quite nice in comparison.

  “And that view,” she continued. “Those gardens are quite magnificent.”

  “May I escort you through them?” Sidney asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid I must be going,” she replied, and something inside Sidney deflated. He didn’t want her to go. He never wanted her to go. “My father…”

  She didn’t need to say anymore. Sidney was beginning to understand all too well what her father was like. A pious, self-righteous prig, who was hell-bent on keeping his daughters from having any fun. Though Sidney refrained from saying so. Pointing out what she probably already knew wouldn’t help her situation.

  “Does that mean no tea?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Her green eyes darkened as she stared at him. There was relief and sadness there at the same time.

  “Another day?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She wasn’t going to commit, and there was nothing for it. He slapped his hands to his thighs and pushed to his feet. “Then I shall go and retrieve your diary. Are you happy to wait here?”

  She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  For the first time in the last hour, Tilly finally took a breath. Or at least it felt that way, for Sidney Garrick seemed to take her very breath away. He was the epitome of charming, and while she’d pegged him for a rake—or was it a rogue?—from the start, she couldn’t help but fall prey to his charisma. It was a dangerous game she was playing here. Father would never approve of such a worldly Londoner. Why, in all the time she’d spent with him over the last two days, he’d never once spoken of God or church or any other such topics that Father would approve of. If ever they were forced to be in the same room together, what on earth would happen?

  Tilly shoved the thoughts from her mind. There would never be a reason for the two of them to be in a room together, no matter how much Tilly wished there would be. She’d not allow herself to dream something so very lofty, for she’d only end up heartbroken in the end.

  She turned her attention back to the gardens, which lay vast and lush beyond the glass doors of the solarium. She really would love a tour of them, but not today, and not by Sidney Garrick. She got the feeling he would surely try to kiss her if they were lost amongst the topiaries.

  A sigh escaped her, and she slumped down into her chair.

  “Tilly,” came Sidney’s voice from behind her, startling her to jump up and whirl around to face him. He ran his hands nervously over his waistcoat.

  “Yes?” Tilly asked, trying to make sense of his behavior. “What’s the matter?”

  His pale blue eyes met hers, and Tilly’s stomach sank to her toes when she realized he didn’t have her diary in hand.

  “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Where is it?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  She tried to steady her nerves as best she could, but a million thoughts whirled about in her mind. Not only did her diary contain recent entries about Mr. Garrick himself, but hundreds more, about nearly every one of her acquaintance. But even more distressing than all the townspeople finding out what she thought of them was the thought that all her memories were lost. Gone. As if they’d never happened. It was silly, of course, because surely many of them lived in her mind. But what if she started to forget…

  Tears threatened to choke her, and Sidney must have noticed, for he stepped toward her and took both her hands in
his.

  “Please don’t cry,” he gently pleaded. “I have an idea of where it might be, but…”

  “But what?” she choked out.

  “But you’ll have to follow me into a priest hole.”

  Of all the things he could have said, priest hole was not anywhere on the list of what Tilly could have imagined he would actually say.

  “A priest hole?” she repeated, nearly on the brink of laughter now.

  He nodded, and a golden wave fell over his brow. He pushed it out of the way, and said, “We found it last night, and…”

  “And what?” Tilly was about to grab the poker from the fireplace and start poking if he didn’t just come out with it.

  “You may want to sit down for this.”

  Tilly did as he suggested, and settled herself on the edge of the chair. He did the same.

  “There are children in the castle.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

  Sidney held up a hand. “No, no. Not like that. They are,” his throat worked hard over a lump, “not alive.”

  Tilly felt her eyes widen so far she almost feared they’d fall right out of her head. “Not alive?” she repeated.

  “It’s a long story, but you must trust me on this.”

  “Trust you that there are ghost children in the castle?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?” he countered. “You’ve stayed away from this place for a reason, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I just—I never expected that the stories would be—that you—”

  “Would propagate the stories?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve heard them, Tilly, and I’ve seen their handiwork.”

  He paused too long for Tilly’s taste. “Go on,” she prodded.

  “According to the servants, things disappear and then reappear, all at the hands of the children. But last night we discovered that not everything gets returned to its rightful owner. We found a priest hole filled with all sorts of…things.”

  “Things.”

  “Jewelry, clothes, weapons. We believe the children have taken them there to keep.”