The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead

by Jeanne Savery

  Jacob was silent as he finished dressing and went downstairs to where he and Mary met before dinner.

  “Why doesn’t Verity join us?” asked Mary the instant he walked through the door. She sounded rather cross when she added, “I thought perhaps she ate her evening meal with her aunt but I’ve found she does not. So why is she not dining with us?”

  “You see if you can convince her to do so,” he said, strolling toward a side table on which Reading had set out several decanters. Unable to bring himself to bluntly question Mary, Jacob lifted one, looked at it, set it down and picked up another. Once he’d checked the third, he turned frowning. “Reading has yet to find a good white wine. Either that or he is deliberately ignoring my orders.”

  “I’ll check the wine cellar tomorrow. If he’s ignoring you, we need to know that,” said Mary, wondering if the older servants, by subtle means, were hoping that somehow they might manage to evict Jacob and keep Verity. But surely they knew that wasn’t possible? That otherwise, by the will, the estate would go to the newest Lord Everston? She would set Rube to discover what was what. He was good at that sort of thing.

  “I like that coat,” she said, her eyes on her cousin rather than the tatting that grew under her quick fingers.

  “How do you do that?” he asked, ignoring the compliment.

  “Do what?”

  “That, whatever you call it, with that shuttle thing.”

  “Tat?” She paused in her work and raised it slightly, looking at it. “It is quite simple. And peaceful. I find it eases tensions and allows my mind the freedom to wander.”

  “Maybe I should learn.”

  “Did I hear a wry note?” she asked, glancing his way and then down at her tatting, turning a corner before looking up again.

  “I suppose you did.” I won’t confront her. I’ll spy on her and she need never know my absurd suspicions if nothing is…wrong. “I wonder,” he continued, “if I can survive a year here. Or if I want to. If it weren’t for dear old Mud inheriting if I do not, I’d toss it up and say good riddance.”

  “Murdock Upton Denver Tomlinson—” Mary chuckled. “He’s Mud, all right. I will be happy if he doesn’t gain a single one of the properties my father willed away from him. He’s a— No, I won’t say it. It isn’t at all ladylike to use the word I have in mind for him.” She sobered. “Jacob, there is worse. I don’t trust him. Not so far as I could see him.”

  “Worse, maybe, when you can’t see him.” He looked up as the door opened. “Ah. Reading. Where is my cousin?”

  “Miss Verity has, as is her custom, dined in the upper servants’ hall,” said the butler, his nose ever-so slightly elevated.

  “Tomorrow,” said Lady Mary, her tone firm, “she will dine, as is proper, with us.” When Reading’s brows arched, she added, “I will tell her.” She bundled up her tatting, shoved it into a small bag and, rising, hung the bag from her belt by a hook. “Well, Jacob? Shall we go?”

  He stared. “I have just realized that that gown is so far out of style I cannot even think when it was in style. Have you visited a modiste anytime in the past, oh, five or six years? Fifteen perhaps?”

  She laughed. “I design my gowns myself, Jacob. I’ve no interest in style. Only in comfort.” Her eyes twinkled and a small catlike smile played around her lips. “If I were at home,” she added on a sly note, “I’d be dressed in a way that would truly shock you.”

  “How?” He offered his arm and she took it.

  “A sort of trousers and tunic set such as is worn in the Levant. I discovered how comfortable they are while visiting Lady Hester Stanhope.”

  “You met her ladyship? Can you tell me if the stories one hears are true?”

  “That she lives as would a man in the Eastern fashion? A sheik in his tents? Oh yes. Quite true—except it is a rambling old walled structure and not a tent. In any case, I have worn such clothes ever since.”

  “But not here?”

  “I wouldn’t wish to give poor Jenna such a shock it sets her back to where Verity tells me she began. Jacob,” she continued, suddenly serious, “did you know she almost died?”

  “I’m aware. I’m not happy she worked herself into such a tizzy just because of my expected arrival. Such nonsense.”

  “She insists the house was in such a state no one could live here…and yet she didn’t seem at all bothered that Verity, upon her arrival a week or so before my father’s death, lived with rooms under covers and cobwebs in the corners and windows unwashed and…and I don’t remember what else was supposed to be wrong.”

  “Verity is her niece. She never approved her sister’s marriage to your brother. As you are well aware.”

  “Nor did Father approve of my brother wedding his housekeeper’s young sister.” She glanced at Jacob. “Sister to his lover.”

  “His… Jenna?” Jacob’s brows arched high up his forehead. And then he gave a soft whistle. “Sounds as if he should have understood the attraction.”

  His dry tone brought a chuckle to Mary’s lips. “I thought that would surprise you. Father and Jenna were lovers from before I was born. Heaven only knows which of my mother’s lovers fathered me. Your granduncle and Mother separated years earlier. Right after Verity’s father was born, I think. The heir and the spare, you know? Which weren’t,” she added on a sad note, “quite enough, were they? But let’s not think of Mud. I like that name for him, by the way. In any case, I am glad Father accepted me as his own when it wasn’t physically possible. I called him Father and he treated me as a daughter.”

  Her voice trailed off and the look in her eye told Jacob she was indulging in happy memories. He allowed his soup to be served and waited for the footman to stand back before he responded. “As, in many ways, he treated me as a son.” Jacob sighed softly, thinking of his own father who had been rather distant. “However that may be, Verity is my cousin and I have tried to see she takes her place at this table in the evening. I hope you are more successful.”

  Mary nodded. “We must hire a new housekeeper too and, once she has recovered enough to do so, Jenna too will join us. In any reasonable world, she’d have been my father’s widow rather than his housekeeper and would belong here by right.”

  Jacob smiled, his eyes gleaming with good humor. “I always thought you a right one, Cousin Mary, but I didn’t know you were so, um, liberal as all that.” And then he remembered his suspicions of Prince Rube…and wondered…

  “I lived in too many countries, learning about too many cultures, to think ours is perfect and shouldn’t be changed in any way. Jenna and my father were deeply in love, but by the rules of our society were not supposed to wed.” Her voice softened to a musing tone. “That my brother had the courage to wed Jenna’s younger sister… I sometimes think that shamed my father in some way, but he still could not bring himself to wed his housekeeper.”

  Did too, said a soft voice near Jacob’s ear. Jenna’s the coward.

  Jacob swung quickly toward the voice, inadvertently forcing the footman hovering near his ear back a step. The footman, quick on his feet, managed to recover and didn’t spill a single lamb chop from the gravy-covered platter, even though the food slid around a bit.

  “Sir?” asked the footman, wondering what had caused Jacob to turn in that quick way.

  There is nothing there. Nothing, thought Jacob. “What?” He realized what he’d done and felt heat in his neck. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he repeated a trifle grimly. The voice he’d heard sounded very like his granduncle’s, but that must be nonsense. Surely it is nonsense. There are no such things as ghosts. On the other hand, if I am going mad… “What did you say, Cousin Mary? I was woolgathering.” He stared at his plate on which the footman had deposited two chops drowned in sauce. He grimaced and pushed it away.

  “What I said was that I wonder if Jenna would have wed him even if he asked.”

  Did ask, the voice said again.

  This time Jacob avoided turning his head—but prickles ran up his sp
ine and lifted the hair at the back of his neck. The untouched chops were replaced by a filet of fish, once again hidden under a thick sauce. Jacob frowned. “Cousin, do you think you could convince the chef I don’t care for heavy sauces and would much prefer my meats au naturel?”

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” she said. “He has a good touch with flavor but, I agree, the sauces are a bit heavy, smothering rather than adding to the enjoyment of the meat or fish. I think,” she added after a moment’s thought, “I will suggest they be served separately so one may take only as much as one wishes.”

  Jacob used his knife to uncover his fish. Once there was only a bit of sauce he discovered he agreed with his cousin. The flavor was excellent. He said so. The meal continued, their conversation rather desultory, and Jacob realized the covers were about to be removed and the port placed on the table. Waving it away, he stood. “I’ve some paperwork to see to in the office,” he lied. “I’ve everything to learn, you know, about estate management.” That wasn’t a lie. “I doubt I’ll see you again this evening, Cousin, so I’ll say good night now.”

  Jacob had already spent much of the afternoon in his granduncle’s well-appointed office at the back of the house where he’d begun perusing account books and other material he’d found in orderly files, a first step toward learning the business of the estate. But now, pretending to go there, he actually found a secondary set of stairs and headed for the third floor, two above the family’s bedrooms, where, among the secondary guestrooms, Mary had found a suite that satisfied her.

  An odd choice, surely, thought Jacob. Unless she has a reason for wanting privacy?

  Across from her suite was a linen closet. Jacob entered it, pulled a pile of neatly folded blankets from a shelf, put them on the floor and settled himself to wait for…well, for what he feared would come about.

  He hoped he was wrong.

  Chapter Four

  “Really, Aunt Mary, you know I cannot join the family at meals.”

  “Definitely not,” said Jenna from her bed.

  “The both of you can and will. And you, Jenna, know why.” Mary stared at Mrs. Jennings, daring her to deny the relationship between herself and Mary’s father.

  I would like it if you’d agree, whispered a voice in Jenna’s ear. I’d very much like it if Verity and Jacob fell in love but they must have time together, have the opportunity—

  From where she stood on the far side of the bed, her back rigid with determination, Verity interrupted the words she couldn’t hear. “My grandfather wanted nothing to do with me. I want nothing to do with—”

  Jenna lifted her hand and Verity’s voice stopped very nearly in the middle of a word. “I have changed my mind,” said Jenna.

  “Why?” asked her outraged niece.

  “For several very good reasons.” Jenna’s mouth closed in a tight line.

  “I won’t.”

  “I think you will,” said Jenna and then sighed. “And so will I. When I’m better and am able to be up and around.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I like Mary and she has convinced me I must retire. She has asked that I be her guest here. I have decided I’d like that.”

  “Retire?” repeated Verity. She drew in a deep breath and stiffened her spine. “Then I shall take your position. I know I’m young, but I was well trained and Emma—”

  “And nonsense. You are my father’s granddaughter and you must act like it.”

  “I’m not. He disinherited my father. Daddy was no longer his son. That means I’m not his granddaughter.”

  “Verity, he regrets that very much,” said Jenna.

  Besides, I re-inherited him.

  “Besides,” she continued, “your father was reinstated.”

  “How would you know that?”

  Jenna bit her lip. “I…just do. Believe me, Verity. His lordship regrets it.”

  “You said he regrets it. Twice.” She stared at her aunt.

  “Did I?” A rosy tint had Jenna looking healthier for a moment until the flush faded. “Slip of the tongue?”

  “Was it?” asked Mary.

  “Why would you even ask?” asked Jenna, not looking at either of her guests.

  Mary looked from one to the other and smiled. As she’d told Jacob earlier that evening, she’d lived in a number of different societies and knew many that believed in ghosts. And she’d a notion of exactly why Verity asked. Verity’s father had told her the house in Italy in which they lived so cheaply was cheap because it was supposed to be haunted. She suspected, from something the then-sixteen-year-old Verity said at the time, that the chit knew that ghost very well indeed, perhaps talked with it.

  Verity looked from Mary’s twinkling eyes to her aunt’s glower. Verity had talked to the ghost of the young girl who’d died there in the room Verity and her sister occupied, died tragically at about the age Verity was then. She remembered hearing her father telling Aunt Mary about their ghost in a joking disbelieving way. She sighed. “Is my grandfather’s ghost living with us?” she asked.

  “Ghost?” asked Jenna, hiding her surprise. “You believe in ghosts?” In her ear her lover laughed softly.

  “Yes.”

  Jenna’s face lost all expression. “You do?”

  “When you’ve lived with one for a couple of decades, you have to believe in them.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Not. But I’ll not argue. If you’ve not experienced one then you don’t have the least notion.” She shrugged. “If you have—” Verity closed her mouth with a snap, said good night to both her aunts and left.

  “Does Father talk to you?” asked Mary.

  “You too?” demanded Jenna.

  Mary shrugged. “I’ll never say anything is impossible. I’ve lived with too many different beliefs, experienced too many strange things, learned so very much is true that our scholars insist is impossible. If my father still exists in this plane of life…” She shut her mouth and looked into the far distance. Then sighed. “He never approved,” she said. She looked at Jenna. “Of my travels, you know?”

  “No. He didn’t. He was very glad when you came home to stay.”

  “Stay?” Mary sighed. “Oh, I hope not.” But, she thought, I can’t travel again until my enemy and I come to…terms.

  “How can you want to leave the comfort of your own home?” asked Jenna, wishing to understand.

  “How can I not wish it? There is so much of the world I’ve not yet seen. I think,” said Mary in a musing voice, “that I’ll go west next time. I’d like to see those wild Indians in our colonies—er, our old colonies? The new United States? Anyway, I want to learn how they live, talk to their healers.” She shrugged. “There is so much to learn, Jenna.”

  Jenna shifted, uncomfortable with such talk. “I will never understand. You’ve learned a lot and seen a lot, I’m sure, but how you can bear the dirt and stink and awful food and the discomfort of travel…” She shook her head. “No, I’ll never understand.” She smiled. “But if it makes you happy then you do it.”

  “But not just now.”

  “No.” They meant different things but Jenna couldn’t know that. Her mind drifted to the possibility of a marriage between her niece and Jacob. “Do you think,” she asked, “that it is possible my niece and your cousin might come to an understanding?”

  Mary cast Jenna a startled look. “You’d approve?”

  Jenna smiled tightly. “Not really, but I worry about her. There is no question that she has the family’s blood in her and deserves that the family care for her, but you and I both know that idiot who inherited the title will do nothing.”

  “Greedy old Mud? Not for her or for anyone else.” Mary’s mouth firmed and her eyes went hard. “That young man needs a lesson and I hope each and every one of my father’s young heirs manages to fulfill the will’s demands just so Mud gets not one groat of the estate beyond what is under entail.”

  Jenna tried hard to hide a yawn.

  “Oh dea
r, I’ve tired you. You must tell me to take myself off when I’ve overstayed my time,” scolded Mary. “So now I will go. Is there anything you need? Here, just let me remove those extra pillows.” She moved toward the bed. “And I’ll—”

  Jenna shook her head, raising a hand to stop Mary. “Leave the pillows. I won’t sleep for a time but I’ll admit to feeling a trifle tired. So much to think about…”

  “No need to think, Jenna. Just accept. Good night.” Mary grinned. And left.

  * * * * *

  “This is the most fun time I’ve had since the old geezer I married died,” said Lady Alice. Politely, she covered her mouth with her hand, not quite hiding a wide yawn. “Oh dear, I apologize,” she said when her jaw stopped cracking. “Just how late is it?”

  Lady Merriweather looked over Lady Alice’s shoulder to the clock on the low mantel. “Gone eleven.” She found herself repressing a yawn as well and set down her cards. “I fear I must have gotten out of the habit of staying up to all hours,” she said. “Eleven is the prime of the evening, after all.”

  “We’ve all gotten out of the habit,” murmured Lady Fredericka who was busily adding up scores. “Hm, did I do that correctly?” she muttered and lifted her pencil from the bottom of the column to the top to start over.

  The other three watched her a trifle warily. They’d begun playing at a sensible hour directly after an early dinner, agreeing they’d all leave after an hour or two and make their separate ways home before others among the ton began to leave their homes for evening entertainments. Somehow, without their noticing, the light had faded and, also without disturbing them, a soft-footed servant had entered to light lamps, moving them to satisfy the needs of each player.

  One lamp had sputtered and gone out only moments before, drawing the intent women from their play. Melissa, holding the deck and dealing, had glanced around in sudden fright and dropped the rest of the cards. Flustered, she apologized. It was then Lady Alice had commented on the fun she’d had.