The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead

by Jeanne Savery

  Melissa’s gaze settled, blindly, on the cushions across from her. She knew people who didn’t seem to mind being alone but had never understood it. She had never liked it, was always conscious of irritation and impatience and a need for distraction. She’d had far too much solitude since her aged husband took to his bed for the last weeks of his life. His death, she’d assumed, would result in some company, courtesy visits if nothing else…but it had not.

  Melissa wondered how people bore it. Very much more and she’d have gone running through the streets shrieking. That, even more than her financial difficulties, had weighed in the balance when she made her decision to go north. Even if Jacob could not be lured back into her net, she’d not be alone.

  Lester rode past the carriage and Melissa’s thoughts returned to him. He’s changed, she thought. There is a cynicism. And that subtle nastiness so often phrased in the form of a compliment, which one only belatedly realizes is an insult. She sighed. When she’d first seen him descending from the carriage in which he’d ridden to her rescue, her heart had given such a lurch.

  And then his tone when he saw it was me. He hates me…

  Melissa stared at Lester’s back. If only we could go back, could return to what was, could pretend the years between didn’t happen. But they had and there was no pretending otherwise.

  Lester was lost to her.

  Jacob, she scolded herself. I must concentrate on Jacob.

  * * * * *

  Listening to the new housekeeper, Mrs. Brownley, snoring contentedly with her head against the cushioned coach slabs, Verity eyed the countryside with something approaching distaste. “It is so boring,” she said when Mary asked about her expression.

  “Boring?” Mary thought about it. “I suppose someone not raised here cannot see the subtleties that make it one of the more beautiful places in the world.”

  “The Alps…”

  “Oh yes. But they too can be boring.” Mary lifted her hand and raised and lowered it. “Up and down. Up and down. So very tiring.”

  Verity chuckled. “Yes, but it is the lack of ups and downs I’m complaining about here. I think we need to agree to disagr—” Her words broke off abruptly as a gunshot sounded. Then another.

  Mrs. Brownley’s eyes popped open and she shrieked. Mary grabbed Verity behind her neck, pushed her down between the seats, falling down on top of her. A third gunshot and the carriage pulled to a stop.

  Verity felt Mary scrabbling for something, heard her say “thank you”, felt a cool draft as the door was pulled open…and still another shot, this one very close, very loud. She heard Rube swear, felt Mary push up and, almost in her face, a gun went off.

  Mary rose to her feet and after one look at Rube also began to swear. Verity rather admired her fluency, recognized four languages, guessed at two more and suspected there were unknowns of which she’d never even heard. She watched Mary pull out a hidden drawer fitted into the squabs and, without thinking, accepted the pistol handed to her.

  “Do stop screeching,” Mary told the terrified housekeeper, who stared blankly and then fainted into the cushions. She turned to Verity, saying, “I have to stop that bleeding. You watch. And don’t hesitate to shoot.”

  As she spoke, she was pulling off a petticoat and folding it into a pad that she pushed against the blood. “Don’t you pass out on me, Rube,” she said.

  Verity heard words in a language she didn’t understand.

  “Now’s a nice time to be telling me that,” groused Mary. “Just be still now.”

  More words…

  “No, you are not done for. Shut up and behave. Verity, what’s happening?”

  “I think I heard a horse galloping toward us from ahead of us.”

  “Rescue? We’ll hope.” Mary didn’t cease pressing hard on the pad she’d pushed under Rube’s jacket and against his shoulder. “Actually, we must have been rescued. No one else has shown up at the door.”

  “Don’t shoot!”

  Verity collapsed back against the squabs, the pistol, held in both hands, lowered so that it pointed at the floor.

  “Ah,” said Mary. “It is you, Jacob. Excellent timing. Now if you could just get us home… Who is that?” Mary, never ceasing to press against the wound, twisted around and stared out the rear window.

  Still another horse pulled up and the rider dropped to the ground, pointing a pistol at Jacob. “Back off,” he ordered.

  Jacob, shaking his head, raised his hands.

  Never looking up from where she continued to apply pressure to Rube’s shoulder, Mary yelled, “Jacob is a friend.”

  Hesitantly, the stranger lowered his gun. “What has happened here?”

  “I’ve yet to discover,” said Jacob, prodding the dead man lying at his feet. “I rode out to meet my cousins and found them fighting off a handful of attackers. I yelled and the bastards disappeared.” He gestured at the plantation a neighbor had started years earlier, evergreens standing tall beside the road for a fair stretch. The undergrowth was sparse but the heavy load of needles above made the interior dim. “They chose the only place along this road where they could disappear expeditiously if things went awry.”

  “Also somewhere to hide until we came along,” said Mary, pushing back her hair with her free hand. “Can we discuss this at home? I need to get Rube in bed and see to this wound.”

  “Rube? Shot?” Jacob barked the words and, after a more searching glance into the carriage, began giving orders to the driver and guards, one of whom cradled his arm where a singed line along one sleeve revealed that he’d been grazed and the other limped from a wound in his thigh. The thigh had a tourniquet around it, the bloody trousers indicating he’d fared worse than his friend. “I’ll talk to you two when we get home. I need to know exactly what happened,” said Jacob after ascertaining that neither man thought himself badly injured, the man with the thigh wound saying he’d suffered far worse while serving under old Nosey on the Peninsula. Jacob swung around, his pistol at the ready, as a carriage pulled up behind them. “Who…”

  “Ah. My…guest. I’m Lester McAllen, by the way, and if you are Jacob Moorhead, as I’d guess from the lady saying your name, it is to you to whom I’m delivering her. But we can talk of that once we’ve reached safety.” The stranger caught his horse, remounted and, once Jacob too had his horse under him, they set off side by side, the two carriages following and the two wounded guards keeping an alert eye on their surroundings. Jacob, however, was correct when he’d said the attack had occurred at very nearly the only place where such an attack might have a chance of success.

  High Moor was not much farther along. When the gate came in sight, Jacob excused himself and rode ahead, setting the maids to work preparing for the arrival of the wounded and, almost as an afterthought, asking Emma to have two guestrooms prepared. For half a moment, he wondered about his unknown guests, but there was too much of far more importance happening for him to feel particularly curious.

  Once he was assured everything was in hand, he took the stairs two at a time and headed to Jenna’s bedroom where, after a brief knock, he entered. He found her pacing the floor and grinned. “Gathering up more strength, Jenna-mine? A good thing too. I think you’ll need it…” His last words reminded him of the situation and his mouth formed a grim line.

  “What happened?” asked Jenna, crossing the room quickly.

  He told her what he knew and then caught her when, not so well as she liked to believe, she stumbled. He lifted her and laid her on her bed. “We’ll take care of them, Jenna. Emma already has everything moving along so we’ll be ready when the carriage arrives. I only told you so that you’d not worry when you heard unusual sounds, as you very likely will.” He had reached for her hand and now held it in both of his, but was startled into dropping it when the disembodied voice he’d almost become accustomed to hearing, ordered him to unhand the wench.

  “You go, Jacob,” said Jenna, frowning. “I’ll be all right. I just wish—”

&nbs
p; “You just wish you could deal with everything in your usual efficient manner, but I assure you all will be done just as you’d like. Still, it would be best if I’m at the door when the others arrive.” As he left the room he heard Jenna telling the ghost of his granduncle as much as she knew—and already at the head of the stair, heard the ghost’s voice swearing the air blue because he’d not known his daughter was in danger and hadn’t been there to help protect her.

  Jacob shook his head. It seemed the late lord had not changed by the mere fact of his dying. The ghost, he’d just learned, could cuss quite as fluently as the living man had done when Jacob lamed one of his lordship’s best hunters. A cussing he’d deserved too since it happened through a bit of foolishness that still had him feeling heat in his ears, merely at the recollection of that particular idiocy of the boy he’d once been.

  After reassuring himself that someone had ridden off for the local doctor, that Emma knew what must be done and was, in her gentle manner, chivying her maids and the footmen to do the work expeditiously, he went out on the long terrace fronting the house to watch for the arrival of the carriages. They were not long in coming, the first pulling up as near the door as possible. A couple of grooms waited there with a firm pallet and, with the help of the driver and Mary, moved Rube from the carriage and then into the house. Verity and another woman, the new housekeeper, he suspected, followed.

  Jacob heard Mary ordering them to carry Rube to a small salon toward the back of the house where they could remove the bullet and make him comfortable. He wished he’d thought of that instead of assuming the patient should go directly to a bedroom above stairs. The bedroom would have involved very careful maneuvering to reach and likely jolted the patient far more than necessary. Wishing he could follow and help, knowing he must see to whoever was in the second carriage, he turned to it just as McAllen opened its door only to have a wildly crying woman tumble into his arms.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought we were all dead. And no one came to tell me anything and…” The raving and ranting continued until, heaving a sigh, Lester set Melissa away from himself, held her with one hand and gave her a sharp slap on one cheek with the other. Then, abruptly, he let go of her and turned away.

  Jacob had recognized the woman immediately and was swearing quite as fluently as their ghost, if not so loudly, when Lester administered the slap. All thought of irritation at her unexpected and unwanted arrival was lost as he saw that an expression of shock was followed almost at once by one of unmistakable longing.

  Melissa Rumford, thought Jacob, has very strong feelings for Lester McAllen. He wondered if Lester knew of them but, whatever the case might be between them, his irritation returned. Why is she here? Didn’t I make it clear we were finished? And her husband… But I forgot. He died…

  Melissa’s shoulders drooped and then she straightened, turned slightly, saw Jacob was watching her. With an obviously forced smile, she stepped toward him. “Jacob, love! It has been so long. I could not bear it another moment without you.” Her smile faded when he didn’t respond. “But, Jacob,” she continued, her tone wistful, “are you not just as happy to see me?”

  He was not, of course, and she knew it. Still, she thought, he is stuck here in the wilds of nowhere with nothing to do and highwaymen, of all things, to keep him from doing what he might do, and he must be lonely. He will let me remain if only to have a convenient female in his bed. She forced another smile and held out her hand.

  Jacob ignored it, stepping back and gesturing toward the house. “You are here. You must come in and rest, of course.”

  “Rather more than that,” she said, casting him a roguish look that was not particularly forced. She really would like to be back in his bed… Then the image of Lester entered her mind. Lester… But he didn’t want her at all. She banished the thought.

  “Things are rather chaotic right now, Melissa. We’ve three wounded men—” He watched her eyes widen and her skin pale slightly. “My cousin’s aunt is recovering from a heart failure and another woman is in danger from those men who attacked today. I do not think you’d care to remain more than tonight.”

  Melissa, thinking furiously, walked beside him into the house. “It sounds as if you could use the help of a good woman, Jacob. I will stay to see to things.”

  “I’ve got the help of a good woman. My cousin.” He led her to the door to a salon, opened it and gestured to the footman on duty in the hall. “Bring Mrs. Rumford whatever she requires in the way of refreshment. When her belongings have been taken to her room and she is ready to go up, you will escort her there.”

  Jacob closed the door to the hall, noting as he did so the hand Melissa held out to him, but he couldn’t be bothered playing host. Perhaps he could send McAllen to see to her entertainment? They could entertain one another? He nodded, gave the footman a last order to that effect. Finally, free to discover where Mary had taken Rube and what was being done for the other two men, he walked away at a rapid pace.

  Verity, a deep frown on her face, approached from the other direction. “Ah. Jacob. What do you know of the local doctor? Mary asked for him, but now she’s not certain it was a good notion.”

  “You know how he dealt with Jenna-mine, Verity. What did you think?”

  She bit her lip. “There wasn’t much he could do for her, was there? I don’t know how he’ll deal with bullet wounds. It is far too near the lung for comfort, Jacob. Mary is very worried.”

  “Where were you off to when you came toward me?”

  “The stillroom.” She began moving again, speaking as she went. “I was headed for the stillroom to make a couple of mixtures to Mary’s orders. Assuming we’ve what is needed. I don’t know how careful my aunt has been to keep it up properly.”

  “Do you know anything about stillrooms?” asked Jacob, turning and going with her.

  “Yes. Quite enough to do what was asked. Aunt Mary sent a footman to her room, ordering that he find a well-worn black case about a foot by fifteen inches. I think she’s got medicines in it from places we know little or nothing about.” Again she bit her lip, her eyes shadowed. “Jacob, she is worried sick.”

  “He’s strong. She stopped the bleeding instantly.”

  “She did what she could but the ride home was rough. Blood kept seeping through the pads. I don’t know how many she dropped on the floor, demanding another one. Neither of us has a petticoat left and she had me tear the ruffle from her skirt at the last.”

  They entered the stillroom and Verity checked cupboards and drawers, shaking her head as she did so. She sighed. “As soon as we are back to normal, I must begin seeing to all this. I haven’t a notion how efficacious any of it will be, as old as most of it looks.”

  He watched her collecting bits of this, more of that, mixing, steeping, stirring and boiling. “You do know what you’re doing, do you not?”

  “Hm? Oh yes. It was one part of my education I enjoyed. I tend to work hard for something I find interesting.” She touched a drop of liquid to her tongue, spat it out and grimaced. “Well, the willow bark is fresh enough. That’s so bitter it must be good. Willow is useful for so many things I’m not surprised Aunt Jenna kept it on hand. But those…I just don’t know.” She looked at the still-boiling mixture of several varieties of herbs before she turned to him. “It will be awhile before that is ready. If you’d take the willow preparation to Mary I’d appreciate it.”

  “Making me your errand boy, Verity?”

  She didn’t see the smile in his eyes and merely shook her head. “I’ve got to watch this. You can leave and I can’t. Maybe you’ll be kind enough to come back and tell how he…how they all go on and—”

  “I will,” he interrupted. He touched the bare nape of her neck where her upswept hair revealed a bit of tempting skin. She didn’t move—unless she pressed back very slightly against his fingers? He wasn’t sure. “I’ll return soon with news.”

  * * * * *

  The bullet was removed but afterwar
d Rube lay in something very near a coma. It was nearly dawn when he roused. His eyes moved from side to side. He turned his head, found Mary dozing at his side and smiled weakly, his gaze devouring her. He sighed.

  Instantly Mary opened her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment and then, simultaneously, looked away.

  “Where are we, Mary?”

  “The small salon near the breakfast room.”

  He tried to push himself up. “Not safe, Mary. Not…” He fell back with a groan.

  “Idiot,” she said, her voice gentle but her hands busily checking the bandages around his chest and shoulder. “We’re safe enough. Jacob placed guards around and about, including a pair along this side of the house. Tomorrow or the next day we’ll move you upstairs where you’ll feel safer, but for tonight we must depend on guards.”

  Mary didn’t mention Jenna’s assurance that her father’s ghost would also be on guard. Believing such things existed was not the same as accepting that they could or would help one. Besides, it was irrelevant.

  The words Rube spoke just before he’d passed out there in the carriage hadn’t been out of her mind even while she did everything she could to save him. She glanced at him, away, bit her lip. He couldn’t have meant them…and if he did? She lifted her gaze to the wall beyond the daybed that had been brought in for him and stared at nothing at all.

  Ah! If only he did… But then she thought again. Will he remember? That thought led to another. And if he does not? Something inside seemed to shrink at the next thought to float through her mind. Perhaps, it insisted, ‘twere better if he doesn’t. Mary sighed ever-so softly and settled back in her chair.