The vicar raised his head, looked down his pinched nose, and asked imperiously, “How generous would you be, my lord?”
“Generous to the tune of fifty pounds. Now, will you perform the ceremony and issue the necessary license or shall I make my contribution to another church? Perhaps one in Birmingham?”
The vicar looked past him then, his beady eyes fixing on Katherine. In a supercilious tone, he stated, “I suppose for the sake of her wicked soul, marriage is the best possible solution… A firm handed husband will curb her willfulness and her licentious nature.”
Malcolm clenched his hands at his side. He wanted nothing more than to plant his fist in the man’s smug face. “Issue the license, perform the service, register the marriage and then you will be rewarded. In the meantime, please attempt to be courteous to my bride.”
The vicar snorted derisively. “’Tis your choice, my lord, to be as lax or stern as is needed with your new wife… It will take but a few moments to prepare the document. Assuming, that is, that you meet all the requirements!”
“And those would be?” Malcolm queried.
“Your bride is a resident of this parish, I know, as are you. But she still requires a consenting parent or guardian!”
“Katherine,” Malcolm called out, “Tell the good vicar how old you are, please.”
“I am two and twenty,” she replied.
“I am new to England, sir, but I have spoken with my solicitor at length and I understand precisely what is required by the Marriage Act of 1753, as my solicitor was kind enough to provide his guidance. Katherine does not require consent to wed and neither do I. We are here in good faith to be wed and we have even provided our own witnesses. You will comply, sir,” Malcolm stated firmly.
The vicar’s lips turned down in a sour expression. “Very well, then. I will see to the registration… You may have a seat until I am ready, my lord.”
“Do not think to dally until past the hour of noon to avoid performing the service, vicar. I am not a man to be trifled with.”
The vicar’s brows shot up in mock offense. “That is an ugly accusation, my lord.”
“That is an accurate assessment of your plan,” Malcolm shot back. “You complete the ceremony, you complete the registry with precision and accuracy and you make damned certain that nothing about the legality of our union may ever be questioned, or you will rue the day.”
“I’ll not be threatened in my own church, my lord!”
“And I’ll not be bamboozled by a ‘godly’ man… We’ve come in good faith to be wed, prepared to pay the necessary fees and then some. You’ll do your job, vicar, and keep your judgements and interference to a minimum.”
Malcolm watched the clergyman slink off. Whether Katherine was guilty of all she’d been accused of or not, he couldn’t fathom that an entire village could so readily turn on a woman. But then they were not so far removed from the time when women had been burned for less. Public executions were still viewed as a form of entertainment. Whether it was assassination of the body or the character, clearly, the people of Lofton were clearly a bloodthirsty lot.
Chapter 14
Kit recited her vows as directed. She stood at the front of the small church and repeated what the vicar bade her to. Standing directly behind her, Vera was more nervous than she was and breathed so heavily that she feared the woman would pass out. When it was done, Malcolm slipped a ring on her finger. She hadn’t the wherewithal to wonder where he’d obtained it or to marvel that it fit her perfectly. When she was instructed to sign her name, she complied. And through all of it, she was quite numb, unable to fully reason that not only had he kept his word, but that she was returned, at least in theory, to the station she’d been born to.
They left the church just as the bells tolled the noon hour. Lytton and Vera preceded them, along with Joseph who had remained stubbornly silent and sullen throughout the proceedings. The vicar walked behind them, his mean glare a tangible weight on her back.
“Well, Lady Hadley, you are now officially above reproach,” Malcolm said, assisting her into the waiting sleigh.
Kit considered her response carefully. She’d once thought herself immune to hateful gossip, too well loved to ever have those dear to her turn her on. She’d been proven wrong. “No one is above reproach in Lofton. I’m simply of a rank that makes them think twice before giving voice to the nastiness of their thoughts.”
“Then when we reach Rosedale Hall, we shall drink to the power of my newly acquired title… and yours.”
“Before we return to Rosedale Hall, perhaps we could make a stop elsewhere,” she suggested.
“And where is that?”
“Vera’s grandmother lives close by and she may be able to provide information that would help us to make sense of what is happening.”
“Is that it… or are you trying to delay the inevitable?”
She blushed. “No, I am not, truly my lord. But it is vital that we have a better understanding of what is happening at Rosedale.”
Kit said nothing further as he climbed up beside her. He grasped the reins and said, “Vera, you’ll need to direct me to your grandmother’s home.”
Kit’s eyes widened and as she glanced back at the slack jawed maid, Vera gave a vigorous nod. “Yes, m’lord. Certainly, m’lord,” she uttered. “Through the village and the road to the left when you pass the coaching inn. It’s only a quarter mile past… a small cottage with a red door.”
They rode on in silence, once again ignoring the stares of the villages they passed. Many of them were braving the snow to get a look at them. There was little doubt that the vicar had already begun spreading the word of their marriage. It would probably reach Vera’s grandmother before they did, Kit thought bitterly.
As they neared the small cottage, the vehicle slowed. There were children playing in the yard and Joseph asked to join them. Kit nodded her consent as her new husband assisted her down. With Vera leading the way, they entered the small cottage to find an elderly woman already pouring tea in mismatched cups. Gnarled and ancient in appearance, she still moved with surprising grace and ease.
“Drink and warm yourselves,” the old woman said, gesturing towards the small benches that flanked the rough wood dining table. “After, I’ll tell you what the leaves have to say.”
Malcolm directed a dubious glance in Katherine’s direction. Surely this nonsense wasn’t what she had meant by helpful information? Fortune tellers were a dime a dozen and if they did manage to get something right, it was invariably a coincidence.
“Drink it,” Katherine hissed as the old woman wandered deeper into the cottage for something.
“Surely you do not believe in this idiocy?” he demanded.
“What I believe is that this woman is incredibly poor and tea is expensive. She just served it to us and regardless of what we believe, it would be rude not to partake!”
As there was no refuting her admonishment, he relented. Sipping the musty brew, he missed America and the sweet relief of strong, black coffee. “This will come to naught.”
“It may,” she agreed, “But tea leaves or no tea leaves, she’ll be old enough to recall the gossip about the late Lord Hadley and will be able to tell us more about him. I have the distinct feeling that your solicitor has not been particularly forthcoming about your predecessor.”
The old woman returned. She glanced at Malcolm, pointed one bony finger in his direction. “Drain your cup, my lord, and come with me.”
He did as she bade, swallowing the hot liquid quickly before rising to his feet. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Bring the cup with you.”
“Naturally,” he said, and retrieved it from the table. Following her into what might have been a small parlor, he took a seat on the rickety chair she indicated, praying that it would actually support his weight.
The woman took the cup from his hands and turned it round and round in her own, staring intently at the debris in the bottom. She made a sound as if g
reatly intrigued by what she saw there. If nothing else, the woman was an excellent showman.
“You’ve traveled a great deal, my lord.”
“As I’ve come here from America, that can hardly be a surprise,” he replied smoothly.
She smiled then. “I wasn’t referring to your journey to England, my lord. Your life has been a series of journeys. You’ve been a wanderer for some time, never feeling settled, never feeling at home.”
It was nothing more than a lucky guess, Malcolm thought. Still, he wouldn’t deny her accuracy on that score. “That is true enough I suppose.”
She turned back to the cup. “There are many obstacles in your path right now… your new bride is uncertain of her position, and uncertain of you. But there are others, my lord, who would see you fail in your attempts to make a home here. They are envious.”
“Who could be envious of me? I haven’t met anyone, in truth!” he said dismissively. He was a newly titled lord with an inheritance. Local gossip alone would have told her that. An envious enemy was a short leap from there.
“No, you haven’t met them. But they know who you are,” she said. “And they crave what is yours. Jealousy is an ugly thing, my lord. Covetousness is the root of all sin and this person… there’s a darkness about them that shields them from my sight. But that darkness has taken on a life of its own and it now resides within the walls you now call home.”
That made him sit up and take notice. “What can you tell me of this darkness in my home?”
She placed the cup on the table and reached for his hand. Unlike fortune tellers he’d encountered in the past, she did not turn it over and trace the lines of his palms, but instead simply held it as she closed her eyes. “There are many spirits in your house… trapped in this in-between place of life and death.”
“And what do they want?”
“To go through or to come back,” she said softly. “But this dark being will not let them pass on and those that would come back are still hiding, waiting for an opportunity to take up residence in an unsuspecting body.”
Her words chilled him because they perfectly mirrored his own fears, fears he hadn’t even had the will to give voice to.
“You’ll say nothing of this to Katherine,” he warned. He wouldn’t have some old hag terrifying her anymore than she already was.
“I will not,” she agreed. “But if you mean to return to this house, I will join you there.”
“You?”
“You need a cook do you not? And you need one in that house who knows how to combat what it is you’re up against.”
Malcolm sighed. “And what is that exactly?”
She smiled, “And that, my lord, is why I must accompany you. This is much more than simply the presence of spirits. There is dark magic afoot in your home… and to eliminate the danger these entities pose, you must first find their source of power.”
Malcolm stared at the old crone for a moment, considering. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing about all of it was that her words made sense to him. Something about the events in the house just seemed ‘off’ for lack of a better word. They were engineered in some way and he’d have it ended one way or another.
“Very well, madam. You will become our cook and our mystical advisor… I hope it is not a decision I will regret.”
“As do I, my lord… now be so good as to send your bride in. She would know her fortune too, I think.”
Kit entered the small parlor with trepidation. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to hear whatever it was that Vera’s grandmother would have to say to her. So much of her future was uncertain, the wisdom of so many of her recent decisions was still so unknown that at least she could cling to the illusion of having made the proper choice.
“Sit down, dear. I don’t bite,” the old woman said. “You want to know about this man you’ve married and I mean to tell you.”
Kit took the seat the older woman had indicated and placed her cup on the table. “What should I call you? Vera calls you Nan, but I haven’t the faintest notion of what your name is.”
The old woman cackled. “̓Tis Betsy, my dear. But if you like, though haven’t been called that since I was young girl and the men came a calling. I was a right pretty thing then. It's been Mam since my children were born and Nan since theirs entered this world. You may call Mrs. Webb if you’re stuck on formalities since I’ll be joining you at Rosedale Hall as your cook. But if you’d like, being as your own family is gone, you may call me Nan, as well.”
She wanted to, Kit realized. She wanted to have someone who would look at her as kindly as this old woman did and stroke her hair while telling her that all of her problems would simply work themselves out. Kit smiled. “Nan it is then. Can you really tell the future just by looking into tea leaves?”
“Truth is, the leaves are just a tool to help me focus… I can tell the future with or without them. But it isn’t really the future you’re so worried about, is it? It’s the present. You’ve gone and married a stranger and you want to know whether or not it is a good thing you’ve done.”
The old woman’s sly smile as she uttered the very thought that was circling like spokes on a wheel in Kit’s mind made her uncomfortable. Was the old woman that good or was she that transparent? “That is a concern, yes,” she replied primly.
“He’s a good man, but I suspect that makes you even more uncomfortable,” Nan replied. “When you’ve come to expect the worst from men, ̓tis a hard thing to be presented with the notion that not all of them are libertines.”
Was that it? Was her distrust of men so ingrained in her now that the idea of trusting her own husband terrified her? Possibly, Kit admitted. “But can I really trust him? Can any man really be trusted?”
“I can only tell you that in the reading of him, I did not find him false. He may have motives of his own, but he means you no harm… and if he gives you his word, he means to keep it.”
That was as good an endorsement as any, Kit thought. “Thank you for your reassurances.”
Nan picked up the cup and looked at the pattern of the leaves, a slight frown marring her features. “It’ll not be smooth sailing though. You’re both set in your ways, stubborn, pig headed, and even a bit hot headed. But if you learn to trust him, ’twill be easier for you both. But you must be cautious of the things at Rosedale Hall, dear. You are an obstacle in their path and that makes them a threat to you.”
“What is at Rosedale Hall?”
“We’ll soon find out, my dear,” Nan said and rose to her feet. She walked over to a small cupboard and opened one of the many tiny drawers. Turning back to Kit, a piece of leather cord bearing a heavy black stone dangled from her hand.
“Onyx,” she explained as she stepped behind Kit and tied the cord around her neck. “It will offer you some protection, but be mindful not to take it off. If it isn’t on your person, it is no use to you.”
“When will you come to Rosedale Hall?” Kit asked, finding the older woman’s presence strangely reassuring.
“Tomorrow perhaps, if the weather permits. I’ll need to collect some special herbs before I make the journey.”
“How will you find them in the snow?”
The old woman offered a cagey smile. “Oh, my dear, they will find me.”
Chapter 15
They’d left Nan Webb’s cottage later than they’d intended and it was nearly teatime. Lytton was driving and Vera seated on the front bench beside him, while Malcolm and Kit took the seats in the back with a sleeping Joseph tucked in beside them. He was stuffed to the gills on Nan Webb’s brown bread and freshly churned butter.
The brief reprieve from the harsh weather had ended and snow once again began to fall as they neared the estate. They had ridden in silence until they reached the gates, both of them preoccupied with what Nan had shared with them. There was an oppressiveness in the idea of returning to the Hall that weighed heavily on all of them.
“What do you know of the previous Lord Hadle
y?” she asked.
“Very little. He died without issue. The title passed, albeit briefly, to my grandfather and then to me.”
“He was married, was he not?” Kit demanded.
“I would assume so, but I cannot say definitively,” Malcolm replied. “What are you getting at?”
“I meant to ask Nan about all of those things, but I simply forgot. She has an odd way about her,” Kit said in a whisper before continuing, “The rumors of Rosedale Hall being haunted do not go back generations. They are fairly recent, or so I believe… And since the spirit is clearly female, then I can only assume it must be the most recent Lady Hadley!”
The team of horses slowed then, and a heavy sigh escaped Malcolm as he stared ahead at the decaying heap of a house. “Nothing can be assumed. I have no notion of the character of this man. I know my grandfather never spoke of him or any family he’d left behind, considering himself well shed of them. Perhaps it is the late Lady Hadley, perhaps it is some poor misused servant girl… or a mistress, or a doxy he hired. I cannot say. What I can say, without qualm, is that there is more than one spirit residing within the walls of Rosedale Hall and some are infinitely more malevolent than others.”
Kit swallowed convulsively, allowing that information to sink in as the horses began to trudge forward again on the slick road. It hadn’t occurred to her that there could be more than one spirit. Her only encounters had been with the singular female spirit. She’d seen her twice since arriving at Rosedale Hall. Both instances had been utterly terrifying, but in truth, her own mind had produced the terror simply at the prospect of being in the presence of a spirit. The ghost herself had done nothing threatening.
“You’ve seen another spirit in the house aside from the one who…”, she trailed off, uncertain of whether or not it was wise to bring up what they had been doing the day before when the ghost had appeared.
A Heart So Wicked (The Dark Regency Series Book 6) Page 11
