Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  Henrietta looked at Marcus in dismay. “My—my lord?” she stammered, her face aflame with embarrassment.

  His gaze swept appraisingly over her. “You’re looking remarkably well,” he observed, as if commenting upon an elderly aunt who was in better health than expected.

  “Your compliments were ever hollow, my lord,” she replied, managing to achieve a coolness that matched his, even though her pulse was racing unbearably just to be near him again.

  His glance moved to her bandaged right wrist, and she felt it necessary to explain. “I fell while walking on the cliffs.”

  “Indeed? How very unfortunate.” His tone suggested he wished she’d fallen right over the precipice. Next he glanced at her ring. “So Sutherton and his duns can rest assured of the imminent sharing out of the Courtenay fortune.”

  The accuracy of the comment made her color still more. “That was uncalled for.”

  “On the contrary, I think it very pertinent.” He caught her left hand suddenly and made a pretense of examining the ring. “A tasteless bauble; just what I would have expected of that coxcomb.”

  “Are you intending to stay at Mulborough, sir?” she asked, snatching her hand away.

  “Why? Do you fear my close proximity?” he asked softly, looking deep into her eyes.

  “No, sirrah, I merely shudder at the prospect of having to endure your continuing contempt and rudeness.”

  “If I am contemptuous and rude, madam, it is no more than you deserve.”

  Henrietta’s breath caught in disbelief. “Than I deserve?”

  “Naturally.” With a cool nod, he turned and walked away.

  Jane was so indignant that she almost rushed impulsively after him to hit him soundly on the head with her fan, but Kit put a finger to his lips and pointed warningly at Henrietta, who might hear or see them at any second.

  Henrietta’s heart pounded uncontrollably. The noise of the ballroom seemed suddenly to echo, and she felt so weak that she had to lean back against the wall. As she closed her eyes, the glint of candlelight on his fair hair remained with her, as did the ice in his frozen gaze, but beyond these there was a sweeter memory, that of stolen kisses, mirrored passion, and tender words...

  Jane’s eyes filled with tears too, for she felt Henrietta’s pain as keenly as if it were her own. Shared blood carried shared emotions, and the phantom knew in those wretched seconds that Kit was right, Henrietta was in love with the Marquess of Rothwell. Pray God he was equally right about said marquess’ feelings. If so, all that had to be done was show Marcus that Henrietta—not Amabel—was the one for him.

  Chapter Seven

  The ball was over and the first glint of dawn lightened the eastern sky as the local guests drove home through a white carpet a mere three inches deep. No more snow fell for the moment, and the air was so cold and brittle that it seemed almost to ring. The sea was the color of lead beneath the lowering clouds, and curls of smoke rose from the chimneys of Mulborough as the men prepared to go out on the morning tide. The Avalon lay at anchor in the harbor, her gilded paintwork glinting in the changing light. Mulborough Abbey fell silent as everyone, servants included, retired exhausted to their beds.

  Russell and Marcus didn’t feel quite ready to sleep, and so decided to play billiards for a while. It was at this point, with Henrietta already having gone to bed for the night, that Jane and Kit decided to retire for a while as well, for even ghosts need their rest. As they found an unoccupied bedchamber and settled down on the comfortable feather bed, Rowley went wandering around the abbey, leaving Kit to draw a more than compliant Jane into his arms.

  Rowley’s nighttime ambles had but one purpose—to find sugared almonds. Old habits die hard, and the spaniel had been such an incorrigible sweetmeat thief when alive, that he couldn’t help going through the same motions now. His ghostly paws pattered along the deserted passageway toward the staircase, and then down to the ground floor, where a distant burst of male laughter caught his attention. He set off toward the sound.

  The billiard table stood in the conservatory across the cloisters from the ballroom, and looked out onto the terrace, where the lanterns were now muted by the strange half light of snow and dawn. Inside, Russell bent at the green baize table to play the opening shot of their second game. As the ivory balls knocked pleasantly together, he leaned on his cue with a satisfied grin. “Your defeat is imminent, I fancy,” he said to Marcus.

  “Overconfidence ever was your failing,” came the murmured reply as Marcus prepared to play.

  Russell watched ball after ball slip obligingly into the pockets, and then sighed. “I fancy Lady Luck is with you tonight,” he said at last.

  Marcus paused a moment. “To briefly change the subject, have you ever considered placing a boom across the mouth of the harbor?”

  “A boom? Well, no ...” Russell became thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said then.

  “Even the simplest device can play havoc with any unwanted visitor, and will certainly hamper them long enough for you to use your cannon here. It is simply opened to let any friend in.”

  Russell nodded. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

  As play resumed, Rowley ambled into the conservatory, sniffing here and there at various interesting scents. Slowly he made his way to the table, walked up one of the ornately carved legs, and then sat on the cushioned rim to see what the two men were doing. A red ball rolled gently down the table, and halted right in front of him. Concentrating a little more than was his custom, the ghostly spaniel patted it with his paw. The ball rolled a few inches.

  Marcus’ lips parted in astonishment. “Did I imagine that?”

  “If you did, so did I,” Russell replied. Then he shook his head dismissively. “It must have been a trick of the light. Play on.”

  But Rowley had warmed to the trick, and patted the ball again. Amazed, the two men watched its uneven progress along the cushion until Marcus picked it up. Rowley scowled invisibly at him, and then jumped down from the table to wander off again on his briefly interrupted search for sugared almonds.

  Marcus examined the ball closely. “I see nothing untoward. It’s just an ivory billiard ball,” he declared at last, handing it to Russell.

  Russell inspected it as well, and then replaced it on the green baize, “Perhaps we both had one brandy too many,” he said at last.

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve only had two!”

  “Two very large ones,” Russell reminded him. “Oh, let’s continue our play. If it happens again, we’ll call it a day and sleep it off.”

  “Agreed.”

  They played steadily for about a quarter of an hour, and then Russell asked Marcus if he had encountered Henrietta at the ball.

  “Yes, I came face-to-face with the future Lady Sutherton. There was no bloodshed, so you may rest easy.”

  “I think it’s a damned shame she’s marrying that maggot Sutherton.”

  “Like cleaves to like.”

  Russell was taken aback. “I say, that’s a little strong, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  Russell put down his cue. “I think it’s about time you explained. What exactly happened between you two?”

  Marcus hesitated and then placed his cue on the table as well. “I met her at a masked ball at Devonshire House last summer. I’d managed to ascertain who she was, but because she was a Courtenay I fear I introduced myself under a false name. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. Suffice it that the whole sorry business is over now.”

  “How much of a sorry business was it?”

  “That is none of your business,” Marcus replied with a disarming smile.

  “I have no doubt she’s confided in Charlotte,” Russell suggested, hoping to prompt an explanation after all.

  “If she has, you may be sure it won’t be the truth. Henrietta Courtenay is not at all likely to confess how entirely without merit her conduct was. As far as I am concerned, she and Sutherton richly deserve each oth
er Now then, is it my turn?”

  Russell yawned and stretched. “I have no idea. To be truthful, I’m tired at last.”

  As they left the billiard room, Henrietta was asleep in her room at the end of the second floor on the north wing. It wasn’t the most sumptuous guest chamber in the abbey, but it was her favorite because it had a view inland over the formal gardens toward the high moors. Firelight danced gently over the pink silk walls and caught the shadows in the exposed stonework around the arched door. The hangings of the four-posted bed were silver brocade, fringed and tasseled in gold, and the scent of roses hung in the air from the opened potpourri in the hearth.

  After the upset of Marcus’ arrival, she hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but her head had hardly touched the pillow before she was lost in troubled dreams filled with threats from Marcus that he would tell the world how loose her conduct had been in London. She tossed as she slept, but didn’t hear the door softly open. A shadowy figure crept in. Cloaked and hooded, it moved stealthily to the dressing table, where Henrietta’s jewelry box stood among the clutter of ribbon stands, brushes, combs, scent bottles, and pin bowls. The figure reached out to the box, then paused as Henrietta turned restlessly in the bed.

  In the meantime Rowley’s hunt for sugared almonds had led him to the passage to Henrietta’s room. He ambled along the ceiling, saw the cloaked figure, and followed. Suspended from the ceiling close to the silver brocade bed, the spaniel cocked his head curiously to one side as he watched the intruder open Henrietta’s jewelry box and remove her betrothal ring. Rowley knew something was very wrong, and gave a concerned whine, which the intruder didn’t hear, but Henrietta certainly did. Her eyes flew open, and without realizing there was anyone else in the room, she looked directly up at the ghostly dog on the ceiling. She stared at him in the moving light from the fire. The King Charles spaniel she’d seen in the ballroom! Was he really a ghost? Or was she still asleep and dreaming?

  The cloaked intruder turned to leave and Henrietta saw the stealthy movement. She sat up with a cry of alarm, and the figure froze momentarily before dashing from the room. Rowley followed in hot pursuit, barking at the top of his lungs. Seeing her open jewelry box, and fearing everything had been stolen, Henrietta gave chase as well. Common sense had no place in her actions; she was intent only on apprehending the thief.

  The night light in the passage swayed in the draft from the intruder’s cloak as he turned the corner at the far end, toward the main staircase. Rowley’s claws slithered on the ceiling and his barking rang loudly through the house, disturbing those guests who had psychic inclinations, but most of all alerting Jane and Kit to the fact that something was wrong. The ghosts left their bed and Kit hastily donned his sword as they rushed through the closed door into the passage, which was at the opposite end of the abbey.

  Henrietta’s thoughts were in confusion as she ran after the thief. Perhaps this was all a dream, and she was really still in her bed! But as she turned the corner, she knew it was no dream, for the intruder was standing there, his identity still concealed by his hooded cloak. She had no time to protect herself as he struck her on the side of the head with a candlestick. Pain flashed vividly through her eyes, and she felt herself falling to the cold stone floor. She heard the clatter of the candlestick as it was dropped nearby. The last thing to penetrate her fading consciousness was Rowley’s hysterical barking from the ceiling.

  Old Nick had happened to observe events, and was delighted, but as he began to rub his hands together gleefully, he realized Rowley’s barking might bring timely help. He raised a hand to dash the spaniel into oblivion, but for once St. Peter was alert. A bolt of lightning flashed down from heaven, singeing Old Nick’s fingers so badly that he gave a howl of pain and drew back down into his realm. He wished he’d remembered what happened when he’d interfered on the terrace. He really wasn’t very successful when it came to acting on the spur of the moment, and the sooner he remembered that disagreeable fact, the better.

  Rowley, who knew nothing, continued to bark for all he was worth.

  Chapter Eight

  The thief ran on toward the staircase landing, from where he could go up or down, or even take one of the three other passages that led off it. Rowley dashed in his wake. The spaniel was beside himself with fury and indignation, and redoubled his noise as he saw Jane and Kit hastening from the passage opposite.

  Russell and Marcus were just approaching the staircase on the ground floor when Marcus halted in puzzlement. “Can you hear a dog barking?”

  “A what?”

  “A dog, a small one.”

  “There aren’t any small dogs here,” Russell reminded him.

  “Which is what I thought, yet I can definitely hear one. It’s somewhere on the floor above.”

  As they both looked up the staircase, the cloaked figure fled across the landing, then disappeared again into the passage opposite. The two men were so startled that for a second or so they didn’t react, but then Russell shouted and they both ran up the staircase. Rowley’s almost hysterical barking was still audible to Marcus, and to the various guests whose sleep was disturbed by the noise. The intruder was running directly toward Jane and Kit, but saw nothing. Kit drew his sword and blocked the way, but, of course, the thief ran through him unhindered. Furious to be so helpless. Kit gave a shout of rage, and chased him.

  Rowley had slithered to a halt on seeing Jane and Kit. Still barking, he scampered back the way he’d come, followed by Jane, who realized he was trying to tell her something. She was horrified to find Henrietta lying unconscious. Rowley, who knew he’d done well, jumped down into his mistress’ arms, his plumy tail wagging. Jane cuddled her beloved pet close as she cast distractedly around for a way to help Henrietta. Then, just as Russell and Marcus ran shouting on to the landing behind her, the specter saw the discarded candlestick tying nearby. Closing her eyes tightly, she concentrated hard upon making it move. It rocked to-and-fro, then rose abruptly into the air and dashed itself noisily against the flagged floor.

  Marcus had begun to follow Russell after the cloaked figure, and because Rowley was quiet now, the clatter of the candlestick carried very clearly. He halted and looked back in puzzlement. What in God’s name was going on tonight? Intruders, self-propelling billiard balls, invisible dogs, and now . . . Now what? He strained to see along the other passage, where the night light was very dim. He saw the candlestick and knew that was what he’d heard; then he made out something small and white just visible on the floor around the corner. A bandaged wrist! Henrietta!

  Jane hovered anxiously nearby as he crouched concernedly by the motionless figure. “Oh, dear God,” he breathed on seeing the bloodstain on Henrietta’s forehead. Then he felt the pulse at her throat. She was still alive! He could see an open door farther along the passage, and guessed it must be her room, so he gathered her carefully into his arms to carry her there. Jane followed as he laid Henrietta on the bed. Then he dampened a handkerchief in the water jug on the washstand, and returned to examine the bloodstain more closely. By now the castle was in an uproar, but because the room was at the end of the wing, no one passed the open door. Jane leaned intently over Marcus as he gently wiped the blood from Henrietta’s hair. He saw immediately that her loose hair had almost certainly saved her from much worse, possibly even fatal injury, and he recalled what Russell had said to him on the quay about a series of mishaps having befallen Henrietta. This was certainly no mishap, for she had been deliberately struck with the candlestick.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, taking in the rich tangle of her raven hair, the thickness of her long dark lashes, and the pale perfection of her complexion. His glance lingered too on the gentle curve of her breasts beneath the soft stuff of her nightgown. There had been a time when he’d caressed and stroked her until she arched against him with pleasure. A heady time. But so brief...

  Jane observed him shrewdly. His unguarded expression reflected feelings he would otherwise have kept hidden, and which h
e would certainly have striven at all costs to conceal from Henrietta herself! Kit was right, the lady wraith thought, the handsome marquess was no more exempt from emotion than Henrietta herself. There was hope!

  Old Nick chose that moment to glance up from the depths of Hades to see how things were progressing, and was appalled by what he saw. Things were going far too well for the ghosts, and the end of his hundred years of amusement suddenly seemed in sight. This time he wisely resisted the temptation to do something precipitate, and instead retreated thoughtfully to ponder the situation.

  Marcus spoke to Henrietta. “Henrietta? Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t respond.

  He took her left hand in his and began to rub and pat it persistently. “Henrietta? Can you hear me? Henrietta?”

  As she began to stir a little, Jane carried Rowley swiftly behind the lacquered Chinese screen that shielded the washstand and adjoining dressing room from view.

  Marcus spoke again. “Wake up, Henrietta. Please open your eyes!”

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled. “Marcus?” she whispered drowsily.

  “Yes, it’s me. Wake up now.”

  “Is it time to go?”

  He gazed at her. “No, sweeting, it’s just time to wake up,” he said softly.

  Her eyes opened and she smiled again. “Oh, it’s so good to be with you like this ...” The words trailed away on an uncertain note as she began to recall.

  “It’s all right, don’t be afraid,” he said quickly. “I found you lying in the passage. You’d been hit with a candlestick. Do you remember anything?”

  “There was a dog, a King Charles spaniel...” Her glance went to the ceiling, and she bit back any further explanation.

  Marcus’ eyes cleared. There had been a dog, and if it didn’t belong at the abbey, then clearly it must belong to the intruder. He was still puzzled, though. Why had he been able to hear it when Russell couldn’t?