Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  Henrietta struggled to sit up. “Someone was here, a—a cloaked man!”

  Marcus put reassuring hands on her arms. “I know, but you’re all right now.”

  “My jewelry box . . . ! It’s open now, but I know I closed it. Was everything stolen?”

  He went to the dressing table and returned with the box. “It seems full enough to me, so I guess you interrupted him in time.”

  But she saw immediately what was missing. “He took my betrothal ring,” she said.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Evidently a thief of little taste,” he observed beneath his breath.

  She ignored him as she closed the box. “I wonder why he took only that? I was so convinced everything had gone that I could only think of getting it back. So I chased him.”

  “That wasn’t wise.”

  “Well, I’m not wise, am I? That’s something we both know.” There was an edge in her voice.

  He met her eyes. “Now is not the time for raking over dead embers.”

  She drew back. “Embers I wish had never been kindled,” she whispered.

  He got up once more. “The sentiment is mutual, I promise you. Now then, it’s hardly proper for me to remain here with you like this. As you can hear, there’s a hue and cry for your intruder, so I doubt if Charlotte can possibly still be asleep. I’ll find her and bring her to you.”

  “I’m quite all right now, so there’s no need—”

  “There’s every need,” he interrupted, then nodded his head and left the room, but in the passage he paused. The bleakness of the Yorkshire dawn fled, and for a moment it was a warm evening in a summerhouse in a Grosvenor Square garden. Henrietta was in his arms, pressing to him as they kissed. He should have taken her then, for it was no more than she would have deserved. No more at all...

  * * * *

  When Marcus found them, Charlotte and Russell were endeavoring to calm the gaggle of guests who’d been aroused by all the noise. On hearing what had befallen Henrietta, Charlotte and the ladies immediately hastened to attend her, leaving the gentlemen to hear about Russell’s unsuccessful pursuit of the intruder.

  He told them he’d had the miscreant in full view, when Henrietta’s uncle, awakened by the shouts and Rowley’s racket, suddenly emerged from his room. A collision had been unavoidable, and when Russell regained his balance, the cloaked figure had vanished.

  Kit had fared no better in the chase. He’d dropped his sword and bent to retrieve it at the very moment Russell and Jasper Courtenay collided, with the result that the intruder eluded him as well. Russell had given up the chase, because the abbey was vast and contained so many passages and doors, but Kit had searched on. He had moved diligently in and out of all the nearby rooms, but he only found sleepy guests, some sitting up nervously in bed, some pulling on their dressing gowns to see what was going on.

  In Marcus’ room, which the ghost expected to find empty, there was something that stopped him in his spectral tracks. The dawn light was silver upon Amabel’s naked body as she combed her rich brown hair. Her carnation perfume filled the fire-warmed air, but the touch of sulfur was still there. Oh, yes, it was there. Kit thought as he drew back against the wall to study her. His gaze moved shrewdly over her face and slender figure. Her dark eyes were too knowing, and her lips were rouged just a little too much. If this wanton was going to grace Marcus Fitzpaine’s bed tonight, the marquess wasn’t about to have much sleep!

  Amabel donned Marcus’ gray paisley dressing gown, then went to the window and flung open the casement. The new day lightened by the minute against the sky, but the clouds were still leaden. A few stray snowflakes drifted in, catching in her hair as she leaned out to look down at the sea far below, for this wing of the abbey stretched right to the very edge of the cliff’s sheer drop. After a moment she drew back in again and closed the window.

  Her lips were now curved in a smile that Kit found deeply disturbing. He moved closer and shivered a little as she brushed briefly through him on her way to an armchair in the corner. To his surprise she pulled the chair aside and then bent to retrieve her clothes, which must have slipped down when she draped them there after undressing. She arranged them very carefully over the back of the chair, and then went to the fireplace, where she sat on the rug and held out her hands to the heat. The flames danced in her eyes as she waited for Marcus to come. Kit waited too, for if Marcus was as enthralled by Amabel as he appeared, there seemed little point in trying to pair him off with Henrietta. The shade needed to be certain.

  It was another half an hour and almost completely light when Marcus came. He’d lingered to consult with Russell about the attack upon Henrietta and the theft of her ring. The implications were plain; the thief was probably a guest or one of the servants, the only other explanation being that someone had come up from Mulborough. The latter possibility had been discounted when a brief examination of the grounds revealed that apart from the footprints of the man sent to bring Dr. Hartley, the only other tracks belonged to the sailors who’d brought Marcus’ luggage from the Avalon. These men had come and gone while it was still snowing, and their footprints were partially filled. Therefore the only conclusion to be drawn was that the intruder was still in the abbey.

  Amabel rose from the rug as Marcus entered. “I’ve been waiting an age for you,” she murmured.

  He whirled about at the sudden sound of her voice. “Amabel!”

  “I told you I’d come to you tonight. Or is it morning now?”

  He recovered a little. “I’m flattered, but think it would be better if you returned to your own room,” he said.

  “You don’t mean that,” she said, untying the dressing gown and allowing it to slip to the floor. Then she went to him and linked her arms around his neck.

  “Please, Amabel, I really don’t want...”

  “Oh, yes, you do,” she whispered, stretching up to put her parted lips to his.

  He was betrayed by his body, and by the fierce anger revived because of Henrietta. Once again the cold Yorkshire dawn retreated, and it was a summer evening, this time in Hyde Park. Amabel wasn’t the woman in his arms, it was Henrietta, and he wasn’t going to repeat the mistake of letting the moment slip! He lifted Amabel roughly into his arms and carried her to the bed. Kit did not linger to see any more, but with a heavy heart melted through the wall into the passage. He didn’t relish having to tell Jane that Marcus Fitzpaine wasn’t suitable after all.

  Because of Rowley, Jane had found it difficult to escape from Henrietta’s room without being seen. But for the spaniel, she could have passed through the wall behind the screen and that would have been that, but with him, she had to wait for the door to be opened and for Henrietta’s attention to be diverted. It was most vexing. Holding the spaniel in her arms, with her fingers firmly around his muzzle to be sure of his silence, the shade was forced to remain behind the screen until an opportunity presented itself. At last Henrietta’s bed was completely encircled by Charlotte and the other ladies, and the door was briefly left open. Jane waited no more and glided briskly out to return to the room she and Kit had selected for themselves. There she settled on the bed, and as she waited for Kit, she stroked and praised Rowley, who had done so much to save Henrietta tonight. The spaniel basked in her undivided attention.

  At last Kit stepped through the wall, and Jane sat up expectantly. “Did you catch up with the intruder?”

  “I fear not,” he replied, taking off his sword and then joining her on the bed. He was dismayed when Jane related the attack upon Henrietta, and the theft of her ring. “Damn it all, if only I hadn’t dropped my fool sword, we’d know who perpetrated such vile deeds!” he fumed.

  “Well, it cannot be helped.”

  “And as if that were not bad enough, I have something to tell you about Marcus and Amabel Renchester. He may be our choice for Henrietta, but I fear that at this very moment he is between the sheets with Amabel. And they are not reading bedtime stories,” he added dryly.

  Jane
stared at him, and then shook her head. “No, I don’t believe it! I saw him with Henrietta, and I would swear she is the one in his thoughts.”

  “In his thoughts, maybe, but certainly not in his bed. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself. They’re in the room directly above the cliff edge.”

  Jane began to get up, but then sat back again. “No, if you say that’s what’s happening, then clearly it is. But I tell you this, it isn’t because he loves Amabel, for I would stake my eternity that he loves Henrietta.”

  “He didn’t put up much resistance,” Kit replied.

  “Men don’t as a rule,” Jane observed. “They’re poor creatures, ruled by the contents of their breeches.”

  Kit smiled. “Speaking of which ...” he murmured, putting a hand to her cheek.

  Rowley growled and bared his teeth.

  “Kit, we can’t. There’s so much we should be attending to,” Jane murmured a little guiltily.

  “And we have weeks of snow in which to accomplish it, so why should we not pleasure ourselves a little in the meantime?” he replied, taking Rowley from her arms and placing him at the foot of the bed.

  Rowley growled again, but Jane ignored him as she succumbed to Kit’s caresses. Disgruntled, the spaniel jumped down from the bed and left the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunlight broke through the clouds as Dr. Hartley arrived on his sturdy cob. The rays touched the southern headland first, causing the shadow of St. Tydfa’s church to creep across the tombs and ancient yew trees in the churchyard as if searching for the legendary bogle. Everything was white with snow and possessed a cold clarity that made the events of the night seem like a dream. Mulborough town was well awake, and the fishing fleet had already set sail, although it would not venture far because of the ever present threat of the Légère. The Avalon lay peacefully at anchor, her speed on the open sea evident in her lean gilded beauty.

  At the abbey, such was the disquiet caused by the night’s incident that few guests had felt able to return to their beds. All were eager to depart without delay, and made arrangements accordingly. This included Henrietta’s uncle, who was anxious to return south for an important sale at Tattersall’s. Racehorses were his passion and there was a splendid colt about to be sold, but he knew he could not leave until his niece had been pronounced safe.

  There was much bustle in the stables as the doctor dismounted and hastened into the house to attend Henrietta. She had awoken with the worst headache of her life. The side of her head was bruised and swollen, and she had never felt more fragile or weak. Dr. Hartley, who was a disagreeably pompous man, prescribed laudanum and instructed her to remain in bed for at least three days. He administered the first dose immediately and then, at Russell’s request, took himself off to examine Charlotte. Henrietta’s uncle waylaid him on the landing, and after extracting a reassurance that Henrietta was in no danger, scuttled away to finalize his departure. Within ten minutes, Thomas Courtenay’s carriage was bowling along the drive away from the abbey.

  Rowley was wandering sulkily around the abbey ceilings. The spoiled spaniel hated it when Jane put Kit first, and was determined to stay away as long as possible because he knew it would worry her. He rambled along the passages, and at length found himself in the one that led to Marcus’ room. Seeing a dead end ahead, he was about to retrace his steps when he was intrigued by a glint of gold on top of the window pelmet near Marcus’ door. A closer examination soon revealed that it was Henrietta’s stolen ring. As he went to sniff it, an interesting scent pricked his nostrils; it was the scent of the intruder.

  At that moment Kit appeared at the end of the passage, having been dispatched by Jane to find the dog. “Ah, there you are, Rowley. Come here this instant.”

  The spaniel wagged his tail and whined.

  Kit frowned. “Don’t just hang there like that! Come here!”

  Rowley remained stubbornly where he was.

  Muttering dire threats beneath his breath, Kit strode purposefully toward him, but to his astonishment, instead of backing away, Rowley seemed pleased! Tail wagging nineteen to the dozen, the spaniel patted the ring with his paw. It fell to the floor with a bell-like tinkle.

  Kit stared at it, and then at Marcus’ door. Was it coincidence that the ring was here? Marcus couldn’t have stolen it and placed it there, because he’d been coming upstairs with Russell at the time the intruder fled, but someone else had been here last night who could have taken it. Amabel Renchester. She of the whiff of sulfur. The ghost’s mind raced back to the previous night. Amabel said she’d been waiting in Marcus’ room for “an age,” but she might have just arrived. Her clothes had fallen behind the chair, but she could have just flung them there in haste as she took them off. Then, when she was undressed and knew there was time, she retrieved them and put them neatly over the chair. But what of the cloak, which would have told the truth if she was the intruder? Kit’s brow creased thoughtfully, then he remembered how Amabel had opened the window and looked down the sheer drop of the cliff’ to the rocks below. Had she thrown the cloak out? Yes, of course she had, and by now the tide would have washed it away.

  He glanced down at the ring, wanting to take it to Jane, who must be told what he’d discovered about Amabel—or, at least, what he guessed about her. Closing his eyes in concentration, he made the ring lift into the air. Once it was weightless, he opened his eyes again and the ring followed obediently as he and Rowley went down to the breakfast room, where Jane was closely observing Marcus, Russell, and Amabel, who were the only three at the table.

  Conversation was noticeably absent. Russell toyed endlessly with the sugar tongs. He wore a sage-green coat and gray-and-black striped neckcloth. His breakfast of deviled kidneys was untouched. He was tired from the night’s events, and anxious because Charlotte was upset by it all, so his temper was far from equable. Amabel was very dainty and fresh in yellow-and-white checkered wool, and there was a secretive smile on her lips as she daintily ate a delicious local kipper. Jane didn’t like that smile, for it signified the successful seduction of Marcus Fitzpaine.

  However, if Amabel was satisfied with the way things had gone, Marcus gave no similar sign. He had been the very last one to arrive for breakfast, and could have sat next to her; instead he sat diagonally opposite. He wore a dark gray coat and cream trousers, and there was a blue silk neckcloth at his throat. His fair hair was tousled and his eyes thoughtful as he poured himself some of the excellent Turkish coffee that was always served at the abbey. He didn’t studiously avoid Amabel’s eyes, but neither did he go out of his way to look at her, and when the occasion arose, he was polite and conversational. That was all. Jane was puzzled. Was it an act to preserve appearances? If so, there seemed little point, for they were both free to do as they pleased.

  Kit waited a moment or so to gain Jane’s attention, but as she continued to watch the table, he impatiently directed the ring right in front of her nose. “Behold, the missing item,” he whispered.

  Jane stared at it, and then turned inquiringly to him. “How—?”

  “Rowley found it on the pelmet near Marcus’ door. I think Mrs. Brimstone was the intruder. I don’t know what her motive was, but she certainly had the opportunity.”

  “Amabel. Of course!” Jane’s gaze swung back to the woman at the table. So the whiff of sulfur had been more than mere imagination; the Renchester woman was wicked.

  Kit explained how he’d deduced Amabel’s guilt, and then added, “Now I come to think of it, she didn’t ask Marcus what all the disturbance was, which I’m sure she would have done if she had indeed been in the room for that long. I suspect she didn’t ask because she already knew!”

  Jane’s mind raced. “What motive do you think she has?”

  “I don’t know.” Kit met her eyes. “You’re not just thinking about last night, are you? You think she’s behind everything that’s befallen Henrietta.”

  “It’s hard not to think it.” Jane glanced at the breakfast table aga
in. “Enough of this for the moment. I’ve thought of a way we can force Marcus and Henrietta into each other’s company again.”

  “To what purpose? He spent last night with Amabel, remember? Jane, my beloved, I think we have to abandon this whole business.”

  At that moment Rowley associated Amabel’s scent with that on the ring, and he growled.

  Marcus turned sharply. “I hear that dog again!”

  Russell frowned tetchily. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I told you last night, there is no dog!”

  Amabel glanced around. “I didn’t hear anything,” she said.

  Russell pushed the sugar bowl away. “That’s because there’s nothing to hear.”

  Marcus looked at him. “May I remind you that I wasn’t the only one to notice it last night?”

  “It was my shouting that aroused everyone,” Russell insisted. Nothing was said for a moment or so, and then he glanced at Marcus again. “I’ve been thinking about that boom idea. It would work very well here, so I’ve decided to put it to those who matter in the town.”

  “I’ll come with you, if you like.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Amabel sat forward with interest. “What are you talking about?”

  Russell explained. “Marcus thinks a boom should be put across the channel into Mulborough harbor.”

  She looked inquiringly at Marcus. “To keep the Légère out, I suppose?”

  “That’s the general idea,” he answered.

  “How very clever. Will it work?”

  “Oh, yes. With luck both she and her damned crew could be captured.”

  Russell got up. “I’ll speak to you about it later, Marcus. In the meantime, I think I’ll see how Charlotte is.” He went to the door and then paused. “I, er, apologize for my lack of grace this morning.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Marcus replied.

  As the door closed, Amabel pursed her lips. “How distant you are now, Marcus” she murmured.