Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  Amabel opened the reticule looped over her wrist. From it she took a tiny blue glass vial. Even behind the curtain there was sufficient light from the passage for Kit to read the single word written upon it in gold. Curare. Amabel gazed at the vial for a moment and then replaced it in the reticule. The blood coursed wildly through her veins, and myriad expressions made her face ugly. A plan had begun to form, and she parted the curtains to glance toward Marcus’ door, beneath which shone a thin line of light. She stepped from hiding and hurried to the main passage to get one of the lighted candlesticks, before returning to the embrasure and listening for the soft sound of the nursery door opening again.

  The cold air from the window made her shiver, and she glanced out. It was the first cloudy night in nearly a month, and the bay was dark. At two o’clock the Légère would lie offshore, watching for the signal from St. Tydfa’s. Amabel smiled as she recalled how laboriously she had gathered information about the channel and the boom, only to find there was no longer any need to even be concerned about such obstacles. Now the smugglers’ path offered a much safer landing! She also had information to divulge about the precise whereabouts of the Treasury gold. In vain had Charlotte denied its existence, for diligent inquiries among the abbey servants had finally revealed the truth. No doubt Russell thought the old icehouse a clever ruse, but such a deserted, unprotected place, with the livery stable conveniently on the edge of the town, was heaven-sent to the Légère. A string of horses could soon carry the gold from the icehouse, down the cliff path to a waiting boat, and the good citizens of Mulborough would not even realize what was happening. Before dawn broke, a portion of England’s gold would be on its way to France! Amabel glanced at her little fob watch. In less than three hours she would start signaling from the churchyard.

  Kit’s unease intensified. The creature had more in mind than just Henrietta’s demise; he knew from the way she glanced outside and at her watch. The phantom glanced at the window as well, but all he saw was the dark, starless sky. His thoughts broke off as Jane suddenly fled toward him along the passage, having realized that Henrietta was about to leave the nursery.

  “Kit, where are you?” she whispered urgently.

  “Here!” He beckoned her behind the curtain. He had no fear that Amabel would hear or see anything, because he was certain she wasn’t in the least psychic. As the nursery door opened again and Henrietta emerged, Kit whispered briefly what he’d witnessed.

  Amabel heard the nursery door as well, and stiffened expectantly. Shielding the candle with her hand, she slipped out of hiding to Marcus’ door and there took up a position with one hand on the knob, as if she had but that moment come out. She was careful not to make any sound that Marcus might hear.

  As Henrietta’s footsteps neared the corner, Amabel shook the candle so the flame danced in the otherwise shadowy passage. Henrietta turned and Amabel put a finger to her lips before hurrying to her, whispering excitedly. “Oh, Henrietta, I’m so happy that I feel I will burst. I have long loved Marcus, and he has just confessed he loves me too!”

  Henrietta’s glance moved toward the light beneath Marcus’ door. “I—I’m very glad for you, Amabel.”

  Amabel linked her arm and accompanied her toward the landing. “I confess I was dismayed when I saw him kissing you in the entrance hall that time, but you said it meant nothing, and he said the same.”

  Henrietta didn’t comment.

  Amabel’s green eyes shone in the candlelight, and she squeezed Henrietta’s arm. “I can’t believe he’s mine at last. And to think I have Sutherton to thank.”

  “George?”

  “Yes.” Amabel gave a rueful smile. “To be truthful, he and I are quite good friends, although we haven’t told you for fear you would misunderstand. Others have misinterpreted, you see, and we didn’t want you to do the same. There has never been anything between us—we just get on. There, it is off my conscience at last. If you only knew how I’ve worried over it. Anyway, I confided in George how I felt about Marcus and he told me to show my hand. So that is what I did. I was quite shameless when you and Charlotte were at Mulbridge. I wonder Russell didn’t tell you, for I vow he must have seen me leaving Marcus’ room on more than one occasion. He certainly saw this morning. Oh dear—” Amabel halted, and bit her lip ashamedly. “How totally without principle you must think me.”

  Henrietta managed a smile. “Amabel, you and Marcus are at liberty to do as you please.”

  “How dear a friend you are, indeed. After Marcus, I vow I love you most in all the world. If I can ever, ever be as good a friend to you, I will be content.” Amabel kissed her cheek and squeezed her arm again. “I have a fancy for a cup of chocolate, and I’m sure I can persuade the cook to make some specially. Will you join me?”

  “Er, no, it’s very late, and I’d rather go to bed.”

  “Then let me bring some chocolate to you.”

  “I have a headache, and merely require a little sleep.”

  “Then I insist you take some chocolate, for I find it a sovereign remedy for headaches. Please let me show my concern and friendship,” Amabel urged persuasively. “You go to your bed, I won’t be long.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  Amabel smiled and hurried away, her candle shadow looming over the walls before gradually diminishing down the staircase.

  Henrietta sighed. She didn’t want a drink of anything, she simply wanted to be left alone. But Amabel meant well... She walked on.

  The ghosts peered around the corner and then emerged into the main passage. Jane looked at Kit in dismay. “That—that Renchester creature is going to put curare in the chocolate, isn’t she?”

  “I would lay odds upon it,” he replied.

  “We have to stop her!”

  “And so we will, but she must not know it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He told her about Amabel’s glance outside and then at the fob watch. “Jane, I can feel in my bones that Mrs. Brimstone is up to far more than just her campaign against Henrietta, and I feel it’s vital we find out what it is.”

  “But what do you imagine she could be doing?”

  “I don’t know, damn it, but the suspicion is very strong. It’s obvious that we must not let Henrietta drink the chocolate, but at the same time we want to find out more about Mrs. Brimstone.”

  Jane searched his face in the darkness. “Your intuition is very reliable, Kit, so I will not argue. But Henrietta must not come to harm.”

  “She won’t, I promise.”

  Her fingers closed briefly over his. “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, because curare works so very quickly, I think we have to take Henrietta into our confidence, so she can pretend to drink and succumb.”

  Jane stared at him. “Tell her? Are you mad? We are strictly forbidden to communicate with our subjects! It’s bad enough that Henrietta has seen and heard us accidentally, but at least that isn’t our fault.”

  “I know, but I called out a warning in the church tower, remember? I feel it didn’t result in our recall because I didn’t do it to further our cause, but to save her life. We will be saving her life this time, too.”

  “I don’t like it, Kit. Can’t we just make the drink spill?”

  “Amabel will only insist upon preparing another. No, my dear, we have to involve Henrietta. There is no other way. Besides, I’m sure I’m right. Ghosts are permitted to appear in order to save lives.”

  Jane looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. “Very well, we will do as you feel right.” She smiled bravely as tears welled in her eyes. “I wish ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish Rowley were here,” she whispered.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Henrietta had undressed and was seated in her wrap at her dressing table, brushing her hair. She paused, half shocked, half accepting, as she saw Jane and Kit’s semitransparent reflections in the mirror. Slowly, and with a trembling hand, she put down the brush. “What do you
want of me? Why am I the only one who can see you?”

  Kit explained. “Because you have more psychic power than anyone else. In fact, in all our hundred years you are the only person who has been able to see, hear, and speak to us.”

  “You are Kit Fitzpaine and Jane Courtenay, aren’t you?”

  They nodded.

  “I heard you speak to each other at the ball, then I read Lady Chloe’s journal.”

  “We know, we watched you. We hid behind the screen in case you saw us,” Jane replied, nodding toward the screen in question.

  “But why can I suddenly see you? I’ve been here at the abbey on numerous occasions without realizing you were here.”

  Kit smiled. “That’s because this is the first time you’ve been here when it has snowed on New Year’s Day.”

  “Is that what governs you?”

  “Yes, we have to have snow.” He told her about St. Peter’s error, but not about the mission that would secure redemption.

  Henrietta looked from one to the other. “And why have you decided to speak to me tonight?” she asked quietly.

  Jane stepped forward. “Because we have to warn you about—” she began, but then turned in dismay as Amabel’s footsteps were heard approaching. Kit immediately fixed his attention upon the door, to keep it firmly closed.

  Amabel rattled the handle. “Have you locked the door, Henrietta?”

  Jane put a ghostly hand on Henrietta’s shoulder, although her touch could not be felt. “Trust us, Henrietta, for we are your friends. Amabel means you ultimate harm, so you must not drink the chocolate. It’s poisoned with curare, do you understand?”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened. “Curare? But—”

  “We will explain, and we will be with you while she’s here, but she cannot see or hear us.” Jane nodded at Kit, who immediately permitted the door to open.

  Amabel almost stumbled in, and had to steady both the cup of chocolate and her candlestick, which dripped specks of wax on the floor. “Good heavens, what a very stiff door! I was certain you must have locked it, but suddenly the handle just turned!”

  “Yes, it does that sometimes,” Henrietta answered.

  Amabel put the chocolate on the dressing table before her. “If you wonder how I was able to make it so swiftly, I have to confess I caught the servants just about to sit down to some they’d made for themselves. And they had a Madeira cake to enjoy with it! I vow Charlotte should be told they eat and drink more grandly than she realizes!” She laughed lightly, and put the candlestick down as well.

  Jane warned Henrietta again. “She is all smiles, but remember not to trust her at all!”

  A cold shiver ran through Henrietta as she gazed at the cup, but she managed to speak. “It’s very kind of you to bring it to me, Amabel.”

  “Kind? Oh, what nonsense. Now then, you must drink every drop.”

  Jane fixed Henrietta with a look. “We must make her turn her back for a moment. Ask her to get you something from the dressing room,” she ordered.

  Henrietta thought quickly. “Oh, I vow it’s colder tonight than I realized. Amabel, would you be an angel and bring my shawl? It’s in the top drawer behind the screen.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The moment Amabel stepped behind the screen, Kit caused the chocolate cup to rise in the air and float to the fireplace, where it tipped its contents into the fire with a hiss that was lost as the logs shifted. Then the empty cup floated back to the saucer on the dressing table.

  Amabel returned, placed the shawl gently around Henrietta’s shoulders, and then stared at the cup. “Good heavens, have you drunk it all already?”

  “Yes, and it was delicious.”

  Kit caught Henrietta’s eye. “Curare kills by slowing the heart until it stops altogether, so pretend to be suddenly very, very tired,” he instructed.

  Henrietta dutifully stretched and yawned. “Oh, I can hardly keep my eyes open,” she murmured sleepily.

  Amabel smiled and hastened to the bed to turn back the coverlet. “Come, I’ll even tuck you in,” she said.

  “Sway a little,” Kit said as Henrietta got up.

  She did as she was told, and was solicitously helped to the bed. The moment she was lying down, she pretended to fall asleep. Amabel waited, and Henrietta began to breathe very deeply, as if succumbing to the poison.

  “Sleep forever in the arms of curare, Henrietta, dear. You’ll be found cold in your bed come the morning, and no one will know what happened, just as no one knew why my husband died,” Amabel murmured, taking the emerald betrothal ring and trying it on her own finger. “When George bade me choose, I believed this ring was for me, but instead he gave it to you.” She looked down at Henrietta again as the mantelpiece clock chimed midnight. “Soon it will be two o’clock, and all will be well,” she murmured, picking up the empty cup and candlestick and leaving the room.

  As the door closed softly, Henrietta immediately sat up again. Her face was ashen, for there was no doubt that Amabel was confident of having murdered her as anonymously as she had the unfortunate Major Renchester, who had also been found dead in his bed. She looked up at the wraiths. “Why has she done this to me? Is it simply because of George Sutherton?”

  Jane nodded. “We believe she has been behind every mishap that’s befallen you, both here and in London. It will all have dated from the moment she learned Sutherton had decided to marry you.”

  “To marry my fortune, you mean,” Henrietta corrected wryly.

  Jane went on. “With time running out, Amabel decided to act once and for all. If it were not for Kit and me, you would now be dying. Jealousy is a terrible emotion, Henrietta, and Amabel is soured to the very core that Sutherton wants you not her. It doesn’t matter to her that there is no love involved, just that you will have the life and man she craves with all her wicked heart. Kit and I call her Mrs. Brimstone, for wherever she is, there also is a whiff of sulfur. She’s destined for Old Nick, make no mistake of that.”

  Something occurred to Henrietta, and she looked up with sudden hope. “Does this mean she isn’t in love with Marcus?”

  Jane laughed. “Nor he with her. He doesn’t even realize how much shocking intimacy she has been pretending to share with him. More than once Kit and I have seen her seem to be leaving his room, but never once has she actually been inside with him. Well, maybe once, on the night of the ball, but even then nothing, er, ultimate took place.” Jane colored a little, and then went on. “Her interest in him is an act designed to allay suspicion and someone possibly warning you.”

  Henrietta looked away. “She need not have feared Marcus would trouble to warn me. His opinion of me is very low.” She pushed the bedclothes aside and got up. “I fear I am a hopeless judge of men. I still love him and find it hard to accept that he was prepared to lay odds upon my chastity. Still, he is a Fitzpaine and I am a Courtenay, so I suppose I should know how low he would stoop.” She remembered then, and turned with a quick blush. “Oh, forgive me, Kit, I—I ...”

  Kit held up a hand. “Do not apologize, Henrietta, for the Fitzpaines have much to answer for.”

  Jane nodded her agreement. “And so do the Courtenays. Both families are as bad as each other, and it’s all my fault and Kit’s. If we hadn’t eloped as we did, the Fitzpaines and Courtenays would no doubt still be the best of friends.”

  Henrietta smiled. “You fell in love, that is all.”

  “Oh, yes, we fell in love,” Jane murmured, looking mistily at Kit.

  Henrietta smiled. “Jane, looking at you is like looking in a mirror. You and I might be sisters, not two people separated by over a century. And Kit, you look exactly so like Marcus, it’s quite uncanny.”

  “Vikings both, for I too enjoy the noble pastime of sailing,” Kit murmured, sketching a bow.

  Henrietta remembered something. “Jane, what happened to your little dog? Rowley, isn’t that his name? I saw you searching for him in the churchyard. Have you lost him?”

  Jane’s eyes
filled with tears and Kit answered for her. “I fear we indeed lost poor Rowley.” He related the dreadful events in the churchyard.

  Henrietta’s eyes widened. “You—you mean there really are such things as bogles?”

  “Oh yes, and very disagreeable entities they are, too. They are foot-high goblins with rodent faces, who delight in preying upon the weak and lonely. Anyway, the one at St. Tydfa’s churchyard rode poor Rowley away down the hill into Mulborough, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  Jane stifled a sob and searched desperately in her sleeve for her handkerchief. Kit put a swift arm around her. “Don’t fret, my beloved, I’m sure he will soon be back, and ambling everywhere in search of sugared almonds.” The ghost paused, recalling a moment earlier in the day when he himself had searched through the castle, not for sugared almonds, but for Rowley. He had happened upon Amabel drawing on a piece of paper. He hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but now recalled that her drawing had actually been a map of the coast around Mulborough.

  Jane stopped dabbing her eyes and looked earnestly at him. “Kit? What is it?”

  “My love, I think I have remembered something which might explain what else Mrs. Brimstone is up to—or perhaps I should call her Madame Soufre!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simply that I fear she may be the enemy in more ways than one. She isn’t simply intent upon eliminating a rival for George Sutherton’s worthless affections. I believe she is the person who is signaling to the Légère. She’s a French spy!”

  “Why on earth do you think that?” Jane gasped.

  “Today I saw her drawing a map of Mulborough Bay, upon which I’ll warrant she placed the channel and boom exactly. And if she has found out about the icehouse, that will be shown as well! Maybe she even knows about the old smugglers’ landing.”

  “She does,” Henrietta said quietly, remembering the conversation over chocolate in the conservatory, when Amabel had become so agitated about Charlotte’s remarks concerning her patriotism.