Sandra Heath

by The Haunting of Henrietta

  Marcus took his leave of Russell and came down the steps. The gig lurched so much as he embarked that Jane gave a squeak of fright and gripped Kit’s arm tightly. As soon as Marcus had taken the seat next to Henrietta, he untied the mooring rope and the sailors pushed the oars against the steps. Jane closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer as the gig nosed away from the quay. Ice whispered in the sluggish water, and the chill seemed rawer than ever as the sailors swung into the rhythm of rowing. Mr. Padstow, who was at the helm, tugged his hat farther down over his ears, and Russell watched from the quay until the gig faded from view in the swirling snow. Henrietta gazed back until Mulborough could be seen no more; when she turned to look forward, the Avalon could not be seen either. The gig could have been in the middle of an ocean, hundreds of miles from anywhere.

  Marcus’ sloop wasn’t invisible to Jane and Kit, however. For them the snow seemed to suddenly peel back, and by an eerie silver light they saw the Avalon quite clearly. As they looked, she began to change shape, and instead of the sleek modern sloop, became the much older, larger Wessex, on which the ghosts had eloped when alive. Plain and unremarkable, the fully laden merchantman sat low in the water. Jane and Kit held hands tightly as for a moment they again relived the past. Then the silver light faded and the snow closed in again. The ghosts didn’t speak, but both knew something terrible was going to happen, something they were powerless to resist.

  Mr. Padstow put a whistle to his lips and blew hard. There was an answering whistle, and a guiding lantern shone through the murk. The boatswain adjusted the gig’s course, and as they slid beneath the Avalon’s gilded prow. Henrietta saw two other fully crewed gigs waiting to haul the sloop out of the harbor. The oars were shipped, and Marcus reached out to make the gig fast to the steps against the side of the ship. Stepping out, he stretched down to take Henrietta’s hand and pulled her effortlessly up to join him.

  Kit assisted Jane from the gig as well, and as the two wraiths gazed up the steps toward the deck, the silver glow appeared again. They did not know if they were boarding the Avalon or the Wessex; indeed everything seemed so blurred and indistinct that it was almost as if they were in a dream. Unable to move swiftly, they mounted the steps to the deck, where to their relief the illusion faded, and they found themselves only upon the Avalon. Hand-in-hand they glided toward the quarterdeck, beneath which were two doors, one to Marcus’ private cabins on the same level as the main deck, the other to the hold and sailors’ accommodation. No one saw them, not even the helmsman, through whom they passed as they made for the companionway that led down into the bowels of the vessel.

  Marcus led Henrietta up from the gig, and on reaching the deck she gazed around with reluctant admiration, for there was no doubt that the Avalon was one of the finest vessels afloat. A sailor ascended behind them with their portmanteaus.

  The sloop’s first officer, Mr. Barrington, stepped forward to salute Marcus and greet Henrietta. He was slightly older than Marcus, a lean man with a beard that he clearly groomed very carefully. His blue eyes were set above a broken nose and his straight brown hair was combed back from his forehead.

  “Welcome aboard, my lord, madam,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrington. Please go about your business, for I have no need of you at this moment.”

  “My lord.” Mr. Barrington inclined his head to Henrietta, and then turned on his heel to hurry away again.

  Marcus offered Henrietta his arm and led her astern. He ushered her through the door next to the one Jane and Kit had used, and she immediately found herself in his splendid main cabin. Furnished in crimson and gold, it was as grand as a saloon in a large house, albeit somewhat smaller. There were five glazed windows facing directly astern, gold-tasseled curtains, gimbal-mounted candles, a long window seat that was richly upholstered with crimson morocco, and a glazed door opening onto the stern balcony, which overhung the water. Gleaming mahogany tables were fixed to the thickly carpeted floor, and there was a scent of sandalwood from the chests against one wall. A telescope on a stand was by the windows, a costly brass sextant lay upon an escritoire, and in a corner stood a glass-fronted cupboard containing a select supply of cognac. Abundant ornamentation and gilt moldings provided an extra air of sumptuousness, and two portable stoves produced welcome warmth after the rigors of the ride from the abbey.

  Marcus stepped back to the door. “Mr. Barrington!” he yelled.

  The first officer came at the double. “My lord?”

  “Where’s the hammock?”

  “A regrettable oversight, my lord. I’ll have it attended to directly.”

  “See that you do.”

  Henrietta was outraged. Surely she wasn’t expected to sleep in a hammock!

  As the first officer hastened away again, Marcus turned and saw her expression. He immediately strode to fling open a door that revealed a cabin containing a brass bed and a washstand. “Behold your accommodation, madam. I am the one obliged to use the hammock!”

  She felt foolish. “I—I merely wondered ...”

  “If I was going to be base enough to force you into a canvas sling? No, madam, I was not.”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Henrietta, there is so much to forgive where you are concerned, that I think adding more to the list would be a waste of time and effort.”

  As always, her resentment flared. “Why do you persist in pretending that I was the one who committed the crime, when we both know it was you? Isn’t it enough that I was tricked to the extent I was? You weren’t a spurned lover, but a heartless gamester whose trickery didn’t quite reap the anticipated reward!”

  He was about to respond when a harassed Mr. Padstow rapped on the door. “Mr. Barrington’s compliments and beggin’ your leave, my lord, but the tide’s ripe.”

  “Very well.” Marcus looked at Henrietta again. “We’ll finish this conversation later, madam,” he said coldly, striding out and slamming the door behind him.

  In a deserted cabin on the deck below, Jane and Kit stood in each other’s arms. Jane could still sense the Wessex’s presence and drew back uneasily. “In two days’ time it will be St. Valentine’s Day. Something horrid is in the offing, Kit, I can just feel it.”

  Kit pulled her close once more, sharing her foreboding.

  “I do hope St. Peter is watching over us,” she whispered.

  They felt the sloop shudder slightly and heard shouts on deck as the gigs began to haul. Inch by inch the Avalon slid out of the harbor, and as soon as the gigs were safely on board again, she set sail toward the freedom—and danger—of the North Sea where, as the footman with the fisherman brother had said, a light breeze stirred small waves and dispelled the threat of ice.

  Old Nick watched with gloating anticipation. Oh, yes, something terrible was indeed about to happen, and as for that old fool St. Peter, far from watching over his beleaguered charges, he hadn’t had so much as an inkling that anything was afoot!

  Chapter Twenty-four

  An hour after leaving Mulborough, the snow stopped and the light breeze freshened to a strong wind. The Avalon forged south, but her motion through the white-topped waves made Henrietta feel unwell. It didn’t help that the cabin was hot, so she donned her cloak once more and went up to the freshness of the deck.

  The wind sang through the rigging and the canvas cracked and billowed. Gulls screamed and salt spray dashed the deck as she made her way to the starboard rail, from where she could see the snow-covered land a mile away. Marcus had ordered the setting of an extra sail and was watching the sailors scramble up the mast, but he walked over when he saw her. “Do you feel ill?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ll have the galley make you some peppermint.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “As you wish.” He walked away again.

  It had been a brief exchange, as cold as the winter itself. Tears blurred her eyes as she stared at the shore. Why had everything to be so cruel? She loved him so much, b
ut he—and what remained of her pride—left her no choice except to behave as if she despised him. How long she stood there before she noticed the odd little sound, she didn’t know, but suddenly she became aware of it. Barely discernible above the racket of the sea and ship, she heard a faint moan from somewhere below deck. No, it wasn’t a moan, it was a howl. Yes, that was it, a howl, as if an animal were in distress! She looked around in puzzlement and realized it was coming from a hatch that had just been opened. Slowly she left the rail and looked down the companionway that led into the hold. The howling ceased, but she had heard enough to know it had been made by a small dog. A King Charles spaniel, perhaps? Her lips parted. Was it Rowley?

  Her motion sickness was swept aside as she gathered her skirts to climb down to investigate, but almost immediately Marcus strode over. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “There are many hazards down there for someone who does not know her way around a ship.”

  “Marcus, I heard something.”

  “What did you hear?”

  She looked away. “A dog.”

  For a moment he didn’t speak, but then he drew a deep breath. “I’m beginning to recognize the way you avoid my eyes sometimes. Are we talking about the dog?”

  “We may be. I don’t really know.”

  “But you think it is.”

  She nodded.

  He was unexpectedly philosophical. “Well, where things otherworldly are concerned, you are uncomfortably reliable, and since I have now had an experience or two as well, it would ill become me to heap scorn upon what you say. Tell me, apart from the dog, do we have other ghostly company on board?”

  “Yes, Jane and Kit are here somewhere, but I don’t know where.” Mentioning Jane and Kit made her pause. Had they heard the howling? Could it have ceased because they’d found Rowley? Oh, how she hoped so.

  Marcus exhaled slowly. “So I have stowaways, do I?”

  “In a manner of speaking, although I could be wrong about Rowley. He disappeared, you see.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, he was ...” Her voice trailed away, for it was one thing to tell him about ordinary ghosts, quite another to bring bogles into it.

  “How did Rowley disappear?” Marcus prompted.

  “He was kidnapped by the bogle,” she said reluctantly.

  “By the bogle?” he repeated. “You mean, there really are such things?”

  “Yes.”

  Marcus held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “After what went on at the abbey, I think I’d believe anything.” The howling dog began again, and this time he heard it as well. “Was that it?”

  “Yes. Jane and Kit can’t have found him. Oh, can’t I go down and look?”

  “We’ll both go down, but you must tread carefully. As I said, the hold of a ship is hazardous.”

  He took a lighted lantern from its place on deck and helped her down onto the companion way before climbing in after her, closing the hatch behind him. Immediately the sound became clearer. Henrietta glanced frantically around. Where were Jane and Kit? Surely they must have heard.

  But the ghosts were at the stern of the ship, where the sound didn’t carry.

  Marcus led the way toward the forward section of the crew’s quarters, in the direction from which the howling seemed to emanate. But by a storeroom door, the howls became much more audible. “In there?” Marcus inquired.

  Henrietta nodded, and then called out. “Rowley? Rowley, is that you, boy?”

  The howling was immediately replaced by delirious barking. Henrietta’s face broke into an overjoyed smile. “It is him! Oh, please open the door, Marcus!”

  As the door swung back and the lantern light flooded in, Marcus saw only the storeroom, but Henrietta saw Rowley running up and down the ceiling, barking. She also realized why he didn’t come down, for awaiting him on the floor, its sharp teeth bared, was the bogle. For a moment Henrietta was too shocked to react, for the bogle, although small, was really quite horrid. Then she recovered and reached for a nearby broom.

  The manikin didn’t realize it was visible to Henrietta, until she advanced menacingly with the broom. For a startled moment it held its ground, but as the broom jabbed forward, the bogle gave a furious shriek, and dashed to the farthest corner, where it vanished behind the jumble of stores. Henrietta immediately discarded the broom and held her arms up to Rowley. “Come on, quickly!” she cried.

  The spaniel jumped down to her, but she felt nothing. In fact she could see right through him, but he was safe enough as she bore him out of the storeroom. “Close the door quickly, before the bogle gets out!” she cried to a bemused Marcus.

  As the door slammed shut, Rowley was beside himself with gratitude. His tail wagged nineteen to the dozen, and he tried to lick her hand. He’d been rescued, and the bogle was still locked away!

  Henrietta didn’t feel the spaniel’s tongue or the quivering of his happy little body, but she could see everything. Her face was alight with pleasure as she cradled him. “Oh, Rowley, Jane and Kit will be so relieved to have you back safe and well!”

  Marcus had only seen Henrietta performing some very odd movements with a broom, but he could certainly hear Rowley’s delighted snuffles. “Good God, you really have got him, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He stretched out a tentative hand to where he knew Rowley must be, but he felt nothing.

  Henrietta glanced back at the door. “I wonder how long he’s been locked up in there with the bogle? He may have been there since the day you rescued me from the church tower. That’s when he disappeared, anyway. I wonder how he got here?” Suddenly she remembered that day at the church. When she had dismounted at the lych-gate, she’d seen a gig preparing to come ashore from the Avalon, and later, after Rowley’s disappearance, she had seen the same gig returning to the sloop. Rowley and the bogle must have been aboard. How she didn’t know, but it seemed the likeliest explanation. She thought of Jane and Kit again and smiled at Marcus. “Come, we must find the others. We’ll go up on deck and put Rowley down. He’ll find them.”

  Marcus led the way back to the companionway, and as soon as they emerged from the hatch, she placed Rowley on the scrubbed deck. “Find Jane,” she urged.

  With a pleased yelp, he dashed away toward the stern, and Henrietta and Marcus followed. On reaching the helm, the spaniel halted by the second door until Marcus opened it, then he leaped down the steps and began to bark. Jane and Kit immediately appeared through a wall. Their faces lit up with joy when they saw Rowley. The spaniel was scooped up by his sobbing mistress, and all thoughts of the quarrel were forgotten as Henrietta explained how she’d found him.

  Marcus leaned against the staircase trying to imagine exactly what was happening. It was, he thought, like watching an actress performing without the rest of the cast. There she was, laughing and speaking to people who weren’t there! Yet, at the same time, they were there, for although he couldn’t hear them, he could still hear Rowley, and if the dog was there, why not the other two as well? Who was he to question the supernatural?

  The initial joy over, Kit considered the bogle. “We must think how to get rid of the bogle, which if it chooses can wreak untold havoc on a ship. Tell Marcus he must make sure the store is padlocked.”

  She turned and relayed the message to Marcus, who nodded his assent,

  His clear acceptance of the situation made Kit raise an eyebrow. “My descendant clearly believes in ghosts,” he said approvingly.

  Henrietta smiled. “To deny hearing Rowley would be to deny the evidence of his own ears,” she said with a smile.

  Marcus gazed at Henrietta’s animated face, and then smiled a little himself. She was quite unique, as he’d realized at Devonshire House. Masked and dominoed, she had still arrested his attention as no other woman ever had. What was it? The tilt of her head? The softness of her lips? The graceful but rather nervous movements of her hands? Whatever it was, her spell still wove around him now. Sh
e wasn’t a woman any man could easily forget, especially not if he’d kissed her.

  Kit had been observing Marcus, and being a man himself, could read the hidden pages. He took the arm of a rather startled Jane, and then smiled at Henrietta. “Forgive us, but we’d like to be alone with Rowley for a while. Please explain to Marcus.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Kit opened the door of the empty room, ushered Jane and Rowley through, and then went inside himself. The door closed, and Henrietta was alone again with Marcus. She turned. “They’ve gone. They wished to be alone with Rowley.”

  He nodded.

  She smiled bashfully. “You have no idea how pleased I am to have found Rowley.”

  “I can see for myself.”

  “Even if you couldn’t see anything else?” She gave a quick laugh. “How unruffled you are by all this.”

  “In common with the residents of all bedlams, I’ve discovered I hear things. All I can do now is learn to live with it.”

  She smiled. “Do you think you’re mad?”

  “No.”

  “Or that I am?”

  He looked into her eyes. “No.”

  She smiled again.

  He studied her. “Being at odds does not suit us, Henrietta.” He held up a hand as her lips parted defensively. “No, don’t repeat that I am the one in the wrong, nor will I cast aspersions upon you. Something went very awry between us, and the time has come to get to the bottom of it. We need to talk, and tonight there will be nothing to distract us. Will you dine with me? I can promise more than ship’s biscuit, for the Avalon boasts an excellent cook.”

  She met his eyes. “I think I would like that.”

  “Then the matter is settled.”

  Chapter Twenty-five