The dim light of the moon breaking out from the lowering clouds cast a lurid light on the crumbling stones of the wall and there, right at his feet, Reginald saw a gleaming white skull. The moon’s pale light seemed to make the skull grin avidly at him and a cold sweat of terror beaded his brow, but still he persisted. Somewhere in this graveyard of hopes Bernice was a prisoner, prisoner of that devil’s spawn, Columbo. And he, Reginald, must find her and save her. To that he had dedicated his life.
An hour or so later Reginald had found his way through the darkened corridors to the door of the cell in which Bernice was held captive and Louisa, her day’s quota of pages at last accomplished, locked up everything and went downstairs to a well-deserved dinner.
Chapter Two
It was several days later that Louisa shepherded them all outside and into the hackney coach. With the new book not going well she had finally determined on a plan. Vaguely remembering an abbey on the outskirts of London, she had consulted the guidebook and marshaled the whole household for an excursion there.
Aunt Caroline felt compelled to lament that never in the days of the dear departed Colonel had she been forced to ride in a public vehicle.
“That is very true,” Louisa soothed in her accustomed way. “But the dear Colonel is gone now. And it really is too much of an expense for us to keep a stable. And you know, we have none of us the knowledge of cattle that the dear Colonel had.”
Though Louisa had herself never seen the dear departed Colonel in this life, she had grown so used to Aunt Caroline speaking of him that she automatically repeated this epithet.
“Yes, my dear,” replied Aunt Caroline, her ruffled feelings smoothed by Louisa’s complimentary reference. “The Colonel did know his business, I must say.” She pushed at the great poke bonnet that did little to enhance her round rosy face. “I do wish, though, that I might have brought along my Ginger. Such an airing would have been good for her.”
“Humph!” Aunt Julia’s opinion of this foolishness was very evident. “Such utter stupidity. The cat is very much better at home with her kittens. I should not like to go chasing about the abbey looking for that ridiculous animal.”
“Ginger is not a ridiculous animal,” said Aunt Caroline, sniffling. “She is a very fine cat.”
“Of course she is, Aunt Caroline,” assured Louisa with a warning look at the other aunt. Aunt Julia subsided into injured silence. But the way her eyes surveyed what was visible of the coachman’s head foreboded no good, thought Louisa with a sigh.
Betsy and Harry, however, were in high spirits. With a pang, Louisa realized that it wasn’t often that she took the children for an outing.
“This is a famous trip, Louisa,” said Harry, with a happy grin. “You’re a trump to take us.”
“Yes, Louisa.” Betsy added her approbation. “I have been wanting to see a ruined abbey for a long time. They are very important in stories, you know.”
Louisa, forcing herself to remain calm and repeating to herself that Betsy could know nothing of Lady Incognita, made a mental note to speak to Winky about Betsy’s choice of reading material. Too many romances might turn a young girl’s head.
Louisa smothered a sudden frown. If she herself were susceptible to the lure of a storybook hero - sensible, level-headed woman that she was - how much more would Betsy, young and innocent Betsy, be vulnerable. Yes, indeed. Winky must be spoken to severely.
* * * *
The journey there was relatively uneventful, a circumstance for which Louisa was grateful, as being cooped up in a coach with the two aunts and the children could have been rather dreadful. However, what with keeping Harry from hanging perilously out the window and answering Betsy’s avid questions about what they might expect at Atherton Abbey, she was quite occupied and glad to see them all step down from the coach and look around with interest.
She made her arrangements with the coachman, instructing him to return for them at an hour that would get them home in good time, then turned to the others. “Shall we look around?”
“Oh, yes Louisa. Let’s.”
* * * *
The walk over the grounds soon tired Aunt Caroline’s short legs and she determined to sit under a tree and rest a little. That this “rest” would soon become a nap Louisa well knew.
Harry and Betsy insisted on continuing to explore the old ruins. Louisa, who wanted to be left alone in order to make some sketches in the sketchbook tucked under her arm, but even more so, to take some notes for future use, warned them to be careful and not get lost.
“I’m certain they shall not,” said Aunt Julia, her thin aristocratic nose showing signs of wrinkling in disgust. “For I shall go with them to see to it.”
Though Harry made a face at this piece of information, he did not object verbally. Louisa watched them go with a sigh of relief. In spite of her acerbic tongue Aunt Julia could sometimes be quite perceptive.
For some moments Louisa wandered idly here and there, noting the way the creepers clung insistently to the crumbling stones, feeling the roughness of overgrown paths beneath her feet, making a swift sketch of a gaunt tree whose gnarled limbs were etched against the blue April sky. She studied the outline of the ruined cloister - cell after tiny cell - in which monks had lived and worked and prayed.
Selecting a moss-covered stone as a seat, she settled herself comfortably and began making some sketches of the abbey and its surroundings.
Actually, she told herself some moments later, the abbey was not much different than she had imagined. In the darkness of a cloudy night, it might well be eerie and mysterious, but in the spring sunshine it was a place of quiet peace.
She closed her eyes, conjuring up a black night - that tree would do well - some terrible bird of omen perched ominously in its distorted branches.
Louisa giggled softly. Even her thoughts were beginning to sound like her books. Such a piece of foolishness! A sane sensible girl like herself should be more reasonable.
Giving up the attempt to change these peaceful ruins into a place of evil, she opened her eyes and gave a startled exclamation of surprise. There, surveying her, stood a man. He was obviously a lord - his well-cut coat and well-fitted breeches were those of a man of the ton. The piercing black eyes that were surveying her quizzically from under sable hair were set in a face browned by the sun, but his haughty nose and his high cheekbones spoke also of an aristocratic ancestry.
She found herself returning his stare and colored up, one hand flying to her flushed cheeks so quickly that the sketchbook slid from her lap into the grass.
“Allow me,” said the stranger, bending down to retrieve it. He offered it to her, a little smile curving the lips that in repose had seemed set in a rocklike jaw.
“Th - thank you,” she faltered.
“You’re quite welcome.” He drawled the words out lazily, his eyes still on her face.
For some reason she felt compelled to explain her presence. “I ... I was making some sketches,” she said lamely, aware that she should not be speaking to this unknown man. Still, she did not feel frightened of him. Not precisely. And a single call would bring the others. No, it was not precisely fear she felt, but something else. He had an intensity about him that belied the lazy drawl, an intensity and power, she realized, swallowing suddenly.
“I hope I may not be thought improper,” he said, “but I can’t help wondering what you are doing here?”
“I ... I told you I was sketching.” She wished that he might not look at her so strangely.
“Yes, so you did. But, you see, these are my ruins you are sketching and so I have a somewhat personal interest.”
“Oh!” Louisa felt the color flooding her cheeks again. “I ... I am so sorry. I didn’t know ... I never guessed ...”
He held up a deprecating hand. “There’s no need to throw yourself into a tizzy, miss ... miss?”
“Penhope, Louisa Penhope,” said Louisa, aware of a distressing tremble in her lower lip.
He bowed
courteously. “Viscount Atherton, I assure you, you may feel quite free to sketch my ruins.”
“Th - thank you.” For a moment she could think of nothing more to say. He took a step closer and she felt her heart jump into her throat. But it was only to look at her sketches.
“You have a good eye,” he said. “That tree is especially fine.”
“I ... I liked the look of it.”
“It has a rather eerie appearance,” he said speculatively.
“I just thought it was interesting,” Louisa said.
“Indeed, it is.” But his eyes had shifted from the sketch to her face. “The mystery is very interesting.”
“What ... what mystery, milord?”
“The mystery of finding a young woman wandering alone through my ruins,” he said, the eyes under his lazy lids watching her closely.
“Oh, I am not alone,” she replied quickly. “Aunt Caroline is taking a nap over there somewhere, and Betsy and Harry have gone exploring with Aunt Julia.”
His lips relaxed into a charming smile. “So you come accompanied by a family.”
“Of course.” Louisa found this train of conversation rather confusing. “I brought them all for an outing. I am sorry that we should be tres...”
“Nonsense. No such thing. If no one is to enjoy the ruins, of what use are they?”
To this sensible question Louisa could make no reply. And then, as no further remarks came from her, he looked around. “Where is the rest of this invisible family? Perhaps we should take a look after them. I should not want any harm to befall them - especially on my property.”
“Oh, they ...” It was not until his mouth curved again in that smile that she realized he was teasing her. She rose somewhat unsteadily and took a step forward, only to tread on a loose stone and feel the sketchbook again slip from her grasp. His lordship-did not, however, stoop immediately to retrieve it. Instead, his hand shot out to grasp her elbow, steadying her.
Feeling strangely lightheaded, Louisa looked up into the dark eyes so close to her own. Their proximity did nothing to help her regain her old sensible feelings. “Thank you, milord,” she faltered, drop-ping her eyes again to the ground. “I must be more careful.”
“Indeed, you must,” replied Atherton lazily, with a tone of voice that caused her quickly to raise her gaze to his. But there was nothing to be seen in those piercing dark eyes. Louisa averted hers again.
“I ... I think Aunt Caroline is over here ... this way.”
“Fine. We shall find her, I am sure.”
With his lordship’s steadying hand still guiding her elbow, Louisa made her way around the crumbling stories toward the tree where she had left Aunt Caroline. That worthy lady, her mouth slightly agape, was making soft wheezing noises that she would have been insulted to hear called snores.
Louisa sent the Viscount an appealing glance. “She gets tired easily. And it was a long trip.”
His smile held a comforting warmth and suddenly she forgot her fear of him. She bent to touch Aunt Caroline’s shoulder. “Aunt,” she said softly. “Aunt.”
Aunt Caroline’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Louisa, I must have dozed off. Just closed my eyes for a moment. Oh, gracious.” Her eyes took in the stranger at Louisa’s side. In a flutter she sat up and began patting and pulling at her clothes.
“Please do not distress yourself...”
“Mrs. Pickering,” said Louisa hurriedly. “Aunt, this is Viscount Atherton.”
Aunt Caroline, plainly mortified at being found in such an undignified position while being introduced to a lord, struggled to regain her feet. Two strong hands reached out to help her.
Aunt Caroline, who had never been assisted to her feet by a viscount, stood gazing in apparent adoration. “Oh, my, thank you, milord. Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, I’m sure,” replied his lordship. And if the dark eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment only Louisa suspected it and she could not really blame him for it. Aunt Caroline did present a rather amusing picture. In fact, she was tempted to smile herself.
Fortunately, the silence was broken by the sound of Betsy’s cheerful voice. “Louisa! Where are you?”
“Over here, Betsy,” called Louisa softly. “Where we left Aunt Caroline.”
Around the corner of a crumbling wall Betsy and Harry made their appearance. “I tell you. Harry ...” Betsy was saying when her eyes fell on the stranger at Louisa’s side and she stopped quite suddenly. Harry, too, stopped in mid-stride, his eyes widening at the sight of this tall dark stranger.
But Harry was not long silent. “I say Louisa. Who is he?”
Louisa, conscious that Harry’s manners needed improving, felt herself begin to color up again, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she replied. “Harry, this is Viscount Atherton. This is my brother Harry, your lordship.”
Harry, whose experience with lords was not much greater than Aunt Caroline’s stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir. This is a grand place. Do you know any ghost stories?”
The first part of his words had caused Louisa to feel relief, but the latter made the color rise to her cheeks again. The Viscount would think her whole family was queer in the attic.
Atherton, however, did not seem dismayed. He firmly shook the hand extended to him and replied in a man-to-man way that won him Harry’s undying adoration. “Of course, I do. There’s a special ghost that used to haunt this very abbey. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Yes, sir!” Harry gazed at his new idol in adoration. Louisa could almost hear him thinking. What a bang-up fellow!
“Lou-is-a!” Betsy’s plaintive tone was not really necessary. The expression of intense expectation on her face was sufficient to recall Louisa to her duties. “This is my sister Betsy,” she said. “Betsy, this is Lord Atherton.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” said Betsy, obviously following some implanted teaching of Winky’s as she dropped a curtsy. Then, this serious ceremony dispensed with, she edged eagerly forward to ask, “Is there really a ghost, sir? Really?”
“Of course,” said Atherton quite seriously. “I should not say so if there were not.”
Suddenly around the corner of the wall Aunt Julia came into sight. Her bonnet had been pushed off her frizzled gray curls and dust and cobwebs clung to her outmoded black gown. “Betsy, you scamp,” she was saying. “What do you mean running off …?”
Aunt Julia stopped, too, in mid-sentence, her mouth remaining open in surprise at the sight of this strange male.
Louisa hurried to close the breach. “Aunt Julia, this is Viscount Atherton. These are his ruins we have been exploring. He has very kindly said we may.”
Aunt Julia did not snort, for which Louisa was extremely grateful, but neither did she nod or in any way acknowledge his lordship’s presence.
“Aunt Julia does not like males,” said Betsy cheerfully. “So don’t get in a huff over her.”
“It was most kind of you to tell me,” replied his lordship, the merriment in his eyes now even more pronounced.
Goodness, Louisa told herself, why must they all behave like creatures in a street show? It was most embarrassing.
Suddenly his lordship’s eyes met hers and again they held that comforting warmth. She felt some of the embarrassment fade.
Harry pulled at the Viscount’s sleeve. “Please, sir, the ghost. Please tell us about the ghost.”
“Of course I shall,” said his lordship, “but the story is best told right where it’s supposed to have happened. Will you allow me to give you a guided tour?”
“Yes, oh yes. Please do.” Both the children clapped their hands with undisguised glee.
“Will you accompany us, too, Miss Penhope?” asked the Viscount softly.
“Y - yes,” Louisa stammered.
“And your aunts?” he asked courteously, turning toward those ladies.
“I have seen enough ruins to last several lifetimes,” said Aun
t Julia with acerbity. “What I should like is a new skull to examine.”
“I ... I fear I am simply exhausted, dear Louisa,” said Aunt Caroline. “I’ll just rest here.”
“We will not be extremely long,” said Atherton, his fingers again closing over Louisa’s elbow. She thought perhaps she should resist this offer of assistance. But there were many loose stones on the ground and it would be foolish to court a turned ankle. And, of course, his lord-ship meant nothing by it. It was only a form of politeness.
“Your Aunt Julia collects skulls?” asked Atherton, after they were out of earshot. Louisa could not help laughing and so it was Betsy who enlightened him.
“Oh, no, sir, not real skulls. That is, not dead ones.”
Louisa, seeing that his lordship’s dark countenance still betrayed bewilderment, swallowed her laughter. “What Betsy means is that Aunt Julia studies phrenology. She ascertains character by feeling the bumps on a person’s head.”
His lordship chuckled appreciatively. “That considerably relieves my mind,” he remarked dryly.
Louisa turned to regard him. “I do not under-”
“Since I saw Aunt Julia gazing at my skull with the avid eyes of the collector, I am most happy to find that she does not mean to disconnect it from my shoulders in order to study it.”
Harry and Betsy burst into peals of laughter at the thought of Aunt Julia with a severed head to study.
“That would set her back up for sure,” said Harry, obviously relishing the thought. “Imagine Aunt Julia with a live head like that!”
“Harry Penhope,” Louisa said, suppressing her own laughter with some difficulty, “What a horrid thing to say!”
“Undoubtedly so,” averred his lordship, those jet eyes twinkling. “But from what little I have observed of Aunt Julia, also undoubtedly true.”
To this Louisa could not but nod agreement. Fortunately for her peace of mind, since she really did not like to laugh at her relatives, Betsy said eagerly, “Tell us about the ghost, sir. Please, do.”
His lordship stopped and pointed. “Over there,” he said, “along that wall was a row of cells where the monks lived.”
Lady Incognita Page 2
