by Jane Charles
Closing the back door, Anna took a deep breath and waited for what was certainly to come.
“What is going on between you and Lord Quentin?” he immediately demanded of Lila, causing Anna to blink. She wasn’t the one in trouble this time?
“We’re just friends,” her cousin answered. “Callie is married to his brother.”
“And do all of Lord Bradenham’s friends call you Lila?” he yelled. “Do all of Lord Bradenham’s friends hold on to your person as though you belong to them? Do all—”
“He was injured, Uncle Walter,” Anna interrupted before he got anymore carried away with his tirade.
“And you!” He glared at Anna. “Searching out that Chetwey woman…”
Oh, drat. She knew better than to interrupt, but she couldn’t stand the way he was yelling at Lila when she’d done nothing wrong.
Anna lifted her chin, determined not to be bullied by him. “There was no one else I could go to for help.”
“Gallivanting across the countryside in her condition. It’s disgraceful. That woman is wholly unacceptable and you well know it. I have a position in this community. I am a leader in Ravenglass and your actions—” he looked pointedly at both Anna and Lila “—diminish my credibility when you cavort with healers and cads alike.”
Anna was about to ask if she should have just left him in the middle of the road to die when the door opened and Tilly practically floated in, and happy smile upon her lips.
“What a wonderful day!” she said brightly.
Uncle Walter pinned her with a look. “I trust you haven’t been cavorting with healers and cads all day, Matilda.”
Tilly blinked in surprise, touching a hand to her heart. “Me?”
“To your rooms, all of you. I don’t want to see any of you until supper.”
Anna dropped her chin and hurried to escape before he decided to let them have it again.
“Anna, a word, please.”
She stiffened and cast her cousins a look before heading back to her uncle.
“I’ve let you go about your way since you’ve come to live in my house.”
“Thank you for taking me in, Uncle Walter.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve been derelict in my duties to you.”
Anna cringed inside. Another lecture on behavior and decorum was about to commence.
“My brother did you a disservice, which I overlooked until now.”
Her father had given her a wonderful, loving, adventurous life, but Anna held her tongue. Uncle Walter was angry enough.
“From this moment forward you are not to associate with Mrs. Chetwey. You will discourage Lila in her friendship with Callie as she is entirely unsuitable now that she married one of them.”
Anna could only blink at him.
“And, you will attend Dorcas Society with your cousins, and go with them when they call upon my parishioners.”
She anticipated and dreaded that this day would come. So far she’d been able to avoid the duties as she wasn’t a daughter of the vicar.
“You will conduct yourself with decorum and grace. You will be a paragon in my flock, and no more sketches like this!”
In a blink of an eye he was holding the sketch she had made of Mr. Thorn last year. “Where did you get that?”
Her heart began to pound. Surely he had not gone through her room and found the secret compartment beneath the floorboard. Goodness, her drawings from yesterday were stashed there and if this sketch sent him into a temper, most assuredly the others would as well.
“It fell out of that satchel you carry around.”
Inwardly, she sighed. At least her drawings were safe for the moment.
“I’ve given you too much freedom, and today that will end.” With that, he tossed the parchment into the fireplace and all Anna could do was watch the sketch of David Thorn go up in flames and then turn to ashes.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat at glanced at her uncle. “Is there anything else, Uncle Walter?”
“That is all.” He brushed his hands together as if he was rid of her and the trouble she’d brought him. “Return upstairs until you’re called for supper.”
It was all she could do to hold the tears in check as she raced up the stairs. He was the cruelest man alive.
Instead of ducking into her own room, she went into Tilly’s and Lila’s and threw herself on Lila’s bed before breaking into a sob.
“What did he say to you?” Lila asked with concern.
Anna sniffed and sat up. “He is so mean.”
“Shhhh,” Tilly hissed. “He’ll hear you and the two of you are already in quite a bit of trouble.”
“What happened?” Lila whispered.
“He found my sketch.” Her eyes welled with tears, remembering how it burned. “Then tossed it in the fire.”
Lila’s and Tilly’s eyes both went wide.
Lila’s hand went to her chest. “Not the ones from yesterday?”
Anna could only shake her head, unable to answer because tears clogged her throat.
“The one from the masquerade?” Tilly asked.
“Yes!” Anna said, wiping her nose on her sleeve because, as usual, she was without a handkerchief.
“Here, use mine.” Tilly shoved the frilly lace in front of Anna’s nose.
She dabbed her eyes before continuing. “I’m now to accompany the two of you on your visits.”
Both of her cousins winced.
“I am sorry, but perhaps between the three of us, we can leave even quicker than before,” Lila offered hopefully.
“And, I must attend the Tabitha Society.”
“Dorcas,” the two answered in unison.
“I like Tabitha better.”
“Yes, we know,” Lila ground out. “But it is the name my mother gave it.”
Anna narrowed her eyes on the sisters. “Are you sure it wasn’t your father because Tabitha is a much nicer name.”
“It doesn’t really matter, now, does it?” Lila asked a bit sternly.
“Well, they are one in the same if you read Acts 9:36. They are practically interchangeable,” Anna grumbled.
“And I suggest you don’t argue that point with Father. He didn’t take it so well the last time you questioned a scripture.”
Anna winced at the memory, but she had always wondered where all the other people came from since Adam and Eve’s children had managed to find spouses somewhere. Uncle Walter hadn’t taken it very well when she suggested that some pertinent chapter may have been omitted from the original text.
With a sigh, she sat up. The loss of the drawing was painful, but it wasn’t as though she didn’t have more. He simply destroyed her favorite.
“So, what do the two of you have planned to wear tomorrow night?”
Her cousins gaped at her.
“Surely you’re attending the masquerade?”
They simply shook their heads.
“Well, I am. You won’t tell Uncle Walter, will you?”
Her two cousins shook their heads again and made and X over their hearts.
“Oh, Anna, do be careful,” Lila said, her eyes full of worry and squeezed her hand.
Chapter 10
“My wife refuses to leave the castle,” Chetwey announced as he entered the dining room. “She should not have come here the first place.”
“Why did she?” David finally asked.
Chetwey smirked and looked to their host. “Quent fell from his horse, knocked himself out and was laying in the middle of the road when Anna Southward found him.”
David’s heart pitched at the name. Damn and blast. He needed to forget that woman.
“Well, Anna being Anna, went for my wife because we don’t have a doctor close by,” Chetwey continued.
David focused on Quent as the rest of the statement settled into his brain after the name Anna. “You fell from your horse, old man.” He tried to bite back a chuckle, but was unsuccessful. “Is that where that gash in your head came from.
The minor mishap as you put it.”
“And you fell into the sea yesterday, so I suppose that makes the two of you even.” Chetwey grinned and took a seat at the table.
Quent raised his eyebrows in question, or was it a challenge?
“Well, I was standing on rocks, looking at the most beautiful sight when a wave struck me,” David defended. “What is your excuse Quent?”
“If you must know, an apparition spooked my horse and he threw me.”
Had anyone else made such a statement, or if they’d been anywhere else, Quent would be accused of making excuses of why he couldn’t hold his seat. As they were at Marisdùn, his statement was accepted without question. “A ghost, outside the walls of Marisdùn?” David didn’t think they traveled beyond the ancient walls surrounding the grounds.
“Seems so.” Quent shrugged.
“It’s not been a good day,” Garrick said, accepting a glass of wine from the footman. “First Quent is thrown and then the smithy falls into the fire and dies.”
A chill slid down David’s spine and he glanced around. There had been a pall around the castle since the injuries and death. Of course, that was to be expected. On top of it all, the stench lingered. Flowers were now in every room and some type of herbs were burning on practically every table, but nothing to get rid of the smell.
“Will Brighid be joining us for dinner?”
Chetwey’s jaw tightened. “If she is going to remain at Marisdùn, I don’t want her to leave her herbarium.” He looked around. “She’s safe in there as it’s protected by magic.”
“I am certain there is no danger. Not like last year,” Garrick said.
“And, your wife should have sustenance, given her condition,” Quent added.
“I’m not starving her,” Chetwey defended. “Just keeping her safe.”
David chuckled and leaned back so the servant could place the bowl of soup before him.
“Let’s talk of more pleasant topics, shall we,” Quent suggested.
“Such as the Southward girls.” Garrick grinned.
Since when was Garrick interested in one of the Southward girls? Then he remembered. A female had come to call on him.
He’d met a miss. Clearly. David would ask, but he didn’t want to think of misses. Especially golden haired artists.
“Brighid told me more about Cynbel the Celt,” Quent said to Garrick.
David glanced between the two friends. What were they talking about?
“There’s a tapestry in my chambers that depicts the story.”
Chetwey jerked toward Quent. “My wife was in your set of rooms?”
“She was treating my gash,” Quent reminded him then turned so Chetwey could see the back of his head. “Those stiches are her handiwork and there was nothing pleasant about getting them.”
Chetwey seemed to relax. David only chuckled. Even if Quent had a mind to seduce the witch, no gentleman in his right mind would do so now. That activity would certainly bring the babe into the world. Wouldn’t it? As it was, David was afraid it would happen here. If he were Chetwey, he’d have hauled her out of here by now. The last place a witch should bring a child into the world was at a place as haunted as Marisdùn at Samhain, when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest.
“You hadn’t heard of Cynbel before,” Chetwey asked before he lifted the spoon to his lips.
“Not until we toured the ruins,” Quent replied.
“Who is Cynbel?” David finally asked.
“Ah, that is an interesting tale,” Chetwey said after he set his spoon aside.
David did the same. Normally, the food was delicious at Marisdùn, but not this evening. It was if the stench was not only offensive to his nose, but his taste as well. The soup tasted like swamp water.
“Brighid said the golden haired main looked like the Roman General, Rufus Flavius.”
Thorn would like to not be reminded of golden hair, or the beauty he wished he could forget. “Who was Rufus Flavius?” he asked, still not knowing who Cynbel was.
“As you know, the Romans arrived here in the 2nd Century,” Chetwey began.
No, he didn’t, not that it mattered much.
“They remained until the end of the 4th Century,” he added. “At one time, Ravenglass was a thriving Roman port. The ruins are where the fort, Glannoventa, once stood.”
David settled back and took a sip of his wine. Roman port made him think of Rome, which reminded him of Italy, where Florence is, which reminded him of Michelangelo’s David. Blast, even a simple tale of history somehow reminded him of Miss Southward.
“The Celts were resistant of Roman rule, as you can imagine.” Chetwey continued with a chuckle. “There was one local chieftain in particular, Cynbel.”
“Large as a mountain with arms the width of tree trunks,” Garrick added with a smile.
Since when had his friend become so fanciful? No man had arms the size of tree trunks.
“As you can imagine, the Celtic resistance against the Roman force did not end well for the Celts or Cynbel.”
“They became slaves?” David asked. That’s usually what happened.
“Worse,” Chetwey said grimly. “Cynbel was forced to watch as General Rufus Flavius tortured and killed his family, before killing him. They were impaled and with his last breath, Cynbel cursed the invaders.” Chetwey paused and glanced around the table. “Then Flavius was dead within a week.”
“As if Marisdùn needs a curse to go along with the ghosts.” David shook his head. “You say someone actually made a tapestry? Rather morbid don’t you think?”
“Brighid believes either Mary Routledge acquired it or had it commissioned,” Quent answered.
“To what purpose?” Garrick asked.
“Cynbel was powerful and that woman did crave power, which we all can attest to,” Quent answered. “Brighid said that it’s believed Mary Routledge had been searching for him. It’s why she was trying to harness the power of the Marisdùn ghosts in the first place.”
“Cynbel was killed on what are now Marisdùn grounds,” Chetwey added.
“Apparently, some of the oldest parts of the castle were constructed during the Roman reign,” Quent said.
Well that certainly explained some of the older, and creepier, parts of the castle.
“Huh.” Garrick scratched his chin. “I still don’t understand why Mary Routledge was searching for Cynbel the Celt.”
“Very odd,” David agreed. And it was. The man had lived sixteen centuries earlier. Who would put all their faith in a legend that old? Almost as silly as believing Zeus could throw lightning bolts and Poseidon controlled the sea…The sea…Anna Southward. Damn it all. Every thought went back to her.
“Well, Brighid said that whoever holds Cynbel in his or her power can never be defeated.” Quent winced. “Can you imagine if my great-grandmother had gotten her hands on any more power?”
“I’d rather not think about it.” Garrick frowned. “She did enough damage on her own.”
“They say,” Quent whispered and a spooky voice, “that Cynbel is more powerful in death than in life.” With that he straightened and grinned. “At least, that’s what Brighid tells me.”
“Ah, good old Cynbel,” a voice announced from the doorway. They all turned to see Patrick Delaney walk through, his lovely wife, Laura on his arm.
“Between Cynbel, Mad Marcus, who once haunted the forest around Torrington Abbey, Rufus Flavius and this castle, Chetwey and I were never without stories to tell the girls when we were younger.” He grinned.
Delaney and Chetwey had been friends longer than the rest of them and spent much of their youth at Torrington Abbey.
“Please set two more places for Delaney and his wife.”
A footman came forward and pulled a chair out for Laura. “Where is Brighid?” she asked. “We called at Torrington only to be told you had come here. We assumed something dire had happened for her to leave her home at such a time as this, and so we ca
me here directly.” Laura was Chetwey’s younger sister. She and Delaney had planned on staying at Torrington instead of Marisdùn, but they’d be here for the masquerade.
Patrick glanced around the room. “What exactly has happened?” he frowned.
“What do you mean?” Quent frowned.
“Something is odd. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I do believe your ghosts are in hiding. Unless you found a way to be rid of them.”
Hiding? Why would ghosts hide? It’s not as though anyone can see them unless they want to be seen.
“Perhaps they’re just resting in preparation for tomorrow night,” he laughed, though it was a bit forced. According to Chetwey, two years ago Patrick had hovered between the living and the dead until danger to Laura pulled him back into his body. Ever since, he’d been able to detect ghosts whenever they were near, often seeing them when no one else could. Chetwey had first told David the story when they were in their cups once, but David hadn’t believed him. Then they’d come to Marisdùn last year, and he no longer doubted it happened as they say.
* * *
“I shall conduct myself with decorum. I shall be a paragon within the flock,” Anna muttered to herself as she neatly folded her costume for the masquerade into the bottom of a large basket before placing her mask on top of it and then filling it with foodstuffs. “After the masquerade.”
“What is it you are doing, Anna?” Her uncle demanded, coming into the kitchen. “I thought I ordered you all to stay in today, in light of yesterday’s events.”
Thank goodness he’d not been there a few moments earlier or he’d know exactly what she was about. “I thought to take a basket to the Caldwells. His wife is grieving and I’m certain she would like some company.” Such a tragedy. To think, after several years of being the smithy at Marisdùn, an accident such as his could happen.
Uncle Walter eyed her with suspicion for a moment before he nodded his head. “It’s a good thing you do. I’m glad we had our talk yesterday and you are heeding my advice.”
She nearly snorted at the word talk. More like ordered. But, it got her out of the house, without question. And she truly did wish to help the family. They’d suffered a horrible loss and her heart ached for them. The only reason her costume was hidden in the basket was because she was afraid her uncle might find it if he decided to snoop around. After she called on the Caldwells it was her intention then to go to Marisdùn. Surly Brighid’s herbarium was stocked with some form of sleeping agent she could give her uncle.
