Mystified

by Renee Bernard

  “Oh, of course,” he said, shaking his gorgeous head of wavy chestnut hair. “Forgive me. Chadwick Kendall, at your service.” He swept a bow before her.

  “You’re not a cousin,” Sam couldn’t help but point out.

  “Indeed, I am not,” he replied. “Not to you or anyone else.”

  “Oh.” Sam couldn’t quite grasp that idea. She’d, of course, meant that he wasn’t her cousin. But to not be cousin to anyone at all? That was rather foreign to her, seeing as she had dozens of cousins littered about England, most of whom were in this castle at this very moment. “Well, then, what are you doing here?” She wasn’t trying to sound rude, but she wasn’t feeling herself just then. She’d had that fright up above, and now…well, something about this man completely unnerved her. Especially now she knew he wasn’t a relation.

  But if he thought her rude or forward, he didn’t indicate as much.

  “I’ve been summoned for the reading of the will, much, I suppose, like everyone else in residence.”

  “You knew my great-uncle then?”

  He shook his head. “No, but my father did. ‘Twas actually he who was summoned.”

  “Then why are you here?” There she went, sounding rude again. What was the matter with her?

  Mr. Kendall sucked in a breath as if he were gearing up to share difficult news, and Sam immediately regretted not just the tone in which she’d asked the question, but the asking of the question in the first place. His face fell just slightly and he glanced at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes. “My father is not well.”

  Was it possible to feel such deep sorrow for someone she didn’t even know? She didn’t want to appear overly dramatic—perhaps his father simply suffered from a cold—but something told her it was far worse than that.

  “I am sorry to hear that. It was good of you to come in his stead.”

  Mr. Kendall nodded, and then quickly changed the subject. “Am I going to have the pleasure of your name, then?”

  “Oh!” Samantha’s backside would be black and blue if her mother ever found out just how remiss she’d been in her manners today. “Sam—Samantha Priske. That is, Lady Samantha.” Heavens! He was going to think her a complete idiot.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Samantha,” he said, mimicking her inflection. “May I convey you back to your chambers?”

  “That would hardly be appropriate, Mr. Kendall, but I—”

  “Ho there! Who are you?”

  Sam jumped at the sound her of little brother’s voice, loud and sharp, behind her. The little bugger. Mr. Kendall looked just as startled as she felt.

  “Toby!” she scolded, whirling to face him as he approached from the other end of the dim corridor. “That is no way to speak to your elder.”

  Toby completely ignored her and marched straight up to Mr. Kendall, his stance and determination like a smaller version of her father. “What business have you with my sister in a dark corridor?”

  “Heavens, Toby—”

  Without looking at her, Toby held up a hand to silence her. She was truly going to throttle him. And what must Mr. Kendall think of the two of them now? It was bad enough she’d been remiss in her manners, but Toby made it look like a family epidemic.

  Mr. Kendall was kind enough to indulge the boy, though, holding up his hands, as if in surrender. “I swear my intentions were nothing but honorable, sir. As lovely as your sister is,” he said, glancing up at her with a bashful smile, “I should never endeavor to put her reputation at risk.”

  That smile sent shockwaves through Sam. He thought she was lovely?

  “Honorable or not, it is inappropriate for you two to be here together, alone. I shall walk my sister back to her chambers, and you shall stay here.”

  Mr. Kendall creased his brow, indulging the boy by saying, “For how long?”

  Toby seemed caught off guard by the question and momentarily went back to looking like an eleven-year-old boy. But then he drew himself up and said, “At least fifteen minutes, and not a second less.”

  “That seems completely fair,” Mr. Kendall replied, and then he swept a bow to both of them. “I do look forward to seeing you this evening.”

  That last was meant just for her, if his searing gaze was any indication. Sam struggled to keep her expression as mundane as possible, even as her heart threatened to run away from her.

  Toby pointed a tiny, shaky finger at him. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Mr. Kendall nodded. “Not a moment less.”

  Chapter 9

  Chad watched them walk away, a ridiculous grin spreading his lips wider than was comfortable. But truly, how was he to help it? They were delightful—one slightly more so than the other—but still, he’d enjoyed that exchange quite a bit. What a funny young boy that Toby was, and so fiercely protective of his sister, who quite needed protecting, Chad thought. Someone so beautiful and with a lady before her name must be forced to beat suitors off with a stick.

  Lady Samantha. It rang in his mind like a song, or a prayer, or something equally as beautiful and reverent.

  “Waaaaaaaaah!”

  Chad’s heart raced as his gaze flicked to the darkened staircase to his left. Was that what she was running from? Wailing sounds? Chad had a mind to run too. Were the rumors to be believed?

  He shook his head. He was more tired than he’d realized, probably. He really needed to find a way to get some sleep before supper this evening, or this family might think him amongst the walking dead.

  Choosing to ignore the odd sounds coming from above—they were probably just a result of the wind whistling through the turrets anyhow—he set his feet back in the direction he’d come. Perhaps he’d ring for a sleeping tonic. Or knock himself over the head with a blunt object. Either way, he wanted desperately to sleep.

  Chad arrived at his chambers, only to find the door had been locked. He leaned into it, jiggling the handle frantically, wondering how on earth it had come to be locked. He certainly hadn’t locked it. He stepped back to examine the door, just to make sure he was in the right place. This was a massive castle, after all. It wouldn’t be unheard of for one to get lost and misplace their chambers.

  But no, this was indeed his door. He’d taken note of the odd scratches in the wood near the bottom, as if a cat had been locked outside, clearly to its chagrin.

  Damn it all, he’d have to find the housekeeper again. She’d think him a complete dolt for locking himself from his own room, but there was no way around it.

  He set off, this time trying to retrace his steps to the main parts of the castle. Whenever he heard voices, though, he made an effort to avoid them by choosing a different direction or tip-toeing by the room on what he hoped were stealthy feet. It wasn’t that he was being anti-social, it was just that…

  Well, yes, he supposed he was being anti-social. He didn’t much care to answer any questions right now about his presence at the castle—there would be plenty of those at supper, he was sure. Right now, he just wanted back into his room.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk…”

  The sudden tsking sound startled him almost as much as the wailing had a few minutes ago. He whirled around to find the boy—Toby—leaning against a wood-paneled wall, his expression pure disappointment.

  “And here I’d thought you a man of your word.”

  Chad stared at him, wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”

  Toby pushed off the wall and strode toward him with all the swagger of a fine, young buck. God help the ton when this boy emerged into society. “I do believe we had an agreement, sir. Yet here you are, and nary ten minutes has passed since we left you.”

  “Oh!” Chad had forgotten all about that in the process of being locked out of his chambers. And furthermore, though he’d never say this to the lad, he’d not really taken the whole thing that seriously to begin with. “I do hope you will forgive me when you hear my plight.”

  Toby eyed him curiously, his brow furrowed beneath a fringe of dark brown hair. “Your p
light?”

  “Indeed, you see…” Chad leaned in and lowered his voice, “I was frightened.”

  “Frightened?” Toby practically shouted the word, and Chad made a big motion out of hushing him.

  “You would have been frightened too, if you had heard what I heard.”

  Now Toby looked like the young boy he was, what with his eyes so very round in his face. “What did you hear?” he whispered, as if he desperately wanted to know and didn’t want to know at the same time and with equal fervor.

  Damn. Perhaps he shouldn’t frighten the boy so, but he was in it now. He couldn’t leave him wondering, could he? “A woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “Wailing.”

  Toby’s eyes returned to normal and his brows knit together in confusion. “Well, that’s not so unusual,” he said. “My sisters wail all the time, and usually about complete nonsense.”

  Well, Chad hadn’t been expecting that response, nor was he expecting the level at which it would amuse him. A laugh bubbled inside of him and forced its way out his mouth before he could stop it.

  Toby shook his head. “I don’t find it funny at all.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you do,” Chad said, the laughter still having hold of him. “But now, perhaps you can help me. I need to find the housekeeper, as I’ve locked myself out of my bedchamber.”

  The broken promise long forgotten, Toby stepped out in front of Chad and began walking. “I can help you find her,” he said, and so Chad, trusting the navigational instincts of an eleven-year-old, followed in his wake.

  Chapter 10

  Sam paced her room until she could see a defined path in the ancient rug beneath her feet. Goodness, how long had she been at it? She really couldn’t say. Time seemed to have come to a stand still, and yet the sky was darkening over the gardens as the sun began to make its descent.

  A chill washed over her as she stared out the window. As excited as she was to spend the week in a haunted castle, she couldn’t help but wonder—and perhaps be a little fearful—about what the nighttime would bring.

  She sighed and then wandered to her bed, where she collapsed upon it with yet another sigh. She wouldn’t be nearly so fearful if Mr. Kendall were with her. The wicked thought brought a smile to her lips. Her mother would have an apoplexy if she knew what Sam was thinking just then. Cassy had to be married off first. They were all to put their energy toward her first, Samantha last.

  And seeing as Mr. Kendall was a mere mister, Mother probably wouldn’t approve anyhow. She’d never get to marry whom she liked. It would be just like Lady Gertrude whose parents had forced her to wed that awful Lord Averstow, just because he had lands and a nice title.

  Samantha reached for her journal of poetry and musings, and began to write furiously about the injustices that plagued her day in and day out. It made her feel better to get it all out and onto paper. God forbid her mother, or even Cassy, should come across it and have the gumption to read the pages within. Sam was relying on their good breeding to keep them from doing so.

  Betsy scratched and then entered in the next moment, all cheerful and smiles. Sam always wondered how the girl maintained such a cheery disposition even in her position. But then, in some ways, wasn’t she more free than Samantha was? Of course, it would never appear as such to the rest of the world, but there was a bit of truth in it, wasn’t there?

  “Time to get ready for supper, my lady.”

  Sam sighed, and made her way to the vanity. “If you say so.”

  “Something got you down, my lady?”

  “Could you please just call me Sam when we’re alone?” Sam asked, staring at her maid’s reflection in the mirror.

  Betsy pursed her lips and began to pull pins from Sam’s chignon. “That wouldn’t be proper, my lady.”

  It was a fight Sam had been trying to win for quite some time, but Betsy just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “Betsy?” she asked, changing the subject. “What do you do after you get me ready for supper?”

  If Betsy was surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. “Nothing much, really. I have dinner with the others, and I usually read a book in the common room until you or Lady Cassandra ring for me to help you with dressing for bed. Quite boring, isn’t it?”

  Sam didn’t think so at all. “Are you friends with the others?”

  Betsy shrugged. “Some. There are some who don’t want friends, though, and they keep to themselves.”

  Sam liked to keep to herself too, so she completely understood. There were a hundred other questions on her tongue about what it was like to live and work below stairs.

  “You are too curious by half,” Betsy said as she tugged and pulled at Sam’s hair until it was in a pile on top of her head. By the time she finished, there would be waves and curls and flowers and ribbons—Betsy was quite a master of hairstyles. “But how was your journey to the turrets this afternoon, my lady?”

  “Oh!” Sam jumped a little in her seat, causing Betsy to lose her grip on the small piece of hair she’d been molding into a pin curl. “Sorry,” Sam said, vowing to sit still in spite of her excitement. “It was…” Frightening. Exhilarating. “Odd,” she settled on.

  “Odd?”

  “That is to say, I was quite enjoying myself until the wailing began.”

  “Wailing?” Poor Betsy turned quite the whitest shade of pale Sam had ever seen. And that was saying something, seeing as Cassy was her sister.

  “And moaning,” Sam went on. “But then…”

  “Then?”

  “But then he arrived.”

  Betsy’s eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared back at Sam in the mirror. “He?”

  Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a ghost. It was…a man.” She said this last with all the wistfulness she felt inside.

  “Alone on the turrets with you?” This seemed to scandalize Betsy as much as the idea of a ghost did.

  “No,” Sam corrected. “At the bottom of the stairs, where you’d left me. Oh, Betsy, he is so very handsome!”

  Betsy’s brow furrowed. “Is he one of your cousins, my lady?”

  “That’s the most wonderful part! He is not!” Sam let out a little squeal while trying to remain as still as possible.

  “Your mother will be quite put out if you attempt to marry before your sister.”

  “Oh, I know,” Samantha said, sobering a bit. “Not to mention he has no status. But I can dream, can’t I?”

  Betsy gave her a soft smile in the mirror. “Just don’t dream so big that real life begins to feel like an utter disappointment.”

  It was a horribly pessimistic way to look at the world, but Sam held her tongue, for she was certain that it came from a very personal place for her maid.

  “I’ve laid out your blue dress,” Betsy said, changing the subject yet again. “These blue ribbons you bought in town the other day are going to look lovely with it, don’t you think?”

  Samantha did indeed think they were perfect for the dress, which was why she’d bought them. They were a darker, but complimenting shade, and looked rather striking against her red hair.

  She sighed, wishing her hair wasn’t quite so red.

  “Don’t frown, my lady,” Betsy said. “I’m certain society is on the verge of realizing just how glorious red hair is.”

  Sam smiled at her maid, who was clearly also a mind reader. “Thank you, Betsy. I shall be most grateful for that day, should it ever arrive.”

  Betsy patted her gently on the shoulders and then moved across the room to retrieve the blue dress. Sam found herself wondering if Mr. Kendall liked the color blue. Or if he liked red hair. He had called her lovely this afternoon, in spite of her red hair, hadn’t he? No one had ever called her lovely before. It was quite a heady, wonderful feeling.

  Sam slipped into the dress and gave Betsy her back, so she could fasten the buttons and tie the sash. A quick glance in the looking glass was enough to tell Sam she looked presentable for
dinner. Any longer and she’d start to hone in on all her faults.

  “Is it too much to wish that I’ll be seated next to Mr. Kendall?” she asked Betsy on her way out the door.

  “Probably,” Betsy said, “but go ahead and wish it anyway.”

  Perhaps Betsy had been right. Dreaming too lofty of dreams could lead to utter disappointment. Mr. Kendall never even came down for dinner, and in spite of the fact Sam had spent a mere five minutes in his presence thus far, she felt his absence nonetheless. Ridiculous, of course. Why in the world should she miss him? What a flighty, fanciful girl she was, in spite of her outer façade of cool disregard. Yet, even as she silently scolded herself for being a bit of a ninny, she couldn’t help but feel sad as she forced another green bean down her throat.

  Dinner was interminable, but at last the ladies departed to leave the men to their port and cigars. Sam stuck close to Cassy in the salon, listening to her stories of how Oscar, her poodle, had wreaked havoc on the castle earlier in the day. It wasn’t surprising in the least, seeing as he was quite the most spoilt pup Sam had ever encountered.

  Finally, Mother announced she was retiring for the night and as soon as she was gone, Sam did the same. Not that she was going to bed. Sam left the parlor and breathed in the freedom as if it rode on the air. The very chilly air, she might add. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, as she padded down the stone-walled corridors of the main floor, wishing she had her heavy cloak and boots on instead of this flimsy gown and satin slippers. But perhaps she would find the library or a salon ablaze with a cozy fire. Truly, that sounded like just the thing, to curl up with a book as close to the hearth as possible. Of course, Betsy had probably stoked the fire in her own room, but what would be the fun in returning to her chambers so soon? It was her first night in a haunted castle—she’d not waste it by falling asleep early.

  Sam pushed open several doors in her search for the library, and was finally rewarded on the fourth. As she’d hoped, a fire roared in the grate, and shelves upon shelves of books beckoned her to come and choose. What would it be tonight? Oh, there was no question in her mind—something gothic and romantic and—