by Kate Pearce
“Your father probably left you a pile of debts and fathered three bastards on the side. Even though he is deceased, I cannot pray for his soul.” Her grandmother raised her chin. “That man ruined my daughter’s life.”
Henrietta concentrated on sipping her tea as a wave of grief engulfed her. She would not speak ill of the man who had been her whole world for most of her life. He could’ve left her to the coldness of her grandmother, but he’d refused to do that, and had taken her all over Europe—occasionally into danger, perhaps, but he’d never let her down, and he’d loved her mother.
The clock on the wall chimed nine times. Her grandmother stood and smoothed her hands over her apron. “It’s getting late. I have to be up at six in the morning. Let me show you your room.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.” Henrietta stood as well, opened the door, and took the tea tray over to the scullery end of the huge kitchen. “I really do appreciate you letting me stay here.”
Her grandmother paused by the vast kitchen table. “While you are residing in this house, perhaps you would call me by my title, Mrs. Bray? I don’t want the staff to think I’m getting soft in my old age or that you are being too familiar.”
“Of course, Grand—I mean Mrs. Bray.” As that was how she thought of the woman anyway, it would not be a hardship. “I will do my best to remember.”
“Then come with me.”
Henrietta gathered up the heavy folds of her black travelling gown and followed Mrs. Bray up endless flights of narrow stone stairs to the top floor. A howling wind careered along the darkened corridor. The housekeeper tutted as she shut the small, diamond-paned window at the end of the hallway.
“No matter how many times I close this dratted thing, it always blows open again.”
As Henrietta paused to regain her breath at the top of the stairs, a ghostly figure appeared behind her grandmother, waving and doffing his plumed hat.
Henrietta grinned and mouthed the words, “Good evening, Benedict.”
He winked and disappeared.
“Here you are, then.” Mrs. Bray unlocked a door and stepped inside. “The maid’s aired the bed last week. We were expecting a lady’s abigail, but she didn’t arrive. I’m also expecting a valet and another gentleman tonight, but they haven’t turned up either.”
“I’m sure they’ll appear at some point.” Even with the window closed, the salt-laced sea air permeated the small room. Henrietta immediately felt at home. “Thank you.”
She placed her small bag and reticule on the bed and turned to her grandmother, who still hadn’t managed a welcoming smile. Luckily, Henrietta was no longer a small child to be cowed, but a grown woman of experience who was accustomed to dealing with all kinds of emergencies.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Bray.”
“Goodnight, Henrietta.” Mrs. Bray paused in the doorway. “I don’t need to remind you to use the back stairs, and stay out of the way of our guests, do I?”
“Of course not,” Henrietta replied. “I know my place here.”
“Good, now don’t forget it.”
Henrietta closed the door and grimaced at the bed. “As if you’d let me.”
She walked over to the tiny window, sat on the window seat, and squinted out into the moonlight. There was a hint of frost in the air, and it was already sparkling on the rock surfaces, softening the harsh lines of the walls into a fairytale castle. In a few weeks she would be leaving this place—possibly forever. It was not in her nature to dwell on the darker problems of life. Whatever her grandmother said, Henrietta would make sure to enjoy every minute of her unexpected stay.
“As our parents were…unable to attend the weddings, I considered it my duty to represent the Priske family to the best of my ability.”
Benjamin Priske, Baron Saxelby, the oldest son and heir of the Earl of Widcombe, bowed stiffly to his sister Cassandra and her husband Jack as they entered the drawing room of Hollybrook Park. It was quite late. He’d arrived just as dinner was being served and spent the last two hours kicking his heels in the empty room waiting for his sister to finish dinner and join him.
“Unable to attend?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows as she took a seat. “You mean that Mama was so scandalized by the behavior of her two daughters that she threatened never to darken the door of Castle Keyvnor again?”
“Which, seeing as the weddings have nothing to do with her daughters, makes no sense at all,” Cassandra’s husband, Jack Hazelwood, Lord St. Giles pointed out.
Benjamin frowned at his brother-in-law’s attempt at levity. “Regardless, I thought it only right that I should attend the wedding.”
“What about me?” Cassandra pouted. “I’m a Priske.”
“No you’re not.” Jack kissed his wife’s hand. “You’re all mine now.”
Benjamin sighed, knowing that within seconds his sister and her husband would lose all sense of manners and possibly even start canoodling in public.
“I am the heir to the title,” Benjamin repeated patiently. “And I must say that I intend to enjoy my visit to this remote part of the country. I have never been here before, so all is well.”
“Good.” Cassy smiled at him. “You really are the best of brothers.”
He found himself smiling back at her. She was definitely his favorite sibling. It was good to see her so happy. Her marriage had left him feeling quite alone in the confusion of the Priske family. Sometimes he felt as if he were the only person to have his feet firmly on the ground, and not live in alt.
“I’m staying at the castle, so I’d better get over there. I only came here to make sure that you had arrived safely.” Benjamin sighed. “I do hope someone is up to receive me.”
Cassandra frowned. “I’d ask if there was any space here, but at dinner our hosts mentioned the house is currently full to bursting so I doubt there is room for you.”
“Then I’ll take my chances at the castle. I should be there before ten.” Benjamin went over to kiss his sister’s cheek. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow when I’m settled in.”
“That would be lovely. Good night, brother, dear.”
The weddings were being held on the twenty-fourth of December, so Benjamin had a few days to renew his acquaintance with fellow guests his first cousins Lord Michael Beck, and Anthony, Viscount Redgrave. In truth, he really was glad to escape to the countryside. His mother seemed determined that he should wed, and had introduced him to a whole slew of ridiculously young ladies at every possible opportunity. Hopefully in the wilds of Cornwall, and at a wedding, he wouldn’t encounter a single marriageable female at all.
Benjamin gathered his belongings and exited the house through the kitchens to access the stable where he’d left his horse. Apparently, it wasn’t that far to Castle Keyvnor. Even at night it was impossible to miss the looming bulk of the high stone walls and crenellated ramparts. His horse seemed to know the way along the cliff path, which was remarkably comforting seeing as the sheer drop and the endless sound of crashing waves on one side of him was hardly reassuring.
It was good to be away from London, and his mother in particular. He was sick and tired of having to be the responsible one in the family—the person everyone laughed at behind his back for being so predictable and stuffy. But what else was the heir to a title supposed to do? He had no taste for gambling, excessive fornication, or sporting excellence. He had no desire to be known as a notorious rake.
At one point in his life he’d wanted to become an explorer, but that notion had been quashed by the advent of the war. He was what he was—a gentleman of good family with a spotless reputation and nothing else to recommend him except possibly his title. That was the only reason any woman would encourage his suit.
Benjamin rammed his hat down on his head as the breeze toyed with the brim like plucking fingers. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to just visit a place where neither he nor his family name was known? To simply be liked for himself?
He shoved such lowering thoughts behind him and concentrated on
the lights of the castle ahead. His horse crossed over the dry moat into the courtyard that looked as if it hadn’t changed much since medieval times. He imagined himself as a dashing knight seeking his fair lady and snorted so loudly at the absurd notion that he scared his horse.
When he reached the stables, a yawning groom came out to greet him, took his horse, and directed him toward the side entrance of the castle. Benjamin slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and grabbed his overnight bag. The rest of his belongings were due to arrive on the morrow. After suffering days confined to his carriage, he’d left his valet at the last large posting inn and carried on without him.
His drab coat and breeches were covered in mud, and he currently had no replacements. It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t made himself known to his host at Hollybrook Park and demanded to be seated at the dinner table. Some of his friends considered him old-fashioned, but in his opinion good manners never went out of style.
He knocked on the door and waited impatiently, the coldness creeping into his clothing and skin like icy fingers on the back of his neck. He knocked again—this time louder—and looked up at the imposing stone walls. Someone had better come soon, or he’d turn into an ice sculpture.
Henrietta paused on the stairs, candle in hand and considered the impatient knocking echoing around the kitchen. She’d come down to acquire more candles for her room, and had paused to add fuel to the kitchen stove. Someone wanted access to the castle, and, from what she could see, the entire kitchen and house staff had already retired to bed. Even the scullery maid, whose job it was to keep the fires going all night, seemed to be sleeping through the noise.
Holding the candle high, she warily considered the complicated locks and bolts. Even as she wondered how to open them, a ghostly hand reached over her shoulder, and everything slid back, allowing the door to swing wide.
“Thank you, Benedict,” Henrietta whispered.
A man stood on the step, his expression a mixture of tiredness and exasperation. He carried some baggage over his shoulder and was remarkably muddy. He opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it again, and then just gawped at her as if he could see Benedict over her shoulder.
“Yes?” Henrietta smiled encouragingly. “May I help you?”
“Good evening.” He inclined his head an abrupt inch. “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival.”
“Do come in. You were expected much earlier.” She stepped aside to let him in and closed the door. “Do you need anything to eat or drink, or shall I take you straight up to your room?”
The man blinked at her as he removed his hat to reveal ruffled hair the auburn red of a fox. “You know who I am?”
“My grandmother—I mean Mrs. Bray—said you might be late,” Henrietta said diplomatically. She hoped Mr. Drake, the steward, had answered the front door to the man’s master. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, I’ve—”
“Then come on up to your room. You must be exhausted.”
Henrietta took her candle and started up the servants’ stairs, her other hand holding her skirts clear of the treacherous spiral stone steps. She’d changed into her nightgown earlier and had draped a thick woolen shawl around her shoulders. She was aware that her unpinned hair was flowing down her back and hoped her companion wouldn’t comment on such informality of dress.
“Mr. Drake will settle your employer into his room. I expect he won’t need you until the morning.”
“I think you mistake—”
“Oh, will he require your presence immediately?” Henrietta carried on climbing, aware that her companion wasn’t even out of breath. “Is he one of those pampered aristocrats who can’t put himself to bed?”
“No, he’s, I mean, I’m—”
“Here you are.” Henrietta indicated the door to the left of the passageway. “Male staff are on this side of the attics, females on the right. If you need anything, I’m in the first room past the landing. They used to lock the two doors between the males and females at night, but the castle ghosts didn’t appreciate it, so eventually they gave up.”
“The castle ghosts?”
“Yes, we have a few regular visitors and occasionally a new one shows up, usually when there is a crisis. I understand that the reading of the Banfield will at Halloween encouraged a good deal of ghostly activity.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Why should it?” She paused to look down at him on the stair below her. The candlelight revealed a glint of copper in his hair, which was mirrored in his brown eyes. “I spent my summers here as a child, and all the ghosts were very polite to me.”
Something in his skeptical expression told her that he was not a believer in spirits and was too polite to say so.
“We have pixies in the woods as well.” Henrietta couldn’t help but add.
“Indeed.”
Henrietta turned left and walked along the row until she found the only open and unoccupied room.
“Here you are.” She stood back to let him go in. “It isn’t much, but it’s clean, and the roof doesn’t leak.”
“Thank you.” He paused beside her, topping her by at least a foot. “This is very kind of you, but—”
“Not at all.” Henrietta smiled at him. “I’m not sure why none of the castle staff was waiting up for you, but I’m glad I was able to help.” She handed him the candle. “There’s water in the jug if you need to wash. In the morning, just follow the stairs down to the kitchen, and you’ll be fine.”
“But—” The man sighed and then looked longingly at the bed. “I am somewhat fatigued…”
“Then I’ll wish you a good night’s sleep.” She paused. “My name is Henrietta. I’m related to Mrs. Bray, the castle housekeeper.”
“I’m…” He looked down at her, his brown eyes quizzical. “Benjamin. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Benjamin, not Ben or Benny?”
His mouth turned up at one corner. “No. I dislike it when people shorten my name.”
“So do I. Can you imagine being called Hetty or Hen or even worse, Henny?”
“That would indeed be a crime.” He actually managed a smile. “I suggest we make a pact and agree never to call each other Henny or Benny, or answer to anyone who does.”
“Agreed.” She chuckled as she handed him the candle. His language was that of the upper classes. Was he a returned soldier down on his luck, or perhaps the fourth son of an impoverished peer who had received the best education but no money to support himself? She’d met plenty of both on her travels abroad with the army.
“Goodnight, Benjamin.”
“Goodnight, Miss Henrietta.”
Henrietta offered him one last smile and left the room, making her way by instinct along the darkened corridor to her own small bedchamber. She paused to light a new candle from the fire. Benjamin had seemed rather confused…. Should she check that his master had been admitted through the front door? It wasn’t really her job to do anything in the castle, seeing as the Banfield family didn’t employ her, but she didn’t want Benjamin to get into trouble.
She opened her door and heard voices echoing way down below in the stairway. It sounded as if Mr. Drake was indeed awake and tending to the needs of the new arrival, which meant she was free to go to bed. She hoped poor Benjamin wouldn’t have to get up again to attend to his employer. He’d looked rather cold and weary and had been nothing but polite to her.
She shut the door and made sure the latch was in place. She was already looking forward to seeing Benjamin not Ben again on the morrow. She’d enjoyed his quiet smile and dry sense of humor and sensed a kindred spirit—if spirit was the right word to use in a haunted castle. She banked up the small fire and closed the patchwork curtains.
Depending on the state of the roads after Christmas, she might be in London by the first week of January. Sitting down on the bed, she took out the letter and puzzled over it again. The notion that her father had written a will was surprising
enough. That it warranted an expensive letter from a solicitor insisting she meet him in person was passing strange.
Her stepmother had died a year previously, so she supposed there was no one left to deal with her father’s last requests. He’d broken off contact with his family after marrying her mother. He had enjoyed gambling and other pursuits he couldn’t really afford on his officer’s salary. She could only pray that her grandmother wasn’t correct, and she wasn’t about to inherit a pile of debt…
Could a woman be forced to pay back debts of honor?
Henrietta bit her lip. Immediately after she’d arrived in England, she’d written back to the solicitor, given him her temporary address at the castle, and asked if the meeting was really necessary. She’d received an offer from a fellow officer’s daughter to become her children’s governess, so Henrietta wasn’t worried about starving. She would have a home in Hertfordshire with a family she liked and respected and would be earning a generous wage. With that resolved, she braided her hair and climbed into bed, shivering at the coldness of the sheets as she slid between them.
In the meantime, she would attempt to stay out of her grandmother’s way and enjoy both the weddings and the yuletide celebrations without anyone noticing she was present.
Except the ghosts, of course.
Chapter 2
Benjamin finally awoke when the narrow beam of sunlight emanating from the small window in his bedchamber landed squarely on his face. He opened his eyes, winced, and closed them again. It was remarkably quiet up here in the heights of the castle, and he wondered what the time was. The room was so small that he only had to put out a hand to reach his coat hanging over the back of the chair close to the small fire.
He found his pocket watch, and blearily regarded the dial only to discover he’d forgotten to wind it the previous night. Benjamin groaned. He normally wound his watch before he went to sleep and put it under his pillow. Last night he’d been so exhausted that, after washing off as much of the mud as he could manage with one jug of cold water and an inadequate basin, he’d gone straight to sleep.
