“That would have been very foolish of you,” Natalie chastised.
“That is what I told her.” Sophia sounded very pleased with herself.
“He also said he couldn’t guarantee our teacher would remain safe if we didn’t stay put and quiet,” Eliza continued. “Not that I was scared.”
Sophia sniggered but said nothing else.
Eliza shifted and turned her back to Sophia. “I thought I was going to have an apoplexy when I heard the gun shot.” Her eyes grew wide and she clasped her hands to her chest. “I was certain Miss Pritchard lay dead and that horrid man would return any moment.”
Natalie fought the urge to roll her eyes over Eliza’s dramatics. Rosemary didn’t fight the same compulsion and quickly turned her face away from her friend. At least the girl seemed to have recuperated from the ordeal.
“I’ve never been so relieved in my life when I saw Miss Pritchard running toward the carriage.” Eliza sighed and slumped against the settee. “At least we now know he was the Ghost and he does exist.”
“I expected him to be cold, airy?” Rosemary observed.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Natalie snapped in irritation and marched away. “He is a man, not an apparition.” She wished Mrs. Wiggons would send the girls to bed so she could pour herself a brandy. Her nerves were still on edge from the encounter while the students seemed to have recovered easily enough.
“Come along girls. We can discuss this more tomorrow.” Claudia gestured toward the door.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Thank goodness for Claudia. She must have read her mind.
The students were ushered out of the room and Natalie sank into her chair. Mrs. Wiggons pressed a glass into her hand. “How are you, really?”
Natalie took a deep drink. She savored the warmth as it traveled from her throat to her stomach and hoped it calmed her frazzled nerves. “I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“But, you said it was his arm. I’m sure he will recover in time.”
“He didn’t fall to the ground, so I suppose that is a good sign.”
Mrs. Wiggons patted Natalie’s hand. “It is for the best. You still don’t know what he wanted. He could have harmed you.”
Natalie had made the same argument with herself, yet she believed he only wanted a kiss. Had she just closed her eyes, done as he said, they could now be discussing a potentially pleasant odd encounter instead of worrying if she maimed the man.
She rose from the settee and strode toward the window. “I must stop feeling sympathy for that man. He is the highwayman. He stopped our carriage. He scared me and the girls half to death and he was the one who made demands.” Natalie whipped around and pointed to Mrs. Wiggons. “Why, he is lucky I didn’t shoot him in some vital spot. Had I been given the opportunity to plan and aim, I may have done just that.” She tossed back the remains of her brandy before her bravado faded. She knew as well as Mrs. Wiggons that if she had been given the opportunity to control her actions, or even think for that matter, the gun would have never left her pocket, let alone be fired.
Mrs. Wiggons stood and took her empty goblet, refilled it and pressed it back into Natalie’s hands. “Go to bed and try to sleep. I will have someone else take over your classes tomorrow.” She turned down the lamp on the side table.
Natalie attempted a smile but knew it was weak. “Thank you.”
She made her way up the stairs and to her room where she closed and locked the door behind her. Though it would be difficult to sleep tonight, Natalie went through the motions of changing into her night clothes then brushed out her hair. She tried not to think about what happened, but it was impossible to put the incident from her mind.
Frustrated, she rose from her dressing table and picked up the glass of brandy from the bedside table. She sipped as she wandered to the window. The night was still clear, though the wind blew. She looked toward the ominous outline of Creighton Manor in the distance. Stark, grey stone, almost black against the darkened sky, rose high above the ocean as the waves crashed against the cliffs below. One could imagine all manner of eerie happenings in such a place. A chill ran up her spine. She shook it off. Ever since she was a student at this school, the Elizabethan manor remained vacant though she often wondered what the place looked like inside. Not that she ever had the nerve to visit since everyone knew it was haunted.
It seemed everywhere she looked she encountered ghosts. The one who stopped their carriage tonight, if he was the rumored ghost, and the one from her past. Memories washed over her. Natalie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the pane of glass. Had it only been two years? It felt like a lifetime. In a moment, she was transported back to that night. The last night Anton was alive. The night they married. The ache was still deep, raw. As much as she tried to bury it, and oftentimes successfully, there were times like tonight the loss might as well have happened yesterday.
She opened her eyes and swiped the tears from her cheeks. They had been so careful. Who could have betrayed him? Until that night, Natalie had not known how dangerous Anton’s activities were. She thought he did simple things on behalf of the English government. It wasn’t until he was killed that her brother, Dimitri, explained her beloved was the Ghost, a spy against Russia for England, and the name on everyone’s lips, as well as the most hunted. No wonder the soldiers shot him in the streets like a rabid dog.
A flicker of light interrupted her memory. Surely she was seeing things. Natalie opened her window, stuck her head out and strained to see the side of Creighton Manor that faced the ocean, just beyond the crumbled wall. There it was. First it was lower and now it was higher. Who would be there at this time of night?
Just as it had appeared, the light vanished. She continued to watch for a short time, but it never appeared again. Was she losing her mind and seeing ghosts everywhere? Only fools would venture there. What she saw was simply a reflection off the water. That was all. Besides, there were enough ghosts in her life. She didn’t need to imagine any more.
Anton strode along the gallery in the old manor. Behind him pictures of someone else’s ancestors lined the walls. The opposite wall was a bank of windows overlooking the back gardens, cliffs, and ocean. It was a breathtaking sight, especially under the light of a full moon. Tonight, there was barely a moon, which is why it was perfect for stopping carriages.
He had discovered the ancient place when he began searching the area for Natasha and Dimitri, and purchased it outright along with everything inside. He had traveled the extent of England, staying in cities and towns only long enough to determine if Natasha was in residence before moving on. This manor had called to him. It had whispered home when he stepped through the doors and then stood in this gallery overlooking the sea.
He just never anticipated this is where he would also finally find Natasha. He had hoped, but expected he would need to move on in a few weeks to look for her elsewhere.
After escaping the Russian prison he had first gone to where he knew she had family in England. They were distant relatives of her mother and he assumed they would offer sanctuary. They had not seen Natasha or her brother in several years. As she had not returned to family he had assumed she and her brother would avoid any place that had once been familiar to them and thus his search began. It was frustrating to learn the one place he found her was in the school she had attended as a girl. He should have come here first, after leaving her family. It galled him to know an entire year had been wasted.
Nothing could be done for it now and he was ready to act. He had waited a long time and the moment of revenge was almost upon him. Anticipation stirred in his blood and he grinned as he gazed out the window to a now familiar sight. Across the cove and atop a cliff stood the Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies.
Anton grabbed a bottle of whisky from a table by the window and drank deeply. He fought the burn of the strong liquor and once again wished he had brought vodka with him.
In truth, the entire year had not been
a waste. Knowing England would now be his home, he’d struggled to erase the Russian from his dialect. It wasn’t easy, and occasionally he slipped, but in time, it would become easier. Vanko had learned English as well, though his was more broken, but good enough to get by. It didn’t really matter to Anton; soon the two would part and go their separate ways.
“Now that you find her, what are your plans?” Vanko asked as he emerged from the top of the stairs. He placed the bandages and a basin of warm water on the table next to Anton.
Anton settled into an old, worn chair and eyed his friend over the top of the bottle. “I am not sure. I’ve had several ideas since my imprisonment, I just need to decide which one is worthy of her betrayal.”
Vanko didn’t smile. He thought his friend would be delighted that their search was at an end. Like him, Vanko had suffered much in their former country. Both of them traitors to Russia. Whereas Anton had spied for England, Vanko belonged to a group that spoke out against the Czar. Even though Paul I was assassinated a month after Vanko was imprisoned, he was not released when Alexander took the throne, but forgotten and left to rot. Instead of the execution Anton expected for himself, he was tortured for information and Vanko was the one who saw him through several severe beatings.
Anton anticipated and dreaded what was to come, but honor demanded retaliation. He sat forward and placed the bottle on the table before he removed his bloodstained shirt. “You have been a good friend, Vanko.”
“As have you.” The concerned look in the other man’s eyes remained.
Why was his friend worried? This was what they had planned for over a year. Many nights in their cell, starving, flea bitten, and Anton aching from yet another beating, they talked of how they would escape from the prison, make their way to England, and find the people responsible for Anton’s imprisonment.
Vanko picked up a cloth and dipped it in the warm water to wash the blood from Anton’s arm.
“I don’t feel it fair to tie you to me.” Anton took another drink, hoping it would numb him to the pain to come. “You should go make your future.”
Vanko stood and spread his arms. “Where? Doing what?”
“I know you liked the manor in Wales best. I purchased it and deeded it in your name before we left the area. There are also funds in an account for your use.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You do this for me?”
Anton knew one day he and Vanko would part and wanted his friend to have a place where he could settle and begin anew. “You will not need to work again.” He had also realized that once he had Natasha it was best that he do what was needed alone. He did not wish for Vanko to be caught up in the revenge and be banned from yet another country.
Vanko tilted his head and stared at Anton. “I know no one there. Everyone in England is stranger to me,” he said.
Anton had thought his friend would be happy to finally have a home, land of his own, and put the past behind him.
“Give me your arm,” Vanko ordered.
Anton braced himself when his friend took the bottle of whiskey and poured the dark liquid into the wound. He hissed through clenched teeth and closed his eyes to the watering brought on by the burn. The pain soon subsided and he was able to speak once more. “It is your chance to be truly free of me, of Russia, of everything. There is a mine with the estate so you will have continuing income.” He grinned up at his friend. “And, if I recall, there was a certain widow who caught your eye.” He made light of the situation and hoped that reminding Vanko of Lady Burge would be the incentive his friend needed.
“She was charming lady.” A small smile pulled at Vanko’s lips as he studied Anton’s arm. “The ball took some flesh. It should be stitched.”
Anton glanced down at the gaping wound, no longer bleeding. “I don’t think it necessary.”
Vanko stood back for a moment. “Are you sure?”
He tilted his head to look up at his friend. “I suffered much worse in prison. I will survive this.”
The other man shrugged his shoulders before picking up the roll of white bandages and began wrapping them around Anton’s upper arm.
“Lady Burge is quite smitten with you.” He returned to the topic of Vanko leaving.
A grin grew wide on his friend’s face. “That she was.” He laughed as he secured the end of the bandage. “But I won’t leave yet.” He poured whiskey into a glass.
Anton relaxed. “I don’t want you suffering consequences for what I may do once I have Natasha and Dimitri.”
Vanko scrubbed a hand over his face. “It is very reason I should stay.”
“I don’t understand.”
His friend settled into the opposite chair. “You’ve been letting hatred fester for over year, but you also once loved her.”
He nodded, though he didn’t love Natasha any longer. Those emotions were dead and buried. Destroyed by her treachery.
“I will stay until you don’t need me.” His friend placed the now empty glass on the table. “Once you have both you will need assistance keeping eye on them so they don’t get away.” He grinned and poured more whiskey into his glass. “Though, at thought of Lady Burge, I am most anxious for you be done.”
Anton barked out laughter. His friend was right. He would need assistance if he were to keep Natasha and Dimitri under lock and key. “Thank you.” He lifted the bottle in a toast. “As I said, you are good friend.”
Vanko drained his glass as he stood. “I will turn in for night. Let me know vot your next plan will be.”
He turned to the window that looked out over the sea as Vanko made his way to the chamber he had chosen. His arm was only a dull throb now. He drank from the bottle once more. What was Natasha was doing this evening? Was she able to recover from her encounter with the Ghost? Was she already asleep in her bed? Did she toss and turn, too upset to sleep? Did she even worry if she fatally wounded him?
He stood and crossed the long gallery then turned down a long corridor. His chamber, the master’s chamber, was situated in the center of the west wing. He paused at the threshold of the one room he had decorated. After sleeping in a small, dark, dank cell for over a year, he refused to retire in such manner again. The large bed offered all the comfort a man could ask for and the thick carpets did not chill him when he rose in the morning. Anton stoked the fire, settled into a thick upholstered chair and brought the bottle to his lips.
Over the past year he envisioned various scenarios of what would happen when he saw Natasha again. The urge to grasp her to him and cover her mouth with his own, which he experienced with such great intensity in the carriage, had never even entered his mind. He thought the love he formerly harbored for her had successfully transformed to hate. In addition, he didn’t trust her. How could he possibly long for her? Desire her?
It was simply the shock at finally finding her. All he had to do was remember how she betrayed him. Anton closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and recalled his last free night in Sankt Peterburg and waking in a dark cell.
Natasha, with her sunrise tresses and beguiling blue eyes had finally been found. What he planned to do with her next, he was not sure. Regardless, his revenge would be sweet. Very sweet indeed.
3
She wept to the memory of times past, and there was a romantic sadness in her
feelings, luxurious and indefinable.
A Sicilian Romance
Ann Radcliffe
Natalie slept later than usual, yet when she opened her eyes and glanced at the bright sunlight streaming through her window, she did not move from her bed. Had she mortally wounded the highwayman? Would she even know? What if his body were found? On the other hand, he had held a gun on them first, and taken her from the carriage. She rolled over and punched the pillow. Still, she was not sure she could live with herself if she had killed someone.
Natalie rolled onto her back once again and stared at the ceiling. No, she should not give into guilt. He deserved everything coming to him. She pushed the
blankets away and pulled herself from the bed. With determination she marched to the window to face the new day. Her gaze strayed to the old manor. Had she really seen a light last night?
No. She shook her head. It was only her imagination brought on by the events of the evening. Nobody had lived there in decades, or perhaps the past century. While picturesque sitting atop the cliff overlooking the sea, it was still an old manor house, probably barely intact and Natalie couldn’t imagine that someone would want to actually live there.
She turned away and went about preparing for the day. First she chose a modest, dress of delicate light blue and pale yellow print muslin. It was a bit worn, but the material was soft from years of washing and quite comfortable, and perfect for working in the gardens.
Brush in hand, Natalie stared at her reflection and began ridding her hair of tangles. A disturbing sleep that it was. She woke several times yet knew she dreamt. She just wished she could recall those dreams. Another fault to lay at the feet of the highwayman – a restless sleep and the reason she slept so late today.
She paused to study her appearance. Had she aged in the past year or two? She didn’t believe her face showed much but inside there was a world of difference. When she had finished her education and left this school, her future had been ahead of her. She’d had a blissful year with her family before her father was suddenly struck ill and died. Dimitri assumed guardianship and they only had each other for family. When the period of mourning came to an end, Dimitri had forced her to begin attending functions and that is when she fell in love and enjoyed a courtship she’d always dreamed of. Then, in a single night she married, became a widow, and saw her brother die before she escaped to return to the one place that had been home more the majority of her life. At first, she had barely been able to get through a day without crying, but she had grown stronger and had been able to keep herself busy enough not to dwell on the past. For the past two years she had been successful at burying the pain of her loss and at other times and grief nearly overwhelmed her, such as now.
Ghosts from the Past (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies) Page 2
