Ghosts from the Past (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies)

by Charles, Jane

  Eliza gasped.

  Sophia couldn’t believe she had not put the two together before now and apparently neither had Eliza. She looked back through the crack in the door.

  Kazakov brought a hand up to his arm. “The very one.”

  “Well,” Miss Pritchard began with irritation, as if she were done with pleasantries or visiting. “Thank you for help in locating the girls.” She turned toward the door and the girls scrambled back to their seat. “We won’t trouble you further.”

  “It has been no trouble, Natasha.”

  The door opened and the teachers emerged, followed by Lord Atwood and Miss Pritchard’s husband.

  Natasha walked out with the others, not bothering to glance back once. When he was finally unable to see her, Anton shut and locked the door and began to make his way across the foyer. The scrape of a booted foot in the dining room off the kitchen alerted Anton to another’s presence. He pulled a gun and flattened himself against the wall beside by the door. Vanko appeared around the corner and Anton relaxed.

  “What are you doing here, Vanko?”

  “I heard that teacher was missing. I assumed you took her and feared what you may do.”

  “Such as?” Anton demanded.

  “Punish and ask questions later.” He strode across the room and poured himself a glass of brandy. “I came through back door and looked in cellar. When she wasn’t where I expected, I wandered around searching. There are several rooms.”

  “I know.”

  “When I was in the back I heard someone trying to get in.” He grimaced and took a drink. “I tried to scare them off by moaning and rattling chains. Maybe if they thought place haunted they go away.”

  “Bloody hell,” Anton muttered. “Those were three girls caught because of the high tide.”

  Vanko glanced away. “I realize now.”

  “You were down there just now?”

  He nodded. “When I heard voices I disappear into darkness to see what men were walking through your cellar.”

  “Then you saw the girls?” Anton asked.

  “Had I known danger, I would have opened door.” Vanko looked at Anton. “Your wife is at Atwood Manor and you are here.”

  Anton frowned. “I fear she is rather angry and I don’t anticipate her forgiving me anytime soon, if ever,” he admitted.

  Vanko shook his head. “You did not listen, did you, friend?” He tossed back the remains in his glass. “You accused and punished before questioning.”

  His face heated. Actually, he had questioned very little before making love to her and then locked her away.

  Anton threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall. He was such a bloody, idiotic fool.

  17

  The sword fell from his grasp, and he started back in an agony of horror.

  A Sicilian Romance

  Ann Radcliffe

  The students flowed out of Atwood Manor with their few belongings. Their chatter that normally flowed over Natalie was today as deafening as waves crashing against the cliffs in a storm. She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead before she adjusted and brought both hands up to her neck and worked the tension at the base of her skull. Those girls could not leave soon enough.

  She glanced over to Tess. Her friend leaned against the door jamb, a cup of tea in her hand, face pale. Perhaps they shouldn’t have had that second bottle of wine last night.

  “Ah, Miss Morris, you are looking rather wan today,” Wesley observed when Claudia entered the room.

  Natalie cringed at the volume of his voice. Tess narrowed her eyes, crinkled her nose and pursed her lips. Claudia started to shake her head but stopped.

  Wesley pressed a hot cup into Natalie’s hand and smiled gently before returning to stand beside the tea cart ready to serve. He was the oddest valet she had ever encountered. Or perhaps not. She didn’t know other valets, but assumed they tended to the lord and nothing else. Wesley seemed to be everywhere at Atwood Manor, doing duties a maid or footman could easily see to.

  She would have returned his smile but couldn’t summon the energy and was fairly certain it would hurt if she did. Maybe once the students and other teachers quit the house she could return to her bed and sleep until this pounding and nauseating headache disappeared.

  The last of the students out the door brought blessed silence. The only remaining persons in the foyer were Mrs. Wiggons and three older teachers. In unison they turned to look at the younger ones. That was when Natalie realized that half of the teachers would be gone from the school. How would they get on? “What do you plan to do in our absence?” She straightened and took a step forward.

  “Not to worry, dear.” Mrs. Wiggons came forward and patted her hand. “We are suspending our classes to teach what others would consider, well, normal.”

  Natalie drew her brows together, trying to understand her meaning. She turned to Claudia for insight, but her friend only shrugged and winced at the movement. No doubt her headache was as bad as Natalie’s by the pained expression in her tired eyes.

  “We are going to be teaching them how to plan a menu, run a proper household, watercolors, embroidery, and the like.”

  “I suppose they will need to know those things,” Tess muttered

  Mrs. Wiggons sighed. “A few of the parents have complained that their daughters weren’t quite ready to be wives when they returned to their homes and put on the Marriage Mart.”

  Claudia rolled her eyes and snorted.

  Tess cleared her throat but said nothing.

  These girls had much more worth than to sit idle, look pretty and make proper stitches. They were intelligent and talented and were learning how to use their minds. Most parents weren’t aware of the full extent of education their daughters received at the Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies. Often the teachers forgot about the real finishing part of school. One would think that in the four years the girls were entrusted into their care, the wifely and ladylike duties would be taught along the way, but they always took second place to languages, history and sciences. It appeared that for once the daughters would get some of the education their parents were paying for.

  “There is only one concern,” Mrs. Wiggons hedged. The three older teachers vigorously nodded.

  Tess straightened, pulled away from her door support and walked further into the room. “Is there a way I could help?”

  A mischievous smiled pulled at Mrs. Wiggons’ lips. Tess would be sorry for asking. “There is an issue of those three.”

  No names were needed. Rosemary Fairview, Eliza Weston and Sophia Trent were a handful and still had a year left at the school. Natalie could just imagine how they would take to planning a menu, or sitting idly embroidering. It would not go over well and be only a matter of moments before Eliza and Rosemary snuck off with Sophia following to keep them out of trouble. That had been their pattern since they bonded in those first few months at the school.

  A panicked look came over Claudia’s face. Her eyes grew wide, her shoulders stiffened and she shot a glance at Tess. Natalie understood how she felt.

  “As we will be taking on all the students,” their employer continued. “And, two of my teachers will be here, not to mention we still have not found a replacement for Lady Atwood, we thought,” she gestured to the other teachers, “that it would be best if they stayed here, with you.”

  Tess opened her mouth to speak, but when no words were uttered she simply gaped at Mrs. Wiggons.

  Natalie said nothing. This was Tess’ home, after all, and who was she to approve inviting the guests to stay. Claudia remained quiet, a tightlipped, forced smile on her face.

  “Of course they are welcome to stay.” Lord Atwood stalked into the room and toward the tea cart where Wesley poured him a cup of coffee. “I am sure we can keep them out of trouble, one way of another.”

  Natalie wasn’t so sure, but what could she say? It wasn’t her decision.

  “Oh, thank you so much, Lord Atwood. The teachers a
nd I will be most grateful.”

  Well, those teachers would, Natalie thought to herself.

  “I will have their things sent straight over.”

  “Did you hear that?” Eliza whipped around from her spot at the top of the stairs, eyes lit with excitement. “We don’t have to participate in those boring lessons about households and such but get to remain here.”

  “Only because we are a problem.” Sophia crossed her arms across her chest and tapped her toe. “I, for one, would like to learn how to manage a house. We will be married one day, with homes of our own.”

  Eliza dismissed her and blew past Sophia and Rosemary on her way down the hall. “How much can there be to learn? I am sure when the time comes we will probably find out all we need in one day, or less.”

  “I agree.” Rosemary followed quickly behind. “How much can there possibly be to know?”

  Sophia shook her head. Those two probably had no a clue as to what went on in their own homes.

  “This is perfect,” Eliza announced and closed the door behind her. “With no lessons, we have all the time we need to learn more about Miss Pritchard and her husband.”

  “And, by living in the house with Miss Pritchard, we might find out if she was a spy too.” Rosemary fairly bounced with excitement.

  Sophia paced across the chamber to look out the window, watching the retreating backs of some of her teachers and fellow students, wishing she could go with them. She did want to learn how to plan a menu and do household accounts.

  Rosemary jumped onto the bed and settled. “Where do we begin?” Her curls continued to bounce for a few more moments.

  Sophia sank into the nearby chair.

  Eliza paced in front of the dying embers in the fireplace. “One would think her husband would have a few answers.”

  “You are right.” Rosemary straightened. “We should ask him.”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes. “We are not going to bother Mr. Kazakov.”

  Eliza frowned. “He probably wouldn’t tell us anything anyway.”

  One potential disaster averted.

  Eliza grinned, a gleam coming to her eye which did not bode well as far as Sophia was concerned. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t search his house for documents or information.”

  Sophia leveled a look at her. “You don’t propose we go visit and then snoop around his home?”

  “Of course not.” She laughed. “I propose we sneak in. That is the only way we are going to gather any real information.”

  Sophia opened her mouth to argue.

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” Rosemary jumped up from the bed to stand next to Eliza and Sophia knew all hope was lost.

  “Girls.” A voice sounded followed by a knock at the door.

  “Come in Lady Atwood,” Sophia called before the others had a chance, thankful for a reprieve from these insane plans.

  The door handle turned and Lady Atwood glided in. “I am sure you know by now that you will remain here.”

  “Yes, Lady Atwood,” the answered in unison.

  “However, that does not mean you have been granted a holiday.”

  Eliza slouched as if defeated. Sophia personally hoped it was something time consuming, gruesome and exhausting so Eliza didn’t have the energy left to pursue her investigations.

  “Mrs. Zobard has agreed to teach you how to properly plan a menu for a small gathering and large party.” Lady Atwood announced. “If that doesn’t keep you busy enough, she will instruct you in proper household accounting and everything you need to know so that you are prepared when you have a home of your own.”

  Rosemary groaned and Eliza grimaced. Sophia grinned.

  “She will expect you in the dining room in half an hour.” Lady Atwood turned on her heel then sailed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Anton sat upon his horse outside Atwood Manor. A gargoyle looked down at him from his perch above the grey stone portico. If he were given to whimsical thoughts, he would have considered this place to be haunted with its gabled windows, dark ivy creeping up the side, stone entrance. The manor had to be a century old, if not older, given its Gothic style. Of course, he knew better than to believe ghosts really did exist. The only ones he knew of were flesh and blood men.

  Would Natasha even see him?

  Anton hadn’t been this nervous since the first time he called on her in Sankt Peterburg. He had wanted to court her, but was afraid she would turn him down. They had shared many dances and laughs, but she was Dimitri’s sister and he’d feared she looked upon him as a friend, not a potential mate. It had all gone better than he could have ever dreamed. At least until he was shot.

  He had been so wrong. He knew that now. He had no proof other than a gut feeling. It was the same feeling that had motivated him for eight months, before he finally gave in. The person he should lock in a cell and question was Yuri, but the man was probably still in Russia.

  Anton slid from the saddle walked slowly to the door and knocked. A tall man with erect posture, impeccable clothing and white hair combed to perfection opened the door and stared at him. “May I help you?”

  “I wish to see Natasha Petrov Kazakov.”

  The man hitched an eyebrow.

  “Miss Natalie Pritchard,” Anton corrected.

  The door opened further. “Please wait here. I will see if she is at home.”

  Of course she was at home. Or at least, at this home because he had already gone by the school to be told that she was here.

  The servant disappeared down a dark hall and Anton studied his surroundings. Dark paneling ran along the wall of the stairs. The marble floor gleamed beneath his feet. The house was silent except for a few whispers beyond a door not far away. Were servants watching him and wondering who he was or did they already know?

  “Anton!”

  He turned and looked up the stairs to find Natasha descending, a hand at her throat. As the servant had gone down the hall, she could not have known he was here.

  “Natasha.” He greeted with a smile.

  She stopped in the middle of the stairs and studied him. “Why are you here?”

  He locked his hands behind his back, hoping she didn’t note how nervous he was. “I thought we might talk.”

  She hitched an eyebrow. “Talk, or do you wish to accuse me further?”

  “Talk, and apologize.”

  Natasha slowly descended the stairs, watching him, her lips firm. Would she ever forgive him?

  The servant returned and glanced up at her. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Pritchard?” He looked to Anton. “Or perhaps remove?”

  A small smile quirked at the edge of her lips for a moment. “I don’t need anything. Thank you, Wesley.”

  He bowed and disappeared around the corner though Anton suspected the man had not gone far.

  “Shall we?” She gestured to an open door way and Anton stood back to follow her inside. He reached for the door to ensure they had privacy. “I prefer it remain open.”

  He wished to argue that what they needed to discuss should remain private, but Anton held his tongue. Natasha was far from warm, with her spine ramrod stiff, shoulders back, firm set to her luscious lips and hardened eyes.

  She hated him and he might never get her back.

  “I was a bloody fool,” he confessed, even though it was not his intention to begin this way.

  “Exactly when?”

  What did she mean?

  “Was it when we married? When you allowed accusations of others to convince you I would do something so horrible? When you followed me for weeks? When you kidnapped me? When you locked me away in a cell in your cellar?” With each question her voice became louder and louder until heavy footfalls echoed in the corridor.

  “Is anything amiss?”

  Anton turned. Atwood towered in the doorway, glaring at him.

  Natasha let out a sigh. “Not yet.”

  The earl nodded. “If you need me…”

  “I wil
l scream,” she smiled pleasantly.

  He bowed and disappeared from the room. The man was probably standing with that Wesley somewhere, just within earshot, waiting to rescue Natasha from her husband.

  Anton returned is focus to her. “All of it.” He took a step forward, reaching out to her. “Except when I married you.”

  She drew away before he could touch her. He needed to make her understand and gain her forgiveness.

  Natasha strolled to a window, her back to him. “How easy was it to convince you?”

  “Not as easy as you seem to believe.”

  She looked back over her shoulder. “How long were you imprisoned?”

  “Nearly a year.”

  She faced the window again. “How long before you were convinced?”

  Anton closed his eyes and thought back. “Eight months.”

  She simply nodded. “Why? What was it that made you believe them?”

  “The trial.”

  She whirled about. “What trial?”

  “I was told there was a trial and you and Dimitri testified against me.”

  “I did no such thing,” she insisted, as if affronted he would even suggest such a thing.

  “I only believed it because Yuri swore it was so.” Anton sighed.

  “Your servant?” Natasha hitched a brow. “He lied or was mistaken.”

  He blew out a breath. “I just don’t understand why.”

  “That is all it took?” She questioned. “The word of your servant?”

  He looked up. “That wasn’t all. As much as I tried to reason it out, there is nobody else, besides you and Dimitri who could have gone to the authorities.”

  She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her breasts.

  Anton swallowed. It did no good to stand and argue. It wasn’t what mattered at the moment and he took a step toward her. “I am sorry, for everything.”

  She stared at him and there was a flash of pain in her eyes before they hardened and she turned away.

  He had lost her. The pain that sliced through his heart was worse than anything he experienced in prison and he had only himself to blame.