by Joan Smith
A triumphant smile seized Merton’s face. “I am afraid you are mistaken. The nuns were housed in the priory, a mile to the west. They were never allowed here. This is where the monks slept.”
“She was killed in that room,” Wainwright said, pointing his silver knob at the door. “May I enter, Lord Merton?”
“That is my bedchamber! I assure you there are no ghosts in there.”
“What are you afraid of, John?” Lewis taunted.
Wainwright said nothing, but he gave him such an imperative look that Merton opened the door. “She was murdered just there,” he said, pointing to the fireplace.
“Burned alive!” Lewis exclaimed. “Immolated in flames, like Joan of Arc.”
“No, shot right here,” Wainwright said, placing his hand on his chest.
“But that is certainly the singing nun!” Lewis said. “She is reported as having a dark stain on the bodice of her habit. Odd it was done in the grate.”
“The house has obviously undergone renovations,” Wainwright explained.
“That is true,” Merton said grudgingly. “I have just told you there were rows of monks’ cells along this corridor at one time. When it was rebuilt, naturally that was changed. We are not monks after all.”
Wainwright said, “We shall learn more anon. Now let us proceed to Knagg. I cannot tell you how long I have wanted to get into Keefer Hall, milord. Very kind of you to invite me.”
“It was Mama who invited you. I daresay you have been studying the literature of Keefer Hall, Mr. Wainwright?”
Charity saw what he was getting at and resented it. He was trying to show Papa up as a fraud.
“I am pretty familiar with all the literature and legends of our English ghosts,” Wainwright admitted. “But the literature does not mention the nun being in that particular area. She is said to haunt the cloisters.”
“So folks say,” Merton agreed. One thing he did approve of was Wainwright’s cautioning his mama against Miss Monteith. He mentioned this to his guest. “I cannot believe the woman is good for her.”
“She is bent on mischief. I would not let her within the walls of the house, but that is your affair. I only advise.”
“You sensed no ghost in Mama’s rooms?” Lewis asked. “I mean to say, you were not shamming it, to ease her mind?”
“I never sham it, Lord Winton. There is no ghost there.”
“Well, there is certainly one in the Armaments Room.”
Merton led the way down to this ancient timbered room, which had been lit in anticipation of the visit. It was hung with all manner of sword and halberd, ancient gun, spiked mace and pistol, helmet and bloodied flag, and even one small cannon. Suits of armor stood around the edge of the room, reminding Charity of a ball to which too many gentlemen had been invited.
“Ah!” Wainwright sighed blissfully. “Yes, indeed! The place is alive with spirits. You have not one ghost here, milord, but at least two. Both young men. One Cavalier—that would be Knagg—and one of Cromwell’s Ironsides. They are at daggers drawn over—that!” he said, pointing to a table to the left of the grate.
They all went forward to examine the cause of the mischief. A yellow jerkin and a round helmet sat on a table, along with an assortment of old pistols.
“Now that is odd!” Lewis said. “The servants complain of finding the little yellow jacket and the helmet on the floor a dozen times a month.”
Wainwright explained, “The Royalist ghost does not want it on that table. He would prefer to have those reminders of Cromwell out of the room entirely or at least not on display.”
“They are a part of the history of Keefer Hall,” Merton said. “I could not allow them to be removed.”
“At least move them to a separate table,” Wainwright said. “You will have no peace until you do.”
Lewis closed his eyes and said, “I get a sense that Knagg is sore that Cromwell’s relics are mixed up with the Royalist ones.” From beneath his eyelids he peered at Wainwright for confirmation.
“That is the obvious answer,” Wainwright agreed. “Common sense comes into it, too.”
“I am surprised to hear it,” Merton said.
“Let us not move them yet,” Wainwright continued. “It might make the ghosts depart, and I would like a word with them before that happens.”
Merton looked at him, astonishment elevated to irony. “You need not fear I intend to change anything in my house to suit a ghost, Mr. Wainwright. And now that you have met all the spectral guests of Keefer Hall, perhaps you would like a bite of meat before retiring.”
“I shall join you in the saloon shortly, milord. I would just like a word with Charles.”
Lewis said, “Eh? Our butler’s name is Bagot.”
“I refer to your Parliamentary ghost and his friend, the Cavalier. They are related—by blood, I mean. Brothers or stepbrothers or cousins. Not brothers-in-law. It is sad to have families at odds. I shall try to arrange a reconciliation.”
Lewis weighed Charity’s charms against her papa’s and opted for the latter. “I shall stay and give you a hand, sir.”
“Good luck,” Merton said. He offered his arm to Charity and said, “Would you care to join me in the Blue Saloon, ma’am? There is a matter I should like to discuss with you.”
She felt a quiver of apprehension. Surely he was not going to ask them to leave! That would be a new low in Papa’s career. And Lady Merton would not come to their rescue as Papa had not found a ghost in her bedchamber. She knew perfectly well that Merton thought her papa a fraud, so he could not want to discuss ghosts. But no, they would not be leaving yet. Papa had told her to bring her new evening frock and he was seldom mistaken about such things.
Chapter Three
The servants were preparing tea when Charity and Lord Merton entered the Blue Saloon. Two young girls were placing a large silver tray that held the tea set, dishes, sandwiches, and a plate of sweets on the sofa table before the grate. Merton spoke idly of inconsequential matters until they had left, inquiring if Miss Wainwright had had a pleasant trip and such things.
As soon as the servants disappeared, his polite smile faded and he said frankly, “Miss Wainwright, I have made no secret of the fact that I think this visit an exercise in futility. That is not to say, however, that I fail to realize something is bothering Mama. She has not been herself lately. I hope that you and your papa can assist her.”
“We shall do what we can, milord,” she replied, with more curiosity than offense. “How do you think we can be of help if her problem is not of a supernatural order?”
He batted his hand impatiently. “There is no such thing as a supernatural order—barring religion, I mean,” he added.
“Because you have not observed any supernatural phenomena does not necessarily mean they do not exist,” she pointed out politely.
“No sane person has observed anything of the sort. It is nonsense. Ghosts and goblins are creatures of the imagination to frighten children and the ignorant, superstitious lower orders.”
“The Society for the Study of Discarnate Beings numbers several gentlemen of no mean intellectual accomplishments. We have a professor from Oxford and an elderly gentleman who is a retired bishop.”
“A senile, superannuated clergyman might well be prey to imaginings.”
“The Oxford professor is only fifty years old. How can you be so certain you are right and the rest of us are wrong? Your own mama and Lord Winton believe.”
“Mama is in a highly nervous condition. She is obviously hallucinating. As to Lewis!”
“Half the nobility of England believe in ghosts,” she said. “You may believe or not, but you are in no position to call it all nonsense.”
He pinned her with a gimlet glance and demanded, “Have you ever seen a ghost?”
“No. I have never seen the world looking anything but flat either, but I believe it is round.”
“You are confusing science and superstition here, ma’am.”
“Sci
ence is superstition until it is proven otherwise! You forget Galileo was tried as a heretic and spent eight years in prison.”
Merton frowned in perplexity. He had not expected such a hard argument from a young lady, and a foolish one who believed in ghosts at that.
“Show me a ghost and I will be as keen a believer as the next man,” he said.
“We might just do that. Stranger things have happened. It is narrow-minded of you to assume that because you do not understand something, it does not exist. Look at electricity! What a strange and wonderful thing it is. All that invisible energy stored up in the air.”
“I did not invite you here to convert me.”
“You have made it amply clear that you did not invite us at all.”
“I meant into the saloon, just now. I want to discuss Mama’s predicament in a rational manner. Personally, I think this harping on ghosts and such things can only harm her, in her delicate mental condition.”
“A festering mental wound does not heal itself by being covered up, though, any more than a physical one does. It must be treated, the poison let out.”
“Just so.” He leaned forward, eagerness lending a gleam to his dark eyes. “Mama’s particular aberration is that some ghost is harassing her. The logical cure is to be rid of the ghost.”
“That is why my father is here,” she replied in confusion.
“Yes, well, that is fine, but as I said, I do not believe in ghosts. As Mama does, however, the simplest cure would be to remove the ghost, would it not?”
“My father is not an exorcist, milord. You do not ease a mental strain by pretending it has gone away. If Lady Merton is troubled, you must discover the cause and treat it. Do you have any notion what is plaguing her?”
He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “None in the least. She was perfectly normal until a month or so ago, when she began to complain of not being able to sleep. She seemed frightened of something. That is when she elevated Miss Monteith to her companion. I hoped that might be the end of Mama’s megrims. I am sorry to say it, things have only got worse.”
“I see.” When Merton said nothing more, Charity continued. “When Papa mentioned a young woman, and an affair of the heart, your mama became excited. I believe that described her ghost ...” Merton gave a frown of impatience. “Or what we shall call her ghost.”
“There is no young woman in the house except servants.”
“As your mama believes the woman to be a ghost, then the woman is obviously dead. She was speaking of the past. Some woman she associated with in her own youth, perhaps. It is odd Papa did not say a young lady,” she said, frowning.
As Miss Wainwright seemed a sensible person, barring this aberration of believing in ghosts, Merton wasted no more time, but plunged on to his specific request. “I would like your father to get rid of this so-called ghost. How quickly do you think he can accomplish it?”
“That must depend on the circumstances, but he works quickly. I can say with reasonable certainty that the ghost will either be gone or will have stopped harassing your mama within a week.”
“Could he not do it more quickly—for a generous consideration, of course. I would be willing to pay-”
To Merton’s astonishment, Miss Wainwright flew into the boughs. A thundercloud formed on her usually calm countenance, and when she spoke, her voice was raised in anger.
“Lord Merton! Papa does not accept money! And to suggest a bribe! It is an insult. He feels he has certain powers that he shares with others as a favor, out of the kindness of his heart. It is a great imposition on his time—and mine—to be forever darting about the countryside.”
“I would not call it a bribe,” he said apologetically.
“I do not see what else you could call it. If you are implying that he should lie to Lady Merton, tell her the ghost has gone when it has not, I pray you will not mention anything of the sort to Papa. He would be grievously insulted at such a slur on his integrity.”
Merton felt extremely foolish. He had assumed that Wainwright, with his black carriage and team and his swirling cape, was a cunning fraud, who rid homes of their ghosts for a living. As this was not the case, he was left with nothing to say. His pride disliked to utter an apology. The only recourse was to attempt to rationalize his suggestion.
“It seems highly unlikely he will be able to come to terms with a ghost he cannot even find. He found no trace of Mama’s ghost in her room. I feel it is a matter of some urgency to rid her mind of this unhealthy morass that possesses it.”
Charity gave him a rebukeful look but considered his suggestion. “If you really want to help her, you should discover what is causing her agitation. Perhaps it is not a ghost,” she allowed. “People can have delusions about ghosts, as they can about anything else. That is not to say ghosts do not exist,” she added sharply. “Only that they can be imagined to be where they are not. Though it is odd that she says she actually saw the ghost in her room on more than one occasion. When it is a delusion, it is usually more vague. A lurking shadow that pops up here and there, you know.”
“It is possible someone is creating this ghost to frighten her,” Merton said, and watched closely for Miss Wainwright’s reaction. As she did not fly at him, he continued, “It would be easily enough done. It comes to her window. A stuffed gown with a padded head hung on a rope from the roof...”»
“I noticed the roof of Reefer Hall is sharply canted, though. One would have to be extremely agile to attempt anything of the sort. Could it possibly be the ravens she is mistaking for ghosts?”
“I hardly think so. She is perfectly familiar with them. They have been here forever. The ‘ghost’ could be lowered from the window of the room above. There are attics and servants’ quarters above the bedrooms. I cannot recall offhand just what is above Mama’s room. I shall look into it in the morning.”
“What of the ghost that comes out of her clothes-press? It would be hard for someone to hide in there. The last thing her dresser would do at night would be to hang up her gown. She would see if someone was hiding there.”
“Miss Monteith is presently filling the role of dresser as well,” he said with a sapient look.
“You think Miss Monteith might be in on this masquerade?”
“I am not accusing her, but yes, I am suggesting it is possible. Particularly as the so-called haunting began around the time Miss Monteith became Mama’s companion.”
Charity thought about this and said, “My father is concerned only with legitimate ghosts. He does not investigate skullduggery of that sort. I would not leap to the conclusion that a ghost is not involved, despite your not believing. The Society is looking into the possibility that electricity is involved in some manner,” she added vaguely. “Sometimes we must just accept what we cannot understand. A ‘willing suspension of disbelief,’ as our romantic poets describe it.”
“That is fine—for fiction, ma’am. I prefer good solid facts. I will suspend my disbelief when Mr. Wainwright shows me hard evidence of a ghost. Meanwhile, I shall look into the more likely explanation that someone is frightening Mama.”
“That is your privilege,” she agreed blandly. “Have you any idea why anyone would do such a thing? Does she have enemies?”
“None in the world, so far as I know. She lives a retired life here in the country. The mischief must be executed by someone within the house. Yet the servants like her ...”
“Her reaction to Papa’s mention of a young woman suggests to me that the root of her problem lies deep in the past. You should ask her about that.”
“If she has held her secret for thirty-odd years, it is not likely she will tell me about it now, is it?”
“No, for it must be something she is ashamed of.” Merton gave her a gimlet glance at this suggestion. “No one has led a totally blameless life,” she added. “Whether she is haunted by a ghost or only a feeling of guilt for some past transgression, her cure lies in righting that past wrong. Perhaps she will tell me. I am an outs
ider; I mean nothing to her. People will sometimes tell their secrets to a stranger when they will not tell their nearest and dearest.”
“I wish you would try to ingratiate yourself,” he said eagerly. “If she could be weaned from Miss Monteith, that alone would be a step in the right direction.” His frown lightened and a small incipient smile moved his lips. “She might very well talk to you, Miss Wainwright. I had no intention of opening my budget to you, and here I am, burdening you with our family problems—to say nothing of arguing with a guest. It was farouche of me.”
“Oh, I always enjoy a good argument with a non-believer. I would be happy to help,” she replied. “I sometimes feel de trop on these visits of Papa’s. He has his ghost hunting; I am left at loose ends, with only a little note-taking to occupy my time.”
Merton studied her closely and liked what he saw. He was not a man to amuse himself with idle flirtations. He was known to have had a few mistresses in his time, and he kept an eye cocked for a suitable wife, but a conversable lady who was a friend was something new to him. He felt Miss Wainwright would be a comfortable friend. She did not flirt or behave in any manner that suggested a personal interest in him or his title or estate. She was quick to contradict him and argue; he liked that independence of spirit.
“As time hangs heavy on your hands, perhaps you would help me look into the non-ghostly possibilities?” he said.
Charity recognized it as a bid for friendship and was happy to agree.
“We shall begin investigating the attic above Mama’s room tomorrow morning. And have a look at the clothespress as well. But I must not abuse you with an excess of labor, as you are a guest, ma’am. We have an excellent stable at Reefer Hall.”
“I did not bring my riding habit.” Was it possible Papa had made a mistake?
“I recall now that Lewis already mentioned it.” He gave her a laughing look. “Pity. I shan’t suggest you wear Mama’s, but could you not send home for your own?”
Charity thought about it for a moment, then said, “I could, if you think we will not have worn out our welcome within two days. It would take a day to get the message to London and another day for the habit to arrive. I had the distinct impression you wished us at Jericho, milord.”
