by Joan Smith
“That is the Society for the Study of Discarnate Beings,” Wainwright corrected him. “There are other spirits besides ghosts. I am in contact with a Herr Schmidt from Berlin who is doing fascinating work on what he calls polter geists. The phrase means noise ghosts. They are unusual in that they never materialize but only make their presence known by means of noises. He will certainly be interested in today’s occurrence, but I think we have your ordinary run-of-the-mill ghosts here at Keefer Hall, not polter geists. The reason I say so is that I actually caught a glimpse of Charles this afternoon. Walter I should call him, the Cromwellian ghost. A handsome enough fellow, but with a polt foot.” His audience stared at him in confusion. “A clubfoot, we call it nowadays, like poor Byron. Walter calls it a polt foot.”
Merton’s patience gave out. “I suggest we all have a glass of sherry to celebrate this occurrence,” he said, and led the others to the Blue Saloon. Wainwright remained behind to commune with the spirits.
As Bagot was occupied with attending to the putty, Merton poured the sherry himself and handed it around.
When they were seated, he cleared his throat and said to Charity, “I have apologized to Mr. Wainwright for my farouche behavior earlier this afternoon, ma’am, and I now wish to apologize to you. I was caught off guard. Being half-dressed, I did not expect company.”
“Good God!” Lewis laughed. “Did they catch you with your trousers down, John? Miss Wainwright did not tell me that! No wonder you was sore as a gumboil.”
Merton’s jaw worked silently. He was displeased that Miss Wainwright had confided her troubles to Lewis. “My trousers were in place. I was changing my shirt, which had become soiled in the secret passage.”
“Being without a shirt ain’t any excuse for insulting the Wainwrights,” Lewis said severely. “Upon my word, you ought to be shown a lesson.”
“I am speaking—apologizing—to Miss Wainwright,” Merton said, flicking an admonishing glance at his brother.
Charity said in a flustered way, “That is quite all right, milord. I understand. Indeed I feel I ought to apologize myself. I told Papa he should wait and ask your permission.”
Merton agreed with her, but he was so eager to have the matter settled that he said, “I was certainly more at fault. An Athenian would not have behaved so uncivilly.”
Lewis said, “Eh? What the deuce do Athenians have to do with it?”
Merton said, “Nothing. Did you take care of the wool?”
“Of course I did. And I dropped in on Penley, too. Let on I was thinking of buying some Consols. How he could believe that when he knows I haven’t a sou to my name ... However, he was pretty worried, John. He asked if you’d drop in on him. He would not tell me, of course, but I wager Mama is up to something scatterbrained, like giving my blunt to St. John’s charity fund.”
“I shall certainly call on him soon.”
“ ‘As soon as possible’ is what he actually said. I believe he mentioned something about urgent and a most serious matter. I meant to tell you the instant I got home, but between hearing about you insulting the Wainwrights and Knagg cutting up a fracas, it slipped my mind.”
Merton looked alarmed at this. He set down his glass, drew out his pocket watch, and said, “I have time to see him before dinner.” Then he turned to Lewis. “I think this urgent, most serious matter might have taken precedence over a fallen table, Lewis. Has Mama come home?”
“No, I followed her and Monteith. They turned in at the vicarage. No doubt she is going to tell St. John he can have my money.”
Without further ado Merton called for his mount and rode into Eastleigh. Charity expected that Lewis would suggest some outing for them, but he seemed distracted.
“It is really the outside of enough,” he muttered into his collar.
“Lord Merton will discover if your fortune is at risk,” she said to console him.
“I ain’t talking about that. It is his behavior to you and your papa. Really, the man is a boor. But of course he will look after my money for me. Say that for him. He always does the right thing when money or land is involved,” he said snidely. “He still don’t believe in Knagg, you know. That act in the Armaments Room was a charade to try to smooth your ruffled feathers. Poor John hasn’t an iota of imagination.”
“I know.” Charity thought it was rather sweet of Merton to try to pacify her and Papa.
“Did you happen to catch a glimpse of our singing nun when you was down at the cloisters, Miss Wainwright?”
“No, I never see ghosts.”
“What is she supposed to look like? Do you know?”
“The account I glanced at describes her as a young, slender woman with blond hair. She wears a light-colored gown, with a dark stain on the front.”
“I believe I shall take a run out and see if she is there.”
To Charity’s relief, he did not invite her to join him. She went for a walk through the park instead, to try to collect her muddled thoughts. She counted four ravens on the roof of the house. A few more were flying about, but not in the frenzied way that foretold good luck. Was it all nonsense? Whatever about the ravens and hauntings at Keefer Hall, it seemed there was a mystery quite unconnected with ghosts. Someone was preying on Lady Merton, and Charity wished to get the lady alone to discover in what manner she was vulnerable. Money had been used to pay for old sins ever since the Middle Ages when wandering friars had sold indulgences. It seemed Lady Merton was attempting to buy redemption. And if she was willing to pay as much as ten thousand pounds for it, it must have been a grievous sin.
Where ladies were concerned, a serious sin was usually sexual in nature. They did not seem to go in much for the gentlemanly offenses of murder or thievery. Had Lady Merton strayed from the path of marital fidelity? The next thing that darted into Charity’s head was that either Merton or Winton was an adulterine offspring, with some other father than Lord Merton. If Miss Monteith knew that, she certainly had a very large stick to hold over Lady Morton’s head. So large, in fact, that the addition of ghosts to frighten her hardly seemed necessary. Unless Miss Monteith did not have any proof and was preying on her mistress’s conscience. That could be it.
She would mention it to Merton—and no doubt receive another blast from his hot temper at the suggestion that he was illegitimate. A soft smile moved her lips. And she would receive another apology, too. How he had hated apologizing. She continued her walk around to the cloisters, expecting to see Lewis, but he had left.
With nothing better to do, she went to the Long Gallery to study the paintings, to see if either Merton or Lewis looked strikingly different from his ancestors. The gentlemen through the ages were all so similar that it seemed impossible either of the brothers could be a by-blow. The crow-black hair and dark eyes, the prominent nose and stubborn chin continued in an unbroken line through the generations. From the fifteenth-century slashed doublets with the lining showing through, to the swaggering short coat and bucket-topped boots of the Cavaliers, to the more restrained black jacket of the present Lady Merton’s husband, the men wearing the costumes were similar. The faces and colorings of the wives changed, but the Merton gentlemen were fixed in appearance.
The only other possibility was that Lady Merton had been carrying on with her husband’s brother or perhaps a cousin. There was the family rake, Algernon. She doubted that Lady Merton would confess such a thing to a stranger, but she would make the opportunity for a talk at least—if she could ever pry the lady away from Miss Monteith.
Chapter Eight
Lord Merton did not change the subject immediately when Mr. Wainwright mounted his favorite hobbyhorse at dinner that evening. To compensate for his poor behavior earlier, he allowed his guest to ramble on for some time about his experiences at Radley Hall, a place Merton was coming to dislike thoroughly, sight unseen.
Lady Merton had only one concern and only one subject of conversation. “But you have had no luck with my ghost, Mr. Wainwright?”
“I shall
have another go at it, madam. My great success with Knagg and Walter gives me hope. It is possible I missed out on something. The nun from Lord Merton’s room may have taken to roaming free abovestairs. She was not in your chamber when I looked, but that is not to say she is not there from time to time.”
“My ghost is not the singing nun. I wish you will make another attempt to identify her before you leave.”
Strangely, it was Merton who objected to this curt speech, which hinted at an early departure of the Wainwrights. His eyes flew down the board to Charity, whose cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she gazed at her soup.
“Mr. Wainwright will not be leaving soon, I trust. He has a great deal to look into before darting off. We want to get that troublesome business in the Armaments Room settled.”
Lewis smirked. “Don’t forget the ghost in your own room while you are at it, John. I should not be surprised if you see her, as you have suddenly taken up a belief in ghosts.”
“The existence of ghosts has never been disproven, so far as I have heard,” Merton replied blandly.
“No, nor fairies or the bogeyman either, but you do not believe in them.” This came dangerously close to implying that he was not a believer himself. He rushed on to correct this notion. “Not that I mean to put ghosts in a class with fairies.”
Wainwright did not take offense. On the contrary he said, “A young fellow called Christopher Hawken is doing some interesting work with leprechauns in Ireland. We at the Society feel they are a branch of the fairy kingdom.”
Miss Monteith took no part in the conversation at table, and Lady Merton took virtually none. The latter was plainly distracted by something. She wore a harried look, as if wrapped up in her own thoughts.
Charity hoped for some privacy with her after dinner, but Miss Monteith accompanied them to the saloon and sat with them until the gentlemen joined them after taking port. Such conversation as occurred was of the most inconsequential. Lady Merton bestirred herself to suggest that Miss Wainwright must be sure to take a drive into Eastleigh. She must also feel free to ride if she wished. Merton or Lewis would see about a mount. As soon as the gentlemen entered the room, Lady Merton rose and said she had a slight megrim and would retire. Miss Monteith rose with her, as if they were attached at the waist.
As Charity was robbed of an opportunity for conversation with Lady Merton, she hoped for some company from Lord Merton. Her father, not much attuned to the problems of living people, asked her to accompany him to the library to write up the few notes he would dictate to her.
“We will be able to hear any disturbance in the Armaments Room there,” he explained to the others. “I had the yellow jerkin and the helmet put on another table. We shall see if that satisfied Knagg, or if he insists on removing them from the room altogether. It may come down to that in the end.”
Merton gave a grimacing smile and said nothing about not removing historical artifacts to accommodate a pair of ghosts. Like his mama, he wore a distracted air. Charity was eager to hear what he had learned from Penley. After an hour’s undisturbed dictation (the ghosts did not misbehave), she was released from note taking and darted straight back to the Blue Saloon. Lord Merton sat alone before the grate. As he had neither book nor journal, she assumed he was deep in thought.
“Ah, you are free.” He smiled and rose to welcome her.
“Where is Lord Winton?” she asked.
When Merton looked offended, she was sorry she had said it. “He is about somewhere. Did you particularly wish to see him? I could ask Bagot ...”
“Oh, no. I merely wondered.” Merton showed her a seat. “I hoped to have a private word with Lady Merton, but Miss Monteith stuck like a burr,” she said, shaking her head.
“I spoke to Penley. It is as Lewis fears. Mama is thinking of changing her will, making the St. Alban’s fund the recipient of half her fortune. I hardly know whether it is my place to try to dissuade her, as it is only half. It is her money after all. Lewis comes into a substantial estate on his twenty-first birthday. He does not need the money. In fact, it is four pence to a groat he will squander it on some foolishness. Perhaps St. John would make better use of it.”
“Did you speak to your mama about it?”
“Yes, briefly. She was quite sharp with me. Told me she was just looking into it. Nothing was decided, and if she wished to do it, I could not stop her. No more I can.”
Charity decided this was the moment to broach the notion that had occurred to her that afternoon. She said uncertainly, “I hope you will not take a pet, Lord Merton, but—”
“Is it not time we dispense with the ‘Lord,’ Miss Wainwright?”
“As you wish. No doubt you are familiar with the idea of indulgences.”
He blinked. “Indulgences? Are you a Papist, ma’am?”
“No, I am speaking of the old days, when people bought indulgences for the forgiveness of their sins.”
“Yes, I see your thinking. Mama has something bearing on her conscience and hopes to buy off hell’s fire by giving her money to the church.”
“Exactly! And what could this sin be?”
“I’ll be demmed if I know. Let us dispense with this Socratic method of questions and answers. If you have an idea, pray tell me.”
“Socratic method? I thought it was Papa’s method! That is how he leads one on to agree with him at the Society. Well, as I was saying, with ladies, the transgression usually has to do with gentlemen, I think. I was just wondering, you know, purely as a speculation, if your mama might have betrayed her husband.”
Merton’s displeasure with the suggestion was obvious, but he answered civilly enough. “Papa certainly had a wandering eye. I never heard any rumor of Mama carrying on with the gents. I do not think it at all likely.”
“She would not feel guilty at her husband’s indiscretions, though. That could not account for her guilty feelings.”
“True. Yet five thousand pounds seems a high price to pay for one little slip from the path of rectitude.”
“That would depend on the seriousness of the slip,” she said slyly. “If there were consequences, serious consequences—a child, I mean—then—”
“Good lord!” Merton sat up, staring at her. “You think she has a by-blow sequestered somewhere, that she is using this trust fund as a blind to get money to the child!” He rubbed his chin. “That is not only patently ridiculous but impossible. She never took any suspiciously long trips. She could hardly hide such a thing from Papa, and I promise you he would not have stood still for anything of the sort.”
“You cannot know what happened. You were only a babe at the time—or perhaps not even born. Actually, what I meant was that some gentleman other than Lord Merton was the father of... of either Winton or yourself, without your papa being aware of it.”
He stared, too dumbfounded to argue for a moment. When he had recovered his wits, he said, “You’re mad!”
“Now do not fly into a pelter, Lord Merton. I only said it is possible.”
“If you had ever seen Papa, you would know this is not possible.”
“You refer to your physical resemblance to him. I have seen him—in a portrait, I mean. Certainly the family likeness is striking, but I daresay he had a brother, or at least cousin Algernon, which could account for the family similarity. Your mama mentioned she had been married for thirty-five years and you are only thirty. That is a long time for her husband to wait for a pledge of her love. She may have been desperate to have a son—to inherit the title and so on.”
“So desperate that she decided to put another man on the job, so to speak? If there is anything at all in this outrageous suggestion, you have got the shoe on the wrong foot, Miss Wainwright,” he said stiffly. “Mama is quite a stickler for the proprieties. If there was any trickery, Papa was the wrongdoer. It is possible he has an illegitimate child hidden away somewhere.”
Charity thought about this for a moment. “Perhaps he asked Lady Merton to see to the child’s welfare
and she failed to do so. The child died in poverty. Now she feels guilty and is giving the money to St. John to give to other unfortunate people.”
“You are forgetting her ‘ghost’ is not Papa, chiding her for her laxity. It is a female.”
She pondered this for a moment. “It could be the mother of the child. Do you have an elderly relative you might ask about those old days?”
“None living nearby. Nor am I particularly happy to begin spreading such speculations about the countryside. An old family servant would be more discreet.” After a frowning pause, he added, “Bagot has been with us forever and is a model of discretion. I shall be discreet as well. Let me handle this, ma’am.”
He called Bagot into the saloon. He was a tall, gaunt, elderly man with gray hair that was receding from a high forehead. Bagot was astonished to be invited to take a seat. His rheumy eyes wore a troubled look as he replied, “I shall remain standing, if it pleases your lordship.”
“Do sit down, Bagot. My neck is stiff from looking up at you.”
Bagot sat on the edge of a chair, his back poker-stiff, looking more uncomfortable than if he had remained standing.
“You will think this a strange question,” Merton began, “but I want to inquire about the old days at Reefer Hall, when Mama and Papa were first married. You were some sort of junior footman in those days, I believe.”
“Just so, milord. I was born on the estate. I became backhouse boy at ten years of age.”
“Then you would be aware of any family scandal hovering about the house. Kitchen gossip, that sort of thing.”
“There was no gossip ...” He paused, not wishing to give offense. “That is to say, no more than elsewhere.”
“Papa and Mama never argued? I recall they both had sharp tempers. Come now, Bagot, I could hear them shouting at each other from the nursery.”
“Why, it was all over long before you were born!” Bagot exclaimed.
Charity’s heart gave a leap of interest.
