by Joan Smith
“I hope you ain’t letting them off with a little scolding,” Lewis charged.
“Not quite that easily,” Merton said. “They have lost their positions here. The St. Alban’s fund will be terminated. Of course it was St. John’s intention to get your whole ten thousand out of Mama, Lewis. That would have been enough for him to give up his calling and flit off to London. He never wanted to be a clergyman. That was Papa’s idea. St. John will be going to London to look about for a position. His aunt, Miss Monteith, will go to keep house for him.”
“And Old Ned?” Lewis asked.
“Old Ned remains, under less opulent circumstances than previously.”
“You ought to give him the boot as well,” Lewis said. “We figured out he planned to go on seeing Meg. That is why he wanted that house in the woods.”
“That may have been his original intention, but as he has been there some three decades, I believe he does have a taste for solitude. And Papa promised him, you know ...”
“Yes, but Papa did not know all the circumstances!”
Merton looked almost embarrassed at his generosity. “He is an old man, Lewis. Where would he go? What would he do? He will be no trouble. He was more a pawn in the game than anything else.”
Wainwright sipped the claret and said, “I wonder what it was that set them off. Why, after all these years, did they decide to cut themselves in on a larger share of your estate at this time? Something must have happened, eh?”
“I believe they had been hatching the scheme for some time,” Merton replied. “St. John set up that St. Alban’s fund half a year ago, with a view to trying to get Mama to leave her fortune to it, with himself in charge of disbursing the funds. I looked over the paper I had foolishly signed. He, as president, had total control of the money. My signature was not required to cash a check.”
“I thought it was fishy all along,” Lewis said.
Merton continued. “It was Miss Sabourin’s pending retirement that brought the matter to a head. Monteith knew Mama’s conscience was bothering her. She, Monteith, used that as a lever to ingratiate herself and get that position as companion. She was constantly on hand to keep Mama’s guilt at the boil. The Hall has a history of ghosts. Why not add Meg to the retinue? The ghost of Meg was more likely to heat up Mama’s guilt than anything else. Monteith admitted to the stuffed dummy on a string and the steam that came from the clothes-press.”
“And the white bird?” Charity asked.
“That, too. She slipped into Mama’s room while she slept, opened her curtains, and set the dove loose. It was also Monteith who helped herself to your shawl, Charity. She was unhappy with Mr. Wainwright’s failure to find a ghost in Mama’s room. She wished to discredit him and you in the hope that I would send you both packing.”
Wainwright shook his head. “A dreadful woman. I sensed it the moment I laid an eye on her.”
“That is true,” Merton said, a frown pleating his brow. “I believe you do have some power to read a person’s character. A living person’s, I mean.”
“And a dead person’s, too,” Wainwright added, unhappy with this faint praise.
“Papa has many talents,” Charity said, smiling at her father. “He told me I would not need my riding habit and there has been no occasion to wear it.”
“He also suggested you would need a party frock, n’est-ce pas?” Merton added. “That, too, was correct. We have been very remiss in entertaining you. Tomorrow we shall plan our rout party.”
Wainwright had no interest in rout parties. “Very kind of you, Merton, but not at all necessary. We shall be leaving very soon now. It remains only for you to decide what you wish done about Knagg and Walter. If you want the antics in the Armaments Room to cease, then you must remove the yellow jerkin and the round helmet. If, on the other hand, you feel their presence adds a certain air to the house—all the best houses have ghosts—then I suggest you place a good thick carpet under the table holding them, to prevent further damage to the helmet.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Merton said. “We would miss Knagg and Walter if they left.”
“You would still have your singing nun,” Wainwright pointed out. “She will be with you for a while yet. Perhaps I could have a word with her and discover whatever became of Brother Francis. But I see you are looking fagged, Merton. Tomorrow will be soon enough. We shall say good night now. Come along, Charity.”
Charity rose and made her parting curtsies.
Merton disliked to do his courting in public. He bowed and said, “A demain.” With luck he should have his reply from Lord Bath tomorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
It was a much-rejuvenated Lady Merton who met her guests the next morning. Merton had been to her room to show her the letter and to explain the situation. She even came to the breakfast table, a thing she had not done for months. With her cheeks carefully rouged and wearing an elegant mauve lutestring gown, she looked a decade younger than the lady who had first welcomed the Wainwrights to Keefer Hall.
She turned a doting eye on Wainwright. “John tells me it was you who figured it all out. I knew the moment you arrived you would be my salvation. Do you remember? You looked deeply into my eyes and said, ‘Fear not, Lady Merton, we shall clear up that past transgression that is troubling you. It was not entirely your fault.’ I was at fault, too, of course. I dealt harshly with Meg, but I do not feel I deserved the shabby treatment I received. How did you know?”
Wainwright assumed a wise expression and a pontificating tone. “There was a certain aura about you, a sadness greater than should have been there. I cannot explain how I know these things. It is a gift. Merton will tell you I pegged Miss Monteith for the culprit the minute I laid eyes on her.” He was never slow to blow his own horn. They both ignored her ladyship’s period of displeasure with him.
“That is true, Mama.” Merton smiled. He had been begging his mother for weeks to be rid of Monteith, but this was not the moment to mention it. “Mr. Wainwright also insisted there was no ghost in your chamber, if you recall.”
“The ghosts were in my head,” she said. “But they are gone now. I feel like having a party to celebrate. You must not leave until we have had a celebration, Mr. Wainwright. I insist.”
He was putty in the hands of an admiring lady. Until the post arrived and Bagot handed him a letter, he discussed their mutual ghostly experiences at Keefer Hall, using this audience to see how his monograph for the Society would go over. The letter was not franked. It appeared to have been delivered by hand. Knowing of no other haunted house in the neighborhood, he did not expect an invitation to practice his calling and was therefore not much interested in it.
“What can this be?” he asked, slitting open his letter. A look of dazzled bliss settled on his face. “From the Marchioness of Bath,” he said, his chest expanding with pleasure. “She has asked me to take a run over to Longleat next week. How could she have known I was here? Lady Montagu!” he exclaimed. “I mentioned in a note to her that you had invited me, Lady Merton. She knew where to find me. Most kind.” He glanced quickly through the missive. “Ah, not Lady Montagu. I have you to thank, Merton.”
“I dropped Bath a note,” he admitted. “As you have been such an inestimable aid to us, I took the liberty. I hope you do not mind.” He hardly felt it a liberty after Wainwright’s hints.
“I am pretty busy,” Wainwright said, “but I cannot deny such a plea as this. The Green Lady is acting up. It would be the new moon.”
Merton figured the marchioness had done him proud in her request. He must remember to write and thank her.
“There you are then!” Lady Merton exclaimed. “You are halfway there. There is no point returning to London. You shall remain here over the weekend and continue on to Longleat next week.”
“My daughter will not be happy with me, I fear.” He looked at his daughter but saw only joy. “She is always anxious to get home to her friends. But perhaps she will bear with me just this one more tim
e. Longleat! Well, well. I shall be happy to meet the Green Lady.”
He glanced out the window. “Ah, there is one of the ravens flying about the windows.”
“They do fly about from time to time,” Lady Merton said. “It is only when they all take to circling the house in a frenzy that we expect good news.”
“There is another!” Lewis exclaimed. “And another! Good God! What can it mean? Mama, you ain’t enceinte— No, of course not.”
“They are announcing my recovery,” Lady Merton said as another black bird swished past the window. “It is a sort of rebirth for me really. They flew like that when you were born, Lewis. What a tizzy they were in that day.”
“I believe I shall just go out and have a look at this phenomenon, if you will excuse me, madam,” Wainwright said, and rose. Lewis went with him, to inquire how he might expedite admission to the Society and which tailor had made the cape.
“Let us all go,” Lady Merton suggested. Merton pulled the ladies’ chairs and they went out to view the circling ravens.
Charity and Merton lagged behind, then took a detour toward the far side of the house, stopping under the boughs of an apple tree.
Charity said, “It was kind of you to write to Lady Bath. Papa is very excited.”
“Radley Hall must look to its laurels. Keefer Hall is nothing to it, but Longleat! Actually I wrote to Lord Bath, but it is the ladies who succumb to this sort of non— Er, to ghosts.”
“You still think this is all nonsense, don’t you, Merton?”
“Seeing is believing. I have not seen a ghost yet.”
“You have heard the commotion in the Armaments Room.”
“And I have seen the dairymaid Lewis sent into my room. I have seen Old Ned wrapped up in your shawl, and I know Monteith dangled a dummy on a string to frighten Mama. That tells me these phenomena can be managed.”
“The Armaments Room was locked the last time the helmet and the jerkin were sent flying.”
“Well, perhaps ... But Bagot has a key.” He ducked as a pair of raven swept past his head, barely missing him. “What would really convince me of unearthly powers would be an announcement of a birth—or betrothal—in the family. As Mama is a widow, the ravens’ flight must herald a betrothal.”
“Or a hawk attacking them,” Charity added prosaically.
“No, no. We are in the realm of romance here. Common sense is not allowed.” He seized her hands and turned her to face him. “If you want to convince me there is anything in these legends of ghosts and ravens there must be a betrothal in the immediate offing.”
She saw the laughter in his eyes. “What a sneaky trick, Merton!”
A raven settled on a bough of the apple tree and uttered an encouraging croak.
“You have hardly had time to hang up your hat. Are you not tired of all this darting about the countryside? If we were engaged, it would be unexceptionable for you to remain at Keefer Hall while your papa goes haring off to Longleat,” he explained.
She cast a flirtatious glance from the corners of her eyes. “But Lewis has not asked me to marry him.”
“Wretch!”
“And naturally I could not accept any offer without Papa’s permission.”
“I spoke to him last night. That is why I went to his room. After he expressed his delight in getting you off his hands, we spoke of other matters.”
“Delight! I have been a slave to him! Did he really say that?”
“No, he said he doubted you would be willing to give up your exciting life as his assistant ghost hunter and amanuensis, but he gave me permission to ask.”
“It is certainly a difficult choice,” she said, feigning indecision.
“Charity! You implied you were unhappy darting from pillar to post.”
“Yes, but then would it be worse, living with a tyrant?”
“You know the secret,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “You have only to ask for more than you want.”
Without further words he lowered his lips for a heady kiss. The raven uttered one more croak, then took to the air to join the other ravens in a frenzied circling of the house.
Neither Charity nor Merton was aware of the birds. They were lost in the rapture of their love as his lips bruised hers. Her arms moved uncertainly around his waist. Encouraged by this modest response, Merton crushed her to him until her lungs felt ready to explode and her head was spinning. Deep waves of joy battered at her until she felt inundated. A happiness greater than any she had ever known before washed over her. It was the sense of finally belonging somewhere, with a life of her own to live, with this man she loved.
After a long embrace, he released her and gazed bemusedly into her eyes trying to assimilate that this enchanting creature could truly care for him. “You have just convinced me there are some things in this world beyond our comprehension. I heard heavenly bells ringing.”
“Not heavenly. The bells came from the church. There is no service today, is there?”
“No. The change-ringers must be practicing. But how very mundane of you to bring me crashing to earth in this manner, my sweet. It is my job to rob an occasion of its mystery and romance.”
“No, just its mystery. I am too much my father’s daughter to be robbed of romance.” She looked about for the ravens. They had ceased their flight and settled in a row on the roof of the Hall.
“Look, Merton! They have gone to roost.”
“Their job is done—until we have a birth in the family to set them off again. I hope to see them flying every year.”
“Every year! I hope you are asking for more than you want.”
“I only want you.” He looked at the row of ravens, who seemed to be staring down at him. “You would not want to break the legend, Charity.”
“You do have some belief in that legend, do you?”
“Certainly,” he said firmly. “It has always been so at Keefer Hall.”
Copyright © 1994 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest [0449222209]
Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
