“I’ve been feeling a little off-kilter all day,” I confessed. “I guess the accident did shake me up a bit.”
The study doors creaked open and Mrs. Hatch entered, with Nicole close behind. Mrs. Hatch carried a silver tray set with a cocoa pot and a pair of dainty, pansy-covered cups and saucers. She placed the tray on the coffee table while Nicole deposited an armload of cashmere blankets on a nearby chair.
“Should you be sitting up?” Nicole inquired worriedly. “I’ve rung Dr. MacEwan, but he’s delivering Mrs. Martin’s baby and won’t be here for some time.”
“Hot cocoa’s all the medicine I need,” I told her.
Nicole’s gaze came to rest on my hand nestled snugly between Adam’s. She quickly looked away, colored to her roots, and began to back out of the room. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to your visitor,” she stammered. “Mr. Chase won’t mind pouring, I’m sure.” She gestured for Mrs. Hatch to join her and hastened from the room, closing the screeching doors firmly behind her.
Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Have we started a new rumor, do you think?”
“I’d say we’re good for at least a dozen,” I assured him.
“She’s very young,” Adam observed.
“She’s also married to an arrogant toad.” While Adam poured the cocoa I told him about Jared’s insufferable behavior, his disdain for Blackhope, and his refusal to employ villagers. When I accused the local ladies of resurrecting Josiah’s ghost for their own vengeful purposes, Adam’s gaze drifted to the oil portrait above the rolltop desk.
“If the ladies are using Josiah,” he said, “they’re doing a good job of it. When I told Mr. Garnett that I’d be stopping here today, he did everything he could to dissuade me. The man was terrified.”
The evil laughter echoed in my mind, and for a moment I shared Mr. Garnett’s fear. Then I told myself to get a grip. I’d been so jittery since the accident that I’d probably manufactured both the laughter and the weirdly glowing eyes. I reminded myself sternly that ghosts were a force for good. They didn’t stick around on earth just to torment people.
“Mr. Garnett has the wrong idea about ghosts,” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Adam, but he sounded unconvinced. “I believe you were going to tell me about your room. I take it that it’s not to your liking?”
“It’s hideous,” I declared. “Honestly, Adam, they’ve got me sleeping in Vlad the Impaler’s boudoir.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said.
“It’s worse,” I insisted. “It’s decorated with dead animals. There’s a monkey on the wardrobe who watches my every move.”
“Why don’t you request its removal?” Adam asked.
“I don’t want to hurt Nicole’s feelings,” I replied. “The animals were Jared’s idea and she worships the ground he walks on.”
“Tell Nicole that her husband’s furry friends wreak havoc on your allergies,” Adam suggested. “Tell her that you’ll come out in a rash if the creatures aren’t herded from your room immediately.”
I finished my cup of cocoa and sighed deeply, lost in admiration. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’ve been absorbed in your work,” Adam replied. “How is it going, by the way? Discover any treasures?”
“One,” I said. “It’s not worth a lot of money, but it’s my kind of gem. Where did you put the book you found wedged in the hidden doorway?”
Adam retrieved Shuttleworth’s Birds from the rolltop desk and handed it to me.
I opened the book to the flyleaf as he resettled himself on the sofa, then passed it to him. “Isn’t it splendid?” I said. “It’s the best thing I’ve found all day.”
Adam was so still that I thought for a moment he’d stopped breathing. Slowly, with the tip of his finger, he traced Claire’s name, then Edward’s. His hand lingered on the page, as he read and reread the inscription. Then he closed the book and gazed down at the cover, saying, “He was killed in action in 1914.”
“I know.” I called to mind the book’s whimsical verse. “What a waste. Aubrey Shuttleworth was a charming writer. His books are so… civilized. I’ve never been able to picture him in the trenches.”
“He loved the moors,” Adam said softly. “He spent his summers very near here. He knew every bird, every flower, every fish that swam in every hidden pool.”
Sadness seemed to radiate from him in cool, dark waves. Instinctively, I put a hand on his arm, to comfort him. “It must be difficult to distance yourself from the soldiers you write about.”
“Occupational hazard.” He smiled briefly, but his eyes remained somber.
“Adam…” I hesitated, then plunged into my request before I could have second thoughts. “If you can spare an hour or two from your writing, would you consider showing me the moors?” I looked toward the windows. “If the fog ever lifts, that is.”
“It will.” Adam’s dark eyes turned toward me. “And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to share a sunny morning with you.” He placed the book on the end table and cleared his throat. “Have you any idea who Claire is?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “I’m going to ask Nicole. She seems to know a lot about her family. I want to know about Edward too. He must have been a special friend, to give Claire such a lovely gift.”
“Perhaps he was a little bit in love with her.” Adam shifted his position, resting his arm on the back of the sofa to half encircle me. “I’m sorry your room’s so grim and ghastly, Lori. I’d like nothing more than to bring you back to the fishing hut with me. But you really must stay on here, if only to find the rest of Claire’s books.”
“Do you think there may be more?” My voice sank to a husky whisper and I trembled, not with cold, but with a sudden, intense longing that both baffled and distressed me. Before things could go further, the study doors burst open, the hinges screaming wildly in protest.
I had another visitor, and this one was livid.
CHAPTER
8
“What the hell are you playing at, Chase?” Guy Manning stormed into the room with a face like thunder, leaving Nicole to trail round-eyed in his wake.
Adam and I sprang apart like a pair of guilty teenagers.
“Ms. Shepherd’s vehicle and the road leading to it are strictly off limits to civilians,” Guy bellowed. “As you well know.”
“Ms. Shepherd is entitled to her personal possessions,” Adam observed calmly. “As you well know.”
“Ms. Shepherd’s possessions would have been returned to her in due course,” Guy lectured. “In the meantime—”
“In the meantime,” Adam broke in, standing, “she’d have been left without so much as a toothbrush while you dragged your feet with yet another of your pointless investigations.”
Guy stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Adam eyed the soldier contemptuously. “I think you know what I mean, Captain Manning. I’m flattered by your interest, naturally, but if you have any more questions about my background I hope you’ll direct them to me instead of interrogating my editor. If you had an ounce of courage, not to mention courtesy, you’d have done so in the first place.”
Guy approached the sofa, his jaw muscles working. “I could arrest you for violating a secure area.”
Adam stepped forward, until the two men were standing nearly toe to toe. “My editor would welcome an essay on military justice.”
Guy clenched his fists, and Adam widened his stance, his thigh muscles bulging beneath his cycling pants. I was on the verge of throwing myself—or Reginald—between the two combatants when a gruff voice with an unmistakable Scottish burr sounded from the doorway.
“That’ll do, gentlemen. Ms. Shepherd’s had enough excitement for one day. You can take your discussion elsewhere.”
The gray-haired man in the rumpled tweed suit had evidently overheard the argument. Now he strode purposefully into the room. He was older than Adam by at least thirty years and his head scarcely reached the captain’s shoul
der, but such was his air of authority that he made the two enraged men look like a pair of sulky schoolboys.
“You can apologize to Mrs. Hatch on your way out, Guy. She told me that you frightened her half to death, barging past her.” He turned to Adam. “And you can wipe the smug gleam from your eye, laddie. It’s men like Captain Guy Manning who make it safe for you to scribble your wee essays.” He jerked his head toward the study. “If you can’t settle your differences amicably, don’t come running to me for stitches.”
Adam retrieved his bicycle helmet before turning to shake Reginald’s paw. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” Bending lower, he added in a voice only I could hear, “Until tomorrow.” He straightened, tucked the helmet under his arm, and headed for the study.
“I invited Captain Manning to tea,” Nicole was saying, in the small, helpless voice of a hostess whose plans have gone inexplicably awry.
“You’ll sup with him on your own, then,” said the gray-haired man.
Guy frowned. “I’d intended to discuss my investigation with Ms. Shepherd over tea.”
“Ms. Shepherd is my patient, Captain, and I won’t have her bothered,” retorted the older man.
“Won’t you come with me, Captain Manning?” Nicole pleaded.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hollander.” Guy slid the black beret from his head, as if suddenly remembering his manners. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, Ms. Shepherd.”
“Perhaps you could come to lunch,” Nicole offered.
Guy made no reply. He simply nodded to the older man, performed a crisp about-face, and marched past Nicole. It was only as Nicole was leaving that I noticed she’d exchanged her dusty work clothes for a flattering, midnight-blue velvet dress. I had little time to wonder if Captain Manning had noticed just how flattering the gown was, because the gray-haired man addressed me.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said. “I’m Dr. MacEwan. I’d’ve been here sooner, but I had a baby to deliver in Blackhope.”
“No problem,” I said.
“I hope the men didn’t upset you,” he said.
“Not at all,” I replied. “Do you know what they were arguing about?”
“A military man and a military historian can always find a reason to squabble.” Dr. MacEwan rubbed the end of his nose. “In this particular case, however, I can’t blame Chase for being angry. I’d certainly take it amiss if Guy Manning looked into my private life. Though I dare say he’s done so already.”
“Why would he?” I asked.
“It’s his job. He’s head of security for the entire region. That’s why your accident’s preying on his mind. There’s some might say it’s his fault. It’s certainly his responsibility.”
As I slid the blanket from my shoulders, the doctor’s bushy eyebrows drew down in a fierce scowl.
“Good God, woman, you’re filthy. And what are you doing here? Exposure’s no joke, young lady. Up to your room straightaway, and no arguments.”
I put off my imprisonment in the red room as long as possible. Mrs. Hatch had unpacked the luggage Adam had rescued from the wrecked Rover, so I grabbed my nightie and bathrobe and, with Dr. MacEwan’s consent, retreated to the bathroom to dispose of the library’s dust. When I returned to the red room after my bath, Dr. MacEwan had vanished.
I took advantage of the opportunity to call Bill. All was quiet on the home front, or as quiet as it could be with a pair of nineteen-month-olds ruling the roost. Bill was so exhausted by his first full day with the twins that he could barely string two words together, so I cut the conversation short, promising to call again the following morning.
No sooner had I hung up the phone than the doctor and Nicole arrived, the doctor toting his black bag, Nicole bearing a silver tray laden with a hearty meal. I looked from the rare slices of roast beef to the oozing blue-green wedge of Stilton, and felt myself grow pale.
“Perhaps a bit of broth would be more suitable,” Nicole suggested hastily. When the doctor nodded, she departed, taking the hearty meal with her.
“Lost your appetite, have you?” said the doctor. “I’m not surprised. Sit up, now, and let’s see what’s what.”
He took a stethoscope from his black bag and began his examination. He shook his head over my blood pressure, clucked his tongue at my pulse, and told me in no uncertain terms to stay put for the remainder of the evening.
Nicole returned shortly after I’d crawled beneath the covers. Dr. MacEwan took the tray she offered and dismissed her ruthlessly, ordering her not to disturb my rest. Then he stood over me, watching, as if to make sure that I’d eat up all my broth.
“Nicole tells me you fainted in the library,” he said, when the bowl was empty. “It’s a mercy you didn’t break your neck. You’ve had a serious shock to your system, young lady. You should’ve gone to bed the moment you arrived here.”
“I would have, except…” I looked pointedly from the ferret to the horrible, staring monkey.
The doctor followed my gaze, “I see. Not likely to inspire pleasant dreams, are they? I’ll have a word with Mrs. Hollander.”
“You could tell her I’m allergic to them,” I offered.
“I’ll tell her the damned room’s gloomy enough without them.” He glowered at the crimson hangings on the vast four-poster bed, then crossed to the windows to fling open the damask drapes. “That’s better. A bit of fresh air is—Good God!” he exclaimed. “There’re bars on the windows.”
“I know,” I said. “Nicole thinks it must have been a nursery at one time.”
“A nursery?” The doctor snorted. “I doubt it. Tucked away upstairs, that’s where you’ll find a nursery. Not down here, where the kiddies’ bawling might disturb the parents. Ah, well,” he said, cracking a window, “the bars won’t stop the breezes. Nothing better for you than fresh air.” He returned to the bed, removed the tray, and placed it on the dressing table. “You’ll dream about your accident, no doubt. Don’t let it trouble you. Nightmares are par for the course in cases like yours.”
“Once those critters are gone, I won’t have nightmares,” I assured him.
“Your confidence is admirable,” he said dourly. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve pushed yourself too hard. You’re bound to pay for it one way or another. Shock can affect the mind as well as the body.”
I stared up at the bloodred canopy, turning his words over in my mind. “Could shock make me… hallucinate?” I asked. “Could it make me hear and see things that aren’t really there?”
“What kinds of things?” he asked.
“Just before I fainted, I thought I heard”—I faltered, almost too embarrassed to admit the truth—“laughter. I thought I heard spooky laughter and saw a pair of creepy, glowing eyes.”
Dr. MacEwan regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Wyrdhurst ghost.”
I nodded.
“That would explain it,” he said. “The power of suggestion working on an exhausted and therefore vulnerable mind can produce all manner of queer visions. Don’t let it worry you. It’ll pass.” Dr. MacEwan hefted his bag and headed for the door. “I’ll look in on you again tomorrow morning. Until then, get some rest.”
When he’d gone, I faced the bedside table, where Reginald leaned companionably against the dashing Major Ted. Beside them stood a framed photograph Mrs. Hatch had taken from my luggage.
Bill’s face grinned back at me, and I could almost hear the twins’ throaty giggles as they wriggled in his arms, yet I gazed at them an odd sense of detachment. My boys were safe and happy, I told myself. They didn’t need me fussing over them twenty-four hours a day.
Besides, I thought, rolling onto my back, I wasn’t just a mother and a wife. I was a strong, intelligent woman of the world. Mr. Garnett the mechanic might be frightened of the house upon the hill, but I wasn’t. As Dr. MacEwan had explained, my jitters were nothing more than an overblown reaction to stress. A good night’s rest would put everything to rights.
Bolstered by my own pep talk, I saluted Major Ted, switched off the bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. Comforted by the dwindling fire’s pleasant flicker, I soon fell asleep.
The fire was out when I woke up. I couldn’t see a thing. But I could hear the stealthy footsteps and the quiet, raspy breathing.
Someone was in my room.
CHAPTER
9
My heart thumped hard enough to bruise my sternum. I took a quavering breath, gripped the bedclothes with both hands, and inquired of the darkness, “Who’s there?”
A ghoulish, glowing face appeared above me, near the ceiling, a demon conjured from the Stygian gloom. Every hair on my body stood on end. I gasped once, twice, forgot I was a woman of the world, and screamed like a banshee.
At once, the bedroom lights came on and Nicole was by my side, apologizing, explaining, and beseeching me to stop having hysterics. It took a while for her words to penetrate. I was a little nervy.
When she finally coaxed me out from under the blankets, I saw, to my chagrin, that my demon was nothing more than Mr. Hatch perched atop a stepladder near the wardrobe.
He held the stuffed monkey under his arm and a hooded flashlight in his hand.
“It’s only Hatch,” soothed Nicole. “He came for Jared’s pets. Dr. MacEwan told me of your allergies and I thought it best to move the animals at once.”
“You were fast asleep when I come up, ma’am,” Mr. Hatch chimed in. “I didn’t like to waken you, so I come in quiet-like. Got the finches and the ferret with no trouble, but bashed the blasted monkey with my torch.” He propped the creepy creature against the wardrobe. “You nearly knocked me off the ladder with your screeching.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hatch.” I pulled the covers to my chin, wondering why he’d waited until midnight to round up Jared’s repellent pets. “What time is it?”
“Half seven,” Nicole replied.
So much for the witching hour, I thought wryly. I’d been asleep for less than forty minutes.
06 - Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil Page 6
