She looked at Jamie warily when he stood back to allow her to precede him into the gloom of what appeared to be the kitchens.
“The ghosts won’t come and get you, honest,” Jamie muttered, rolling his eyes at Cecily’s newfound timidity.
Cecily jumped and swallowed. “Ghosts?”
“There is reportedly one, or maybe two. But they are mere superstition. There is no truth to the stories. I will tell you about them one day but, for now,” he nodded toward the kitchen and waved her in, “do you want to go in before we all catch our deaths?”
Cecily stumbled forward, glancing around her at the huge, cavernous room cautiously. Pots hung practically everywhere. The huge table sitting in the middle of the room seemed to go on for miles, but was clearly scrubbed and lay empty. Several huge dressers lined the walls carrying a vast assortment of pots and foods. The smell that hung in the air was simply divine. Pie, gravy, vegetables, all combined into a jumble of tantalisation that made her feel somewhat light headed.
The door clicked quietly behind Jamie, who slid the bolt home with a sigh of relief. He couldn’t believe that their journey had gone so smoothly. Beside the one altercation in the field, there had been no sign of any French for miles and that unnerved him. As he began to question why, he determinedly closed the thought out and put it to one side to consider and discuss with Jonathan, later.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms,” he muttered instead, moving to the side door that led to the main body of the house.
It didn’t occur to Cecily to question the fact that he was showing them to their rooms rather than the butler or serving staff. Did Jamie own the house? Or was he merely a guest?
“Who owns this house?” Cecily whispered, peering around her cautiously. She tried not to look at Jonathan who, seemingly without trying, appeared dark and forbidding in his coachman’s cloak and hat pulled low. She shivered warily and sidled closer to the reassuring and strangely familiar bulk of Jamie.
“I do,” Jamie’s reply was met with a gasp of surprise and she caught the flash of Jonathan’s smile through the darkness.
Cecily glanced around her with newfound curiosity. It was evident there were serving staff given that Jamie was seemingly away for long periods of time, yet the house was clean and well scrubbed. She hadn’t seen much of the house but, if the kitchen was anything to go by, the place definitely had a housekeeper, and most probably an army of servants to help run the place.
She followed Jamie out of the kitchen, into a long corridor that was pitch-black. It was colder than the kitchen. The darkness held a chill of foreboding that made her dread going further, into what should be the welcoming warmth of the main body of the house. Wrapping her arms protectively around her waist, she tried to peer through the darkness in an attempt to find anything that was vaguely welcoming. Apart from huge portraits hanging austerely many feet off the ground, there was little to show the place was actually a home. It even smelled a little fusty and unused.
Trudging after Jamie’s broad shoulders, she suddenly began to wish that she had stayed with Portia and Archie. After all, she knew very little about Jamie or Jonathan, and even less about Melvedere Manor. She felt cold and alone and, although it wasn’t an altogether unfamiliar feeling, an acute sense of abandonment and isolation.
Stop it, you are just tired, she chastised herself, aware of her breath fogging out before her as they passed through what appeared to be a great hall on the way to the huge stone staircase running along the far wall. Moonlight valiantly tried to pierce the stifling gloom but to no avail. By the time they arrived at the top of the stairs, passed what appeared to be an empty corridor, Cecily was thoroughly confused and disorientated. Unless it was her wayward imagination, she had the strangest sensation that they were being watched, and sidled even closer to Jamie as they marched through the gloom.
She didn’t need to look behind her to know that Jonathan was close behind, and for that she was very grateful. Having his bulk behind her was somewhat reassuring, if only she dared look back to make sure it was really him and not one of the ghosts Jamie had mentioned downstairs.
Giving herself a mental shake, she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Jamie had stopped walking. She stumbled into his back with an ‘omph’ of surprise.
“Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her bruised nose. She couldn’t see anything other than the outline of his face in the shadows. The darkened caress of nightfall gave his face a far sharper edge than usual and made him appear almost sinister. Shivering against the cold and fear, she cast a frantic glance back at Jonathan, and almost screamed in surprised to find the corridor behind her now empty.
“Where is Jonathan?” She stammered, hoping to God that he had not remained behind in the kitchen.
“He has gone to the guest room he usually uses when he stops over here. You will see him in the morning,” Jamie snapped feeling somewhat churlish over her avid interest in his colleague. Shoving open the door next to them, he waved a hand toward the room.
“This is yours,” he snapped, nodding toward the huge cavernous room that Archie usually used when he stayed over. “The candles are on the table beside the door.” He stepped back and turned down the corridor. He didn’t need candles. He had grown up in the house and knew it like the back of his hand, but was aware that Cecily had no idea where she was. For now, that suited his purposes perfectly. “I’ll come and fetch you in the morning. I’ll send one of the maids up to assist you with anything you may need later, when they are up and about, and you have had some rest.”
“Wait!” Cecily gasped, staring at his rapidly retreating back as it was swallowed up by the darkness. She was shocked and annoyed when he made no attempt to wait, or even appear to have heard her. “How rude,” she muttered when she heard the quiet click of a door further down the hall. She could only assume it was his room somewhere down there, but where exactly she wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to know. She certainly wasn’t going after him.
A cold puff of air swept over her shoulder and she spun on her heel to stare down the other end of the corridor in horror. There was nothing but impenetrable blackness. With a shiver she scurried into the room and closed the door, fumbling for several moments for a key before realising that it wasn’t in the door.
Inside the room wasn’t as dark as the corridor. The moon left a hazy glow in the huge, almost cavernous room, and was enough for her to identify the box of beeswax candles on the small table, and a spill, although there was no fire with which to light it.
Shaking her head, she glanced over at the cold and empty grate, but in the darkness couldn’t even see a basket of logs or kindling. Sighing deeply, she stared at the fog of her breath for a moment while she contemplated what to do.
Clearly Jamie had staff in residence but had no intention of waking them to see to their guests’ needs. That was fine by Cecily. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, but not in such unfamiliar surroundings, and especially when she couldn’t see a thing. Smothering a yawn, she had only one option.
Climb into bed, and get some sleep.
With another yawn, she moved toward the huge four-poster and sat down, tugging her boots off with a sigh of relief. Wiggling her toes in an attempt to get some warmth back into them, she braced one ankle on her knee and began to rub.
It took a moment before she realised that there was something wrong.
Glancing up, a scream lodged in her throat as she caught sight of the empty space at the doorway. She knew she had closed the door. She could remember hearing the quiet click as she closed it firmly behind her. Of course she had, she had leaned against it while studying the room. So how had it come open again, all by itself?
Frowning, she slowly rose and moved cautiously toward the blackness, a dark frown on her face. The inky blackness on the other side of the doorway was forbidding and she hated the sight of it, but she couldn’t go to sleep – wouldn’t go to sleep, with the doorway open and that blackness t
here – waiting. She could practically feel someone watching her.
Don’t be such a nincompoop, she chastised herself. Throwing her shoulders back, she stomped across the room with her eyes locked firmly upon the door. She didn’t dare study the darkness too closely and couldn’t bring herself to go out into the corridor to see if anyone was there. Instead, she grabbed hold of the cold, hard wood and slammed it shut with more force than was necessary, pushing it with the flat of her hand to make sure it was properly closed. To confirm to herself that she had done the job properly this time, she grabbed hold of the handle and pulled.
To her horror, she felt the cold brass of the smoothly polished knob begin to turn against her palm. Immediately letting go, her eyes grew round and she simply stood there, frozen in horror as she stared through the gloom at the knob. It wasn’t bright enough to see detailing within the room, but she could see the polished metal turning in the darkness.
Standing back, she watched it pause. Sweat began to bead her brow, despite the chill within the room, and she began to tremble. Her stomach churned, and she fought a wave of dizziness so strong that she wondered for one brief moment if she was going to be sick all over whoever was trying to get in.
The door slowly crept toward her. She had a choice, she could either stand there and wait for it to hit her, or she could surprise whoever was on the other side, yank the door open and ask them what they were doing. She wanted to run over to the huge bed, climb under it and pretend she wasn’t in. She wanted to run screaming down the corridor as though the hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels. Instead, she took a deep breath, grabbed the handle and yanked hard, dodging around the door as it slammed back against the wall.
Her heart stopped as she stared into the empty space of the corridor. Stepping into the doorway she glanced up and down the hall, but could see nothing more than the inky blackness she was really beginning to loathe.
Muttering dire imprecations for whoever was playing silly games, she turned to go back into the room and walked straight into the closed door. Fumbling for the knob for several moments, she frantically pushed and twisted for several long minutes before finally getting her scattered wits about her enough to co-ordinate her movements and push the door open.
Heart pounding, she slammed the door closed again. This time she pushed the table across the doorway, followed by a huge, heavily embroidered chair. She didn’t care about the sliding noise it made against the highly polished floor, or the thumping of the table against the wall as she adapted its usage to a blockade. If a servant got up to investigate then they could at least furnish her with a light.
With a shiver, she glanced quickly around the room, swallowed and returned to the bed, this time climbing between the sheets while still fully dressed. She would have to apologise to the housekeeper and staff in the morning, she thought morosely, tugging the covers up over her head and sending a silent prayer she would still be there in the morning.
Despite her exhaustion, birds were heralding the start of a brand new day before the growing tendrils of exhaustion finally pulled her into oblivion.
Tucked beneath the covers like a frightened rabbit, she didn’t see the murky shadow in the far corner of the room disappear silently into the wall. Or the quiet click of the doorway as it finally closed.
To begin with, it didn’t register when she first awoke the following morning to find a maid quietly moving around the room, setting out a jug of warm water, soap and towels. At first, Cecily only knew that at some point during the night she had pulled the sheets down and was now bathed in glorious morning sunshine. Glorious – warm – morning sunshine. Now that she thought about it, this was about the first time she had been warm for several days, and it was a glorious feeling.
She blinked sleepily for several long moments and slowly sat up.
“Oh, hello ma’am,” the young girl murmured, bobbing into a curtsy. “My name is Doreen and I am your maid. Should you need anything, just pull the bell over there and I will be up in a thrice.”
“Oh, thank you,” Cecily muttered warily. Her cheeks flushed and she pushed uncomfortably at her hair.
“I have got the wash things ready, but would you prefer a bath? I can get one set up for you in no time at all,” Doreen offered, nodding toward the fire roaring heartily in the grate.
“I would love one if it isn’t too much trouble,” Cecily murmured, feeling acutely embarrassed and uncomfortable at having anyone doing anything for her at all, but she got no further opportunity to say anymore. As quick as a blink, the girl disappeared out of the door.
Cecily threw her legs over the edge of the bed and studied the grubby sheets behind her. She really must apologise to the housekeeper for the mess, she mused, catching sight of the tray of breakfast things on the table beside the bed.
Her stomach growled at the delicious aroma of the toast, butter, jams, meat, cheese and chocolate. Without hesitation, she slid down the bed toward the tray and began to eat hungrily.
Curiosity drove her to wander aimlessly toward the window to take a look outside. Although the sun was pouring into the room, ominous looking clouds rattled along the horizon threatening a deluge yet to come.
The gardens beneath the window were simply beautiful. Box hedges were decorously laid out in a criss-cross fashion. Unless she was much mistaken, it was a herb garden because most of the plants didn’t contain flowers but plants that were vaguely recognisable. As far as the eye could see, there were rolling lawns, flower laden borders and copious amounts of shrubbery and trees. It was delightful. She briefly contemplated lifting the window to take a sniff of the herbs beneath the window, but decided against it. The lure of the sumptuous breakfast feast was just far too tempting to resist and she returned to sit on the bed and help herself to the meat and cheese.
She was busy munching and watching the dark rain clouds edge toward her when the door rattled and Doreen appeared in the room, followed by several people each carrying two jugs. A huge man nodded meekly at Cecily before placing a huge tin bath carefully in front of the hearth. Cecily’s cheeks blushed and she murmured a quiet ‘thank you’, feeling gauche and awkward for sitting back and allowing them to do all of the work. Something inside her baulked at being lazy and not offering to help, but she wasn’t sure what they expected of her.
With quiet efficiency the bath was filled with what appeared to be an endless stream of hot water until Doreen stood back with a broad smile of satisfaction and a towel.
“Do you require me to wash your hair, ma’am?”
“Oh, no thank you, I will be fine by myself,” Cecily replied, glancing longingly at the breakfast tray. She was still ravenous and wasn’t sure if she would ever stop eating. Although the bath looked heavenly, she hated to leave the breakfast tray in case Doreen took it away.
“Finish your breakfast first, ma’am. Is there anything else you would like? The cook and housekeeper, Mrs Nantwich, has just taken a fresh batch of honey cake out of the oven,” Doreen declared proudly.
Cecily’s mouth began to water and she wondered if she had ever tried honey cake.
“I’ll bring some up while your finish your tray ma’am,” Doreen replied, taking Cecily’s longing look as an affirmative for the cake.
As soon as the maid had gone, Cecily resumed her meal and ate in contemplative silence for several minutes. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do because although she could have a bath, there was nothing for her to change into. She glanced down at the soiled breeches she still wore and wondered what the serving staff thought of her. She must look a fright. Although they had all nodded and smiled at her in welcome, they had made no attempt to converse with her and merely emptied their jugs and departed. Could she ask Doreen for help?
She was lost in the quandary of what to do about clothing that she jumped in alarm when Doreen appeared silently, another tray in her hands containing several slices of honey cake and another pot of chocolate. Cecily stared with wide eyes at the huge mound of food and gl
anced cautiously at Doreen.
“Mrs Nantwich would like your opinion on it,” Doreen offered with a grin.
Cecily smiled, feeling more spoiled than she had ever felt in her entire life. She spared a brief thought for Portia, and hoped her sister was faring as well.
“Thank you so much, Doreen, it is very kind of you to look after me so well,” Cecily muttered, brushing off her fingers and glancing regretfully at the sheets. “Can you tell me where the sheets are? I need to change these.” She began to tug at the grubby linen, ignoring the maid’s startled gasp.
“Please, ma’am, you mustn’t do that. That is my job,” Doreen gasped, staring at Cecily in horror.
“Oh, but I have made such a mess of them, I am really sorry,” Cecily replied, feeling awful for making the maid so horrified. “I made the mess, it is only right that I should put it right.”
Silence settled between them for several moments.
“Ahem,” Jamie coughed in the doorway. He had heard enough of the last few minutes to understand that a few rules needed to be outlined to Cecily, and he felt a bit of a cad for the rude way he had simply abandoned her last night. He could only put his ignorance and bad temper down to exhaustion, and a desperate need to get a proper nights’ sleep in his own bed. It had been so long since he had been there that he was surprised he could find his own room still.
Now though, he was well rested, well fed, and ready to begin to figure out what their plan of action had to be. Cecily was now safe from the Star Elite, French spies and her father. The staff had been given strict instructions not to bother her unless she rang the bell and to ensure that she had anything she wanted, whenever she wanted it. Doreen was the downstairs maid by day, but used to be a very good maid to a well-to-do socialite in London during her youth, that is until she met her husband and moved to live in the village with him. Jamie had no doubt that Cecily would be thoroughly spoiled from now on and was glad of the chance to show her how she should be treated.
Lord Melvedere's Ghost Page 6
